LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2626, 7 September 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

MARGARET WAYLAND’S HUSBAND.

‘And this was tho end •of■ it all ? Was her happy wedded life to come to this only Margaret Wayland asked herself the questions bitterly, as she pressed both bands to her aching head, and looked out at the drea y storm. To moirow the sun would shine, and the flowers be all the sweeter for the rain—but for her—she must walk In the shadow, and the darkness of he? life could never bo brightened. How bsppy she had beenl Who, among alb the friends who saw her lay her hand in Ralph Wayland’n and promise to cling to him in riohea and in poveity, in sickness and In health—who wonld have predicted such a future as she saw before her nowf How she had worked and planned and saved, that they might have a home of their own.; and how happy she was when tbe money was counted out, and Ralph brought the deed home. She had worn it in her bosom all day, and sung glad little songs over it:; and now - only the sight of baby Nell, asleep in her crib, with one white arm thrown over the sunny head, keeps her heart from breaking. :-<ally she goes about the room, and touches each loved object with the tender, loving touch we give the dead. Everything was so de*r to her. Yonier marble bust over the door Balph hai given her on her birthday. That lovely landscape she had surprised him with one Christmas eve. Pictures were a passion with Ralph, and his wife knew just how many times he had stopped before a window down town and wished for this very one. Her tears fall as she thinks she shall never sec these precious treasures again. But she stops longest over a rosebush in the window, which Balph had given her in her girlhood. In that golden time of life which comes batonoe to us all—and the tears fall faster as she break off a blossom, and put it away In her bosom. Her plans are made. She thought them all over last night after she left Balph aud Jeanie Cameron singing together In the parlor below; and when Ralph came up at last he thought her sleeping ; and so she had lain watching the shadows flicker on tho wall, until the morning had broken and the sun came in, red and yellow, through tho blinds. Jeanie Oame/on came to them two months before—came, she said, ‘because Balph was tbe only kin she bad in the wide world, and aba felt so alone and helpless by herself.’ She was a cousin, twice removed, of Ralph’s, and Margaret bad never even heard of her until that April day, when she flattered in upon them with a face like an acgel’s and pretty baby ways, that won her heart in once, bhe possessed a fortune more than sufficient to keep her in elegance all her days, but she was ‘so tired of the Loth and emptiness of fashionable life ; and this was such a quiet village ; aud what a delightful little home they had, with the sweetest mistress in all the world, she was sure,’ she added, as she gave Ralph’s wife a timid kiss.

_ And so Markaret had gone blindly on for six weeks, suspecting nothing until she was rudely awakened, but, alas! too late, to bridge the gulf which had opened between Balph and herself. Jeanie seemed so innocent that when, at evening, she would nestle down on a footstool close to Ralph, with the firelight falling on the golden hair and sweet up-turned face, the wife only smiled and thought how fortunate it was the child was an heiress, and that the little snowflake hands would never have to toil for daily bread. She often left them playing ohess, or singing some quaint old love song, while she pat Nell to bed, or attended to some household duty: and on the sunny June days went on till that bitter, bitter awakening had come to her. It was only la.t night—hut how long ago it reamed. She had intended to spend the evening at a quiet gathering at a neighbor’s house. Jeanie had refused to go, pleading indisposition, and Ralph had urged an nnusnal press of business at the office, which would detain him till late; so Margaret had decided to stay at home, bat Jeanie’s sweat voice had entreated her ‘ not to stay on her account—oh, no! she wouldn’t be the least afraid, or lone'y either, for there was her new book.’ Ralph harried down town and Margaret went to her own room to make her slmp T e toilet for the evening. While dressing, Patty, the mald-of-all-work, came to ask permission to go home, as her mother was taken suddenly ill, Margaret could not refuse the grief-stricken girl, who instantly hastened away. Obliged now to relinquish her visit, and thinking she wonld not disturb Jeanie, Margaret parsed down to the kitchen to finish the work which Patty's sadden departure had left In more than ueual chaos.

Half an hour later she went softly upstairs, and glancing In at little Nell in her whi’.e bed, was abont to descend again, when her footsteps were arrested by voices below, and with blanched face and her heart sinking like as' one in her bosom, she looked down upon Jeanie Cameron and Ralph her husband ! They stood under the hall light. Ralph had just entered, and Jeanle’s white arms bad flattered up to his neek and drew his handsome faoe down to her own, while she lavished kisses and loving words upon him. Then oame floating up to the outraged wire hor husband’s voice, saying tenderly—- * And so, my bonny Jeanie, we're to have an evening by ourselves 1 Margaret has gone, of course?’ ‘Oh, yes—an hour ago J What a blissful time we will have, darling, and then, you know—"

The rest was lost to her by the closing of the parlor door. And what did she do, you ask ? Wife and mother—wonld yon not have crept down stairs as she did—and crouching down by the door, have listened to words that drove the blood to her heart, leaving the face white and cold as death P When ehe heard all, she tottered to her feat, and up to her own room, convulsively clenching her hands to keep from crying out with agony. “Oh, could it be. or was she geing mad! Did she hear her husband—her own bus band —the idol that she had set np and worshipped as all that was good and true and noble—did she hear him planning to fly with that false woman—that fiend with an angel’s face—that serpent who had crept Into their Sdea to destroy itf’ They were going to Italy. Ralph was to realise hia dream at last. JHe could revel in

the old paintings and all the wonders of that land of beauty and art and poetry. Her money was to give him this ; her beauty was to compensate for loss o? wife and child. ‘ Oh, Ralph I Ralph! my darling, my darling, ’ she moaned, In her blind love, only blaming at first the beautiful siren who had brought this woo upon her Bat Margaret Wayland was no woman to go mad, or take another’s life. So, with the fi.st groat horror ove come, she thought soberly and long upon It, and laid all her plans. Calmly she mot he? husband the next morning, and, when Ralph Wayland kiised his wife goodbye, she knew it was for the last time —that till the day of her death she would never again ‘ look In her darling’s eyes nor ton; h the faithless lips.’ Calmly, then, she turned a smiling facs towards Jeanie Cameron's fair, dimpled beauty, her blue morning robe miking the white skin still whiter by contrast—the cheeks like peach blossoms— two or three stray onvls dropping down on the snowy neck, the little hands lying idle in her lap, and the blue eyes innocently rai- ed to Margaret’s 1 For this d; 11 face he would deeart htr 1’

That evening, when the train left Brookfield on It way to New York, the gray twilight looked in the ooach window upon the quiet, pale face of a woman, holding in her arms a sleeping child—and that night, when Ralph Wayland came home from the office, he found Jeanie alone, and unable to say where Margaret had gone. ‘ She had come in,’ Jeanie said, ‘dressed for travelling, with the whitest face she had ever seen, and -given her a note for him ; she did not dare to a«k her a question —she looked so stern—and here was the note, and sea If if—* And here Jeanie Cameron fell senseless on the floor while Ralph Wayland looked down with startled eyes upon these words—

‘ May God forgive yon, Balph! I never can. —Margaret.’ Margaret Wayland found her work and did it. It was not easy, but it kept her aud her babe Nell from starving and what more did she want P It was a ein to die, so she must work to live. Her heart was still bitter towards Ralph, and her only comfort was little Nell’s sweet face; and when, at last, she had to lay her away for ever, with the baby’s eyes shut, never more to open, she felt as if her final hope on earth was gone. But while sae mourned, and longed for death, the billows of war swept over the land, and Margaret found her way to the dead and dying. One day, among tho wounded brought in after a terrible battle, was the man whom she had once called her husband 1

‘He will not live till to-morrow, ’ the sargeon said, after he had dressed the wound and given him Into Margaret’s charge ; ‘ yon need give him nothing but a little brandy now and then —it Is utterly useless,’ and Doctor Maxfie'd walked away, little guessing the tumult raging in the breast of hia most faithful nurse.

She sat down quietly bsslde the sleeper. The lamp showed her a worn, sad face, with deep hallows In the cheeks, and grey streaked hair. She softly laid her hands on the curls that for five long years she had not touched, and wondered, with an apathy that surprised herself, when Jeanie Cameron’s white fingers had last rested there. Where was this woman who had set a gulf of years between her and her husband?—yes, her husband, for ho was hers now—death was bringing him back to her—her husband, the father of her child! She forgot all the anguish this man’s perfidy had brought her, and only remembered the old days and the tender words he had said to her away in the New England hills, far from the dreary hospital. -And when the weary eyes opened end looked at her with a gleam ot recognition in their sad depths, she bent low over the white face, and said, in the old girlish way—- • Ralph, it is I—yonr little Maggie ; don’t yog know me, dear ?’ ■At last! at last! Thank God. I’ve found you, my Margaret, my pearl!’ and the dying man gased at her with a joy unspeakable. Then, as Margaret laid her Ups on his, he murmured, ‘ You forgive me, darling, do you V The look of perfect love In her tear filled eyes needed no words to Interpret it. And then he told her how the few lines which he had found awaiting him, five long years ago, had shown his treachery, with a shook that left him no thought save to find his wife and child, and beg her to forgive, and let him make amends. The spell walch had enthralled him was broken for ever; the woman who had enohante 1 him had fled, he knew not where. * All these years I sought yon, Margaret, hoping and fearing. I would not believe yon dead, yet knew not where to find you. JBut now, 1 thank Ood that he has brought you to me.’ The feeble voice ceased, Margaret put her hand in his again. The lamp.flared and flickered and expired. The sufferers slept. And when at last the morning light broke in, It showed a dead hand clasping a dead hand, while the sun threw a gleam of glery upon two faces, shadowed by the wing of the death angel.