The Northern Guardian. — 1894-12-06 (Hartlepool, Cleveland, England)

CHAPTER XXV.  DISENCHANTED?  Hilda asked Egerton that afternoon if he cared to !escort her to the Haymarket, but he pleaded his previous engagement, and he would certainly have !ramie an engagement on the spot if there had been !I none in reality. Ffilda believed it a made-up excuse when she saw Bertie at the theatre with Louis Davenant, but she smiled to herself. Vogue Li gakee. Claude must know of this, of course; his young wife would hardly dare to deceive him in a matter of which he was safe to hear from someone. To be sure, there was no harm at present! Hilda herself was not satisfied with the interview of that afternoon. Was she losing ground with Egerton, or was it only some mood? Perhaps he was vexed about Bertie's going to the theatre to-night, and he had only known of it too late to interfere without giving to the matter undue significance. Whatever the ,eason of the change in him, he was certainly more of the "friend" and less of the "lover" than usual. Was it a lit a self-disgust? Well, it would pas.; men of the finer calibre were subject to that sort of thing, libt these compunctions were like the good resolutions of drunkaeds—they did not last. Only, Hilda was forced to confess that her promised triumph was still as far off as ever; she had not yet got beyond a certain point. Would she ever do so? Semetiiing seemed always to hold him back from entire surrender. There seemed to be no thought of heing her lover in any other sense than he was now. Was this because honour was stronger than passion, or because passion had not complete mastery ? Was that child. Hilda asked herself, who did not even appoar to reproach him for his failure. still a sheet-anchor of faith to him ? But so vain a woman as Hilda Lockwood was—though it was, vanity of a type not open and manifest—could hardly be grateful to a lover for a reticence which the did not believe arose from respect for her, bat from respect for his own and his wife's honour, which us passion was not strong enough to override. "I !ma! conquer," Midi said to he:self, leaning back in her box, and watching Bettie, "I will triumph! If that girl is between us, after all, he shall forget her...  Was Claude Egerton's illood that thy, as Hilda conjectured, a fit of self .diagtist; or was it partly that—aroused perhaw by that interview with Bertie in the morning,—and p.utly an tutreognisetl step— perhaps net the first—towards disenchantment ? I Heaven knows what it was—a leok, a tone, a word spoken; or ttnne of these, but the ever-deepening ::.ense of the difference between the very atmosphere of Bertie's presence anl ILldt•s; a feeling—when j 4 It first inter ?—was it recognised novi?—that the Hilda of four years ago and the Hilda of to-day were separated by many things ? Well, the man knew no:hing—felt nothing, definitely ; but a light heeeze will rale a surface current, and this current ran only on the surface of Egerton's life, though he lid not comprehend this. lie was troubled, netless, meittally unstrung. He turned iuto a club when be left the house where he had been visiting, tad played till the small hours. He was net a ;ambler; as a rule, he clred ii )thing at all for card olaying; but he wanted distraction, and there was nothing else to serve his purpose at this hour. The sun was gilding the eastern sky when he walked home.  Bertie was still awake. She had not close.l her eyes since she lay down, but stared with 'wide 3peu, tearless eyes at the low-turned lamp. Her (wain was throbbing, but nu', with a kind of excitement that made her restless; it was a dreary, hopeless sort of feeling. Inaidents of the evening were running confusedly in her heal: of the play; of Louis Davenant; things he had said—trivial things, perhaps; his manner; of people in front, especially Hilda Lockwool—how lovely she was—it was no wonder Claude loved her! but always in the background of her thoughts was that tragedy of Mrs. ~;cott; Muir. People often took chloral to get sleep; it must be a great temptation to have perfect ease , from that burning and .aching of the bear:, and the ;pulses beating, beating, and that sort of tension of the brain. Mrs. ScoM,-Muir took the chloral, and went to sleep and never woke! How awful to die in one's sleep I—to wake—,vliere ? How? How , would you kaodv you were dead, and not dreaming? But that poor creature who died? They said it was a mistake, she had taken too much chloral. It : might have been suicide after all, but then no one knew, no one ever would know. There was no disgrace. One life out of millions! It seemed nothing! It couldn't be wrong to take one's own life if it was to do a great good to someone loved, and to save shat one, perhaps, from sin; and the dead lips would keep their secret till the Last Day. Ne one would ever know!  She heard the opening of the door, almost noiseless though it ,was, and tunting, saw the tall figure coming to the bedside. Egerton paused, and bent down to her.  "Not asleep yet, sweetheart I" he said, softly.  'Ito; I was restless, and got thinking about stupid things." Ile did not ask "What thing 3 ?" she noticed that, bough she had not spoken to provoke the question —rather the contrary, but ha lifted her up to his breast, Ala held her there for some minutes before he laid her back on the pillow, kissiag her first, tenderly ; then he turned away, and passed on to Ida dressing-row.  (To PE