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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Wingham Times, 1916-08-17, Page 7August 17th, 1916 L // THE WINGHAM TIMES �S 5�SSrasSME SSeS SSS S5eerrr.S1../S'q Se 5 tIrieaSSSL SireeS Scsl�S vee A WIFE IN NAME ONLY BY BERTHA M. CLAY eaSSSSYSS TESSSS -SSTASS SSS '' Was Troubled With Stomach and Liver FOR SEVEN YEARS.. MILBURN'S• LAXA-LIVER PILLS I CURED HER. C L/1 •devoted. How many years has he 'loved you now—two or three? And he tells mo that he shall go unmarried •to the grave unless you consent to be his wife." "Did he tell you that? He must in - ,deed be attached to me," she observ- ed. "Norman, did he ask you to say all this to me?" "He asked me to plead his cause," replied Lord Arleigh. "Why (lid he ask you to do so?" "Because—believing us to be what • we really are, Philippa, tried and true friends—he thought I should have • some influence over you." "Clever duke !" she said. "Norman, • are you well versed in modern poet- , ryHe looked up in blank surprise at • the question—it was so totally unex- pected. "In modern poetry?" he repeated. "Yes, I think I am. Why, Philippa?" "I will tell you why," she said, • turning her beautiful face to him. "If •you will be patient, I will tell you „why. She was silent for a few minutes, ,and then Lord Arleigh said: "I am patient enough, Philippa; .will you tell me why?" The dark eyes raised to hia had in •;them a strange hght—a strange depth .sof passion. 'Z want to know if you remember the beautiful story of Priscilla, the Puritan maiden," she said, in a tremulous voice—"Priscilla, the love- liest maiden of Plymouth?: "You mean the story of Miles ;Standish, he corrected. "Yes, I re - 'member it, Philippa." "That which a Puritan maiden "could do, and all posterity sing her .praises for, surely I—a woman of the • world—may do without blame. Do yon 'remember, Norman, when John Alden :,goes to her to do the wooing which • the stanch soldier does not do for him- - ;' self—do you remember her answer? ;Let me give you the verse— "'But as he warmed and glowed in his simple and eloquent language; -Quite forgetful of self, and hill of the praise of his rival, "Archly the maiden smiled, and with ,/ eyes overrunning with laughter, f1 :Said in a tremulors voice, "Why don't you speak for yourself, John?",„ The sweet musical voice died away • in the starlight, the wind stirred the crimson roses—silence, solemn and ."deep, fell over Lord Arleigh and his A.companion. Philippa broke it. "Surely you, in common with all of us, admire the Puritan maiden, t •Norman?" "Yes, I do admire her," he an- {{ss�wvered; "she is one of my favorite i�lieroines." "So she is of mine; and I love her •itfie more for the womanly outburst of !honest truth that triumphed over all .'conventiopality. Norman, what she, the 'loveliest maiden in Plymouth,' .the beloved of Miles Standish, said •,to John Alden, I say to you—'Why 'don't you speak for yourself?' " There was infinite tenderness in his face as he bent over her—infinite pain • in his voice as he spoke to her. "John Alden loved Priscilla," he ,;said, slowly—"she was the one woman in all the world for him—his ideal— ' his fate, but I—oh, Philippa, how I hate myself because I cannot answer you differently! You are my friend, my sister, but not the woman I must 'love as my wife." "When you urged me a few minutes • since to marry your friend, you asked me why I could not love him, seeing that he had all lovable qualities. Norman. why can you not love me?" "I can answer you only in the same -•words—I do not know. I love you with as true an affection as ever man gave to woman, but I have not for you a ;lover's love. I cannot tell why, for , you areone of the fairest of fair 'women.s "lair, but not your 'ideal woman." .she said, gently. "No, not my 'ideal woman,.'" be re- turned—"my sister, my friend—not my love." "I am to blame," she said, proudly; "but again I must plead that I am likeel:asSill•i_ Mr-gibe',,-a.'wanlentead- ing -fRe" e' -•--P' anther •• rZe st alE came uppermost; you must forgive me for speaking so forcibly. As the poem says: "'There are moments in life when the heart is so full of emotions That if, by chance, it be, shaken, or into its depths, like a pebble, Drops some careless word, it ova. flows, . and its secrets, Spilt on the ground like water, tan never be gathered together.'" "My dearest Philippa, you have not been to blame," he said; "you judge yourself so hardly always." "It is the fate of a woman to be silent," she said again. "Still, I am glad that I have spoken. Norman, will you tell me what your ideal of woman is like, that I may know her when I see her?" "Nay," he objected, gently, "let us talk of something else." But she persisted. "Tell me," she urged, "that I may know in what she differs from me." "I do not know that I can tell you." he replied. "I have not thought much of the matter." "But if any one asked you to de- scribe your ideal of what a woman should be, you could do it," she pur- sued. "Perhaps so, but at best it would be but an imperfect sketch. She must be yonnrr, fair, gentle, pure, tender of heart, noble in soul, with a kind of shy, sweet grace; frank, yet not outspoken; free from all affectation, yet with nothing unwomanly; a mix- ture of child and woman. If I love an ideal, it is something like that." "And she must be fair, like all the Ladies Arleigh, with eyes like the hyacinth, and hair tinged with gold, I suppose, Norman?" "Yes; I saw a picture once in Rome that realized my notion of true womanly loveliness. It was a very fair face, with something of the innocent wonder of a child mixed with the dawning love and passion of noblest womanhood." '• "You admire an ingenue. We have both our tastes; mine, if I were a man. would incline more to the bril- liant and handsome." She would have added more, but at that moment Lady Peters drew aside the silken hanging. "My dear children," she said, "I should ill play my part of chaperon if I did not remind you of the hour. We BURDOCK BLOOD BITTERS CURED DYSPEPSIA. have been celebrating my birthday, but my birthday is past gone— it d it is •Liter midnight.,, Lord Arleigh looked up in wonder. "After midnight? Impossible! Yet I declare my watch proves that it is. It is all the fault of the starlight, Lady Peters; you must blame that." • Lady Peters went out to them. "I do not wonder at your lingering here," she said. "How calm and sweet the night is! It . reminds me of the night in 'Romeo and Juliet,' It was on such a night Sessica--" Phillippa held up her hands in hor- ror. " n more poetry to -night, dear Lady Peters; we have had more than enough?" `Is + ot true, Lord Arleigh? Have yor' --ally had more than enough? I have not found it so," he re- plied. "However, I must, go. I wish time would sometimes stand still; all pleasant hours end so soon. Good- night, Lady Peters." But that most discreet of chaper- ons had already re-entered the draw- ing-room—it was no part of her busi- ness to be present when the . two friends Said good -night.„ he said, in "Good -night, Philippa, a low, gentle voice, bending over her. The wind stirred her perfumedhair until it touched his cheek; the leaves of the crimson rages fell in a shower around her. She raised her beautiful pale face to his—the unspeakable love, the yearning sorrow on it, moved him ly. He bent down and touched Unless the stomach is kept in good `' shape your food will not digest properly but will cause a rising and souring of food, a feeling of rawness in the stomach, Tams in the stomach or a feeling as if a heavy weight were lying there. Burdock Blood Bitters cannotbe be surpassed as a cure fordyspepsia ll its allied troubles. Mr. James R. Bu, Balmoral, I was badly two t years About votes. A and could not troubled with dyspepsia, get any relief. I tried most a e thing, not even the doctors seeming any good. One day a toldme as he bad had to try Burdock Blood hitters, seen it advcrtise(l. I dill so, and by the time the first bottle was gone I felt better, land Iter taking three bottles I was com- pletely cured. I highly recommend it to ,all sufferers from dyspepsia' BR.13• le i.,ar.,,°adored role he "a T. Milburn C:i., i.iuisted, 'lrrento, C Bern s srprrse'Pc'ualcr sire have seen the beautiful face all wet with tears; for Philippa had laid her head on the cold stone, and was weeping such tears as women weep but once in life. She sat there not striving to subdue the tempest of emotion that shook her, giving full vent to her passion of grief, stretching out her hands and crying to her best love. It was all over now. She had step- ped down from the proud height of her glorious womanhood to ask for his love, and he had told her he had none to give her. She had thrown aside her pride, her delicacy: She had let him read the guarded secret of her heart, only to hear his reply—that she was not his ideal of womanhood. She had asked for bread—he had given her a stone. She had lavished her love at his feet—he had coolly stepped aside.. She h -d lowered her pride, humiliated herself, all in vain. "No woman,” she said to herself, "would ever pardon such a slight or forgive such a wrong." At first she wept as though her heart would break—tears fell like rain from her eyes, tears that seemed to burn as they fell; then after a time pride rose and gained the ascendancy. She, the courted, beautiful woman, to be so humiliated, so slighted! She, for whose smile the noblest in the land asked in vain, to have her almost of- fered love so coldly refused! She the very queen of love and beauty, to be so spurned!" When thepassion of grief hadsub- sided, when the hot angry glow wounded pride died away, she raised her face to the night skies. "I swear," she said, "that I will be revenged—tbat I will take such ven- geance on him as will bring his pride down far lower than he has brought mine. I will never forgive him. I pass- ing eloved him the love of wwoman.ith a e I will hate him more than I have loved him. I would have given my life to make him happy. I now consecrate it to vengeance. I swear to take such re- venge on him as shall bring the name of Arleigh low indeed." And that vow she intended to keep. "If I ever forget what has passed here," she said to herself, "may Heaven -forget me!" To her servants she had never seem- ed colder or haughtier than on this night, when she kept them waiting while she registered her vow. What shape was her vengeance to take? I shall fwd out," she thought, "it will come in time." ter brow With his lifts. "Good -night, Philippa, my sister— my friend," be said. Been by the faint starlight he saw a change pass over her face. ..h.Z igh},,,, she k• have more to say to you, but Lady Peters will be horrified if you remain any longer. You will call to -morrow, and then I will finish my conversa- tion?" •:11 ,.one," he replied, gravely. He waited a moment to see if „she m be- fore oats into the drawing -room herarms onthe stone oi b turned leanedalus- trt^ It was, really half an hoar afterward when Lady Peters once more drew aside the hangings. "Philippa," she said, gently, "you will ta.lre cold out there." tired She wondered why the girlpa soave few minutes before answering; then Miss L'Estrange said, in a low, calm voice: "Do not wait for me, Lady Peters; I am thinking and do not wish to be inted." Bu1 Lady Peters did not seem quite satisfied. "I do not like to leave you sitting there," .she said, "the servants will think it strange. "Their thoughts do not concern me," she returned, haughtily, "Good- night, Lady Peters; do not interrupt' me again, if you please." And the good-tempered chaperon went away, thinking to herself that perhaps she had done wrong in interrupting the tete-a-tete. "Still i did it for the best," she said to herself; "and servants will talk." Philippa L'Estrange did not move. Lady Peters thoughtshe`spok� in�T8 name +rYaao aaei gee lea Mrs. homasSarg'eht, Berkeley, Ont. writes:." 1 have been troubled with pay stomach and liver for the past seven years; also have had constipation, caus- ing headaches, backaches and dizzy spells, and at times I would almost fall down. I tried all kinde of medicine, without obtaining any relief. I com- meneed using Milburn's-Laxa-Liver Pills, and they have cured me. I have recom- mended them to many of my friends, and they are all very much pleased with the results they have obtained from their use." Milburn's Laxa-Liver Pills have been on the market for the past twenty-five years, and can be procured from all dealers. The price is 25 cents per vial, or five vials for $1.00. If your dealer does not keep them, they will be mailed direct on receipt of price, by The T. Milburn Co., Limited, To- ronto, Ont. CHAPTER XIV. Miss L'Estrange was standing alone in the small conservatory on the morning following her eventful con- versation with Lord Arleigh, when the latter was announced. How she had passed the hours of the previous night was known only to herself. As the world looks the fairer and fresher for the passing of a heavy storm, the sky more blue, the color of flow- ers and trees brighter, so she on this morning, after those long hours of agony, looked more beautiful than ever. Her white morning -dress, made of choice Indian muslin, was relieved 1 C„' avow'- a pirir•i•enee for any man Can you have been so foolish as to think so? It was only a charade, act- ed for your amusement." "Oh, Philippa," lie cried. "I am so pleased, dear! And yet—yet, do you know, I wish that you had not done it? It has given me a shock. I shall never feel that I really understand you.""You will, Norman. It did seem so ridiculous for you, my old play- fellow, to sit lecturing me so gravely about matrimony. You took it so en- tirely for granted that I did not care for the duke." "And do you care for hien, Philip- pa?" he asked. "Can you doubt it, after the de- scription you gave of him, Norman?" "You are mocking ire again, Phi- lippa," he said. "But you were very eloquent, Nor- man," she persisted. "I have never heard any one more so. You painted his grace of Hazlewood in such glow- ing colors that no one could help fall- ing in love with him." "Did I? Well, I do think highly of him, Philippa. And so, after all, you really care for him?" "I do not think I shall tell you, Norman. You deserve to be kept in the dark. Would you tell me if you found your ideal woman?" "I would. I would tell you at once," he replied, eagerly. "If you could but have seen your face !" she cried. "I feel tempted to act the charade over again. Why, Norman, what likeness can you see between Philippa L'Estrange, the proud, cold woman of the world, and that sweet little Puritan maiden at her spinning - wheel?" "I should never have detected any likeness unless you yourself had first pointed it out," he said. "Tell me, Philippa, are you really going to make the duke happy at last?" "It may be that I am going to make him profoundly miserable. As punishment for your lecture, I shall refuse to tell you anything about it," she replied; and then she added: "You will ride with me this morn- ing, Norman?" "Yes, I will ride with you, Philip- pa. I cannot tell you how thankful and relieved I am." "To find that you have not made quite so many conquests as you thought?" she said. "It was a sorry jest to play, after all; but you pro- voked me to it, Norman. I want you to make me a promise." "That I will gladly do," he replied. Indeed he was so relieved, so pleas- ed, so thankful to be freed from the load of self-reproach, that he would have promised anything. Her face grew earnest. She held out her hand to him. "Promise me this, Norman," she cried—"that, whether I remain Phi- lippa L'Estrange or become Duchess of Hazlewood—no matter what I am, or may be—you will always be the same to me as you are now—my bro- ther, my truest, dearest, best friend, Promise me." "I do 'promise, Philippa, with all my heart," he responded. "And I will never break my promise." "If I marry, you will come to see me—you will trust in me—you will be just what you are now—you will make my house your home, as you do this?" _e:syea—that i,:.-ifee'onr lrasband con- serita," rep;;eil"Doru' Ariefgu. - - "Rely upon it, my husband—if 1 ever have one—will not dispute my wishes," she said. "I am not the model woman you dream of. He, of course, will be submissive in every- thinaj I intend to have my own way." "We are friends for life, Philippa," he declared;; "and_ 1 do not think that any one who really understands me will ever cavil at our friendship." "Then, that being settled, we will go at once for our ride. How those who know me best would laugh, Nor- man, if they heard of the incident of the Puritan maiden! If I go to an- other fancy ball this season, I shall go as Priscilla of Plymouth, and you had better go as John Alden." Ho held up his hands imploringly. "Do not tease me about it any more,, Philippa," he remarked. "I cannot quite tell why, but you make me feel both insignificant and vain; yet nothing would have been further from my mind than the ideas you have filled it with.' "Own you were mistaken, and then I will be generous and forgive you," she said, laughingly. "I was mistaken—cruelly so—weak- ly so—happily so," he replied. "Now you will be generous and spare me." He did not see the bitter smile with which she turned away, nor the pallor that crept even to her lips. Once again in his life Lord Arleigh was completely deceived. A week afterward he received a note in Philippa's handwriting; it simply said: "Dear Norman,—You were good en- ough toke's cause. When yon meetlhim d texthe , ask him if he has anything to tell you. pa L'Estrange." by faint touches of pink; fine white lace encircled her throat and delicate wrists. Tall and slender, she stood before a large plant with scarlet blos- soms when he came in. Lord Arleigh look as he felt—ill at ease. He had not slept gh thinking of the conversation in the balcony—it had made him profoundly caret sed, Ile would have given much not 'to renew it; but she had asked him to come, and he had promised. Would she receive him with tears and reproaches?, Would she cry out that he was cold and cruel? Would she torture himselfand diherself selfy trying to find •out why helove her? Or would she be sad, cold, and indifferent? His relief was great when she rais- ed a'laughing, radiant face IIgis, and held out her hand in greeting. sheg.said, "Good morning, Norman, in a pleasant voice. "Now confess that I am a clever actress, and that I have given you a real right " He looked at her in wonder. "I "I do not understand you," re- turned. "It is so easy to mislead a man," she said, laughingly. "I do not understand, Philippa," he repeated. "Did you really take all my _ bal- cony scene in earnest last night?" she asked• he replied; and "I did indeed," again the clear musical laugh seemed to astonish hint. "I could not have believed it Nor - mat," she said. "Did you really think that I was in earnest?" not?" "Certainly I did. Were you "No," she answered, "Then I thank Heaven for it," he said, "for I have been very unhappy about you. Why did you say so much if you did not mean it, Philippa?" �- "Because you annoyed me by plead- ing ing the cause of the duke. He had no right to ask you to do such a essay and you were unwise sa to y such a task. I have punished you by mystifying you --I shall next imp- ish him." "Then you did not mean all that you said?" he interrogated, still won- dering at thit unexpected turn of events. "I should have given you credit for more penetration, Norman," • she re - 1 nli�d. •'=x-� rr .sem` 7»tase-' What the duke of Hazlewood had to tell was that Miss L'Estrange had promised to be his wife, and that the marriage was to take place in August. He prayed Lord Arleigh to be present as his "best man" on the occasion. Peters On the same evening Lady and Miss L'Estrange sat in the draw- ing -room at Verdun House, alone. Philippa had been very• restless. She had been walking to and fro; she had opened her piano closed volume had taken up volume after and laid it down again, when sud- denly her eyes fell upon a book pret- tily bound in crimson and gold, which Lady Peters had been reading. "What book is that?" she asked, suddenly. "Lord Lytton's 'Lady of Lyons'," replied Lady Peters. Philippa raised it, looked through it, and then, with a strange smile and a deep sigh, laid it down. "At last," she said—"I have found it "Found what, my dear, asked Lady Peters, looking up. "Something I have been searching for," replied Philippa, as she quit- ted the room, still with the strange smile on her lips. The Wretchedness of Constipation Can quickly be overcome by CARTER'S LITTLE LIVER PILLS Purely vegetable —act surely and gently on the liver. Cure Biliousness, Head- ache, - Dizzi. nits, and Indigestion. They do their duty. Small P111, Small Dose, Small *'rice. Genuine must bear Signature P Children Cry for Fletchor's .. , ..•.,. , ;r TheKind.You Have Always 33gUght, and which has been in ljse for over 30 years, has borne the signature of and has been made under his per- sonal supervision, since its infancy. Allow no one to deceive you in this. All Counterfeits, Imitations and "Just -as -good" aro but Experiments that• trifle with and endanger the health of Infants and Children—Experience against Experiment. What is CASTORIA Castoria is a harmless substitute for Castor Oil, Pare- goric, Drops and Soothing Syrups. It is pleasant. It contains neither Opium, Morphine nor other Narcotic substance. Its age is its guarantee. It destroys Worms and allays Feverishness. For more than thirty years it has been in constant use for the relief of Constipation, Flatulency, Wind. Colic, all Teething Troubles and- Diarrhoea. ndDiarrhoea. It regulates the Stomach and Bowels, assimilates the Food, giving healthy and natural sleep. Tho Children's Panacea—The Mother's Friend.. GENUINE CASTORIA ALWAYS' Bears the Signature of In Use For Over 30 Years The Kind You Have Always Bought • THE CENTAUR COMPANY, NEW YORK CITY - '?t was not often that so beautiful a bride was seen as the young duchess. She bore her part in the scene very bravely. The papers told how Lord Arleigh was "best man" on the occa- sion; but no one guessed even ever so faintly of the tragedy that came that morning to a crisis. The happy pair went off to Vere Court, the duke's favorite residence, and there for a short time the public lost sight of them. If the duke had been asked to con- tinue the history of his wedding -day, he would have told a strange story— how, when they were in the railway - carriage together. he had turned to his beautiful young wife with some loving words on his lips, and she had cried out that she wanted air, to let to one come near her—that she had CHAPTER XV. The great event of theyearsuc- ceedingsuc- ceeding was the appearance the Duchess of Hazlewood. Miss L'Es- trange, the belle and the heiress, had been very popular; her Grace.of Iiazlewood was more popular stll. She was queen of fashionable Lon- don. At her mansion all the most ex- clusive met. She had resolved upon giving her life to society, upon culti- vating it, upon making herself its mistress and queen. She succeeded. She became essentially a leader of so- ciety. To belong to the Duchess of to be of the cremewoodee la c eme azled's "set"was The beautiful young duchess had made up her mind upon two things. The first was that she would be a queen of society; the second, that she would reign over such a circle as had never been gath- ered together before. She would have youth, beauty, wit, genius; she would not trouble about wealth. She would admit no one who was not famous for some qualification or other—some grace of body or mind—some talent or great gift. The house should be open to talent of all kinds, but never open to anything commonplace. She would be the encourager of genius, the pa- troness of the fine arts, the friend of all talent. It was a splendid career that she marked out for herself, and she was the one woman in England especially adapted for it. The only objection to it was that while she gave every scope to imagination — while she provided for 'all intellectual wants and needs —she made no allowance for the af- fections; they never entered into ger calculations. In a few weeks half London was talking about the beautiful Duchess of Hazlewood. In all the "Fashion- able Intelligence" of the day she had a long paragraph to herself. The duchess had given a ball, had had a grand reunion, a soiree, a garden - party; the duchess had been at such an entertainment; when a long de- scription of her dress or costume would follow. Nor was it only. amongst the upper ten thousand that she was so, pre-eminently popular. If a bazaar, a fancy fair, a ball, were needed to aid some charitable cause, she was always chosen as patroness; her vote, her interest, one word from her, was all -sufficient. Her wedding had been a scene of the most gorgeous magnificence. She had been married from her house at Verden Royal, and half the county had been present at what was cer- tainly the most magnificent cere- monial of the year. The leading jour- nal, the Illustrated Intelligence, pro- duced a supplement on the occasion, which was much admired. The duke gave the celebrated attist, Monsieur Delorne, a commission to paint the interior of the church at Verdun Royal as it appeared while the cere- mony was proceeding. That picture of the n now chief ornament t forms the grand gallery at the court. The wedding presents were some- thing wonderful to behold; it was considered that the duchess had one of the largest fortunes in England in jewels alone. The wedding -day was the fourth of August, and it had seem- ed as though nature herself had done her utmost to make the day most brilliant stretched out her hands wildly, as though beating off something terrible. He believed that she was overcome by excitement or the heat of the day; he soothed her as he would have soothed a child; and when they reach- ed Vere Court he insisted that she should rest. She did so. Her dark hair fell round her white neck and shoulders, her beautiful face was flushed, the scarlet lips trembled as though she were a grieving child; and the young duke stood watching her, thinking how fair she was and what a treasure he had won. Then he heard her murmur some words in her sleep, what were they? He mid not quite distinguish them; it was something about a Puritan maiden, Priscilla and John—he could not catch the name— something that did not concern him, and in which he had no part. Sud- denly she held out her arms, and in a voice he never forgot cried, "Oh, my love, my love!" That of course meant himself. Down on his knees by her side went the young duke— he covered her hands with kisses. "My darling," he said, "you are better now. I have been alarmed about you, Philippa; I feared that you were ill. My darling, give me a word and a smile." She had quite recovered herself then; she remembered that she was Duchess of Hazlewood—wife of the generous nobleman who was at her side. She was mistress of herself in a moment. "Have I alarmed you?" she said. "I did feel ill; but I am better now ---quite well, in fact." She said to herself that she had her new life to begin, and the sooner she began it the better; so she made herself very charming to' the young duke, and he was in ecstasies over the prize he had won. Thenceforward they lived happily enough. If the young duke found his wife less loving, less tender of heart, than he had believed her to be, he made no complaint. "She is so beautifnl and gifted," he would say to himself. "h cannot ex- pect everything. I know that she loves me, although she does not say much about it. I know that I can trust her in all things, even though she makes no protestations." They fell into the general routine of life. One loved—the other allow- ed herself to be loved. The duke adored his wife, and she accepted his adoration. They were never spoken of as a model couple, although every one agreed that it was an excellent match —that they were very happy. The duke looked up with wondering ad- miration to the beautiful stately lady who bore his name. She could not do wrong in his eyes, everything she said was right, all she did was per- fect. erfect. He never dreamed of opposing her wishes. There was no lady in England so completely her own mis- tress, so completely mistress of every one and everything around her, as azlewoed. her Grace of II When the season came round again. and the brilliant life which she had laid out for herself was tiers, she might have been the happiest of wo- men but for the cloud which darkened her whole existence. Lord Arleigh had kept his promise—he had been her true friend, with her husband's fulJa.,.nri ci4o.. •�, U ..tubae .--#e9 noble anes genero iia enemself an feel any such ignoble passion as jealousy —he was far too confiding. To be jealous of his wife would never have entered his mind; nor was there the least occasion for it. If Lord Arleigh* had been her own brother, their rela- tionship could not have been of a more blameless kind; even the cen- sorious world of fashion, so quick to detect a scandal, so merciless in its enjoyment of one, never presumed to cast an aspersion on this friendship.' There was something so frank, so• open about it, that blame was an im- possibility. If the duke was busy or engaged when his wife wanted to ride or drive, he asked her cousin Lord Arleigh to take his place, as be would have asked his own brother. If the duke could not attend opera or baffle Lord Arleigh was et hand He ofte. said that it was a matter of perplex- ity to him which was his own home! —whether he liked Beechgrove, Vera dun Royal, or Vere Court best. "No one was ever so happy, so blessed with true friends as I am," he m, - he would say; at which speech the young duchess would smile that strange fathomless smile so few un- derstood. If they went to Vere Court, Lord Arleigh was generally asked to go with thein; the duke really liked lam— a great deal for his own sake, more still for the sake of his wife. He could understand the childish friend ship having grown with their growths; and he was too noble to expect any- thing less than perfect sincerity and' truth. The duchess kept her word. She made no further allusion to the Puri- tan maiden—that little episode had,' so it appeared, completely escaped' her memory. There was one thing to be noticed—she often read "The Lady; of Lyons," and appeared to delight in it. When she had looked through! a few pages, she would close the book with a sigh and a strange, brooding, smile. At times, too, she would teasel Lord Arleigh about his ideal woman but that was always in her husband's' presence. "You have not found the ideal woe man yet, Norman?" she would ask• him, laughingly; and he would an-. swer, "No, not yet." Then the duke would wax eloquenta and tell him that he really knew lit- tle of life—that if he wanted to be' happy he must look for a wife. You were easily contented," the' duchess would say, "Norman wants. an ideal. You were content with a: mere mortal—he will' never be." "Then find him an ideal, Philippa,' would be the duke's reply. 'You' know some of the nicest girls in Lon-' don; find him an ideal amongst them." Then to the beautiful face would' come the stfange, brooding smile. "Give me time," would her Grace` of Hazlewood say. "I shall find just: what I want for him in time." CHAPTER XVI. It was a beautiful, pure morning.; For many years there had not been. so brilliant a• season in London; every one seemed to be enjoying it; ball succeeded ball, fete succeeded fete. Lord Arleigh had received a note from the Duchess of Hazlewood, ask- ing him if he would call before noon, asee wished to see nim. He went at once to Verdun House, and wee told that the duchess was engaged, but would eee him in a few minutes. Contrary to the usual cus- tom, he was shown into a morning - room, one exclusively used by the duchess --a small, octagonal room, daintily furnished, which opened. on to a small rose -garden, a1soexelusrve- ly kept for the use of the duchess. In- to this garden neither friend note visa, for ever ventured. It waS filled with rose -trees a little fountain placed in the midst, and a small trellised arbor wns at one side. Why had he been :}lovtn.:,ntc, the tinetu =,i; private rcom?" i 'MTo BE_CorlflleanD) �x a