CHAPTER 1.

Te Aroha News, Volume III, Issue 120, 19 September 1885, Page 3

CHAPTER 1.

THM SEOEET MARRIAGE AUD SSBELLION.' " A lovely rustic scene : a fine, grand old orchard, laden heavily with fruit; the trees And even the grass beneath were covered with mellow, fragrant apples. The departing sunlight, glinting through the tree tops, made fitful, dancing shadows on the velvet verdure, Little birds carolled merrily amid the branches; a timid hare' started out from the waving grasses, lifting its head as if in quesb'of the scent of danger, and then quietly , nibbling away at the tender clover roots'. In the distance the cattle lowed, and the j faint whinny of a horse, calling to its mate j was heard, while under one of the grand ■ orchard trees, a century old at least, a young girl stood waiting. She was the fairest part of this quiet scene ; motionless as a statue of marble she stood, gazing anxiously toward the ancient farm-house. One hand grasped a branch adove her head, and her sleeve fell from an arm of delicately rounded proportions fcliat would have been i .the envy of many a daughter of Eve leas j berally 'endowed. > A lovely, sensitive face, chubby and dimpled, and wondrous big brown eyes dewy with unshed tears. Hair hanging in long curls of darkest auburn hue—a maB3 of riotous curls, unrestrained save by a a single ribbon, tied carelessly behind. Her dress was only a faded calico, but neat and clean ; it fitted the supple, willowy figure as perfectly as the finest dress created by Worth. But she was not happy ; one could see that by the sad look in the bonnie brown eyes, the pitfiul curve of the ripe red lips, as she stood there waiting — waiting for what ?" A whistle rang out, loud and clear ; the whistler, with a single bound, came over the weather-stained rail fence that divided the meadow from the orchard lot—handsome blonde young man, with a look of vexation'on Mb attractive face at the sight of the motionless figure beneath the drooping apple tree boughs. ••Candice. what are you doing here?" He asked the question abruptly, almost angrily. "Can you not see that you are imprudent ?" "I did not think Mark} but surely I have done nothing wrong ; no one can say aught against me ! I am your wedded wife ! have a right to meet you here !" *' Hueh ! Candice ; do not talk so loud ! some one might be passing and hear you ; Of course, you have a right, child, but we must keep our secret yet a little longer." " I cannot, Mark ! Oh ! my darling, do not ask me, for I cannot !" "What in the world ails you, Candice? Is the thought any worse than it was ?" " Yes, yes ! a thoueand times worse ! Mark, will you not tell tbe home folks ?" " Candice, you must listen to reason ! Do you want to ruin my prospects, child?" " No, Mark, I do not wish to ruin your prospects ; but oh ! Father in Heaven ! how much better it would have been if I had never come into your life !" There was such anguish and bitterness in her sweet young voice that her youthful husband gazed at her in wonder. " Candice, are you sorry you married me?" he asked, softly, for this girl's freaks were unaccountable to him. " You know I am not, Mark," she said piteously : " but it is so hard to have others gaze at you with distrust, to have even your board and scanty covering given to you grudgingly ! Your mother grudges me every mouthful I eat, and even this," pointing to the faded calico, "while your sisters sneer at me whenever I speak to you or even mention your name. I overheard Alice tell Aunt Kezia yesteiday that ' Candice is fishing for Mark 1* " " You must not take such things to heart, Caudice ; woman's tongues will clatter, " " I cannot help it, Mark ! Sometimes I even feel as if I could hurl a bombshell into their midst by saying, ' I have a right here ; | am Mark's wife !' " j " Candice," Mark said, anxiously, " you must control yourself. Why, child, you are actually getting nervous over itj this will never do, for 'tis but a slight thing to worry about after all ! Uncle Sam and Alda will soon go ; then I will explain it all to mother and the girls." M And not until then ?" " No, not until then ! Will you not kiss me, Candice?" " Kiss you ? No ! no t Mark Mynard, at this moment I can almost find it in my heart to hate you ?" • ' • Pleasant talk from one's wife 1" he said, coolly. *• All right, Candice ; I won't ask you to kiss me again !" Candice did not know what she retorted ; bitter, angry words rose to her lips and found utterance. She was only a woman after all ; she loved this handsome blonde giant with all her passionate, undiciplined heart, and could not forget that she was his wife. "A sweet temper you've got. Caudice! Why didn't you show it sooner?" Mark was laughing at her. "I had no occasion, Mark Maynard} now, I hare !" " Well, cool off before I see you agaiu, won't you? Bemember you wouldn't kiss me, and so good-by," and he sauntered idly away across the meadow, actually humming " Sweet Violets " in a rich, melodious voice. Then the reaction came to Candice ; down in the grass she sank, lower and lower, until her head was pillowed on her rounded arms, while great choking sobs burst from her. Mark, her husband, could leave her thus, and she was but four months a bride, with only promises for the future At last she rose wearily, wiped her tearwet eyes, gathered some mellow apples from off the grass, and wandered homeward. Already dusky shadows were creeping about her and she would be missed ; Aunt Kezia would be angry with her. Mrs Maynard's brother, Samuel Desbro, had arrived tbat morning, accompanied 'by his ward, Alda Lome, a bright, sparkling brunette, and Candice, creeping softly through the hall on her way to her room, glanced carelessly in at the open parlour door. Alda was reclining on a low divan, and Mark, her Mark, was holdingher hand it seemed to Candice tenderly, but in reality he was just in the act of examining a serpent ring that encircled one of Alda s taper fingers ; the Conversation had wandered to rings, and Alda was showing hers as a keepsake and a curosity. But Candice did not know this; like a wounded deer she fled to her own little room, with swerving, unsteady steps. Close down by the little window, the only one the chamber contained, she sank wearily, looking out over the quiet landscape with di& tearld* g eye§. The world hftd somehow gone wrong with her, and her girlish hopes txkw future happiness seemed likely ta'fall in •battered fragmente at her feet,