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Synopsis of Preceding Chapters.
ORAH, the young and beautiful Lady Estcourt, misunderstanding her husband's
N efforl to save her from the knowledge of his threatened bilndnen. becomes
jealous of his interest in his old friend, Olga Lethbridge. Paul Delacour,
of the French diplomatic service, fosters this misunderstanding and persuades Norah
to elope with him to Paris while Lord Estcourt is away consulting an eye specialist
in Wiesbaden.
"Isom roaching Parls, Delacdur is arrested on a charge of treason. Norah hurries
home, hoping against hope to reclaim her farewell letter before her husband returns,
She finds him alrédady there, overjoyed 'by the specialist's opinfon that his sight
can be saved. But she {s dismayed to discover that the incriminating letter has fallen
into the hands of Olga Lethbridge.
Norah confesses to Lord Estcourt’s aunt, Lady Sarah Rochester, who
promises her assistance. Delacour returns under a eloud and demands,
as the price of his silence, that Norah shall help re-establish him soclally, A
CHAPTER XI. (Continued.)
“I Hold Thee by Too Many Bands.”
ITH a few more words they
separated and Norah hast
ened home as quickly as
she could. She had to dress and
drive In the park; she wished to
make her excuse of a busy after
noon quite genulne. It wag as well *
not to leave anything to chance;
she must safeguard every position
as much as possible.
As she drove away she wondered,
with bitter self-contempt, how she
could ever have fancled herself In .
love with this man. He seemed so
shallow and meretriclous; o un
satisfactory altogether, not to use
@& harsher word. ¥
It was lttle wonder i Delacour
had changed. He had been through
a terrible ordeal, which he could
never forget. He had seen him
self an outcast, scorned and shun
ned by all decent men and women;
he had had nightmare visions of a
broken, banished life. He had suf
fered all the tortures of a suspense
which fears the worst. 5
The next morning he was riding
in the park as usual, where he was
welcomed by a host of acquaint
ances. Miss Lethbridge, who never
missed her early ride, looking upon
it more as a duty to her complexion
than as an enjoyment, was quite
pleased and excited when she saw
him. Bhe reined up as he ap
proached and he was obliged to
stop and speak to her.
“Good morning,” she sald, speak
ing with unusual cordiality. “This
{3 a pleasant surpise. KEverybody
has been wondering what had be
come of you. First and foremost
what took you abroad so suddenly?
It was quite a shock to your friends
to find you had gone.”
“Affairs of State,” he answered,
lightly, turning to ride beside her.,
“However, I have settled every~
thing now, and am a free man.”
«“What do you mean?” she ine
quired. He intended that she
should ask. He knew it would be
best to make the announcement
himself, as though it were entirely
a matter of his own arrangement,
and trust to luck that he was not
contradicted. His superiors had
been defeated, and he thought they
would not want to talk about their
defeat.
“I have given up diplomacy. My
country must do without my value
able services in future. I am too
fond of your great city to wish to
leave it; you will have me for a
permanency now. I hope 1 shall
not suffer the fate of most perma
pent things and lose any attraction
1 may possess. Uncertalnty counts
for so much.” And he laughed.
“You are glving up the service?
What a pity! Why, you have hard
ly started yet” To herselt she
was saying:
“Then he was away on his own
affairs; he had nothing to do with
Lady Estcourt’s journey. But why
has he thrown up his career go sud
denly? Can it be to be near her?”
. “I have been long enough under
orders to find out that it does not
suit me,” he replied. “I do not
care to be sent hither and thither
without any .choice of my own. 1
bave no great liking for change.”
“I should not have imagined that
constancy was one of your special
virtues,” she said, with a laugh.
“Does it control all your actions?
'le'nt a faithful friend you must
e!”
“Y.hat does she know or suse
pect?” he wondered, for he did not
trust her careless tone. He knew
she was a woman who generally
had an object in what she said or
did. But his diplomatic training
stood him in good stead, and ap
parently she had noticed nothing.
“I am afraid I do not take exist
ence as seriously as you do,” he
Anpwered lightly. “I am a thing of
shreds and patches, a mere flaneur.
lam not great enough for virtue
or vics, All I ask of fate is to be
Tappy fn my own way.”
“But that very often includes
somabody else,” she said, shrewdly.
“Naturally,” with a smile. “It i 8
so difficnlt to be happy alone”
And Miss Lethbridge was obliged
to leave off unsatisfied.
“S 0 Delacour has returned for
good?” Lady Sarah sald when sho
called to see Norah a few days
later. “Have you and he met?”
“Yes.” And Lady Estcourt told
her whet had passed. “I hope I am
aot doing wrong in promising to
be friends with him,” she conclud
ed, “but really I had very little
choice. He did not exactly threaten
Re, but he let me see that it would
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g ReNes L s
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be better to have him for a friend
than an enemy., He is in a critical
position, and I suppose it is natural
he should look after himself.”
“Quite natural, but none the less
objectionable, However, it would
certainly excite comment if you
treated him coldly, considering how
{ntimate you have been, so perhaps
it 18 best as it is. It 18 certainly
gafest. 1 am afraid we cannot be
harmless as doves, but we must try
to be wise as serpents, By the
way, does he know about that mis
take yon made with your letters?”
Lady Sarah inquired.
“No; I did not see any use in
telling him. He will naturally con
clude that I got home first and de
stroyed my letter. Oh, let me for
get it all for a little while; talk to
me about something else.”
“Do you know that T am expect
ing my sister from Brighton to
day?" Norah said, presently. “It
{s only a week-end visit, but she
will be leaving school altogether
very soon, and then she will come
to live with us. Of course, she
can’t be presented till next Spring,
but I shall let her go out & little
in the Autumn.”
“Fancy little Feliclty a grown-up
young lady and you a chaperon!™
Lady Sarah exclajmed. “What {s
the child like? I bave not seen her
for some time.”
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“Then wait and see her. .u®
will be here directly. There 18
someone coming up now; perhaps
it is she.”
But it was Mr. Delacour who was
announced, and who entered the
room as one sure of his welcome.
Lady Sarah could not help secretly
admiring his perfect self-posses
gion, though she could hardly bring
herself to touch his hand. He no
ticed her coldness and put it down
to the meeting in Calais; he knew
that she had never approved of his
fntimacy with her niece. Had she
followed her {nclinations Lady
@dFah would never have spoken to
him again, but she knew she must
be civil for Norah’s sake, and sh.
did not want him to guess that Bhe
was in the secret. She could be ot
more help i she appeared to know
nothing.
“Wo ought to feel flattered that
you prefer our grim, grimy city to
Paris, the gay and beantiful,” Lady
Sarah remarked to Delacour, “1
hear we may reckon upon you as &
permanent inhabitant.”
“More or less,” he answered,
lightly. “I am half an Englishman
by birth, you know, and more than
half a one by education and tastes,
80 it 18 not unnatural that I should
look upon London as my real home.
1 have met with so much kindness
here,”
a 0 3000, letwrnstional Festure Servies, Ine, Great Britain Rights Reserved
The door opened sharply and a
glir] came in, a straight, long-limbed
girl, with the freshness of morning
in her danging eyes and In the
clear pink and white of her cheeks,
She was youth at its brightest and
best—youth smiling and unafraid,
because as yet it had found mno
tears in life.
“My dear PFelicity, you come in
llke a sea breeze,” Lady Estcourt
eald, as she embraced her warmly,
“You make me think of 'mn%
Britannia,’ and that sort of thing.
The girl laughed as she returned
the embrace with interest, regard
less of the others in the room. She
had not her gister’s beauty, but her
freshness and vitallty made her
equally charming in another way.
“l should think you would be
thankful for any breeze,” she said,
“You seem stifled up here. No won
der you look tired and pale, poor
thing!” |
“How well her name suits her,”
Lady Sarah thought, as she put in
a claim for recognition. *“Felleity
~happiness; she looks the embodl
ment of joy. 1 wonder if 1 was
ever as young and happy as that?”
The girl glanced across at Paul
Delacour, who had risen at her en
trance and was looking at her with
interest and admiration. They had
not met before-and she wondered
why her sister did not introduce
him. There was a moment's em
barrassment as they waited and
Lady Estcourt still hesitated. Then
she sald, slowly:
“Mr. Delacour—my sister, Miss
Marchmont.”
CHAPTER XIIL.
“The Rose of Youth.”
T was late in the Autumn when
I Lord and Lady Estcourt, ac
companied by Felicity, re
turned from Scotland to town,
where Felicity was to take part in
some of the gayeties of the “little
season.”
One of the first pteople to call at
Belgrave Square after their return
was announced in the Post was
Mr. Delacour, and he found both
Lady Estcourt and her sister at
home,
“I need not ask how you are,” he
sald, “for you look the picture of
health. It is evident that you have
tramped the moors to some pur
pose.”
“Yes, I feel llke a glant re
freshed,” Lady [Estcourt sald,
laughing. She knew that the two
or three months’ peace and qulet
had more to do with her improved
appearance than anything else.
The past, with its painful memo
ries, had dropped more and more
into the background, She had been
able to forget and be happy. Miss
Lethbridge had made no movement
and she had begun to think that
nothing was going to happen; that
she was gafe.
“It is just possible,” she sald to
herself, hopefully, “that — geeing
nothing to account for such a letter
~ghe has come to look upon it as
a hoax. Oh, having waited so long,
she does not like to produce it
now,” And out of sight and sound
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of her enemy it was not difficult to
believe what she wished.
With her return to town and
Delacour’s prompt call she was re
minded of her obligations and had
an uneasy qualm. “Was the pres
ent state of affalrs too good to
last?” she wondered. “What
would happen when she saw Miss
Lethbridge again? Had she let her
go a little way, only to clutch her
in a flercer grip?” As she specu
lated and wondered while she
poured out tea Delacour and Felic
ity were chatting gayly together.
“Do you know we are having a
dance?”’ she heard her sister say,
as she roused herself from her un
pleasant reflections, “a real ball?
It {8 in my honor, so you can im
agine how excited I am. Since I
left off going to children’s parties
1 have been living in the densest
obscurity and this will be my first
peep at the world. When you are
surrounded by high walls and have
a private way even to the sea you
can't know much of what is going
on outside, can {ou?”
“Very little, I should say,” he
answered, with a laugh. “It is like
being shut up in a convent. But
now you will enjoy everything all
the more because it will be so new.
I envy you.”
“Yes; 1 mean to make the most
of all that comes my way,” she
said, bubbling over with excite
ment, “You have no idea what a
capacity I have for enjoyment. It
used to get me into a lot of scrapes
at school, because I had to let my
gelf go sometimes.” She was not
naturally a shy girl, and, ltke most
people, she found it eaay to talk
to Paul Delacour,
“Are you going to honor me with
an invitation to your dance?” he
asked Lady Estcourt, when they
were left alone for a few minutes.
She hesitated, as though uncer
tain what to answer, .
“Because I should like to come,”
he sald, with quiet determination.
“People were leaving town go soon
after my return from Paris that not
half of them heard what had hap
pened. Now most of them have
come back and it will be a good
opportunity to establish my posi
tion on a firm basis. I don't know
what talk there may have been in
country houses, and I should like
our friends to see that, at all
events, you are not affected by it.”
“Very well,” ghe replied. “I will
send you an Invitation.”
“What a picturesque person Mr.
Delacour ia!” Felleity sald, when
he had gone. “He looks as if he
ought to be leading a forlorn hope
somewhere, crying ‘Victory or
Westminster Abbey!" What does
he do?”
“Nothing.” :
“Perhaps he 1s waliting to find
out what he is most fitted for. He
could be a poet, I am sure, but 1
think deeds would suit him better
than words. He is bound to dis
tingulsh himself some day.”
Lady HKstcourt laughed, mock
ingly. :
“You are a judge of character, 1
gee,” she sald. *“lf a man walks
the earth as though it belongs to
him, we immediately conclude
that he must be a person of {mpor
tance; and if he is fortunate
enough to possess an Appearance
that seems a fitting habitation for
&1 e manry virtues we are eags—
to believe that he must be as good
and clever as he {s handsome.”
“Don’t you Ilike Mr. Delacour,
Norah ?*
“Oh, yes, we are very good
friends, but I don't think he is a
hero of romance, though he may
look like ons. On the contrary, he
can be remarkably practical and
prosajc. But don't be disconcerted,
child. You are not singular in your
opinions. You will find plenty of
people to agree. with you that a
beautiful soul looks out of those
beautiful eyes. Only"-—under her
breath—*"l happen to know better.”
.Miss Lethbridge was among
those who received an invitation
to Lady Estcourt's dance. She
would naturally expect to be asked
and Norah hoped she would come.
Bhe was anxious to get their meet
ing over, and she thought it would
be easler if 1t took place in a
erowd, where there would be little
opportunity for conversation.
_ Miss Lethbridge accepted the in
vitation, and her manner when
they met was perfectly amiable
and composed; there was not a
hint of anything being wrong. She
did all that courtesy required of
her, and she h§d never done more;
there had never been any pretense
of friendship between the two wo
men. But as she passed on into
the ballroom Lady Estcourt looked
after her with a qualm of mis
gliving.
“It doesn’'t seem mnatural,” che
was thinking, “I can't understand
it. Why has she kept quiet all this
time? She is not a woman to for
get or forgive. Besides, she has al
ways hated me; she hates me still,
I could see it just now behind all
her smiles and civility. Her eyes
betrayed her.”
. . . . . -
“Well, does it come up to your
expectations?” Mr. Delacour asked
Felicity, when the night was half
over. “How do you like being
“mwfl \ID'?"
“It’s delightful,” khe answered,
with enthusiasm. “I never knew
before it was so good to be alive,
though I've always thought it a
pleasant thing.”
He looked at the slim young fig
ure gowned with costly simplicity
in delicate white; at the bright,
eager face, which looked out on the
world and found it “very good”
and he felt a pang of envy and re
gret. He had had hig youth and
spent it, and what was the result?
“It 1s good to be young,” he said;
“I don’t know that it is so good to
be alive. The older you get the
more you doubt it. I suppose that
{s why they say that those whom
the gods love die young. They go
out at high tide, before they have
lost a hope or an fllusion.”
The musical voice was goft and
regretful and the girl's bright face
clouded over.
“But you,” she said, wistrully,
“you cannot have felt that yet?
Surely life has been good to you?”
And her eyes spoke her innocent
admiration. “I should have esaid
that you were a favorite of for
tune.”
“The heart knows its own bit
terness,” he replied. “I have had
my opportunities and wasted them,
and now the tide {s turning. Every
day it takes away a little more
hope and energy, every day it
leaves more wreckage behind. In
a few years I shall have lost even
the wish so do anything.”
“Don’t say that,” she cried, im
pulsively; “I don’t like to hear you.
l}v gounds unhappy, and I want
every one to be happy to-night. I
want all the omens to be favorable
for me,” with a laugh. “I am
dreadfully superstitious and should
like to keep a private oracle, like
the old Greeks and Romans did, to
consult on all important occa
slons.”
“If it will help you, consider me
the gayest of the gay,” he saidy gal
lantly. “I think to-night we are all
at your Majesty’s command. You
are the queen of the revels and we
are here to do you honor.”
“How nice. I have never been
so important before. And you
really will enjoy yourself?” half
laughing, half in earnest.
“If you promise me another
dance,” he said, smiling down on
her, and her heart throbbed a little
faster as she met his eloquent
glance, “I cannot manage it under
any lesser conditions. 80, for your
own sake--that all the omens may
be favorable--you had better pay
me my price.”
“Very well,” she sald, as she
seratched through a name on her
progratme, “but if it gets me Into
trouble 1 ghall put all the blame
on you"
Then she was hurried off by her
next partner, who had been looking
for her for some time in vain. He
was a young man, Archie Rendel
by name, and, feeling a little ag
grieved, he rushed on his fate,
“I am afraid you'll find me rather
a poor substitute forWMr. Dela
cour,” he said. *“I have heard that
nobody can walts .like he does
One of my partners has alresdy
told me tonight that it is the
poetry of motion*
“Then I will spare you,” she re
plied, “though it is true all the
same. But then,” mischievously,
“I ghould think Mr. Delacour would
do anything well that he did at all,”
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