CHAPTER VIII. FLITTINGS.

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

CHAPTER VIII. FLITTINGS.

Alda recovered slowly, but not a word, not a hint did she hear about the distressing event that had occurred at Valley Farm. She noticod the sober faces of the family, but attributed everything to their anxiety on her account, and in her gentle heart was grateful. She convalesced slowly. Uncle Sam petted her continually. " You are so good to me, guardie," she said, gratefully, and could not think what made the tears start to his kind old eyes. For Mark, Uncle Sam felt almost contempt. How could he marry his young couein, and, having wedded her, be such a slave to procrastination as he had been? Uncle Sam could not understand it, even though Mark had come to him and bravely acknowledged, everything, not sparing himself in the. least. He could understand one tiling-^ Mark had dreaded to tell hip mother, but that, was all., * , >, Mrs; Maynard's,, haughty spirit seemed brokerirand she* blamed herself, for all that ihad, occurred.* , She had -repelled her son's oojbfidencefrom infancy, phidinghim harshly f|or anyjthjong-doing, until he had commenced teeping^Jus , ppyish secret^ through fear of ais mother's wrath, "CandiceJ from the day'

she entered the farm-house door, had been snubbed, ill-treated, and she was Mark's wife ! She had ruined his young life, but the keenest regret availed nothing; this cruel thing was done and past recall. Mark was as kind and attentive to Alda as ever. Mr Desbro told him frankly just how the case stood, *' She loves you, Mark," Uncle Sam said, pleadingly; "do not let her know her girlish romance is but dead sea fruit 1" and Mark had promised. It was Mark's strong arms that bore her from the easy-chair to the bed, or placed her among soft pillows on the sitting-room lounge. It was Mark who read to her by the hour those cold winter evenings. Alda wondered at his subdued air ; the rollicking, merry Mark of a few short weeks ago was no more, but in his place was a courteous, sad-eyed young man who humoured her slightest wish. The name of Candice never passed Mark's lips, but he would sit by his bedroom' fire after the re3t had retired, far into the " wee sma' " hours of the night, thinking, thinking. Spring-time came with its buds and bloom. " April showers and May flowers " ; Alda was pronounced well enough to be moved, and Uncle Sam was bußy making preparations for their departure. There was no ball this time, from which each gueßt crept away in affright, but a calm, quiet leave-taking. Mrs Maynard was not sorry they were going, but could not bear to meet her brother's reproachful gaze. Leta was to £0 with them as companion for Alda until Mr Deebro could engage the services of some entertaining person as companion for her in her somewhat isolated life. The important day at last arrived. Alda, a trifle paler than when she came to Valley Farm, yet wonderfully improved, shed tears of sorrow at parting with those who had been so kind to her, and made each mem ber of the family promise to come to the city at their earliest convenience. Mark drove them to the depot, and shook hands with them warmly at parting. "Will you not come to see us soon?" Alda said, raising her flower- like face to his, anxiously. " Very soon, Alda," Maik said, trying to speak gayly, bnt it was a miserable failure when he thought of the two fair women who loved him equally well. "Be a man, Mark," his uncle said, as they were going away. •• It will do no good to throw away your life in useless repinings Cast a9ide your indolence ; active work will do you good." And Mark promised to follow his uncle's advice. At the farm house the days passed drearily. Mrs Maynard was less tyrannical and kinder to her help, and Alice was like some lost spirit strayed from spirit-land. She had spoken the name of Candice several times, but Mark had checked her coldly. He was busy from morn to dewy eve superintending the spring work : never once did he shirk from his duties as heretofore. Every time he came to the house he looked around, half expecting to see Candice gazing at him reproachfully as she used to do. His fish pond or "Fairy Lake" was drained, and fresh water caught from the clouds. Whenever he wandered down the well worn path, he could see in imagination the face of his fair young wife pleading to him for her rights. Where was she this lovely spring, living or dead? He asked himself this question time and again, but could not answer ifc. How different it would be if she were back, his fair young wife ! He would love her, ah ! so tenderly ! At night in his dreams he would stretch out his empty arms imploringly for the losv bride who never came to them. Surely, he was severely punished for his selfishness and indolence ! Like many other wrong-doers, if he could have lived his life over again, how different would have been his conduct ! He had imagined himsolf in love with Alda for a time, and in his boyieh reckle?snes had been guilty of many an imprudence ; now he knew his love for Alda wag but calm brotherly feeling and admiration for her as a lovely woman. But alas ! for fair Alda Lorne ! love and marriage were not for her! Alice Maynard, a lively little lady, and, like Mark, easily swayed, regretted her share in the whole transaction If anything, she was kinder-hearted than Leta, and thought sadly of what Mark's tender, sensitive young wife had endured- alone. All this pity and regret came too late to benefit the girl who had gone out from under their roof, her young affections repulsed and a terrible secret torturing her poor brain, for, alas ! they did not know the worst. Mrs Maynard was disappointed, terribly disappointed, in Mark, but she had only herself to blame. When he informed her how near he had como to telling her of his marriago with Candice on the night of the social, but was checked, repulsed by her cold words and insulting looks, she had nothing to say in extenuation, and accepted as her just punishment her son's bitter, reproachful words. Mark was changed. Nervous and restless, he could not content himself long at any particular thing ; fish-raising had lost its attractions for him, so he turned it over to the hired man, and after the crops were well in and he had but little active work to fill his hands and occupy his mind, he appeared more restless than ever, and would saddle his grey horse, ride off by himself, be gone all day and come back when the evening shadows enveloped him, sad and listless (To be Continued.)