CHAPTER XX.

Te Aroha News, Volume III, Issue 140, 6 February 1886, Page 6

CHAPTER XX.

AN AGRKBABI/E SUKPRLSE. Miss Waldemar' a kind heart had been strangely touched and interested by Rich's account of Annie Hunting's misfortunes and struggles, and she sat down to her writing-desk immediately after he had gone and wrote to Mra Campbell, making the inquiry which he had suggested, and telling her something of the young girl's story. There came a reply the very next day, saying that ju3t as soon as they returned from the mountains they should need the services of a seamstress thomselves ; that they remembered the poreon she had desci'ibed, and had been very well pleased with work which ehe had already done for them, and if she could wait until their return, they would be very glad to give her a trial. "I could not ask anything better for her," Rich said, looking very much gratified when ho had read this note. " They are kind, considerate people, and it will really be a refuge for her." " Ycu seem to bo very much interested in this young lady, Rich," Miss Waldemar ob served, searching his eager face somewhat anxiously. H« flushed half guiltily, then answered frankly : "lam, Aunt Audrey. I could not help thinking what if I should have a sister somewhere in the world who, cast adrift as I was, may be toiling for her daily bread like this young girl. She is very lovely, and I am sure your heart will go out to her the moment you see her ; while there is something in her blue eyes that haunts mo continually — that stirs an intangible memory which I have tried in vain to grasp." Mis 3 Waldemar began to think matters were growing perious. " I expect there are a great many girls in the world whose lot in life is even harder than hers," she remarked, gravely, and then dropped the subject, thinking it would be unwise to betray too much interest in this fair stranger,though she meant to seek her out at an early day, for sho had other hopes for Rich. As Rich had now a good excuse for calling upon protty Annie Hunting, ahe surely would not consider him presuming when he had such good tidings to impart. Accordingly, two or three evenings later found him standing bofore the door of her boarding-house awaiting admittance. The same weary-looking woman whom he had previously seen answered his ring, but regarded him, he thought, with something of suspicion when he inquired for Miss Hunting. '■"^es, she is at home," she said, and showed him into a shabby, gloomy parlour, and then retired to call the young girl. There was a lovely colour in her face when she entered the room, while sho received her visitor with an ease and grace which betrayed that she hud been cai'efully reared and accustomed to polite society ; and Rich thought she was moro charming than ever in the simple white dress which she had donned, after coming home from the heat and dust of the work-rooms where she was employed. There was a dainty knot of lace and blue ribbons at her throat, and a blue belt with a mass of bows and ends at her waist which relieved its simplicity, and was vastly becoming also to her pure complexion. " I had some good news for you, Miss Hunting, and presuming upon that foot I have ventured to call upon you," Rich said, rising to greet her. " I am sure, Mr Waldemar, you are very welcome, under thoae conditions," she responded, with an arch smile and a slight emphasisuponthoHolasttwo words ; although her shining eyes told him plainly enough that ehe would have been glad to see him under any circumstances. " You surely do not mean me to understand that I should not be welcome without' my news," he said, reproachiully, knowing well enough that she had not meant that, yet waiting with jealous eagerness for her answer , "No, indeed, "she returned, quickly, "and I was lacking in courtesy to speak in any such way ; please pardon me." "I should not find it difficult to forgive you for a much more serious offence," he answered, in a low, earnest tone, and with a look which brought a vivid scarlet again to her cheeks and made her eyea droop shyly before his. "And," h« added, "as a pledge of my eincerity please accept this," and he laid a I little package upon her lap as he spoko. He saw her fingers tremble a? she unfolded the dainty white wrappings, and her low exclamation of delight upon discovering within a beautiful bouquet of forget-me-nots, made his heart thrill with a warmer sensation then that of mere forgiveness. •'How lovely! Mr Waldemar," Bhe exclaimed, adding with starting tears and charming naivete : "You have given me more pleasure during the last few weeks than I hare known since papa died ; oh ! if — " . She Btopped in Budden confusion, and for a moment was deeply agitated, while Rich felt almost sure that she had wanted to tell him I something. He longed to ask her to complete her sentence, but he did not feel quite free to do so. " It gives me great comfort to know that," he said, gently, "and I am sure if a few flowers can make you happy, you shall have your share in the future, Are forget-me-nots favourites of yours ?" he asked, seeing how tenderly she was regarding them. " I think they are very lovely, and they were always papa's favourites because mamma was so fond of them and used to wear them a great deal when he first became acquainted with her. But," she continued, absently, and with a far-away look as if her mind had suddenly gone back to some absorbing memory, " I believe / love waterlilies better than any other flower in the world,"

" Water-liliea !" Rich started, a sudden shook running through all his frame Those wordß were like magic to him, and bis mind flashed back eeven pumjiners, to those weeks that he had spent with" his" Aunt Audrey among the green hills of Vermont—to thoso bright days when he bad wandered over mountain and dell, through forest and glen with a little blue-eyed golden, haired maiden, whose voice was like mußic, and whose step was like a fawn's ; when he had fished upon the banks of the lake, or rowed upon its bosom, and plucked goldenhearted lilies from the Jimpid waters for this same sweet fairy, who loved their pure, waxen beauty, and their sWeet fragrance better than anything else that he could give her, and when, that dreadful day could he ever (forgot it ?) he had seen her leaning eagerly over the prow of the boat, reaching for that one perfect flower, and then with that sharp cry of agony she had disappeared beneath the turbid waters, and he thought he had lost her for ever. What a memory it was ! How it thrilled him to recall it now ! And what a^ bright, winsome little thing, sweet, witching, defiant Annie Noble was at that time ! But why should all this rise up_ before him now with such startling vividness ? What had this gentle girl, who was bending ho fondly over her bluo forget-me-nots, in common with this memory of his boyhood ? He bent forward and gently touched her hand. With a start, she lifted her face to hie, and their eyes met What did he read there to make him grow so pale, and that tremor pervade his frame. "Why do you love water-lilies better than any other flower?" he askod, with almost breathless eagarness. She coloured scarlet, tears rushed to her eyes, her lips trembled. " Because- because -oh, Rich " " You told me that your name was Annie Hunting?' he cried, stopping her in. the middle of her sentence, while he, too, flushed now, and his voice shook with excitement. "And so it is," she answored — "Annie Hunting Noble. Oh, Rich ! my old friend ! I see you have guessed it at last !" and her sweet voice died away in a sob. Ho reached out and grasped both her hands. 11 Why did you leave me to guess it?" ho asked almost sternly. ' ' Why did you not tell tell me at the outset thatl had found my dear little friend of the olden time ? How strange that I did not know ! How blind I have been — though you have changed so very much. Why did you allow me to go on imagining you to be a stranger— and yet not a stranger either ; for there has been a nameless something about you all the time which has made me feel that somewhero, sometime in the dim past I had known you. My darling, you have hurt me keenly." She lifted a startled glance to him as he said tho3e last words, and the look recalled him to himself. His fine face flushed a deep crimson. In his astonishment and excitement at dis covering who she really was, he had betrayed the love which had been growing in his'heart for her ever since" their first meeting on Broadway. He still clasped her hands, a thrill of joy pervading him as he' realised that hia little favourite of long ago and his love of to day were one and the same. " Yes, my darling," he repeated, in reply to her look. " Have you not guessed that I 1I 1 have been loarning to love you during these weeks of our recent acquaintance ? But I did not mean to tell you just yet ; the words were forced from me by the surprise of the moment. Nevertheless they are true, though the sepret slipped from me in such an abrupt fashion. Annie, dai'ling," he continued, searching her downcast, blushing face, " you do not chide me for ib— you do not even draw your dear hands from me. Tell mo, dear, that even though I bad learned to love Annie Hunting, Annie Noble will give me the treasure of her heart." The look which she raised to him for an instant told him all he wished to know, even though her lips were mute on the subject. Still he waited for her to speak. " Rich, I am afraid you are spoiling my flowers," she murmured, when at last the silence was becoming awkward, for they were being crushed by the weight of their clasped hands. " Never mind the flowers now that I have found you my own little forget-me-not. How could you be so cruel as to keep your identity from me ?!>? !> he asked, roproachfully, still feeling sore over the fact. " Did you recognise mo that day when the newsboy ran against you and upset your bundle?" "Yes, the very moment that I raised my eyea to your face I knew you were my old friend, Rich," Annie answered, in a low tremulous tone. " Then why did you not claim me as such ?" he questioned, gravely. " Because I was hurt, disappointed for the moment, that you did not know we,and forgetting that being so much younger than you when we parted. I must have changed far more during the years that had intervened. Then, when I did remember, I said to myself, it was better, perhaps, that you should not know me, since the sad change which had come to me had shut me out entirely from the old life. I could not force the story of my poverty and sorrow upon you. And yet there have been times when I was sorry that I did not. Upon two or three occasions I have been almost tempted to tell you, and something has prevented me " " Did you so misjudge me as to suppose that any pecuniary change could affect an old-time friendship ?" Rich asked, reproachiully. "No. T saw at once that you were as true and noble-hearted as ever ; but, believing you to be the heir of the wealthy Mies Waldemar, my * Noble pride ' would not allow me to force myself upon your rememberance," Annie answered, venturing a shy glance at him, and smiling faintly. " And your ' Noble pride ' would not permit you to carry the Noble name into the establishment where you are employed, I suppose," Rich said, archly. " It was not that altogether," Annie said,thoughtfully, "it was not that I was ashamed to have it known that I was working tor my own living, but I thought, perhaps, the name of Annie Hunting — it was my mother's maiden name — might not attract so much attention as that of Annie Noble, for papa was as well known in New York as in Brooklyn." •' And will that same pride stand in the way of your loving me, Annie T I have told you my precious Becret— have you nothing to tell me in return ?" " I have never forgotten who saved my life, R-Mr Waldemar." " Annie !" "Rich!" " That will do ;" and his hands closed over hers with a firmer clasp, "and now the question before the house is not ' who saved your lite,' it is— do you love me, Annie ?" " Yes, Rich," she whispered*, her golden head drooping still lower over Their clasped hands. "But—" " Well?" he demanded in an eager voice. " I ara almost sorry you have made me cay it."

• c Why, my darling ? Are you sorry that I have told you of my love ? Have I made you unhappy by thiß confession ?" He lifted her blushing face, the sweetest face in the world, and read it with his eyes. " Oh, no ; but—" '• There must come no * but ' between you and me, Annie, after tins. I have told you that I love you — you are the dearest object in the world to mo ; you have confessed your affection for mo, and we must belong to each other henceforth, as long as weboth live. Still, I think, I understand your reluctance to give yourself entirely to me ; you imagine that I, Richmond Waldemar, the heir of Miss Waldemar, might compromise my position socially by chooeing a poor girl for a wife. But you do both yourself and me injustice if that is your thought, for neither jjoverty nor wealth can make either of ua more or less worthy of each other. But Annie, Aunt Audroy has lost all her money, and— l am not her nephew at all. The young girl looked up at him in astonishment. "No," he continued, smiling half sadly, " her property all vanished nearly a year ago, and I am only a poor, nameless fellow who does not even know who his parents ■wore; so you perceive, dear, you are running quite a risk in allowing yourself to fall in love with me." Now she lifted a beautiful look of lovo, and trust, and faith to him. " I know there is not a noblor heart in all the world, and surely there is no risk in possessing that," ehe sai<J, so earnestly that he dropped her imprisoned hands and drew her into his arms in a fond embrace. Thon, with hand clasped in hand, seated side by side, he told her all that he knew of his early history, and Miss Waldemar's adoption of him,