TEMPTATION.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 3164, 9 March 1911, Page 3

TEMPTATION.

By EFx IE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS

Published by special arrangement—All rights reserved by the “Times.” CHAPTER XI. It was Lady Susan who had. divined George Verney’s wishes; —Lady Susan who had spoken to Mary. The tide of a great emotion of love and fear commingled had swept these, two closely together, the old woman and the young. The day following the accident had been a day of darkness to them both. The serious look on the doctors’ faces' (and one of the leading surgeons in London had been brought down early in the day), the fear that lurked unspoken in all their hearts, and to one- the unutterable anguish of a. reproach as cruel as death, made even the suggestion of danger too terrible to be realised. Sharp as her own sorrow was, Lady Susan marvelled at the grief that was so legibly'written on Mary’s face. She lavished the wealth of a mother’s tenderness upon the girl, and found a temporary relief in sending Lady Sdmerton away.

Her prejudice against this woman who was staying at Yelverton was considerably strengthened after this little passage at arms. “I don’t understand that woman,” she said to her husband. “She seems to bd playing- a very strange role in Mary’s life. After all, she is merely a guest. Yet she appears to me to try and dominate the girl. Surely this is the moment in which she ought to take her departure. I don’t consider hers a good, influence. Mary wants something young' and brighter in her life, but I shall keep her with me as long as I possibly can,” added Lady Susan briskly, at which her husband laughed.

“At last you have got your own way, Sue,” he said. “You have been wanting to have the handling of George for ever so long, and now he cannot defy you, poor chap!” General Minster ceased smiling and sighed instead.

That had been before the London surgeon had given liis report; afterwards the two old people found it very difficult to speak to one another. 'Hie •mere thought that' George’s life was in danger drove the pretty briskness out! of Lady Susan’s -voice and manner, and put a shadow on her face that made her for the time seem really old.

When the rector came they gripped each other’s hands in silence. Then Lady Susan had stolen away to creep softly into the sick-room, to stand and look through a mist of tears at the figure stretched so stiffly on the bed, and always when she went Mary was sitting in the same place, sitting where his hand could reach hers, and where his eves could rest upon her. The medical men had begged Miss Verney not to move, for they had quickly seen that her presence was helnful. But Lady Susan knew what a strain tills was, and softly lifted the girl from the chair and whispered to her to go and rest lor awhile. And she seated herself in Mary's place, and laid her hand gently on that strong right hand which had at this moment such a feeble look, and at her touch George Verney had opened his eyes.

Swiftly Lady Susan saw that something was passing his mind which was troubling him. Mo could only speak with difficulty.

“I have had a dream,” he said, “an awful dream ! It—it was about Mary. It seemed-to me that she —she stood alone in the midst of some great- danger. as if her life itself was at stake.” “It was only a dream, dear,” Lady Susan said soothingly, hut the trouble did not pass from his eyes. “I don’t know.” lie answered vaguely; “I —I am unhappv about her. I —l cannot bear to leave her.” “Leave her! Why, dearest, you are not going to leave her,” murmured Lady iSusan, “and she is going to belong to you, is she not? Ah, my old eyes are not too dull to read what has been written in your heart. She will be your wife, George, your charge, your comfort.” His face lit up for an instant. “Yes,” he breathed, “yes, if ” then he paused. His voice was weaker when lie spoke again. “In my dream she slipped away from me,. Whenever I approached her she seemed to be taken still farther away. If only she were niv wife now !” “That is not impossible,” Lady Susan whispered, and as she saw the light come into his eyes, and a flicker of his old self come hack, she settled the matter in her own mind. She carried the subject directly to Mr. Forrester and to her husband. “It is not merely a sick mail's fancy,” she said. “If they have not been betrothed it is, I know, because George did not dare to let himself speak. You could arrange matters, could you not, David?” The rector bent liis head. “Yes, such things are possible. But what of Miss Verney?” “She loves him,’’ answered Lady Susan, softly. “If she could give him her life' itself how gladly she would do it.” She left her husband and the rector to go into details, and she went to find Mary. The girl was sitting in the pretty old drawing-room resting her head against the panel of the window. Her eyes were closed; she looked unutterably wan and sorrowful. ■ “I have come to tell you something, dear,” said Lady Susan, sitting down beside her. “George has been speaking to me. ITe has been telling me the greatest wish of his heart. Mary, lie wants to make you. his wife —now — without delay.” For an instant Mary’s face was hot with color; then tin's color receded, and she looked whiter, if possible, than before. -

■ Lady Susan took one of her small cold hands in hers. “Does this startle you, Mary dear?” she asked. - “'Will it cost you too much?” Still the girl said nothing, and Lady Susan went on speaking. . She sketched for the girl the story of George Verney’s boyhood, she put before Mary all'the splendid qualities of liis nature, little guessing that each word she said 'pierced the, girl’s heart like a knife, and-then 1 she■ came to ; the last few weeks. : t . , ■ y , “I have seen his love grow for yon day by day,’’ she said 7 “’The first time be spoke your name-to me after you had, met I knew that George Verney laid found his late! You have gone irresistablv into his heart of hearts. Oh, lie lias not told me of this, but I know him so well, and I have read him so clearly and then we have spoken about you so much? I know, Mary.-he has grieved deeply because your delicate little face lias worn the imprint of the suffering vou endured in the past; yet perhaps.” Lady Susan went on quickly, “lie would never have spoken to you, Mary, or per-

haps not for a long time, because, you see,” her hand was still caressing Mary’s “because, you see, dear child, it is you who are rich, and he who is poor, and the world sometimes thinks harsliiy of a man who ” Mary broke in with a. strange little cry. ••Oh, don’t, don’t!” she said, brokenly, and at that moment the nurse came into the room. - “Sir George is asking far Miss Voinov,” she said. Instantly the girl was on her-feet, but before"she went she turned and put her arms r bout Lady Susan. Her face was wet with tears, and Lady Susan felt that she was trembling. She had to stand a moment and calm herself after Mary had left her. An hour later, when she crept once more into the sick-room, George Yernev looked at her. There was a very triumph in his expression. He was holding Mary's hand, and he smiled for an instant. But there was no smile on Mary’s face, only the stain of tears, and a certain rigid look, about her lips that spoke of grim endurance and resolution. I *** * * ‘ It was pot often that Carina Forrester passed a sleepless night, but- the news her uncle communicated to iler swept her about with so much bitter and passionate thought that her nature seemed shaken to its very roots. She imagined she had been prepared for the pews of this marriage, yet. in reality, she was all unprepared. For so long she had cherished dreams of being George Yerney's wife, for so long schemes for a future as mistress oi : Yelverton Castle had so woven themselves into her daily thought, that even with the proof that Mary’ had become in a few short weeks the woman who ruled George Yerney’s heart, she still clung to the old hope. She broke down, naturally, when she reached her room, and, cried as any other girl would cry at the loss of all she loved.

Indeed Carina Forrester pitied herself most sincerely, and she was not very just to George Verne in this hour. She called him cruel and heartless. “He must, have known that I eared for him!” she said to herself. “He must have known that friendship be-' tween us was a farce! How could wo be just friends and nothing more? He is- full of pity for this girl who has taken everything from him, but he b.as no pity for me ! And surely he might be sorry for me, buried in this dead-alive place, shut away from the world k If she has suffered, if she has starved in the, past, have I not suffered too?, I neyer would have endured life with Uncle David these last few years if I had imagined it possible George would have treated mn like this.” But this mood passed after awhile, and gave place to another loss natural. . . “ The i'ealous dislike which Carina, had conceived for Mary, even before' the girls had met, passed in this moment into that revengeful hate which was part, of tlie racial legacy which her mother bequeathed to Carina. “There must be some way in which T can nay her for nil this, and J will do it!” she said between her teeth. “She

canfiot expect to have everything. She has had already more than her share. 1 will wait and watch.” Indeed, a double blow had been struck at Carina’s vain, bitter heart. _fc>he could not forget the love she had lavished on George Yernev, and the hopes that she had built on that love. But, more than this, she could not forgive him for passing her by and choosing another woman under her very eyes. All sorts of wild, fantastic ideas boated through Carina’s mind in the night hours. At one moment she resolved to leave her uncle's house immediately, take up her mother’s life, and turn to the glitter and glamor of the stage. Then she yielded herself for a moment to the desire'of telling eGorge Yernev the truth.

"It would make him miserable,” she said hardly, “and I should be glad—he is so horribly selfish!” And then she n'ondered how it would he if she were to go instead to Alary and to poison the girl’s mind against George—to insinuate things that had never been. George was lying sick unto death, and lie could not defend himself: The moment was opportune.

Carina’s savage heart leaped at the though of striking such a blow at that white faced girl; yet she could determine nothing. And so in this fashion the night wore itself away, and the morning came, a beautiful morning, that carried a certain amount of healing on the wings of its soft air and in its glorious sunshine, and when she was dressed, Carina leaned, a veritable child of tiie South, out of her casement to bask in this bright .sunshine. Suddenly she was swept/back to her old environment .

For there, in the road outside the garden, a man was strolling to and fro, looking eagerly at the old ivy-clothed rectory, as though seeking to find a jewel within. A smile came to Carina’s lips, and her pulses thrilled.

The man was Paul Lester. As he caught sight of her lie stood still, and there came into his face an expression which made Carina laugh softly to herself.

It was a trivial tiling, but it had power in this moment to restore her self-belief, to sooth her vanity, even to calm her passions. She waved her hand to him, then, swiftly tossing a dainty wrap about her shoulders, she ran down and let herself out <>f the house, and as she stood at the gate, with .hep dark eyes glowing and the sun picking out gleams of gold from her dark, red-brown hair, she was to the man who looked at her the embodiment of all living beauty. “I.am afraid you have lost your way, Mr. Lester,”- Carina said demurely. “Can I assist von?” He advanced and took the hand she gave him, pausing a moment, and then bending over it and kissing it. “On the contrary,” he answered, _ “I have found my way. Do you forgive me?” lie went on rapidly. Indeed, I was here late last night. It- is like breathing the air of paradise to be near you !” “What pretty things you say.” said Carina. But these same pretty things were very sweet to her . She felt the black misery of the night-

slip from her: once again the future opened out gloriously. She neither forgot nor forgave (for hers veas not the nature to do these things), bur she supported that which had been so bitter, so devastating, with a consciousness of strength, a sensation or exultation in the knowledge that she could rule others so easily. (To be continued to-morrow.)