CHAPTER XVIII.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 237, 14 January 1888, Page 6

CHAPTER XVIII.

A WEDDING. It was a summer night at Brighton. The tall house fronts were grey and wan against the crimson and yellow still lingering in the north-western heavens ; but far away over the sea to the south-east, there dwelt a golden moon in a sky of pale rose-purple ; and the moonlight that fell on the wide waters was soft and shimmering, until it gleamed sharp and vivid where the ripples broke on the oeach. Here and there tho stars of the gas-lamps began to tell in the twilight. There was a faint murmur of talking j young girls in white summer costumes went by, -with laughter and jest ; there was an open „window,~and somebody within- a brilliantly-lit drawing-room was singing -in a voice not very loud, but still audible to such, of the passers-by as happened to pause and listen — an old Silesian air. It was about a lover, and a broken ring, and the sound of a mill-wheel, .»< Walter Lindsay was among these casual listeners— for a minute or two; and then he went on, with some curious fancies in his head. Not that' any young maiden had deceived him ; or that ho was particularly tnxioufl to find rest in the grave ; for this ,is the latter half of the nineteenth century : and he, as well as.others, knew that Wertherism was now considered ridiculous. But somehow, London had become intolerable to him, and he could not work ; and— well, Brighton was tho nearest place to get away

to, while one was considering further plans' It was a iijbtle lonely, it is true ; especially on these summer evenings, when all the world seemed, as it were, to be murmuring in happiness. Over there was the Chain Pier. A few golden points— gas lamps— glimmered on it j and beyond it there was aya v small boat, the sail of which caught the last dusky-red light from the sunset, and looked ghostly on tfie darkening, plain. In that direction peace seemed to lie. He J>egan to think that if he passed away from this laughing and murmuring crowd, and went out to the end of the Pier, and quietly slipped down into the placid waters, the world would be none the worse for the wanb of him, and a good deal of heart-sickness would come to aji end. He did not really contemplate suicide ; it) was a mere fancy. Killing ones-self for love is not known now-a days, except among clerks and shop lads ; and then it is generally prefaced by cutting a young woman's throat, which is unpleasant. No.it wasamerefancythathaunted him, and not in a too mournful fashion. [ fHe thought of the people who would decide ! tuat it was at such and such a moment that he must have flung himself into the sea, from the fact of his, watch haying- stopped then ; and he knew that they would be in error, because of course the water does not instantly get into the inside of a watch. He retfiembored thestory of the jmpeounious reporter who, wrote, " Sevenpence - half penny have, been found in the pockets of the.tfeceased, no motion could be assigned | for therash act :M: M , and he wondered whether he .hayiug.several sovereigns in hia pooket, it would be assumed that this was ,not suicide at all. But these were but. idle dreams , and reveries ; because he knew that thisdull, continuous, insatiable heart- , ache in time would cease — or, at least, he hope,d so ; and, besides that, he thought I lie.vfould like in coming years to be kind to [ J3abina!£ children. ■ 1 There were so many young women coming along the; Marine Parade :, some sedately walking with their mammas ; sojue giggling with .their companions j some > aimlessly alone and silent ; why was it that none of them had any interest for him at all, and that his heart was far away in London ? In the distance, sometimes, he saw a tall figure ; and a sharp spasm of wonder would seize him : , , « . • Might not this be someone like Sabma— with something ot the inexpressible magic and oharm of Sabina'a, presence, with something of gaVina'sj look in her. eyes, with >the proud set of'her headland her fearless gait ? Then the young lady would draw, near— perhaps and , good-loqkjng %nd gentle-iookuig, enough, and no doubt a.mqst accomplished and praiseworthy young per son; but the first, swift glance that told him it was^not Sablnaherself was sufficient; ; she went by unheeded. Of course all this was the sheer perversity of foolish sentiment; and he knew,, ft; and he ftalkea back' to the Bedford Hotel declaring to him. set! that Jove Vas the most! idititio thing 1 in " thV f worlds <and v tig%is %Bss£tf sTs Sensible' people) and'tl»«tyKW'Ke^4s>e4ll^ Sto «ch.ne w&J to ft^mpt'a.picture o? tlia Hi£ there • lW from his faithfuiyWenS mWmeW v WISt him;khdife.W ? thi}iii SmttA'ttL"' '■ v sril c' ! "Wl WW4uM&LtafaK9/i(itob wrote; t* I'hftre tri»d to do as.yjou said ,;.»n^it hw nob bean dttit^«o> h*rd.»*l wcp»6t©d j for, I da think; he irrrwttr fon*.ofv:S»W«^iir wosutew

way j and he is good-nntured when •verytliing is don© to please him. £ut,a*«)aetimes—well, ycm will' say I ani prejudiced, bub I must, tell the truth— Sometimes he vexes me terribly. Why, he seems to, think it is- all it piece of fun, a frolib ! ' Fancy anyone marrying our Sabie as if ifciwas parb of a Bank Holiday excursion I He do'esn'b in the least understand what a prize he, has won, or the favour she has shown him ; it's all a free-and-eagy give-and-take with him; indeed, I am not sure that he doesn't Consider that she is the one who ought to be smiling and grateful. I know he has a pretty good , opinion of himself, anyway'; and you understand h6w generous Sabie is ; she always makes the most of everybody; and of, course, after what you said, I'm not going to make her discontented or pick out defects. But 1 fancy having to write like this about Sabiefe lover 1 I don't think I ever did really want her to marry anybody ; but many a time, in reading poetry, I have thought that if ever Sabie had a sweetheart, it would be a . beautiful sight to soe, and just like the wonderful pictures of the poets. Many a time I have thought of her as Rosalind, putting the chain round Orlando's neck, and wishing him well in the wrestling ; for giving is Sable's natural attitude, I think. But it is no use talking ; and I won't say how very, very different from these romantic pictures is the present situation ; for you are quite right about making the best of it, for her sake ; and you may be sure of this, that howover anyone else may choose to behave or make light of his great good fortune, which he doesn't understand a bit, Sabie remains herself, .ad distinguished and refined and gentle and beautiful as ever, and just goodness itself. Mother says lam mad about her. I wonder what she is? However, if I am, I don't care who knows it; laniproud'of it; and if people only knew Sabie aa intimately as I do, they wouldn't be much surprised, I think." He laid down the letter for a moment. He saw clearly the situation she described, despite the cunning with which she-affected to be saying smooth things. And' was thisthe predicament in wnich Sabina had placed herself? He could. not believe its. Janie Wygram was^only- half concealing the violence of her prejudice. She took Fred Foster's cheerfulness— in itself an admirable quality— for indifference. Perhaps . she was disappointed that these two betrothed people did not show her a little more of the romance of an engagement ; ht was not disappointed that Sabina should refuse to bill and coo for the edification of bystanders. . ' " I hope there will be no trouble in the future," the letter went on, "but I want you to understand that Sabie's father has behaved like f *a monster. They may say what they like about him in the papers ; I but certain I am that he has not the heart of a human being. He came here the day before yesterday {the first time he has I honoured our house with his presence since Sabie came to live with us) and made a settlement of everything. This is} to say, he never a3ked Sabie if she was still of the same mind; there was no quarrelling,' or even remonstrance on his part— for he i 3 far too selfish and cold and hard a man' to take so much trouble about anybody ; and then he told her what he meant to do. She is to have £100 for her wedding outfit ; and afterwards he will allow her £150 a year, to keep her from starvation, as he says ; but won't allow either her or her husband ever to como near his house. Sabie did not break down at all ; she is too , proud ; indeed, the cruel thing is that Mr Foster would not allow her to rofuse the allowance altogether, which she wanted to do. Of course, he took it in his chirrupy way. He says it will be all right ; and that after the marriage her father will relent. Bufc she say's he will do nothing of the kind ; and she knows him better than Mr Foster does. Fancy such meanness— to his eldest daughter; and that they should be for ever praising him in the papers for his public spirit and his benevolence. But what he gives to Sabie isn't printed in a list of subscriptions : I suppose that is it. "There is one good thing, my dear oiie will have a true friend in Mr Foster's mother. The old people came to town the other day ; and Mrs Foster was very, vtry nice and" affectionate. Matters don t^ go smoothly between father and son, I imagine; but of course I wasn't allowed to hear too much ; and perhaps now that he is to marry and settle down there will be greater harmony. Sabie will be the peacemaker; surely if they can withstand the sweetness of her disposition, they are made of sterner stuff than some people I know. Ido wish she had some other kind of a father than that cruel old beast, Sir Anthony ; ]ust fancy the thousands and thousands he has ; and he must needs cut down the girl s allowance by £150 just because he dislikes the man she is going to marry. Why, he might be proud to know that ho has aucn a daughter ; but there is none of h%s nature in Sabie ; she must have got all her goodness, and honour, and generousness from her mother. If I were a writer m the papers wouldn't I give it him ! I d show the public what a monster of meannes3 and hypocrisy he is; why, I believe how glad that Sabie is going to marry against hw wishes, for,it will iave him £150 a year. "Dear Mr Lindsay, tell me if I bother you writing to you about Sabie. I can o talk to her as I used to. He has come between us ; and she has other interests; and although she is as kind as ever, still this other future that is now coming, near must engage all her attention. If only her heart had been placed elsewhere J should not have repined : no, I should have rejoiced; and I should have borne without a murmur a good deal of coldness or indifference on her part, if I saw Uat her affections were wholly centred on one worthy of them. Never mind, Sabie will always be dear Sabie to me, whoever claims her ; and if there should be a time of trouble she won't want for one friend at least. ♦'The marriage is to be Boon (because the chirrupy man thinks it's all a kind of cay pastime, I suppose) and I am to be the Snly bridesmaid. After that is over, Sabie will have just as much of my friendship as she asks for ; lam not going to intrude. Please forgive, me tor sending you so long a letter, I thougnt you might like to, know how matters stand. And I hope everythrng will turn but well; but sometimes I am a little miserable—perhaps needlessly. ' u Yours sincerely, Janie WYGRAM. «j>,g,.i_\youid you mind Bending Sabie ft, little message of congratulation ; or is that, asking too much t"' ' A", message of congratulation ? yes, and more. He put on his ,hat again and went out. s The summer^ night ,wap cool ; 'it was pleasant to> pasValQng through the, light. heWted 'murmuring, crowd. By.thw timo the^ skies' hs. darkened: jhto a clear rich violet 1 ; thymoon/fyas sHininV,: with its fulfe^^radian^e ; ihe; sea ibwfte lii >haro P 'pi# ol:goid; *Wk'W*sM*:> *-%* s&ddwl /of MN^ btock on thj wan-grey. iteVemenis. 'WW***^ *P. d 5 for SfrbiiUr Thatf a<> #■•* was aftoethro* fe^oontforiini; to^hink or than tho L And* yew- wild aoine\of these firsfcsprojecte were/r He^thougnt oLiettlinKuhM«Uttf© fcatyimoriyStf Qattowayßhireiion her, •for Her Cle » and eWtwir*iii*,%,jof aelbng^irstudio and all its appurtenance*, and-th.en.ox iM^taltinttthekworld ioc- htepaiow*l' afc tha

on his. ad ventures. For he wished to get away from England somehow. And in thinking that j he would. Be. more , 'content if the wide Atlantic were the barrier between him and the Kensington High-street and Kensington Square, he was facing no foolish risk\ ' His work was well-known in art circles in America ; several American artists ■were among his familiar friends;. .he was already a member of the Tile and Kinsman Clubs ; the far Western land would in time tome to be his home. And if he hieved fame there, might not Sabina occasionally hear of mm? And if, after years, he had amassed a little money, well, there was a vision before him of an elderly, white-haired man returning to his native 'country, and perhaps finding a young Sabina there- a Sabina in all ways like ' her mother, but with her face bright with youth and hope, and her chestnutbrown hair as yet unstreaked with grey— who might be his companion on an afternoon stroll or so, and introduce him to^ the young man she favoured, and accept a little dowry from her mother's friend of former day's ? These were far-reaching dreams : but at least they were not very selfish. In the meantime, that forsaking of his native land bad to be postponed, for the most singular of all reasons— Sabina's marriage. Janie came to him one evening after he had returned to London, and diffidently and almost shamefacedly preferred her humble prayer. Sabie's relatives, she said, would have nothing to do with her, surely the few friends she had ought to stand by her. Lindsay looked at her for a second in his grave and thoughtful way. •• Do you think," said ho, rather slowly, "do you think Miss Zcmbra would like it?" "Why don't you call her Sabie?" the girl cried, piteously. "Yes, yes, indeed she would ! She asked me. Oh, I don't know whether she suspects ihere is any— any reason why you might refuse — how could I speak of that without saying too much " " And it is not to be spoken of any more," said he, gently. "That is all past now. Yes, I will come to the wedding. I was thinking of going to America, but 1 will put that off. And in the meantimo, Miss" Janie, I wish you would help me to decide on a present for her. There are two or three things I have been thinking of. There is a dessert service in old, Worcester that my mother was proud of. It's in Scotland." 4 'Oh,Mr Lindsay, you wouldn't give away an heirloom like that !" Janie cried. " I know where there is a very handsome set of things for the dinner table, in Venetian glass, that ought to do," he said, absently. "But I will hunt about, and perhaps get something more unusuaL" It was a fair autumn morning that saw Sabina wedded. Janie was the only bridesmaid. When, after the ceremony, the beautiful, smiling, fair-haired bride came walking down the aisle on the arm of her husband, there was a little murmur of Approval among the old women and girls who had. wandered into the church. The smile that was on her face was one of greeting ; for, she had caught sight of Walter Lindsay (whom she had not seen for a long while), and ehe paused for a second to give him her hand. He murmured something about " happinoss," and they passed on. ♦ $ Good-bye, Mrs Wygram," he said, at the church door. "But you are coming home with us I" the old lady said. " No, I think not," he answered. "Oh, but Sabie particularly wished you should. We were counting up last night how many friends ahe had who would take the trouble to come to the wedding — oh, indeed you must go back to the house. I thought Janie had arranged it with you ?" Well, he went, and found a very merry lifctle party assembled in the familiar old j faded drawing-room in Kensington Square. The happy bridegroom, very smartly dressed, and apparently quite recovered from his lingering lameness, was radiant, facetious, good-humoured to a degree j the bride (to use the faithful Janie's not very original phrase) looked more like an angel than ever. Ifshe looked like an angel she acted like a woman ; for she singled out Walter Lindsay for the most especial and obvious kindness ; and tore herself away from her sympathising feminine friends to talk to him, and to him alone ; and she was so anxious to know all about his future plans and projects. "But you don't mean to remain in America ?" she said, and her eyes were more frank and direct than his. " Oh, yes, I think so," he answered. "Why?" she asked, in her straightfor* ward way, , He hesitated for a moment, and then said with a laugh :—: — " Don't you know that picture-buying is a lost art in this country ? ,1 want to see if there is a market for my wares on the other side. That will take a long time." When at last tne moment arrived for her going away, the usual little crowd followed her to the front door, and thore was the customary throwing of rice and old slippers. Janie was standing on the steps alongside Walter Lindsay, and bravely endeavouring to restrain lier tears. Just as the door of the brougham was snapped to, he heard her exclaim to herself, "Sabie!"— and she put out her hand as if even now she would have entreated her friend to come back. It was a curious, involuntary little gesture ; the stifled cry that accompanied it was almost a cry of anguish. About a week after that, Walter Lindsay sailed from Liverpool for New York.

( To he Continued. )