CHAPTER XXXIX.

Te Aroha News, Volume II, Issue 97, 11 April 1885, Page 4

CHAPTER XXXIX.

FOR HEHSAKE. •Thero will be parting and pain if we meet ; Better to leave you than grieve you, my sweet! , . „ Aye, it is true, as some poeta oan tell, „ Love ia boat proved by » silent farewell. What a bat she had been— what a nasty, blind, mischief-making little bat, she told herself, scornfully. Why couldn't she have seen how things were going ? To anyone elee it would have been plain— plain as the nose on one's face, as Aunt Dolly would have put it, in ,her homely and forcible fashion. But she hadn't seen it. Of course not! There was that queer-looking doctor falling head over heels in love with her. Yes, he was. A hundred words, looks, actions, unheeded at the time, recurred to her now with overwhelming force, adding assurance to assurance. Yes, he imagined himself in love with her. She hated to admit it to herself. How insufferably conceited seemed even the momentary harbouring of such a thought ! But now that it had been made so clear to her, it would be sheer criminality to shut her eyes to the fact. She must look the situation squarely in the face, and plan a way out. She didn't want him to care for her— Bhe had never dreamed of such a thing. The idea of any man except Marc looking upon her with the eyes of a lover was abhorrent to her. And there was dear little Geraldine breaking her heart because of his new infatuation. Her voice, tears, whispered story, had been a revelation. 11 Of all the girls for getting into scrapes," avowed Vella, apostrophising herself in the glass, "you're the worst." She drew up a chair to the white and blue dressing-table, and sat down. She leaned forward, Her face hidden in her folded arms. How was she going to get out of it ? Go away ? That was the first thought, oi '< course. But if she spoke of leaving, Dr. Laurent would propose. That he waa I only waiting for a chance to do so ehe knew now. Oh, why hadn't she known before ? She could not recall a day or hour of late without wondering at her stupidity in not having noticed then his unfortunatefancy. Well, it was no use dwelling on that now. That was not the question at all. Everything resolved itself into the query, " What would she do ?" And if she spoke of leaving and he proposed, Geraldine would know. No emotion, pleasurable or otherwise, could he hide From those clear, quiet eyes. And she must not know— she must never knowthat her secret had been discovered by her friend — must ne> er have reason to suspect that her twilight confidence of half an hour before had been overheard. He had been growing to love Geraldine, when fate, in the shape of a collision, flung her between them From the girl's words she felt positive of that. Now, if she were only out of the way, all would come smooth and straight again. If she could only go without letting any-one know— well, why couldn't she ? The very suddenness of the i !ea took her breath away. Why couldn't she? But thoy would think her so ungrateful ; and shecouli not bear that they should deem her that. But was it not the only way to ensure the sanctity of her little friend's secret ? If she were out of sight, the heart she had so unsvittingly won would go back to the allegiance of her who valued its love so deaily. Yes, ye 3, fhe must go ; there waa no choice. Let them think her cold and capricious if they would, she could endure that knowledge better "than that, through her presenco, was wounded hourly her patient, gentle nurse, She would go -but when? The sooner the better. To night, then. Luggage would not trouble her. Though wearing lately only Jerry's wrappers, the clothes she had had on at the time of the accident hung in the close*, Her small satchel, too, which had been found wrapped in her havelock, was there. "Vella 1" She sprang up at sound of the low voice and knock. She went swittly to the door and opened it. "Ah, Geraldino ! Been getting Diok to sleep ? I thought I heard you singing to him." . " Yes ; he was very wakeful, but he is safe in the land of ISod at last," smiling. " The dear little lad ! " Jerry slipped her arm through Vella's. " Come down to supper, dear. You and I will have old maids' tea to-night. Papa and Stuart are over at the Olivers'." They went down together into the lamplit dining-room. So bright it looked -as did indeed the wholo house, with its walls papered in dull gold, its floor of plebeian pine oiled to glossiness, its drawn velour curtains, its buffet with a few pieces of rough silver and a row of wedgewood ware, its round tea-table, snowy-clothed, glasssparkling, chin'a-fhinjng, laden too with eweet and simple home-made dainties. All through the meal she sat thinking, planning. Thero was a train at five ten. She heard Mr Starr speak of it the other day— a train going East. The station, though— was it far from here ? In as careless a manner as she could command she asked Jerry. "The station? Oh, it is quite near. I often go to the depot with papa." "But how far!" " Oh, not far. Three-quarters of a mile, perhaps. You hear the whistling at night, don't you?" A , „ "Oh, yes, But I have never about it. In what direction i 3 it ? " Jerry laughed as she poured out the favourite souchong. # . " Are you thinking of seeing papa off in the morning ? He will be hugely flattered. Volla coloured and laughed too "If I could only say yes ! But I was not aware he was leaving homo. Where is ho going?' 1 "To Chicago." " He has business there ? " Yes. He frequently goes thero. And there the matter dropped. As they sat by the fire after supper, Vella wished she could kiss her kind young hostess, and say good-bye in frank and grateful fashion. But she must not. Geraldine would refuse to let her go~ not ; in any case, till the others returned. # And then there would be inquiries made in all good-heartedness, and explanations demanded. The former she could not answer, nor the latter give. Worst of all, Jerry would suspect. And the mere suspicion that a soul'knew of her unhappy love would be to her humiliation and misery unutterable. No, she must go, and she must go in silence. . , About half -past eight she rose. As long as possible she had put off the evil moment*

" I think I will go to my room I" she said. Jerry looked up in sudden anxiety. " You are not feeling ill—" "No, no! I am quite well, Goodnight," 11 Shan't you cc me down again ?" " I-I think not tonight.' r "I am sure you are feeling weak, and you don't want to tell me." Vella came up to her chair and stood beside her. She smiled lovingly down on the pretty earnest face. «« Indeed, no— just a trifle tired." In a sudden glow of gratitude and affection she bent her golden head and kissed her. "My good thoughtful, blessed little nurse, good-night ! " And then she was gone. In her own room she closed and fastened the door, discarded Jerry's blue drap iVete wrapper, took down the black silk she had donned that afternoon in the Clifton House, and put it on. Then she went up to the little tier of oaken shelves whereon stood writing materials. She made an impromptu desk of a book on her knee and began to write. "My dearest, best friends "—and there ehe stopped. What could she say— how explain her flight? She hesitated, pondered. This would never do. To catch the train she must lose no time, for she could walk but slowly yet. So Bhe snatched up her pen and wrote on hastily : "I am going away. Will you trust me, as you have bo delicately done in the past? Will you believe that could I wait to say farewella, I would never write them nor leave in Bilence. Some day we shall meet again— of this lam confident. And though I can promise .no explanation even then— as such would painfully, though innocently, involve one very dear to me -I know you will not reproach me for keeping inviolate a secret not mine to impart. I cannot thank you. I am not going to try to do so. I can only say that I love you dearly, heartily, that this I hopesomo day to prove, that cherished shall your memories be till death has stilled the heart of __. " Vella Vernell." I " Jerry, darling, give Dick a kiss for me." She hastily folded the sheet, laid it on the dressing-table, completed dressing, took up her satchel, paused, listened. All still. She went quietly out, closing the door behind her. Down the back stairs, through a side-door leading into the garden, down the steps and away. A hard clear, cold night, with a rifting sky, through which the moon beamed forth now and then, white and shining, only to scurry back under vast black clouds all edged with lustre, and there lie hid. As Vella went round the houee to reach the path to the road, she passed the parlour window. She glanced in. Jerry still sat by the fire as she had left her. Her hands lay listlessly in her lap. Her head was bent Very pale and sad the sweet face, for all the rosy flush of the fireshine. "God guard her, and give her His best gift !" she murmured, and hurried on. Down the path, out on the road, toward the station. She did not harbour her strength, and ehe had not any to spare. She walked so rapidly at first she was soon exhausted. How quiet it was ! the shrubs by the roadside were highwaymen in lurking. To a woman's natural nervojsness was added the debility of recent illness. Ahead she could see the lantern over the depot door, so far it looked like a fallen star. Hark ! voices ! She turned to the side of the road and walked on uith footfalls that made no sound and yet terrified her lest they should betray her. The tread and tones of men. They were coming toward her, And the moon waa sailing out, too, into a big blue space which held no screening black clouds. Her heart beat furiously. So near were they now, she could distinguish the words they spoke. "No, of course I shall not look up anyone, nor try to discover anything about her, as she evidently wishes to remain secluded, and her desires must be respected. I know there is a Vernell in Chicago— 'the lucky colonel ' they call him, but she may be no relative. A thorough little lady, though !" There wa3 an inarticulate murmur from the other. Then they had passed on— i Gerald Starr and Doctor Laurent, on their way home from tho Olivers'. (To be Continved.)