CHAPTER XIV.

Te Aroha News, Volume III, Issue 122, 3 October 1885, Page 6

CHAPTER XIV.

"I WILL GO TO HER." The leaves were just beginning to fall when the telegram came to Valley Farm, startling the inmates out of their accustomed quiet. Alda dying 1 poor Alda 1 so very young to die i ' Mib Maynard had not been very Btrong lor some time, and the shock nearly unnerved her ' "I cannot leave mother," Leta said, nervously ; " and oh .' I cannot see Alda die ! Do not ask me to go I*' Mark had answered, sternly : " Shame on you, Leta, for a coward 1 You^must go, ohild j she has Bent for you; remember, and I will go to her." . ; | So Mark and Leta, with saddened hearts, j hastened as fast as steam could carry them toward the city where, Alda lay dying. I Alice was Mrs Mayiiard'a greatest comfort now ; badly as the, young girl wanted to see her dying friend, she would not leave

ler mother 1 "; bo she w«wpWige«l\ti>\be^qoti:ent and wait for f uirthef tidings, whioh tf. ark bad promised they would surely send. Uncle Sam met the. arrivals when they lighted "from the hack at gate. He ihook hands with Mark kindly and touched biß lips to Leta'a forehead in greeting. • "How is she?" Mark almost whispered. " Still with, us, that is all/ th#old man 1 answered, Badly, " and hourly you." ' ..*'•* '1'A servant conducted them to thekrooms,'- • < where they washed away the duatoofiapyei; and brushed their disordered ha.ir.jjf then,, quietly, they waited the summons to the , sickroom. It came a last, and, witty 'soft, tread and saddened mien they entered the 1 - chamber. It was darkened j only a faint gleam of daylight shone through the closed shutters; some moments elapsed, before Mark and Leta became accustomed to the gloom; then Alda spoke j her voice wassoft and low like the wind playing -over the strings of a broken harp. . "Mark and Leta, come to me, she said. Mark bent his handsome head reverently as he approached the dying girl, and taking her poor little hand, said, brokenly : "Alda! oh! Alda J" That was all; hit strong young voice, now as tender as a woman's, faltered and broke, while teaw which were no disgrace to his" manhood coursed down his sun-bronzed cheeks. "Do not weep 1" Alda said, gently. " Believe me, dear friends, it is best as it is. I could never be well and strong like others, and it is better, much better, for me to be at rest S Mark !" and Alda's voice sank almo3fcto a whisper, "Mark! ohl my love, I could not die without seeing you once more I Girlß do not generally tell their love," she added, with a little, wan Bmile, " but this is different, Mark, for I am dying 1" No one noticed the black-robed Sister May, crouching by the chair on which Alda was lying ; no one noticed the storm of soba which shook her slender frame at the I sound of her young husband's agitated voice. " Alda ! oh ! Alda ! my pure white dove, I am not worthy of such love as yours 1" Mark groaned. How did this black-robed kneeler know his heart was torn by bitter, reproachful thoughts? How did she know that this iaist confession of the dying girl was as so many dagger points piercing his heart ? He had sinned, had wrecked his own life by his indolent wayß ; bis wife, his poor, wronged darling, he had driven from him, aud now this confession came to him from Alda's dying bed, and well he knew he was not wholly guiltless. He had won her love carelessly, thoughtlessly, and he a married man ; but she did not know it, did not : dream of it. " You will not leave me, Mark ?" "No, I will not leave you, dear I " and Mark, with her frail young- hands clasped closely in his, stood quietly, patiently, wait ing. Once the pale lips murmured faintly, and Mark, bending above her, heard her sweet voice speak his name and then these words : " Will you not kiss me, Mark ?" He complied, tenderly, lovingly, pressing hia warm young lipa to hers, already chilled by death. All through the long hours of the night he sat there, scarcely stirring for fear of disturbing her j but when the firßt grey etreaks of morning shone in the leaden sky they noticed a change in her, and, standing silently about the couch, they sadly awaited the end. The eyelids fluttered, opened, and gazing at them from the very borders of the other world, Alda noted only two faces and her pale lip 3 whispered : "Mark ! Guardie!" Then all was over ; the spirit no longer inhabited that fair tenement of flesh ; Alda Lome was with the angels ! Stifled sobs filled that chamber of death } when the old man, stretching. out his kind old arms and finding naught but emptiness, staggered from the room, it was black-robed Sister May who led him tenderly away and cheered him with loving words of comfort. (To be Continued). • :