CHAPTER XLTV. DANGEROUS PROXIMITY.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 227, 5 November 1887, Page 6

CHAPTER XLTV. DANGEROUS PROXIMITY.

Till now thy soul has been Serene as May ; Bid it awnko ami look At grie£ to-day.

No shade has conio between Thee and the sun ; Like sonic long, childish dream Thy life has run.

But now tho stream has reached A dark, deep sea ; And Sorrow, dim and cvown'd, Is waiting theo. At four o'clock in the afternoon of that second day's journey, thestage-eoachstopped to change horses at a picturesque point called Hemlock Hole, at the foot of a lofty range of mountains. The two young commercial travellers got out here to stretch their cramped limbs and take a drink. Colonel Fitzgerald followed their example, but after he had left the coach he turned, stopped at tho open door, and for tho first time in several hours spoke to his young wife. " Would you like to come out and walk for a while ?" he inquired, somewhat coldly. ls No, 1 thank you. Colonel Fitzerald," she answered, with a pathetic humility in her tone which was quite involuntary. She had not intended to call him "Colonel Fitzgerald " either ; only sinco tho advent

of Geraldino a distance had arisen and widened between them that made it impossible for her to address him familiarly. u You will not have another opportunity to leave the coach until we shall have crossed this range of mountains and reached White Plains on the other side, you must understand," ho said, in constrained tones, as ho lingered at the door. "I would rather not move, thank you, sir/ she repeated. "Shall I send you anything from the house ?" ho next inquired, "Nothing, I am much obliged to you, sir. " " Very well, then ; do as you please," he answered, as ho left tho coach door ami walked toward fclie house. But before he had gone many yards he turned and hurried back, put his head in at tho window, and signed to Gertrude to bend her car. She- obeyed him, and he whispered : " Do not leave the coach during my absence, as you did once before."' " I will not, sir," she murmured iiv reply. " And — mark this — do not enter into conversation with anyone in the coach.'' ' ' I will not, Colonel Fitzgerald. " " Very well," he said, and hurried away. . The little dog, Nelly, jumped off her mistress's lap and trotted away after her master. Gertrude impulsively stretched out her arms. "Never Mind that. I will look after the little dog,'" .said Gerald Fitzgerald, Hinging the words over his shoulder as he hunied on, followed by Nelly. Gertrude sank back in her seat. He had looked at her, spoken to> her, shown her some attention, but there was something missing fiom his look, and tone and manner that had been present in them until the entrance of Geraldine. Gertrude was now alone in the coach, but for the presence of the people on the back seat — the priest, the lady s and the elderly female. They were sfcill conversing in> the .same low, heretofore inaudible tone. But owing to tho stillness ot the coach, there were some detached phrases of their conversation which reached Gertrude's cars, whether she would or no. " • • ' Repent as soon as done. ' ' • Ashamed of himself and his baa-gain already ' • ' and before long he • \" These broken phrases were from CJ-craldine. " • • ' Evidently • ' * and she such a low-born, ill-bred girl ! " * * Forward piece * • * rue ib ' ' ' day she lives," from the elderly woman, whose position it seemed dillicult to define between that of a chaperon and frhat of a servant. Gertrude heard enough to know that Colonel Fitzgerald and herself were the subjects of their animadversions. Ervcry word that reached her ears stabbed her to the heart. And this continued until tho noise of the hostlers leading away the tired horpes and bringing up the fre.-h ones drowned the words ol tho conversation. The coachman climbed up on his box and blew his horn. The passcngeis came hurrying back and climbed into their seats-. Colonel Fitzgerald entered, followed by little Nelly, Vvho squatted herself on tho vacant seat between her master and mistress. The stage-coach crept along through the rugged and tortuous pa?& until they had crossed tho Hast ridge of mountains west of the great valley, and a good road through a beautiful country lay before them — a country diversified by hill and dale, woods and waters, meadows gieen, now even lato in. September, and forests just tinged with the glorious colouring of autuami. They had not long to enjoy the beauty of the pro&pect. The sun was sinking low on, the horizon behind them ; but they seemed to make the most of the time. Even the two practical shopkeepers from Wildevillc were enthusiastic in commenting on the Landscape. And Gerald Fit/geiald never withdrew his eyes from the window until the sun went clown and twilight faded into night, and hid the scene from sight. At nine o'clock they reached Pine*, in the valley, where the stage-coach stopped for supper. Theie was the usual hurry and buslile, flashing of lights and jostling of servants, before the passengers could alight and go into the little hotel. All got out — first the two storekeepers, then Gciald and Gertrude, last tho priest and his party. " I think we will take supper in a private room. Ido not like the public table and the company of stranger^," said Colonel Fitzgerald, as ho hunied his young wife into the house. "Yep, sir," answered Gertrude, scarcely above her breath. As they entered] the house, Colonel Fitzgerald gave an cycler in a low voice to a negro waiter, at fchc same time slipping a piece of money h?j his hand. " Yes, say," exclaimed the man, and immediately opened a door on the right and ushered the gentleman and lady into a small sitting-room, clean and bare, warmed by an open weed fire, and lighted by a paiv of tallow candles that stood in brass candle-sticks., on the mantelpiece, and furnished with a small pine- table and six chip-bottomsd chairs. Gertrude sat down on o^e of these stiffbacked chairs, and Gerald walked to the fireplace, and stood with his back to tho fire. The waiter came in sud hastily set the table, tften ran out, and hurriedly brought in the supper, saying, as ho arranged it on tho board : " Only fifteen minutes till de stage start, marker." " Very well ; you may go," said Colonel Fitzgerald. The waiter went. "Sit down, Gertiude/' ho added, as he dropped into a chair at the table. She placed herself before the tea-tray, filled a cup, and passed it to him. He took it, set it clown beside his plate, and passed bread, ham, chicken, and other edible? up to her ; but all in perfect silence, and with a mechanical and abstracted air. Gertrude drank her own tea, but noticed that Gerald neither ate nor drank. He sat with his elbow resting on the arm of his chair, and his head loaning down on his hand. The mist of unshed tears again dimmed the young wife's ejes, as* she inquired, softly and timidly : "Please, why do you not take anything ?" "lam neither hungry nor thirsty," he answered. "0 ! Do you not feel well ?" she next asked, almost afraid now of the sound of her own voice. " Yes, quite well. Do not disturb yourself about me, Gertrude." "Sir," she whispered, in a faint voice, " have I done anything to displease you ?" " No, Gertrude. Why should you ask ?" " Because — you seem so different." " A man cannot always be the same," he said, as he arose from the table and opened the door to speak to the waiter in the hall, for bolls did nob abound in that hotel. He paid his bill as soon as the man came up, and then he turned to Gertrude and said : " Come, it is time to return to our seats." They went back to the stage-coach,

whore they found Geraldin© and her party already seated. The niprhfc's journey was a smooth one as to the valley road, and a silent one as to the travellers. The passengers on fcho back scat apparently slept ; two of thorn, the prie3t and. the old lady, certainly did, for they both, snored sonorously. Gerald Fitzgerald was so silent and motionless it was impossible to tell' in tbedarkness whether he slept or not. Gertrude waked and wep-t in her corner — thankful for ths cover of night that hid her tears — Gertrude waked and wept, for now she feared that she hhd spoiled the life of him tor whose life she would willingly have laid clown her own, At length she prayed for light to see her duty, and strength to do it. The two merchants now climbed into their places and settled themselves for as nap. And once nioro the stage started. Twice before morning the stage-coach, stopped to change horses, where lights flashed in and out and men ran to and fro, until the work was done and the coach went on. But none of the tired'and sleepy passengers left it. Towards morning it was known by the slow and tire?ome motion of the coach that they had crossed the whole width of the great valley and; were slowly climbing the precipices of the Blue Ridge that separated the valley from the plains of the shore. Afe sunn'be they stopped ab Frostberg r on the toj) of the mountain, for breakfast. Here all the passengers gob out and paused for a moment to view the sublime picture of the sunrise from the top of the mountain. Bub the breakfast bell called them in. Here again Colonel' Fitzgeudd ordered a private 100 m and a tete-a-tote table for himself and his wile. Hero again he sat silently, eating very little. On this occasion Gertrude foirebore to a^k him any question*. She did not need to do so. She knew too well the- cause of his absbiaction. She could not eat, bub she drank her coffee and fed her little dogfrom hci own fingers. Only fifteen minutes were allowed for breakfast, and then the stage horn sounded, calling all the pafcscngsr» to take their seats. Twice between sunrise and noon, the coach stopped to change horses- and mailbags, and went on. again. At noon i they stopped at Draiasville to dinner. Here again the same scene was- repeated. Gerald and Gertrude had a private table,, and ale their dinner with, scarcely the exchange of a> word. With the decline of that day their strange journey drew to an end. By sunset they had l cached Alexandria, anxl at dark they ontcied Washington. Ab that day that line of coach was a really accommodating one Eo-ch coach on its arrival used to deposit its travellers wherev er they wished to be set down, within the limits of the city. Our coach pulled up at it« office behind a. hotel, which was then called '"Fuller's." The guard came to the door and inquired, of the pa^engers : " Any gentleman or lady for this house ?' " Wo will stop here," said Colonel Fitzgerald, immediately alighting and 1 caching, hit* hand for Geitrudc,. vAio soon got oat and stood b} r his side. The little dog sprang after them. '• Take that light luggage out and send, it into the house," paid Colonel Fitzgeiald. And he drew Gertrude-' => hand over his arm, and led her into the office of the hotel, and pointed to a chair. She drew her vail over her face, and sat theic waiting, while Gciakl went up to the counter to engage rooms. There were but a few loiterers in the oilice,, for this was tho dull season for Washton hotels. Gertrude watched uneasily to see whether any of their hie fellow-travellers intended to pome in and ?top at this house. Apparently they did not, for no one enteicd the office. l'toe-ently Colonel Fitzgerald turned' boAvai d her, and said : "Come!" She arobe and followed him, attended: by a, poitciv who cariied their luggage, and; preceded by a waiter with a key, who led them u-p a long well-lighted passage- bo a door leading to a suite of three rooms, consistiug of pailour, chamber and bath. " Have supper saved heie in an hour,'* said Colonel Fitzgerald. The man touched his broAv and AvsnA out. " Try to make yourself comfortable here Gci trude. I must go down to the readingroom and look at the papers," lie added, in explanation, as he went out, closing the door behind him, and leaving his young wife alone in her new apartment),. Gertrude dropped into aa easy-chair, covered her face with her hancfe- and wept, under such a sense ot loneliness and desolation as she had never before known in all her young life. But presently she dried lisr tears and took herself to task as being foolish and exacting. Ho is very kind to me—very, very kind — notwithstanding that — that he scarcely has spoken a wai'd to me in the last twenty-four hours— thirty-six hours, indeed — and that he cannot love me. Well, ho never said that ho could; he never deceived me ;• but, oh ! there is something here," she murmured to herself, placing her two hands over her heart — • '•something here th^fc assures me he will some day love me." The waiter knocked, asked permission, and then entered bo lay the cloth for supper. Gertrude aros.o and looked around upon her new rooms. She then wcft&into the adjoining chamber to take off her wraps and bathe her face.. She made her toilet quickly, only bath' ing her faco and hands, dressing her &air, and- putting on a clean collar and pair of | cuffs. Then she hurried into the parlour, fearing she might have kept Gerald waiting. But he was not there. Sho went to tho window and looked oub upon Pennsylvania Avenue, but could sco nothing distinctly except the rows of lighted lamps on each side. The waiter re-entered the room, placed the suppor on the table, and Lhon bowed, and said respectfully : " All ready, madam." "Please go to tho roading-room and let Colonel Fitzgerald know. ' Tho man touched his forehead and went out. Gertrude took the coffee-pot off the table and placed it on the hob of the grate, to keep hot. In a low moments the man returned, and said : " The gentleman has gone out, ma am. "Very well: A\hcn he comes in let him know that supper is waiting.'' " Yus, ma'am." The waiter went out, and Gertrude threw herself in tho easy-chair to rest, saying, patiently : "1 suppose he has stepped out to make some little purchase, and will return in a few moments," and she lay back in the chair and closed her tired eyes. Now whether it came about from the perfect stillness and silenco after two days and nights of noise and motion in the jolting and rattling stage-coach, or from her

loss of sloop, or her intense fatigue, or tho heat of the room, or — as is most probable, from all these causes put together, I do not know, but Gertrude- fell fast n&Jeep, and slept soundly like a weary child as she was, for several hours. She awoke at last quite refreshed, but unconscious of the length of time through ■n Inch she had slept. The room was still brilliantly lighted and warmed. The elegant little supper stood on the marble- top table. She had no idea what time it was. She went and rang the bell, and waited, bub no one answered it. She rang again loudly and longer, and then the summons was answeied by a stranger. "Where is the waiter who attends this room ?"' inquiicd (Gertrude. " He is not up yet, ma'am,'" answered the new one, who could owdenily scarcely suppress a yaw n. " Not up yet?'' What do you mean ? Not up where." inquhed Geitrude, in perplexity. " Not out of bod yot, ma'am. Tie don't get up till six. It aint much after ii\ o 3 el-/' answered the sleepy man. " Do you mean live in tho morning ?"' " Yes, ma'am, surely," answered the man, glancing aiound the room to see if he could discern empty bottles and gla^c^, as „igns of a nijrhfc's lovclry : for he «.nv thai tho lad) r had not been in bed, and he suspected that she was not in her sen.-e^. But Gertiudo, in utter perplexity and amazement, huriied across tho room, raided the hea\y curtains, and looked our. Yes. it was morning ! Day had already dawned, and the eastern horizon was iloodecl with the approach of tho sun. She threw heipelf down in the cavy-chair, covered hci face with her hands and tried to collect her thoughts. " Yes ! Overcome with heat and fatigue, I must have fallen asleep in my soft chair and slept all night ! Slept until I had slept my sleep out ! But Geiald — Where is he ? Could he ha\o returned to the room, and finding me asleep, left it again ? Or could he have gone to rest ?'' With that thought, she aro^e hastily and huiried into the adjoining chamber, and looked around. She found the placj as vacant as she had left it. She huri icdbaek into the pailour, and said to the man in attendance : " When my waiter li&e", please a<*k him to come here as soon as possible.'' Tho man bowed and retreated. Gertrude sat down and tiied to reflect. And here her unsuspicious and confiding nature saved her much suffering. " I am so ■"•eiy ignoiant and inexpeiienced in the ways of cities and of men that I do not even know whethet there Lanything unusual in my husband's, absence or not, and I raii'.t be careful not to compromise him by &how*°o any anxiety or asking any questions. He may ha\c bejn called away by some friend, and left a note of explanation for me with the waiter. Of com^e he will be in very soon now."' she said to herself. Presently there came a knock at the door. " Come in,'' she ■said, eageily looking up. The waiter ot tho night before entered. She looked at him anxiously, breathlessly. The man only stood and bowed, as waiting oiders. She forbore to a4c him whether lie had any note or menage tor her, or to make any other inquiiy that might betray her anxiety or seem to implicate her husband. Besides, she said to herself : "Tho man had no note or message for me. If he had, lie would doiiver it. He knows nothing, or, at least, he has nothing to say. I must bo patient."' "Any older 1 ?, madam?"' at length inquired tho waitjr. "Ye". Clear off this supper ?civicc, if you please, and ttae tablu for breikfa&t," said Gertrude. " Shall I serve bieakfapt immediately, madam ?'' " No, not until Colonel Fit/gerald comes in."' While the waiter busied himself in piling up plates and dishes to carry them away, Gertrude went into her bedroom, closed the door, and began to make her morning toilet. "Yes, I must be patient and self-con-trolling,"' ghe said, as fehe unwound the twists of her dark hair and set it flowing over her shoulders. But even while she said this, a strange oppression and foreboding .weighed upon her heait and darkened her mind. When she had finished dressing she returned to tho pailour. The table was arranged for breakfast and the waiter had left the room. Gertrude seated herself at one of the front windows to watch the scene on the avenue— not a very lively scene at this season of tho year, but to the mountain girl, fresh from the Wilderness of West Virginia, a wonderful panorama of busy life. Yet, though she gazed upon it, she could not interest herself in it. '" Where was Gerald ? What kept him away ? When would he return ?" These were the questions that continually reiterated themselves, to her deep disturbance. While she sat the door opened. She sprang up eagerly, expecting to see her husband, for who else would dare to enter her room without knocking? She sprang to meet her husband, and confronted — Gekaldine ! There she stood, her tall, commanding form still dressed in deep mourning— her beautiful pale face wearing a look of irony. " Miss Fitzgerald !" exclaimed Gertrude, in surprise. " Yes, Mrs Fitzgerald ! for I presume you have or think you have a right to that name," sneered Geraldine. "I do not understand you, Miss Fitzgerald. But will you be seated ?" said Gertrude, controlling herself, and offering a chair to her visitor. " Thanks, yes, for I have something to say to you," answered Geraldine, sinking into the easy-chair. " I repeat, you think you have a right to the name of Fitzgerald, I presume ?" " Such a right as my husband could confer when he conferred it on me in marriage," replied the young wife with quiet dignity. "' My husband ! ' How glibly you say *my husband ! ' Do you really imagine that you have, or ever had, a husband ? Ha-ha-'ha !'" laughed the lady, in cruel scorn. " Mess Fitzgerald !" exclaimed Gertrude, crim&on with indignation. " Aye ! you do well to blush, girl. You have good cause. You were so eager to snatch at a gentleman's first, reckless offer to marry you that you never paused to conpider whether he was really free to do so. Geiald Fitzgerald has discovered, in good time, that he was not free to marry you— neither free in hand, nor free in heart. He has left you. You will never see him more."

( To be Continual. )

$ The cup that inebriares but doesn't cheer — Hic-cup. The most striking thing in the way of bronze mantel ornaments — A clock.