CHAPTER XIII.

Te Aroha News, Volume III, Issue 137, 16 January 1886, Page 6

CHAPTER XIII.

" SO XfiAK, ANJ) Yl-.T bO VAll " Wiit-v Rich returned home that evening, ho found Miss Waldemar much better. Alter ho had eaten his supper, he went back to her loomand related all that bad transpired during the day. Of course the incident that had happened on tho mountain road wai the most important of anything to him, and lie grew quite eloquent over it. " And the strangest of all, '^unt Audrey."' he paid, whon he had told her about the huge snake and the frightened horse, " was, that the gentleman seemed to know you " "To know me ' Why, who -was he ?" "Mr -well, I thought I couli remember his name ; but I havo his card somewhere He asked me who 1 was, and vhen I told him, ho eaid he used to know some peopie by the name of Waldemar, and asked if A.»iss Audrey Waldemar was a relative of mine. I told him you were my aunt. He gave a great ptarfc at that, and asked, in a queer tone— not quite natural, j*ou knowit you were well." ••That was strange," Audrey replied, look startled herself now. "Find his card. Rich, «o thatl may know his name." "It is in one of my pockets," he returned, beginning to hunt for it. " Anyhow, he called the lady Ida, and she called him Arthur. Yes, here is the card, and it is such a nice-sounding name—' Arthur M. Halstend.' " Audrey's face was as white as snow a=? she reached forih her hand and took that little piece of pasteboard from him. She read the name -that name which had never passed her lips «inco the day when she had given him up tor ever, but which had been treasured so sacredly in her heart during all the long years ot their separation. Then her hand dropned nervelessly upon her lap, and she lay bark in her chair, so still that Rich looked up at her wonderingly. ' Is your head bad again, Aunt Audrey ? ' he a^ked, frightened at her extreme pallor. "It does not feel quite right. Please get me some water, Rich," she murmured faintly. He sprang to do her bidding ; but when he came back to her with it, he found that she had fainted dead away. He railed Mr-i Allen, in terror, as she was almost as much alarmed as ho ; but upon applying restoratives, Audrey soon recovered consciousness, though she lay for a long time afterward looking very ill and miserable. Later in the evening she seemed more like herself, and said to Rich : "My fainting turn interrupted your story, dear. I want to hear more. Tell me about the lady — describe her to me." Rich regarded her curiously. Fe could n^t help thinking it strange that the gentleman should have manifested so much emotion upon hearing her name, and that she, too, should have been so overcome upon loarning about him. But he answered : "She had black hair, and such lovely dark eyes— thoy were so beautiful, only vory sad. Her face was thin and very white, as though she had been sick a long time ; and then she had such a sweet gentle way, and spoke so kind to me. Aunt Audrey, I think, next to you, she is the loveliest lady I have ever seen." "And he —the gentleman — what was he like ?" Audrey asked with averted eyes. " He was tall and lai'ge with brown hair and eyes, and very handsome ; but he had a kind of grave way that made me a little shy of him, though he was very Iqnd apd gentle with his wife " Audrey's lips quivered, and a sigh broke from them 5 bu,t Rich did not seem to heed it. "They had a splendii horse," he went on, with animation. "I think it was the finest one I have ever seen, and he looked po grand when he reared upon his hind feet and pricked up those silky ears of his. But where did you ever meet this Mr Halstead, Aunt Audrey ?" he suddenly questioned, remembeiing that she had not yet acknowledged the acquaintanceship. Audrey hesitated. Should she tell the boy that sad story of her life? He was wise and considerate beyond his years, and his tenderest sympathies would be hers. But somehow she shrank from giving voice to it. Some time she meant to tell him all about it ; to-night, however, she did not feel quite equal to it ; her strencth had alroady been'severely taxed by learning that her old-time lover had teen sp near her. So she merely answered : "When I was a young girl, and my parents were living, I spent a few weeks in New York, and went a good deal into society, and I am quite sure that this Mr Arthur Halstead is the same gentleman whom I met at that time. I afterwards heard of his marriage to Miss Ida Montrose, but I have never seenjhim since. I am very glad, however, that you lent them such manly assistance to-day 3 and J am glad, too, that they kiiow you are my boy/ she concluded, fondly. "Now, 5*5 * she added, after a moment of silence, " I am going to send you away ; for I wish to get all the rest I can, so as to be fresh again to-morrow morning. Goodnight, Rioh ; you are such a coinfo^ to me." She drew him down, tp her and kissed him on his and forehead, and then, with a smile, and a fond pat on his cheek, phe sent him down stairs to Mrs. A^len, who,

she said must bo lonely. But as s=or<n as the door closed after him sho buried her face in her pillow, with a hearl -broken sob. " 'So near and yet so far,' " she murmured ; " I cannot, bear it even now, after all these long years ; and if it wero not for that dear boy the future would seem almost unendurable to me " She still had the card which Rich had given her, and, laying it beneath her cheek, she fell to sobbing as if her heart were breaking. " I am weak, weak," she cried, "to love a man who is the husband of another ; but I cannot help it— l gaye 1 myself to him for all time in those sweet old days. Oh, Arthur ! Arthur ! we made a life-long mis take— or, rather, I made a great mistake ; I never should have yielded to papa ; I ought to have considered our mutual happx ness, and not tried to right one wr®ng by committing another. Yet it is folly and weakness to grieve so wildly at this late day." But Audrey Waldemar was not a weak woman, notwithstanding she had broken down so completely upon learning that Arthur Halatead had been so near her that day. Sho fought her grief out by herself— fought with her regrets, hor longings, and her undying love, until she gained the victory and came down from her chamber the next morning her own lovely self once more. She was a trifle paler than usual, but as sweet and calm as if no tempest of grief had swept over her, bowing her proud spirit to the very earth. But the peaceful quiet and the enjoyment of thai, mountain retreat wa9 over for her ; a strange restlessness took possession of her, and only a few days later she informed Mrs Allen that s?he had decided, after all, to act upon her suggestion and take a trip up through the Canadas, and then return to New York, Accordingly, a week from the very day on which Rich uiofc Arthur Halstead and his invalid wife, they left the green hills of Vermont, and turned their steps still further north. They proceeded to Quebec, where they spent two or three days, then took a steamer up the St. Lawrence to Montreal. On the steamer they found a large company of touri-ts, and among them Audrey was delighted to meet a couple of friends, who were travelling with a party of young people about Rich's age or a little older. 1 here were four young ladies from fourteen to eighteen, and two lads fifteen and sixteen, and they were as gay and happy as it is possible lor young people to bo. "It will be fo nice for Uich," Audrey said to Mrs Allen, " for he has never had much society, and I shall accept Mr 3 Campbells invitation to join their party ; their plans are very nearly the same as ours, and it will bo pleaeanter for us all " There were also on board the steamer two characters who afforded considerable amusement to tho more esthetic pleasureseekers about them. There were Mr George Washington Starkey and Miss Martha Ann Starkey, of Starkeyville, Maine. The former was about fifty years of age. He was tall and laige of frame, with an awkward manner and gait. His face was very plain, bnt expressive of boundless good nature, and he had a scant supply of hair and no beard. His dress consisted of a pair of light trousers, a long-tailed black coat and vest, a stand up collar, and a tall hat. His sister resembled him very much in face and feature, although her manner was less awkward, and there was an intelligent expression in her mild grey eyes that was lacking in his. Her figure was very prim and extremely neat in her steel-grey travelling suit, which was cut in the fashion of twenty years previous ; a bonnet whose shape must have borne the aaine date, and a mantle trimmed with that old bullion fiinge such as our grandmothers used to wear " She also wore a spotless kerchief about her neck, pinned with a huge broach pet with a gieat yellow stone, and black silk mitts without any fingers. She wore her side hair in corkscrew curls, so small and floxible that they reminded one of alder tas^ols constantly swaying in tne wind ; but sho had, withal, a pleasant face, a genial smile, and the kindest eyes in the world. She was proverbially industrious, being constantly employed upon a blue woollen stocking, through which she made her bright steel needles click and fly as if her entire support depended upon her occupation. This original couple were "out for a summer tower," as Mr George Washington Starkey coniidentally informed a chance acquaintance; while " Marthy Ann " was his hobby, and, according to his honest belief, the most wonderful woman the earth possessed li She ain't so genteel, p'r'haps, as she might be," he remarked upon one occasion, but bending an affectionato glance upon the prim spinster, who was apparently oblivious to everything save her knitting, " nor so sweet and purty to look at as some of them young blossoms over yonder," with a halfwondering, wholly delighted glanco at Miss olrace Campbell, who was the acknowledged beauty of the whole company ; - "she never was ; but," impressively, sho's good through and through. There ain't nothing she don t know about sickness, and yarbs, and medicines, and nothing she wouldn't do for anybody that was sick. She's a great hand to give to the church and missions, and she'll cook and buy all manner of dainties for sick folks, and work till she's ready to drop for anybody in a tight place. I tell you, sir, when Marthy Ann dies the world'll lose a stunner." "Have you and your sister always lived together ?" he was asked, after one of. these dissertations. i " Yes. When the old folks died, we was all there was lejl, and it seemed kind o' natural for us to'hang together. It's been a capital thing for me, and we've had quite a comfortable kind of a life. But it's been a pretty quiet one, and so we thought, as long as we could as well as not, we'd start out on a little tower for a change, and we mean to see considerable of th^ world, before we die. " As may be supposed, this original couple created, no small amount of merriment among the more worldly wise people into whoae society they were thus thrown. Miss Grace Campbell, who was a thoughtless merry sprite, with two or three of her friends, could not always be restrained, and they bubbled over with fun and je?t at the quaint manners and sayings of their "down liast " companions. One morning they we^e ali assembled upon the deck of. the steamer and in a wonderfully merry mood. Their arrows were flying thick and faßt among themselves, when Miss Starkey came up from the saloon, knitting in hand, and immediately became a target for them to shoot at. She seated herse^ near tho joyous groop, a quiet errjilepn her lips, a look of enjoy* ment in her mild eyes, as if the sight of such pretty young faqes. wa.§ a great pleasure to her. " Now\ we^l Hv& snch fun !" whispered imprjlsiyo Grace Campbell. " I'll quiz her upmercifulljy about those endless stockings, and W\\ b§ as good as a play.,"

Half an hour parsed, and Grace again 1 made her appeal ance before Miss Starkey,. with the grave faco of a penitent, ft he made a sincere apology, and was as sincerely forgiven, '* You were a tiifle thoughtless, peihaps," said the old maid, "andM«rthy Ann Starkey never lays any ill-will against anybody, least of all against a pretty little innocent like you. " She pufc up her hand and patted Grace softly on the shoulder as she spoke. "Thank you, Miss Starkey," Grace returned, the shadows all gone from her lovely face now that the ordeal was so conitortably over; "and will you lot me give you this ? it is a little silk piu-eo that I crocheted for mamma's birthday ; but I can easily make another before that comes, and I would like you to have it. Not because," she added hastily and colouring, " I think it will make up for anything, but becauHO I shall teel that you are really friendly with me if you will take and use it," and she put a lovely little seal-brown purse with silver claeps into Miss Starkey's hands as she cea?ed ypeaking. The woman's lips quivered. It waseeldom that any one had given her a keepsake during her monotonous life, and thia pretty little trifle, tendered so modestly by the beautiful girl, touched her to the heart. *' Of course, I'll take it, dear, and thank you kindly, too," ehe said, in a tone that was not exactly steady, " and— and I'll send you a pair of nice mittens, as soon as ever I can knit them." (To he Continued. )