CHAPTER LII.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 369, 18 May 1889, Page 4

CHAPTER LII.

FLIGHT. 'The man that la%s his hnn'l upon a woman, Save in the vvav of kindnc-s, is a w reo 1 "Whom twere gross flattery to name a coward.' By nine o'clock next morniny the whole household wa- in a state of excited anxiety ; for a dead baby had made its premature entry into the world, whilst the young mother lay dangerous! v ill. For many hours Dnlcie's life was do«paiiedof. The physician* expressed tl>c-msehes pu/z'ed by the total want of recuperative power displayed by their patient, and inquired minutely of Mr Denver whether he could in any way account for her alarming condition. To all such cross questioning that, gentleman gave the eurtest of answers ; for stiHe it as he might. hi* c n^cienee smote him un6a«ily. knowing quite well tint Ins wife's present serious illness was entirely attributable t* his own conduct. More over, he was greakly disappointed, being exceedingly anxious: for the birth of a son and heir while the fact of the dead baby proving a boy did but aJd to his annoyance. Nevertheless, as little by little Drlcie etructrled bafk into convale-cence, any transient sentiments of >-cmor«e that mii/ht have harassed him vanished completely, an<! once more resuming his normal habit?, he plunged into a perfect voitex of dissipation. One evening, about three weeks after Dulcie had b' j en taken ill. Marian was sitting ns usu.tl bj' her sister' -5 bedside. ' Marian, 1 she SrU'i suddenly, ' I wish you'd tell me something. T wish you'd tell me if you ever hear from Bob nowadays.' With a start Marian turned round, and pprceived Dulcie's eyes fixed solemnly upon her own. ' Yes, dear,' she said, feeling a trifle astonished, for it was a l<>ng time since his name had been mentioned between them. • He °ends me a line occasionally. ' ' When did you la«fe get a letter?" said Dulcie, lookinsr wistfully at Matian. 1 About a month ago. 1 ' Oh !' The exclamation was a most ordinary one but the tone in which it was uttered spoke volume^ It spoke of aching lonyincr. wild irrepressible yearning, ai<d unsatisfied affeclion. A long silence ensued, both sisters beine busy with their separate thoughts. Marian was the first to break it. ' Dulcie, darling,' f-he "aid, gently, 'are you not sorry that the poor little baby died ?' Dulcie turned round uneasily on the pillow while a faint coldness ciept into her pale ' heekg. ' Sorry •* she said, almost fiercely. 'No. Wh\ should I be sorry V 1 Because, dearest, it might have made things easier for you to bear if you had had some creature of your very own to love and care for.' 'Ah ! that's just it. Would any baby of mine, under the present conditions, ever be my very oicnl Would not he rather be

taken from me in his earliest youth, and instilled with notions that are simply abominable ?' ' \ hings might nob have turned out so badly as nil that, Dulcie. ' ' Ah ! Marian, I a<lmib that most women arc- happier with children, but not so me. Think how differently situated T arei. It would have made me miserable to know that I had been instrumental in bringing into the world n litile innocent — a guileless and sinless baby -who, in comse of time, might have giown up possessed of ever> vice, and perhaps have lived to render «ome other woman's life as unhappy as his father has icndered mine. If — ' she went on, in tones of deep emotion — 'if I had marlied Rob —if God so willed it — and he and I had come together, 1 think then that I should have loved children — his children — \eiy denily. Their little ro«y faces and sweet, prattling voices would have aflorded me inexpressible delight ; bub now 1 feel every instinct of maternity dead within me. Yon may think this confession very horrible but it is the truth ; for had the poor little thing lived, whenever I looked at him I should instinctively have recalled his fathei's vice*, and shndderingly sought to tia.ee them, until at last I should have ended by hating my own baby, to whom — through no fault of his own — I saw that they were transmitted. And then when he grew up, I could not have sat quietly by and heard his you'h'nl mind polluted with all soits of oiious, uncharitable, worldly nocion«, and let him become "elfish and intolerant, without making some effort to *a\e him — an effort which could produce nothinir but constant friction between Dennis and mvseU. Oh Marian,' she concluded with a quick catcii in her\oice, 'don't pity inc. Things are better as they are, and I recogni&e the wisdom of God — although, at timo«, my life really seems harder than I can bear.' ' Uulcip. dear Dulcie, it's terrible to hear you talk like this.' 'Tsit ?' she said, with a sad smile. ' Shall I confers still further, and tell you ho.v, when the doctors put the chloroform bottle into my hand, 1 thought to myself how ea«y id would be to hide it. 'iway, and then go on smelling at it during the night, when I was nil alone, until my breath stopped, my pulsps pav ed. and my heatt ceased beating:? Ah ! M irian, dear, kind sister, don't blame me, bee tuse.l cannot help di earning of it, and longing for it every hour of the daw' Marian could not speak. She gave a convulsive sob, md rushed from the room. She had been a silent observer of Dulcie's man ied lite and felt so intensely sorry for her. and so fie:cely indignant with Mr Denver, that she dared not give open expression to her sentiments f..r ft ar oi widening the -ilrendy existing bieach. So time passed away and July set in. The morning promenaciers of Rotten Row began to thin \isibl\-, and the sweet smelling limes were all white and du«ov, before Dulcie was at length pronouncd convalescent. But she was al>le to %vn!k now from one room to another, while her cheeks wore gaining colour. One Saturday afternoon she was titling in her boudoir, which adjoined the ditivving-ioom, languidly c deavouiing to compose her thoughts sufficiently to indite a nlial letter *o Mis Shepperton, who with Ohailotte remained at Milnacot Lodge. Now, on one sine of the boudoii was a fulllength minor, which reflected people and objects in tl>e diawing-ioom. the door between the two apaitments happening to have been left open. Dulcie. fr)in where she lay on the sofa, looked straight at this glass, and could see any peiso'is entering the d awing-room, though they were unable to peiceive her. Suddenly, she heard footsteps approaching, and in another minute saw her husband and Ethel reflected in the mirror. Her fir-t impulse was to make her pre&enee known to them, then, peiceiving that she was far fiom their thoughts, she determined on giving no sign. It was impossible for any woman who had been sub|ected to similar treatment to abstain from a sense of ill-usage, and the necessity of maintaining silence had in Dulcie's ea c only s»-rved to i'.eiease that feeling. She was weak, and below par, consequently tiifles possessed unwonted significance, whilst the yearning for sympathy and kindness that filled her being rendered her unduly sensitive to their absence. So long as she had had ph\sical strength she had fought valiantly, though not always successfully, against her trouhles, but now they appeared utterly overwhelming bhe had no Future, but death to look forward to, and that, alas ! s=he had just escaped. 1 A' e ymi not dressed j-et, Ethel?' said her husband's voice. ' No,' came the answer. ' I must go and get reaily in a minute or two. But there's lot« of time ' 'Iwondei v\hyit is, Ethel,' Mv Denver responded, admiringly, ' that you always look so much better than any other woman.' 'Do you think so, Dennis? I feel extiemely flattered by your good opinion.' 'Do 1 think so? 1 lie repeated ieproachfully. and Dulcie, looking at the mirror, could see how Ins arm stole round Ethel's waist without repruof, and how he kissed its owner with an affection and a familiarity quite unwarranted by an exi-t-ing relationship. ' Otcour-e you know that I think so, and that I admire you most awfully. I wish to goodness 1 had not been such a stupid fool as to fancy myself in love with a little country miss.' 'And what, pray, do you call me, sir?' 'A beauty,' he answered, emphasi-ing the assertion by another kiss. ' I tell jou, Ethel, that 1 was a born idiot to marry Dulcie ; I might have seen slie never would have suited me, and that, in fact, she had not got it in her to push a man on in sooiety, and bi ing his parties into lepute. Whereas you would have proved a kindred t-piiit.' ' It h no u=e regietting the pa?fc, Dennis ; Dulcie and I weie both there togethe>, and you chose to select her in preference to me. Had you proposed, I should certainly not have said nay ; but,' she added, giving her head a playful shake, 'even you could hardly expect a bashful maiden to declare a hopel- &s passion when it never received the slightest encouragement.' Her words, though jestingly uttered, inflamed his vanity. He liked bo think there might be some truth in them ; therefore, bending his head towards her, until their faces once more neaily touched, he said, eagerly : ' Ethel, I had no notion of this. Tell me, did you really care about me from the first ?' Dulcie's heart beat so tumu'tuously that it effectually prevented her from catching the an-wer to this question ; but she saw Ethel turn and look at him in a manner that could only prove flatteiing to his selfesteem, and then, with a li lib laugh, her si&ter left the l'oora and tiipped upstairs. Without pausing to reflet t on the probable result* of her conduct, she walked & raigLt up to her husband, who still remained in the di awing-room. ' Dennis,' she said, in tones of concentrated emotion, ' I have seen and heard everything that has just passed between Ethel and yourself, and wiihout willingly playing the s-py, have learnt for a ceitainty what I have oiten suspected, namely, that you bitterly repent having ever married

me ; I can only say I fully share thab repen tance. ' At the unexpected sight of his wife, he gave a sudden start, whilst a flush of conscious guilb rose to his brow. The fituation wHyS unplcasaat ; still he did. his utmost to laugh it oil. ' Pooh ! nonsense ! Dulcie. There was nothing either to see or hear >' ' You may call it nothing,' she answered, steadily. */ think otherwise. I call it a great deal that one's own sister should come into the house, and, firstly, by all sorts of petty artifice*, usurp one's place in it, and, secondly, not only permit, but er courage one's husband to make love to her. Such things may be nothing in your eyes, but they nic something in mine.' ' Pish ! are you going to turn jealous of every pretty woman that happens fco amuse me ? A female Othello is of all creatures the most absolutely hateful. '- The blood rushed to her cheeks. She keenly felt the taunt — unmerited though it was ; but she had gone too far now to diaw back. 'No,' she said, sturdily, ' I'm not ac all jealous. It pays a man far tno great a compliment to play the female Othello — aa you call it — for his sake. Nevertheless, don't flatter yourself thab 1 have been blind to what was gouig on. As long as yon pieserved some outward decency, I was content to remain a cipher, bub when you wish that Ethel was your wile, w hen you tell her you made a gigantic mistake in mairyiugme — though Heavon knows how little 1 ever wanted you to do ssando — and when yo.i kiss her openly. as you kissed her ju*.t now, then, jealous or not jealous, I consider I have somu right to interfeie. One's own self-iespect demands an immediate explanation or an immediate apology, 1 and she fixed her large eyes sfernly upon his. ' Explanations and apologies be blowed ! Don't make »»uch a d d foM of yourself.' 'I don't caie s\ hat names you call me,' she retorted, waimly, 'Mnce I know 1 have right on my side, and once for all I tell you you must make up your mind to ohoo&e between Ethel and me. Matter? can c"o on no longer as fchey have been doing, and ono or other of us must leave this house without a day's delay.' She spoke with a resolution so lixed that it alarmed him. For he dimly Husp°ctod that his authority over her was beginning to dwindle. The mere thought loused evciy ugly passion into life. ' Fiddle de- r le,' he said angrily. 'If Ethel's rcm-dning in this house pleases me she shall remain ; ay,' with a savage oath and a violent gesture of his rough, red hand, ' and a dozen Ethels too, if it comes bo that. I urn mash r heie, and won't brook being dictated to.' ' Dennis,' she said, clenching her little white teeth together, '1 repeat that either Ethel or I leave the house. You may take your choice which of us it is to be' Such open defiance made him turn white with rage. ' Bv Heaven !' he cried, fiercely, 'if I ha\e to kee i the dooi? locked to prevent you, neither of you shall go. I'll allow no interference, and won't submit to the spreading of scandal.' 'Tlie latter will be difficult to hinder under the circumstance-*, unle-s you make up your mind to let Ethel <'o quietly. The world, as a niie, is not over charitable, bub in this instance, I believe it will side with me, and pay that J have acted rightly.' ' Do you call it acting rightly to speak to your husband like this?' ' No, nob altogether,' she answer' d, whilst the tear.- rushed to her eyes ; ' but you have at last goaded me into desperation. Oh ! Dennis,' ami her tone changed to one of piteous approarh, ' what do you think wo women aie made of? Do you take us for stocks and stone* and mute dummies that you imagine you men can heap insmt after insult upon us without our resenting such conduct? We possess the same feeling, the same power of sutlering as yourselves, oftentimes but intensified by the inactive lives we are called upon to lead. You have never rt ally loved me. I have not leaint thab fact tv-day for the first time, and the passion you mistook for love was not love, but rivalry ; still, bv the laws of our country, we aie man and wife, and ought to live together in peace — if nothing more. Dennis, hear me ! 1 don't ask for a very gieab deal. I don't expect the affection and consideiate sympathy so dear bo a woman's hoarb I only beg you now and again to show me a little kindness, to treat me as if I were a fellow creature, endowed with kindred emotions, and, in return, I promise to perfoim \our bidding to the utmist of my powor Once for all, I im pice yon not lightly to drive me awav,-ince theendmeai s misery tor us both!' 1 You're uncommonly melodramatic this afternoon, Mrs Denver,' he lcplied, sneeringly. ' May I ask what your little game is?' The question effectually checked any softer thoughts creeping into her brain. ' Don t try my patience too highly,' she said, in a low voice. 'Remember that there are limit* to the temper of every woman, and on'-o you overstiaiu them your influence vanishes for evei.' Her lips were quiveiing; she was pleading as women plead but once in their lifetime, and when refusal biing> despair. 'You are my wife,' he cried hoaisely, ' and virtually my slave '' 1 Is — that — your — la-t — word, Dennis ?' she .l'-ked, slowly and weightily. ' YY 7 C 3, and for God's sake let us hear no more of this nonsense. I'm sick of it.' She drew hei self up to her full height, v. hilbt her nostrils distended like those of some fiery, untamed steed fiesh fiom the desert. 'What? You defy me? A mere chit like you ?' For one in°tant her great clear eyes rested full upon hi« pas-ionate countenace ' Yes, I do — nnt willingly ! bub <-ince you refuse to part with Ethel no other course is open to me.' Madnees seized upon him. His senses reeled under the nhock of this unlooked-for opposition, and, laying a heavy band on her fragiie shoulder, he shook it as a terrier shakes a wounded rabbit. A sickening feeling of physical fear came over her, and she well-nigh fainted with terror. 'I'll make you obey me!' he hissed, through hi* clenched teeth. 'I'll never resb until you are forced to acknowledge the poweilessness of your will as opposed to mine,' emphasising his words by another angry shake. She could not speak, all the pulsations of her being seeming suddenly to have come to a deadly standstill. If he chose to kill her he might do so, bub hhe lifted her eyes to his and smiled a smile of ineffable scorn. It only served to eniage him still more, expressing as it did unutterable disdain, and an unconquerable spirit. He raised his hand aloft and suddenly inflicted a cruel, cowardly blow upon her face — a blow which made all the soft white skin quiver with pain and flush into bright crimson. Just then Ethel came tripping down the stairs equipped in her riding habit, humming the opening bars of a new fashionable waltz. Mr Denver rushed from the room, slammed the door after him and escorted her to the hall. He dia not wish her tO meet Dulcie at that particular moment. .' . . . . An hour later the pair were enjoying their usual afternoon ride, though

the gentleman was in a peculiarly taciturn | and ungracious mood. And Dulcie? Why, Dulcie, when sho had in some slight measure recovered from the horrible excitement prod n cod by her husband's conducb, lost not a moment in putting her long-conceived purpose into execution. Her mind was thoroughly made up. She would leave him, and, going away by herself, would hide in some libtle dull, out ■of - tlie - wuy lodging, where nobody would ever think of looking for her. and whete her very identity might be lost. But she was proud — pioud as Lucifer— and since she had come emptyhanded she would so empty-handed away, and not bo beholden to her husband's fortune for a single thing. In her work-box-were five golden sovereigns, carefully rolled up in a piece of white paper. Her mother had given them to her on her marriage-day, and, with a vague presentiment that they might perhaps on some future occasion come in useful, she had refrained from spending f'em. The trinkets belonging to her girlhood were also her own. These, together with Bob's pearl ring, she nvght take, whilst surely the money would keep her for a week or two until she regained strength and was able to find some sort of work. Thus thinkinir, she stole noi-elessly upstair 5 !, drew her wedding-ring trom her finger, placed it in an envelope, and wrote a tew lines to her husband, saying that she hail left him for ever. Then she dragged a small portmanteau from under the bed, hastily stufled a few necessities into it, and rang the boll for her maid. ' Louise,' she saiil, 'I want a cab. Ask one of the men-servants to call me one at ono<\' • Where to, mum ?' asked the powdered footman a few minutes afterwards. 'St. Pancras.' *he said, bo'dly, ' and tell the dtiver to make haste or I shall miss my main.' In another instant the cabman started his lean horse, and. chiving rapidly down LowerGrosvenor-street, darted acrca-* Bondstieet, un Regent s'reet, and so into the labyrinth ian tho>oughfare& in the region of Tottenham Court Road. When they were close to St. Puncrns, Dulcie put up her umbrella and opened the peep-hole above. 1 Stop, please,' she said. ' I want to get out.' 4 I don't want to go to the station after all,' she explained. ' I want to go to some very very quiet place, away from the fashionable sfcieets, where I could lodge with some nice l'ind people, and which,' blushing scailet, 'is cheap. Can you help mo ?' looking u p appealingly. | 'Lor', now!' exclaimed the driver. I ' How curious things do cum about in this I woild, to bo sure ! There's my aunt and [ her husband has jusb taken a tweet 'ou=e in Great Pereival-street, out Islington way. and they be uncommon anxious at thih werry moment to rind a respectable female lodger." 'Ah!' cried Dulcie, eagerly. 'That's just the thing ! Islington will do capitally. Please duve me to your aunt's house.' j ( To be Continued. )

According; to a correspondent, a wellknown artish of the camera was called in lately to photograph the body of a young woman who had jjetu c t died under peculiar cncumslances. The body was laid out on a sofa in tho drawing room, and presented a singularly beautiful spectacle. The photographer was left alone in the room with the body and took a negative. After inspecting it he was not satisfied that the exposure had been sufficient, and he took another. And then, to his amazement, he discovered that the two negatives were not alike. The body must have moved. Not having quite lost nil hit> neive by this extraordinary occuirence, he took a third negativ e, which was exactly like the second. He instantly summoned the nur=e who had been in attendance on the deceased girl, and, after some difficulty and delay, had the doctor fetched. So to cut a long story short, the y«'ung lady was not dead at all, but is at this moment convalescent. This (says the " European Mail ") is a true story. Mr Trapp, of Messrs Y. B. Trapp and Co., of Melbourne, a large kauri-dealing firm, is at present on a visit to Auckland on matters connected \vi h the timber industry. He s.iys that in Vi toiia the annual consumption of kauri timber is at pret-ent about 11,000,000 feet per afinum, but that it the trade were carefully worked and cargoes judiciously timed to arrhe according to the demand, it could be incwaeed in time to 17,000,000 feet. Much harm was done to the trade and the reputation of the timber by sending over inferior and second-clciss timber, particulaily in baulk, for throughout Victoria the demand •vas exclusively for the be->t quality. As regaids the monopoly alleged to be po^ensed by the Kauri Timber Company, Mr Tr.ipp considers that nooperations of the big syndicate would ti^nd to harm the trade, and that there was 100 m for it and outsiders to work without clashing. The proposed export tax on baulk timber woul I. he thought, be directly beneficial to New Zealand without bei q the cause of curtailing the expoit. The kauii trade was in hia opinion in a healthy state, and with the promise of better things. It is intended to hold a conference of the acclimatisation societies tlnoughout this colony at an ea>ly date, and the Christchurch Society, which is moving energetically in the matter, have forwarded a series of preliminary resolutions to the other societies for consideration. These were • leulr. with at a special meeting ot the Auckland Society held on Satu>day, when they were taken seriatim, some recommended find some disapproved of. It was recommended that the season for native game should be from May Ist to July 31st. Licenses with fees 'or professional shooters and buyers of native and imported game were appioved of, but the meeting could not see its way to recommend a gun license of 10s. It was thought that this would be too great an interference with the liberty of the subject, and as it would not have public support it would be a mattor of ex treme difficulty to have an Act to that effect passed. The question of protecting birds was raised, but no recommendation was made ; but it was thought that kiwi? should be included amongst the protected game. Considerable surprise and widespread regret were felt throughout Melbourne last week upon the receipt ot news of Che death of the Hon. Francis Ormond, M. L.C., who left with Ms wife for Europe in December last. He died at Pau, in the south of France, at midnight) on the sth instant, aged 59. The Ormond College was built by him. He was founder of the Working Men's College and of the Chair of Music at the University. It is estimated that his public benefactions during the laet 12 years amounted to little less than £100,000. For, the laet seven years he had represented the South-western Province in the Legislative Council. The General Ataembly of the Presbyterian Church adjourpfid, as a mark of respect to the deceased gentleman. • The late Francis Ormond was born in the north-east of Scotland in 1830. He arrived in the colony with bia father, Captain Ormond, about [ 1840. He had been a successful grazier.