CHAPTER VII.

Te Aroha News, Volume III, Issue 121, 26 September 1885, Page 6

CHAPTER VII.

THE CONFESSION. ( The next morning dawned cold and cheerless at Valley Farm. Each member of the household gazed at the others' with mute inquiry on their faceß as to how this was going to end ; would Alda*s life be spared yet a little longer, or would it go out into the great unknown on the wings .of death ? Ann, the stolid German girl, went around slowly but surely about her duties, and in the anxiety and commotion Candice was not missed for some time. . Uncle Sam, poor old man, was nearly heartbroken over Alda's sickness, for full; well he knew that even though she 1 might rise from that bed of sickness, it would not be as the merry, light-hearted girlhe loved so well, but as an invalid respited for only a little longer. Mrs Maynard was the first to notice the absence of Candice, and asked Ann about her; but Ann Knew nothing, and Mrs Maynard, with a strange dread m her guilty soul, hurried up to the girl's room. What she expected to Bee was Candice too ill to rise, for she had noticed the girl's .marked listlessneas for several days, and had attributed it to biliousness. Hence what was, her surprise on entering the ( ro6m to find; the bed untouched ; the calico dresses she had given her still hung upon the wall, but Candice wai riot ttiereT - - \ "Where erin she be ??' ' Mrs '. Maynard; thought, wonderingly, shivering until her* teeth ohattered-.- Shev had inever u before, tio'ticed ridwcold this bhamberwas in •wintei; "« Candice muat-have? as warmer room,?' she Ithoughfr, : softeneds.^considerably, Übyu thfe previous .-night's <Boeaa:;>?? Shecmusfc .havfc isen early and made her bed, and is some*'

, where about the houseat present," Mfrs Maynard thought, trying to r.eassure herself ; ] descending the stairs again she searched the house in vain, and then the barn and outbuildings. It was noon now and still no trace of , Oandice was found. She was gone. The piris commenced asking about her, and Mrs Maynard answered them evasively. Evening shadows once more closed about the old farm house, but still Candice did not make her appearance. When Mark took his place at the supper table he Had not noticed her absence, or if he had he had given it no thought. "Mark," his mother said, sternly, "that , ungrateful girl has surely gone—run away !" "Has Ann gone?" Mark said, innocently. "It beats all such luck as we have with hired girls ! I'll have to hunt up another, I suppose." " You do not understand," his mother said, quickly. " Ann has not gone." "Who in creation has then?" Mark aßked, anxiously. " Why, Candice, of course 1" Mrs Maynar^ answered, with the air of a highly injured party. " Candice !" and Mark rose suddenly from his chair, his face pale with suppressed excitement. "Mother, you do not mean to tell me Candice is not here ?" Uncle Sam and the girls looked up in astonishment both at the news and the agony in his young voice. "Can you not understand, Mark?" Mrs Maynard said, glancing at her stalwart son, hair anxiously. " Candice has gone. She ran off last night, for her bed was not slept in!" "Oh! Father in Heaven!" Mark groaned, real agony in his face and in the tones of hia full young voice. "Mother, this is our work ; we have driven her from us ; only you and I are to blame \" "Don't get excited!" his mother said, half angry at her son's accusation. " What is it to you if Candice has gone? The un grateful girl ! we are well rid of her !" " Mother," and in Mark's voice rang a tone of determination, "if Candice is on this earth I must find her ! ft o, do not try to stop me !" he said, impatiently pushing his mother to one side as he rose from the table and reached for his hat. "My son, do eat your supper at least; you can search for her to-morrow." "No," Mark answered, firmly ; "I am going now. I shall not return until I find her !" " You're making a terrible fuss about a servant-girl !" old Mr Desbro said, with a merry twinkle of the eyes. "If she wi:s old and homely, Mark—" But the sentence was never completed, for Mark, towering above him like a young giant, cried, wildly : " Hush, uncle ! You do not understand. Candice is no servant-girl ! She is your niece, your sister Annie's orphan child, and more shame to my manhood for not telling it months ago, my lawful, wedded wife I" "Mark! is this true?" It was his mother's voice, wild and entreating. "Do not tell me that Candice is your wife !" "Don't talk to me, mother !" and Mark's face seemed to have a^ed at least ten years. "I am wasting valuable time. My poor darling wandering out and alone such a night as this ! I must go in search of her!" "You can do nothing to-night." It wa3 his uncle's voice, cold and stern, but Mark had prone out in rhe wind and darkness to hunt for traces ot the Lalf-maddened girl. He thought be understood it all now. Poor sensitive child, she imagined be did not intend to acknowledge her, and she had gone from out hie life, thinking to leavo him free and unfettered. Mrs Maynard, gazing after Mark in despair, was recalled very forcibly to the present by words o£ cutting scorn issuing from Samuel Desbro's lips. " Kezia, can it possibly be that a sister of mine has been guilty of an action that the lowest, moat ignorant woman in the world would think twice before perpetrating ? I ask you, and expect you to answer truthfully, is this youog girl you call Candice sister Annie's child ?" With a shamed-faced look, Mrs Maynard answered : "Yes !" " And you have treated her as a servant, let her live in solitude, isolated fiom her cousins ! Girls, are you not ashamed of yourselves for allowing this with your own cousin?" But Leta and Alice had disappeared, frightened at the turn affairs had taken. It was all right when it was not known, but now that the man they had thought to keep it from had found it out, they began to realise the littleness of their own conduct, and if Candice were only to return now they would welcome her with at least a show of cordiality. Alda was very ill ; whether she would be spared days, months, or years was yet to be seen, but only by the utmost care could they hope to bring her through this attack. Uncle Sam thought of her with an inward groan. She loved this faithless Mark, and if she should hear of his marriage he knew not what might be the consequences, so he told his sister on no account to let Alda know. " We mufitkeep it from my pure white lily," he said, brokenly, "and as soon as she is strong; enough I will take her away from heie." The matter was, therefore, kept a profound secret. Days rolled by ; Mark had sought far and wide, but in vain, and at j last had given up the search as useless Mext he advertised in all the leading papers in several different cities, but with the same barren result. Candice had vanished as completely as though she had never existed. A month later Mark was wandering down by the little lake and found the tiny rubber frozen in the mud ; he recognised it at once as one of a pair that Candice had worn, recognised it with a great horror widening his sad young eyes. Could she have drowned herself? He could not rest until he had dragged the lake ; the winter so far had been an open one, and the little sheet of water was not yet frozen over, so he had no difficulty in executing the work. No cold, dead face, with curls of red gold hair, however, met his view. Candice was not there.