CHAPTER XIV.

Te Aroha News, Volume I, Issue 40, 8 March 1884, Page 4

CHAPTER XIV.

TRYING HOURS. A fortnight after the blind woman had taken to her bod, Mary was leaning over it one early morn while yet the feeble beams of the dawn, streaming warmly through the open window, wero too sickly to dispute the light of the still burning lamp. Her face was worn and pallid from ceaseless watching and heart-wearing cares, but it shone steadfast beneath a bravo resolve of heroic self-renunciation. "Mother, mother," she called gently, touching tenderly with her lips the wan, sunken face lying against the pillow, for poor, sensitive Mrs Converse had followed Mr Smith's cue more literally than he meant, and was really sinking away out of life from the very lack of vital strength for clinging to it. "Dear mother, aroyou awake?" "1 hear you, Mary, what is it ?" was the feeble return, with a flutter of the closed eyelids, and an aimless movement of the sightless eyes. " I want to tell you something, mother, something that will give you courage and strength, I trust. I am going to please you, mother," whispered Mary's pale lips across the pillow. " What can do that now? it is too late for anything to help me," was the querulous response. " No, not if you will rouse up and bo glad, and take an interest/ coaxed Mary. " Only one thing could bring that about." Bnb the feeble head was turned with a new interest. Mary saw the hopeful bign, and it gave her strength to speak what was worse to her than her own death-sentence. "I am going to write to Chester to-day, Mother, I shall ask him to give me back my promise, and then " — and here, despite her best efforts, her voice broke- "then 1 -will consent to marry Mr Smith." "He won't do it. You don't think he will yourself," complained the sick woman. " i shall show him the -whole case. He w ill see there is no other alternative. Besides Chester is very proud. You need not fear, lie w ill send me back my freedom," answered Mary, holding her \oice steady. "And you a\ ill many good, kind Mr Smith ? Give me your hand Mary, and say it again."' "When Chester sends me word that I am free I will marry Mr Smith. You and he may arrange everything,'' answered this noble daughter. " Heaven bo praised ! now 1 can die happy, or have the courage to live. God bhss you, Mary !" faltered the hick woman as she lifted both arms to clasp them around Mary's, neck. And tears mingled with their affectionate kisses. "I pray that He will endow me with strength to bear all," Mas Mary's petition. " Now you may give me the bowl of of gruel, and I w ould try the beef tea, too, if it was warm. I should like to see Mr Smith. I wonder if I couldn't to-morrow ?" Mary obtained strength herself from this proof of the w isdom of her decision. The patient that had lain passive, hopeless, apathetic, was already rousing to interest in life. She watched the face of the doctor who had shaken such an inexorable verdict the night before, when he made his midday visit, and saw it brighten. " Why, she is roused to take hold and help us. What have you done to her ? If she is going to pull with us, I think I may promise a safe passage out of this," he said. And cheered by this hope Mary went to her hard ta^k, and wrote her long, long letter to Chester Harris, hiding nothing, extenuating nothing, but simply showing him that inexorable duty demanded the sacrifice of her, aid she musl yield it. She did not shedany tears over it. Hermind was wrought into too exalted a devotion to be touched oy any woes of her own. But she breathed one prayer that Heaven's blessing might comfort and strengthen him when he broke the i- t.l and read ; that he might judge her 1 uthfully, without bitterness or miscone jtion, and somehow receive compensation for the loss she knew he would feel so deeply. Christopher Stone had gone away, called South by some abrupt summons, and so she had not his advice or assistance to lean upon. To Chester's melancholy father she tried to break the proposed change, and found no heart to grieve him further. Beside?, it seemed to her that his mind was failing him. He talked every time she visited him about dreams of prosperity and good fortune, and seemed so cheered by the fictitious light they lent his dreary life that she would not break the spell. She had a little doubt about Chester's whereabouts, since his la&t letter had suggested a run into Wales, and being feverishly anxious that there should be no delay in his receipt of this one, she came to the sudden determination to call on Col. Riveift and inquire if he had received later advices from his detective. A kind neighbour, in pity of her worn, pale face, seconded her proposal to take the fresh air, and took her place beside her mother's bed. Thus it happened that she found herself standing at Mrs Marohmont's handsome doorway, with her hand upon the silver bell-knob, early one afternoon before that fair lady had thought of dressing for dinner. All Mary's life was too self-poised and even to be fluttered into embarrassment or trepidation by such an experience. She rose from her seat in the library chair with calm and quiet grace, when Col. Rivers answered-her call, with his curt look of astonishment and surprise, and made known her errand in a few plain, lucid words. He had the grace to return her a respectful bow, while he replied that he hardly believed himself any better informed than she. He had followed the case with keen interest, but while the point seemed conclusively established that Mr Harris had Found the right man, there was a tantalising slowness of establishing proofs that had iisappointed him sorely. He did not expect further ad% ices until there was^ some new discovery to communicate, and his own Letters were older than hers. Mary rose with a patient sigh. "Thanks for your courtesy. I fancied Miss Yerrington would keep the closest watch upon their movements, and in Mr Stone's absence ventured to come here for further knowledge." A shade flitted across the Colonel's forehead. "Miss ( Yerrington is not here. She chose to relinquish my protection," he said, with a bitter sigh breaking through the formal tone. Mary's face showed her surprise. " Can you tell me where to find her, sir ?" Another gust of passion which his best efforts could not hide. "No. I am in ignorance myself. She chooses to keep me so." "This is a jangled world. How much trouble we all have !" murmured Mary, in that irresistible tone of hers, so full of kindly 3ympathy. "I am very sorry for her and for you." "Thank you. The circumstances are certainly trying for all connected with the unhappy affair." Mary had turned to leave, but before her adieu was spoken a servant entered with a paper box, and with a nervous look upon his face, set it upon the table.

" If you please, sir, a box from the gar dener's," he said, and hurried out as ii dreading an explosion of anger. The Colonel seemed to forget Mary* presence. tie strode forward with an angn, imprecation, and lifted his eyes hastily anc fiercely to thedaintily carved ivory calendar holder against the wall beneath the JTrencl clock. " That clay !" he muttered. "Is it thai accursed day of the month once more' Will it never stop, I wonder ?" And then, with looks of horror and shaking hands, ho tore open the dainty white wrap pings of the box, flung off the envelope oi white wool, and lifted up a) bunch of pansies whose rich purple and gold lighted up the the room with beauty as they wafted into ii their sable wave of fragrance. Mary rememberod the connection of these flowers with Helena Yerrington's sorrow " What !" exclaimed she, " can it be tha 1 the pansies still come for Miss Yerrington Surely this is worth tracing up !" "What, are you still here? Have yot come to pry out what you can find agains me ? Who said they ever came before, o that the flowers are for Helena ?" Mary stared at his angry, excited face ii deep astonishment, " I beg your pardon, s>ir — I — saw her nann on the wrapper — I did not mean " And here she paused abruptly, for onci entirely at a loss how to proceed. Meanwhile he had regained a little self command, and looked ashamed of hi violence. ' ' Excuse me, pray. I quite forgot myself I fear. I thought — but it is all one of tin unhappy results of this wretched affair. Fo Helena's sake I cannot help being moved you know. Will you accept the flowers, am take them out of my sight ? It is the sorr jest of some simpleton, sending them so Good-day." He thrust the flowers into her hands opened the door for her, and fairly hurriec her out of the room. ]N lary remem bered Christopher Stone's him upon the espionage kept over Col River.s and fell into a profound meditation. She went home, wrote a few simple lines directec to Miss Yerrington, and inclosed then in Chester's letter, unsealed, asking him te forward them if he knew of the lady's where abouts. That was all she could do, and her owr sore-pressing affairs claimed attention afterward. For Mr. Smith came in prompt response to the blind woman's hint. He was> very kind, very thoughtful, and generous. Mary could not deny it, and she did not try to conceal her appreciation from either of them when she beheld the almost miraculous change a week of careful nursing effected in the patient. The physician was in ecstasy, poor Mrs. Converse was radiantly happy, Mr. Smith triumphant and elated. Only poor Mary's heavy heart lay like a fro/en thing within her patient breast. The letter was gone, and was almost to its destination. Mary counted the days and houi'S, praying, day and night, that Heaven would soothe the shock of its ultimate arrival. All her numb misery was on Chester's account. For herself, was she not used to grief and trouble? It was only a little heavier and more enduring burden. Heaven tempers the wind to the .shorn lamb. She should be sustained somehow. Thus her numb thoughts ran drearily. Mr Smith lost nothing of the advantage gained. Everybody understood that the marriage was to take place. Exactly how or from whom they gained the intelligence remained a mystery, when Mary found spirit enough to declare that there was no engagement, and could not be until her word to Chester Harris was given back. " But it is the same thing, of lourse," said Mrs Converse proudly. And " Of course it is," echoed Mr Smith. "I shall make every preparation for a prompt marriage to take place the very week the European mail gets in. And Mary agrees to it. What do you call that but an engagement?" And so dextrously did he manage, through the invalid mother's critical condition, that Mary could not refuse, beyond one pitiful protest, when a dressmaker put in appearance, with her arms filled with soft pearl silk, blonde lace, and white satin ribbons. "Mr Smith, I pray you do not be too hasty," she implored, rushing away from the finery that was thrown shimmering in lustrous splendonr upon the invalid's couch for her stroking fingers to admire, and appearing before the elated would-be bridegroom with painfully flushed cheeks and drooping humiliated eyes. Remember until that letter of release comes, I am still bound. I havo no right to give, nor you to claim. Let all this rest until the letter comes." "But my dear, sweet child, it is not my own impatience I urge, though I might truthfully, and not dishonourably. It is your mother's nervous expectations I am so anxious to relieve. You believe such a letter will come— he would be a pitiful scoundrel to withhold it — and the very next day after its arrival I mean to give your mother her proper place, and take to my rejoicing; home its charming mistress. It would be cruel to your mother to delay, and very hazardous to her health, as the doctor declares. Surely, Mary, you are not expecting there will be any hindrance to our marriage ?'' "No," answered Mary's low, choked voice, "1 am not." "Look into my face, Mary. I hope, I trust, you are not|hoping for such hindrance," persisted he, all unaware, perhaps, in the arrogance of his man's assumption of the great gain he was to bestow, how cruel he was. " She lifted those truthful eyes, still fearless and brave, and returned his steady gaze. "Mr Smith, I have never deceived you. You understand how and why. You choose to accept me so, and mine is not the fault if there is any lack. I promised, if I was set free, to do my best to be a faithful wife to you— for— my mother's sake." He had the grace to blush a little, and answer confusedly : "Yes, yes; I understand. You are a good girl, who will outgrow foolish romance. I don't expect too much at first. A good daughter makes the best wife— everybody knows that. And it is pardonable in me to be impatient to have you in the pretty home I have made ready. So let the women folk have their way. Mary — at my risk, you know. Let them make you as pretty as they can. And there's a gray silk dress for your mother too. She'll enjoy the rustle, won't she ? And the laces for her cap. " Poor Mary ! Without another word she went back to her mother's chamber, and stood up submissively, and was measured, and turned, and manipulated after tho fashion of the latest mode ; and allowed the glossy silken folds to be flung about her, and the misty laces to be hung upon her drooping head, and fashions to be discussed, and decisions made, and not one pretty flush of girlish pride or joy— not one thrill of maidenly delight amid it all from her. Vague, dreamy Scripture verses floated through her mind, of lambs garlanded for slaughter, and victims royally attired for sacrifice. But she made no appeal for sympathy, aud out of her mother's deep content found strength to keep her own patient, passive, submissive face through all the trying hours. {To be Continued.)