Page 4 Advertisements Column 5

Manawatu Herald, Volume III, Issue III, 3 September 1891, Page 4

A LONG LAUGH. H One day, when in the study of her hoiH then almost under the shadow of Wfl minster Abbey, Miss Harriet Martinß heard a prodigious shout of laughter onl staircase. Presently in came Thomas CH lyle, laughing aloud. He said he had bH laughing all the way from Charing CrM where he had been in a printing-office. |B soon as he could he told the lady what S the cause of his prolonged laughter. H had been to the office of his printersH expedtc the production of his " MiscellanieH ! his first work published in book fornM . London. In this, says Miss MartineH i almost every other word was altered by H author. ■ The manager said to the author, "S you are really very hard on us with y^J corrections ; they take a deal of time." mt I Carlyle observed that he had been " aceS ! tomed to this kind of thing, that he had {H I works printed at Edinburgh," &c, &c. ■ " Yes, indeed, sir." interrupted the piintfl | "we are aware of that. We have amH here from Edinburgh and when he took H a bit of your ' copy' he dropped it as iflj had burned his fingers, and cried oH " Lord, have mercy on us I Have you H < that terrible man to print for? The L« only knows when you'll get done." ■ Carjyleaaid be could not reply to this fm laughing, and had been laughing ever sindi LOVE IN HATE. ! "You had better come to me this Suilmer," Aunt Ryder had written to me ; " and we will talk over your plans together. I do not like . you to live alone.". 1 Alone I That was the word in the letter that struck like ice upon my. sore heart. I was utterly alone ! Even Aunt Ryder was my uncle's widow, not really related to me, though Elsie and I both loved her, Elsie was my step-sister, my second mother since my own died in my infancy, my teacher, friend, companion and comforter, And Elsie was dead. ' She was thirty-seven when she died. Wasting away slowly, I thought of no danger till it was too late. But I accepted Aunt Ryder's invitation, and was preparing to visit her for the summer, when I fonnd the key note to Elsie's life, her diary. I read it. lam not going to quote it here, but far back upon the yellow pages I read how my sister gave her heart years before to one Rodney Wallace ; how they had exchanged vows and rings, and a wedding day was set, and he left her to prepare a home in the city for his bride, and never returned. I burned the diary, because upon one ot the pages Elsie had begged I would if ever I ! read it. | Then I finished my packing, and went to J my Aunt Ryder. She was the widow of my mother's brother, and our grandfather's | estate was divided now between herself and j me. It was all mine after Elsie died. And I was an heiress,in a small way, having the I income of /io.oOb at my command. j Aunt Ryder took me to Brighton, and j insisted on my wearing thin, light, black j dresses and white lace. All my energies i seemed numbed by Elsie's death. We had been but a few days at Brighton, when Aunt Ryder, who is a handsome, sprightly woman, admired in society, met some friend she had known in Paris, where she had lived many years. She was quite excited over this meeting and insisted upon having a luncheon party at our cottage. " Do try to brighten up a little, Rhoda, for one of my pets, will be here 1" " And who is she ?" I asked, being accustomed to seeing Aunt Ryder pet everybody. j " This time it is he. He came to Paris ! some eighteen years ago, and your uncle i was very intimate with him. They were ' both artists and had a mutual admiration ! for each other's works. I have not seeii him: ! since I left Paris — nine — ten years ago," j "Does he happen to have anything so ' convenient as a name ?" I asked. i "Oh, yes, Rodney Wallace. He painted that portrait of mine over the piano at : home, with ' R. W. in one corner!" ■ Not an liour later, black dress, white roses, ghastly face and all, I was presented ; to a vail, grave man, with iron-grey hair, ar.d soft brown eyes, the very reverse of the gny Lothario I had 'pictured as the man who had "loved and rode away." J was young, romantic, and I hated this ' grave, sad man with all the impetuosity of my youth and romance, and yet he awed mo from the first. There was a grave patience abdut him that reminded me of J'lsio. And it was to me, to me who so Jiaiecl Mm, that he turned for cqmpanipnship all through that long summer time. And 1. little by little, learned a lesson I ' had not dreaded when near him. How could I love when 1 hated ? How could my heart be won by my sister's murderer ? So the dying days of August found me, no^rightened or benefited by my sojourn at Brighton, but pale, listless, wretched, tortured by my fidelity to the dead, my love and hate for the living. j. One resolve I made. I would never marry Rodney Wallace. Yet when he wrote to me, a manly, straightforward letter, asking my love, it cost me hours of wildest weeping to move my heart to refuse him. When I tried to nerve myself to send away the fatal letter I heard steps in the drawing-room, and then Aunt Ryder spoke : " Roddey," she said in a tender voice, as if she were speaking . to her own son, " you have made me very happy. I hoped this would happen when I_ introduced you to Elsie's sister." ; " Elsie's sister!" Rodney cried, harshly, as 1 had never heard him speak before. . "Hush! .Elsie was not false." " Not /alse ! •- -• ?Was she not my betrothed, almost my bride. Did I not love her with r all the strength of my heart? She broke 'my heart, she desolated my life I And now — now you fell me the woman I love, as I never hope to love again, is Elsie's sister 1" My heart throbbed almost suffocatingly : ! my brain reeled : the room 'seemed to grow j black and rock around me. But I heard Aunt Ryder speak. " Rodney, in those days in Paris when I knew but little of your story f ;I never dreamed •that it was Elsie you loved." • " But the truth ?" Rodney replied, " what \yas the truth ?" " Elsie did not write that letter. Elsie died, believing'' you false j[o her. She was her mother's heiress, Rodney, and her m&thet { married a villain". Were Elsie married, and hjs own chijd still, a mere baby, the' homo 'must be broken up, the money held in your control and that of the trustees, and so a forged letter was seat to you!' . ' d > " Does — she know ?" , "No one knows but me, no one ! My husband was with Elsie's;step-father when he died and heard this confession, too late j to remedy the* evil." \ ■ • "And— Rhoda?" > "rßhoda vrasr, so yourtj; she pirobibly never heard of Elsie's en^ufe'nsnt, Rsdaey. , Promise me yon' will never tell her. Rjnvjmber " that Bay. ml' W'oolston, 'fortune hunter, former a.s ho wis--was yet herfather." I stole softly upstairs, j Ova? my empty "rate f bnrnedmy iiibe. cruel letter, vowing in my utmost hVirt to lio itOvluiy's true c m 'orter and wife. j j •.-./'! : Jt -is* tw> years since' vve : wans -married. All th '■ s 1 ) r\ uvs are crone from mv husband's f:ir»!J:rv'l iv>. tells mo' his ni^'.Uiiiuu.c Vu.lnt.2j*. by tiVj /;„.'.; of love. j * -'(\