The Rhos Herald

[ALL RIGHTS BMKRVBD.} A Broken Idol BY ELLEN LEYS, Author of "The Queen's Necklace," Mr. Feather- stone's Flirtation," lice. A man and a girl stood facing each other In one of the recesses of Waterloo Bridge. Even in the dim twilight of the dull March evening one could see that she was a woman of exceeding bi!aty, and just now there was on her face a I ok of indignation, almost of pain, that seemed to fascinate the man before her. He, her three months' accepted lover, had never realised as yet, it seemed to him, the surpassing loveliness of the girl he had won by his passionate pleading. The deep blue eyes of wounded love looking so appealingly at him from under their sweeping lashes, the masses of chestnut hair rumed by the evening wind, the red mouth with its pathetic curves, drew his heart to her with fresh cords of affection, and he could hardly refrain, even on that public highway, from throwing his arms round her, and covering her face with burning kisses. The intensity of his gaze made her shrink back a pace. "I cannot do it, Edgar; indeed, I cannott You ought not to ask it of me." In an instant his mood changed. "And this is what you call love? You have never loved me, Isabel!" The girl said nothing. Her lover turned end looked moodily down at the grey river. "You don't trust me; and what is love without trust?" He turned and looked at her again, his dark eyes searching her face. For a moment she held silence. Then she eaid in a low voice and tremulous, "Why can't we be married before we leave London? You say that there is a splendid opening for you in the Argentine, and that as soon as you hear definitely about it you must start. And you wish me to go with you. I am ready to take you at your word. But why can't we be married in London, instead of waiting till we get to Havre?" "I have explained that. If you trusted me as a girl ought to trust her affianced husband you would make no difficulties. We are alone in the world. We have no one to consider. That, we agreed, was one compensation for our loneliness, our entire dependence on each other. But you cannot really have felt. that. You do not know what love means after all!" Tears rose to the girl's beautiful eyes, but she brushed them away, and by a strong effort controlled her voice. "You are unjust to me," she said, quietly. "It is very late. I must go." She held out her hand, but he would not take it. "If we part now, we part for ever," he eaid. "I cannot help it, Edgar. If you think, you will see that I can give no other answer." "Here's a 'bus coming that will suit you," he said in cold, sullen accents. She walked beside him to meet the omnibus. "You will write to me, perhaps?" she said in a low tone as she stepped in. "Good night." "Good-bye," he answered, and the differ- ence of the word struck coldly upon her ear. All through the long journey to her lodg- ings at Chelsea Isabel's heart was rent with conflicting emotions. At one moment she was the prey to the deepest compunction. How coldly, how unkindly, she had treated Edgar No wonder he was angry! Then other thoughts came to her. He ought not to ask it. He ought to have seen it was impossible she would travel 1vith him until they were married A sleepless night followed, and when she started next day to go to the National Gallery to put the finishing touches to a Turner she was copying. Isabel looked the shadow of her beautiful self. She worked hard, trying to drown thought. Once or twice she fancied she heard Edgar coming, as he sometimes did in his luncheon hour, and suddenly becoming aware of the figure of a man in the doorway behind her, she turned quickly round. But no, it was another man—one whom she had seen several times lately at the Gallery-a man whose face attracted her by its expression rather than by any handsomeness of feature—one whose portrait she fancied she would like to paint some day when she had mastered her art. He would come and stroll slowly round the room, and would end by standing in the door- way. He would move away in a few minutes, as if afraid of annoying her by his near pre- sence, and so he did now. A month passed. Every evening for the first week Isabel went to the bridge, the usual trysting-place, but her lover never came, nor did he write to her. She went twice again, but as there was no sign of Edgar, she made up her mind that he had given her up, his pride unable to bear her mistrust. She removed her engagement ring, and sent it back to him with the few little pre- sents he had given her. Then she burned his letters and his photograph. That chapter of her life was closed, and she felt very, very lonely. Next day she met a friend, Marion Dy- mock, a girl who earned her living by writing fiction. "Isabel!" the girl stopped short, her kind face showing deep concern. "What is amiss? You are surely working too hard?" "Oh, no." "You are looking so wan Something is troubling you?" 0 "No. I don't know. Perhaps." Isabel's voice broke. "I am feeling rather lonely, I think. "And so am 1. And I've just had a bit of good luck. Moonbeams ga ve me 'twenty- five pounds for my last novelette, and I mean to spend it on a long holiday. Will you come with me?" "I should love to!" The girls soon made their plans, and oil the first day of May they started for Shanklin. By careful management Marion's funds were made to last six weeks, and June had spread her golden web over land and sea when the girls started alone for a long row On the last evening of their holiday. Marion took the sculls. She was a strong rower, and pulled farther than she had in- tended. "You promised me the oars, Marion," said Isabel, as they turned homeward. Do you think you should, Isabel? There is a stiff breeze from shore, and you're not ery strong." v How can you say so? See what a differ- ence these six weeks have made in me!" Isabel began to pull quickly, but soon she « to give in. I'm done for, Marion. I must stop." $h!" 8 will change. Slowly now, Isabel— Isabel, instead of shipping her oars. had WH&ifcS ( let them lie in the rowlocks, and one had slipped out and floated away. t What shall we do?" came from Isabel's S wfnte lips. I "Sit down—quick, Isabel Give me the ? other oar. 111 try to paddle after it." j But the was a vain one. The little j oar -was soon carried beyond all hope of re- j eovvry, and the girls were left in their light j boat at the mercy of the waves. I For some time neither of them spoke. At ¡ last Isabel said: I "Is there any hope of our being seen from the shore?" "We must hope. We can't do anything," said Marion. May, I don't mind for myself, but you—and through my fault!" "Don't dear! There are plenty of steamers about. If one comes along before dark, we II shall be seen." An hour passed. The sky grew dark; the wind freshened; a few rain drops fell, and .1 the little boat drove helplessly along. I What is that?" cried Isabel. Her voice was almost a scream. Suddenly, out of the ¡gioom, the white hull of a yacht rose above them. It had appeared like a spectre, glid- ¡ ing noiselessly upon the waves. I Hallo! Boat ahoy 1 Hold her off! Throw them s rope I" j Cry after cry sounded out of the darkness, t and then lights llashed-a rope was thrown- and before Isabel could realise what had happened, she felt herself half lifted over the side of the yacht. Strong hands were held out to steady her; a bright flare lit up the scene, and Isabel's bewildered eyes met those of the man to whom in her nervousness she was still dialing. Bright, black, eager, and now ablaze with anger, the eyes were those of Edsrar Rochester, ï "Edgar!" The name broke from her un- tieden. "Silence! Curse You He dropped her hands, and she fell faint- ing on the planks. When Isabel recovered consciousness, she found herself in a tiny, luxurious cabin re- clining in a lounge chair, while Marion, rest- ing in another, greeted her friends awaken- ing with a bright smile. "I am thankful to see your eyes open again!' she whispered. Oh, May, are we saved, or is it only a dream?" "We are quite safe—picked up by a yacht." Not his V Whose P "Edgar's!" Dear Isabel! Your thoughts are wander- ing still," "No, no! He is here. I saw him. He lifted me on board. We must get away as soon as we can. I am afraid of him. He looked so strangely at me!" The yacht is not his, at any rate. It be- longs to Sir Malcolm Tennant. He is on board." "Can we not ask him to put us ashore at oncc)" Marion touched an electric bell, and the steward appeared. "Is Sir Malcolm on deck?" asked Marion. "I believe he is, madam." "Please tell him, then, that if convenient we would like to see him for a minute or two." In a few minutes the owner of the yacht ap- peared. He was a man of about thirty-five, tall and well-built, with deep-set Scotch grey eyes, and a face which, though not handsome, had a peculiar charm of expression. To Isabel the face was not that of a per- fect stranger. Surely that man did not come now for the first time into her life? His manner confirmed the impression, for he looked shy and self-conscious as he re- turned Isabel's bow. "Pray do not think us too selfish," she said, "but we wished to ask when you could land us. We are anxious to get home, and we do not like to intrude longer than need be on your hospitality." "I am sorry it is of so poor a nature. But the Lorelei has accommodation of a sort for ladies. My sister and a friend of hers some- times come for a run with me. If you can make yourselves comfortable for a few hours I should be very glad. We are bound now for France "France!" The word came in a cry of dis- may from the girl. "I am sorry. But I will bring you back to- morrow. I think I can promise to land you at Shanklin in the evening. It vexes me to disappoint you. Have you friends who will be worrying about you? I will telegraph as soon as possible." "No, no. It is not that." "Then let me entreat you not to trouble yourself for any other reason. Your friend," he added, turning to Marion, "lias been very much distressed by this adventure. Can you not persuade her to look upon this as a plea- sure trip?" There w*s a tenderness, a pleading in his look and voice that touched Marion. There was more than the friendliness of a kindly stranger in his manner. The love of romance in the novelist's heart bore her away. bbe threw her weight on his side. "it f'It is quite true, Isabel," she saill.It niakes no real difference to us, and this gentleman is so kind as to say we do not in- convenience him very much." "Tlieii you will try to make yourselves happy, and I hope you will try to take some supper." "You are very kind," murmured Isabel, and with a sudden impulse she stretched out her hand. "I can trust you, I know "1 think you may," he said, eagerly taking possession of the slender hand. "I have no desire but to please you. I would turn back at once, but I have given a promise to a friend." „ "Then you must not break faith for me, she said gently. "If it had been necessary for your happi- ness or comfort, I fear I should have felt bound to!" he said. "Good-night. I hope i you will both be able to rest." j "Good-night, and thank you again," said Marion. "Good-night!" said Isabel. And as the door closed she cried, "Oh, Marion, how dif- ferent he is from—him An hour later the girls were settled for the' night, and Marion soqn fell into a deep un- troubled sleep. Isabel, however, could not rest, knowing that within a few yards of her was the man whose affianced bride she had ao lately been. She had chosen the top berth under the open porthole, and in the stillness of tbo Hight the voices of two men fell distinctly upon her ear. They were those of Rochester and Sir Malcolm Tennant. We could reach Havre by two, do you say, Tennant?" "Easily." "Xhes -make, it Havre, please, and not Dinan. I have been looking up trains, and find if I landed at Havre I could save three or four hours. My uncle is an irascible old chap. If I fail to meet him in Paris, he will never forgive me, for he cannot speak a word of French, and all my chances in life will be ruined. "It makes no difference to me. Indeed, it will suit me better, for it might give us time to put back to Southsea and land these ladies." "Put back to Southsea Surely not, Ten- nant ?' "Why not?" "You will ruin my chances! I ask you to make this change so that I can get to Paris more quickly, and you propose putting back to Southsea Rochester's voice sounded loud and angry. "There is not the smallest need for you to be so nervous, Evenden," replied Sir Mal- colm calmly. "I'll do nothing to hinder you. I'll give MacCormack orders to make straight for Havre." "Thanks, old fellow. When a man feels his whole future hangs in the balance it makes him nervous. Good-night, I'll turn in now." "Havre Havre Yes-it was there he had wanted to take her, but he had spoken of no uncle. He had said he must catch a steamer to the Argentine. And what was that Sir Malcolm had called him Evenden? Surely she was not mistaken. It wars Edsrar Rochester whom she had seen and heard." Isabel sat up. A panic fear seized her. Edgar wanted to get her to Havre This was not the original distillation of the yacht. He had changed his mind since he saw her on the vessel' But what could he do if he did get her to Havre? She would stay below all the time they were in port, and once he had left the ship she would be safe. But the fear within her would not be quieted. She slipped to the floor, put on her dress, threw over her head and shoulders a soft blue rug that served as a coverlet to her bed, and crept upstairs. Sir Malcolm was standing alone. She moved softly toward him, and he turned sharply at the sound. Lifting her hand to en- join silence, Isabel came to his side. The man smothered a cry. How beautiful she was! The loveliness of her features was enhanced by the wistful, pathetic look in her wonderful eyes. "You will think me very strange—very cap- ricious, but I cannot help it. I entreat you to take me back to England. I dare not stay on this yacht!" "Will you tell me why?" He spoke to her gently, as one does to a frightened child, and len, as if he had known her for years instead of minutes, he put her on his arm, and bade her lean on him put her hand on his arm, and bade her lean on him while she told him her story. In broken phrases and with many a blush, she told him all. "I am afraid of Edgar—I don't know why It is unreasonable I suppose, but, oh, I dare not go to Havre on the same ship with him "He cannot harm you. He has no claim ou you now. 1 will take care of you-I pro- mise you that. Will you trust me?" "Yes—yes, I do—I can But still I am afraid. Forgive me Bear with me in my foolishness "Rest here a moment. Nobody will dis- turb you." In a few minutes he was at her side again. "I have consulted with my sailing master. He says we can manage to put you off at Southsea and get back to Havre. So we shall reverse our course at once." "How can I thank you?" "Don't thank me for anything I do for you!" he said gently. She was silent for a few moments. Then she said: "Surely I have met you before somewhere? Yet I do not remember you by name." "You are not a stranger to me," he said aoftly; "I know you very well." She looked at him earnestly. Ah !now I know! You came to the Gal- lery sometimes." "Very often. May I hope that we may be friends always now? I should be sorry not to think that! I owe you so much. And now I will go down- stairs." Their hands met in a warm grasp. Then he led her to the cabin, and as he came on deck again, and looked out over the sea, a smile of great gladness rested on his face. • » I Dawn was breaking when the girls came on deck to see Soutnsea near at hand. Sir Malcolm met them and insisted on wrapping Isabel in a large plaid, for the morning air was chilly. Then he went to perform the same service for her friend, but it seemed to be a difficult matter to arrange Marion's wrap to his satisfaction, for he stood over her for several minutes, and the two ap- peared to have a good deal to say to each other. Before the ship reached the pier, a boat was seen pulling out to the yacht. A man in policeman's dress hailed the •vessel. "Are you the Lorelei?" "Yes." The reply came from Sir Malcolm. "Have you a Mr. Rochester on board?" "No!" "Rochester! Marion! Marion!" Isabel turned and clung to her friend. The man went on. "I suppose we may take your word for it?" "Indeed you may. There is no one of that name on board "I ought to speak, do you say, Marion? Oh, no, I cannot!" Isabel turned her face away. "How could I betray him, whatever he may have done? Don't Marion, don't!" "What's up? Where are we?" Roused by the stir above, Edgar Rochester had thrown on his clothes and rushed up on deck. He looked about him in amazement, astonished at finding the yacht so near the shore. "Who is that gentleman? He is very like our man," shouted the polipe officer. "My friend-Captain Evenden." "Oh!" The man consulted with two others. "We are coming aboard," he cried, and in a moment the three policemen were clamber- ing up the side of the yacht. Even yet, Rochester did not take in the meaning of the scene. "This is Southsea!" he cried, looking at Sir Malcolm. I "Yes; we are putting the ladies ashore." One of the men came up to Rochester. "That's him, sure enough!" he cried. "I don't know what he may call himself to you, sir," he continued, turning to Sir Malcolm, "bnt1 he's Edgar Rochester, wanted for forgery and one or two other small matters." "Be careful what you say. You cannot have it all your own way," cried Sir Mai- eolm, his face showing strong indignation, and he turned to hail a police inspector who was standing at the end of the pier waiting for the yacht to come alongside. t The men closed upon Rochester. He made ( mo resistance, but took a step towards Isabel. t "This is your doing-you have been false to me aU along!" he said. "No, no 1 The cry rang from the girl's pale lips, and she shrank back. The yacht was at the pier—the cable was being thrown. All at once there was a scene of confusion. The prisoner had freed himself from his guardians, dealing one a stunning blow, throwing the other against the sharp corner of the companion way. With one bound he reached Isabel, caught her in his arms, and sprang with her into the sea. A heavy splash —the agonised shout of a man-a second splash as he, too, leapt into the sea, and to Marioa, standing alone, bewildered, almost stunned, it seemed as if the waters had closed for ever over the group of three struggling in the waves. < w < < Brighl Aragnsfc sunshine flooded the room; great bowls of roses filled it with their per- fume. On a couch drawn before the window looking out upon woodland and cornfield, lay Isabel Grey, her faithful friend at her side. "Here are peaches and grapes, Isabel, from Sir Malcolm, and a little note asking me if you are strong enough to see him to- day., "Shall I, Marion?" A bright, pink flush suffused the girl'a cheeks; her long lashes veiled her eyes. "I think so—he has been rery patient." "I owe him so much. I can hardly face him." "Hear what he has to say about that." "Say 'Yes* then." Marion wrote a line and dispatched it. "Come here, May. I want you to tell it to me all over again. "That story? There isn't much to tell. When that awful man tried to drown you with himself. Sir Malcolm saved you from him. He is an anasually strong swimmer, but it taxed all his strength to free you from the hold of that man. He—Rochester—was badly hurt, and sank before they could save him." "What had he done?" "Embezzled money, forged, all sorts of dreadful things. His accomplice gave infor- mation, for Rochester kept delaying, hoping to get more money together, and the other thought lie was playing him false. The reason he wanted to marry you at Havre was that there would be danger of exposure if his name was to appear in a Registrar's office." "'And afterwards?" Oh,. what I went through that day! It took hours for you to recover consciousness, and' he—Sir Malcolm—was beside himself. We carried you to a nursing home at South- sea, and directly you began to get better Sir Malcolm had you brought to this cottage. It is on his Hampshire estate. And here, dar- ling, you have been nursed back to life and happiness." "Happiness?" "S url-ly Isabel, Sir Malcolm has loved you for months—ever aiiie-, he saw you one clay iai the Gallery. But he saw the engage- ment ring on your finger, and he worshipped in silence." "How did he know him?" "They were schoolfellows. Then when Evenden—that was his real name—got into straits, he imposed on Sir Malcolm. Of course, Sir Malcolm did not know he was a fugitive. He just asked him to go for a trip, and Eveiiden begged to be taken to France." Morning.hp.d given place to drowsy after- noon. No sound save the buzzing of bees broke the stillness. Then the step 'of a man on the path beneath Isabel's window sent the colour leaping to her pale face. He passed through the open door of the house, paused an instant on the threshold of the room, and then came in. She rose and took a step to meet him, but all her new found strength failed her; she tottered a little and put out her hands. He held them in his firm grasp. "Thank you for letting me come: he said, gently. "What can I say to you?" she whispered, lifting eyes of maiden shyness. "There is only one thing I want to hear you say," he answered softly, "and I cannot hope for that yet. "Wha.t is it?" "If you can learn to say it-I will wait for you and not persecute you—what I now say to you with all my soul and heart-I love you! "It will not need- much learning," she whispered, and with a cry of joy he folded her in his arms.