CHAPTER LIX. CONCLUSION.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 373, 1 June 1889, Page 6

CHAPTER LIX. CONCLUSION.

For weeks Dulcie lay like a lifeless thing, whilst Bob Mornington watched over her with unceasing care. Alternate paroxysms of hope and despair left their marks on his boyish countenance. There were times when he feared she would escape him ; others -when the great, strong love in his heart made defeat seem impossible. But gradually he had the exquisite delight ot seeing her strength begin to return, and of knowing that as he moved about the room Bho- .took" 1 pleasure in watching his movements. Still, her mind seemed torpid. She accepted everything as it came, without inquiring how it was she found herself constantly nursed by Mrs Mornington and Bob. She would lie for hours as if in a state of coma, neither speaking nor moving. One cold winter's afternoon, six weeks alter Mr Denver's sudden death, Bob was watching by her be Jside as usual, whilst Mrs Mornington had returned home for an hour or two. Only that morning he and hia mother had had a conversation referring to Dulcie'd ignorance as to the actual state of affairs. 4 You must tell her what has taken place, Bob,' said Mrs Mornington, decidedly. 4 I do not wish otherwise,' he replied ; ' but we must wait — wait till she seems really capable of understanding what is going on around her.' And now, as he pat musing on the strangeness of the situation, all at once he was startled by finding a pair of dark eyes fixed full upon his countenance, and by hearing 1 a soft, perplexed voice say : 1 Bob. I suppose it's my stupidity, but how — how do yuu come to be heie?' The colour rushed to his face. The question was a very natural one, and yet he experienced a sudden difficulty in accounting for his presence. 4 I am here to look after you, Dulcie,' he replied, "after a somewhat prolonged pause. She seemed puzzled. Some thought wasevidently agitating her newly -awakened brain. ' I can't make it out/ she said, dreamily, 4 This is my room— this is Brabazon, and yet — and yefc — ' ' Well) Dulcie, what is disturbing you now ?' 4 Does Dennis know that you are here ?* she asked, bluntly. He saw that the time had come for telling her of her husband's death. ♦No.' * Then you. oughtn't to stay. I mean — I mean, I oughtn't to let you stay. Dennis would bo so^angry if he knew.' 'But he' doesn't know, Dulcie. He'll never know anything a^ain in this world.' She stared at him. in amazement. • Bob ' what do yon mean '(' 4 Pulcie,' he said, kneeling down by the bedside, and 'taking one little thin hand in his, * are you prepared to hear something that, even if you had no love for your husband, will still shock you very much V * Go on,' she murmured, turning suddenly pale. 4 Mr Denver is dead.' 4 Dead ? Dennis dead ?' she echoed, wildly. ' Yes. He died the very day on which you were taken ill.' • How long ago was that ?' 4 Six weeks.' 4 And what made him die ?' 'He was at the race at Newmarket ; and, from what we have since heard, the horse he was riding took fright, bolted down town, and came into violent collision with a cab, which the animal tried to jump. He failed to clear it, and fell backwards on the pavement, crushing your husband bentath him.' She made no reply. She lay for a long time perfectly quiet — so quiet, that only the sound of the clock ticking on the mantelpiece disturbed the silence. She had buried her faco in the pillows, so that he could not see its expression. After a while her stillness alarmed him. He feared that he had disclosed the intelligence before she was in a fit state to receive it. ' Dulcie !' he cried, ' tell me, darling, what is the matter ?' A little tremulous movement amongst the bed clothes, but no answer. 'Dear one,' be whispered, coaxingly, • won t you speak to me V Suddenly, with a low, hysterical cry, she pillowed her head on his shoulder. ' Oh, Bob ! It is dreadful of me ; but I — I cannot feel very sorry. You do not know what I have suffered. A woman cannot talk of these things. She has to shut them up in her heart, and they leave scars behind which are ineffaceable. And he was my husband.' 'It is God's" doing,' said Bob, seriously. 4 Do not v reproach youi>elf, my darling.' 4 Bub it seems so awful to die like that,' she paid, with a shudder; 'to have no chance given him of repentance ; and for me — his wife — to feel as I do. It seems so wicked of me !'« 4 Corned Dulcie,' he said soothingly, ' you must, not excite yourself too much. Remember how, ill you have been.' She burst into tears. The shock was all the greater because the dead man occupied no place in her affections. 1 Bob,' she sobbed, clinging to him with little clutching hands, * lam all alone. You will stay with me now, won't you ?' 4 For ever !' he murmured, passionately, folding her to his heart in a long and loving embrace. * I will never leave you again.' She gave a, soft sigh of content. 4 And we will try and be good, Bob. We fiave seen what misery comes out of evil-doing. lam wicked sometimes ; but you will help me.' 4 Dulcie ! darling little woman !' he whispered, 4 we will try and help each other. :t # # + * * The red sun sank to rest, the mist rose up like a whi c spectre from the land, the black trees,' shorn of their beautiful summer raiment, stood out dark and sharp against the cold grey sky, and on their spirits an exquisite peace descended — a sense of perfect rest and security. After all their cruel sufferings, happiness had suddenly come to them ; and the great, deep love which flooded their hearts created a boundless sympathy for all things living., Even he wh6, selfi«h, bad and ungenerous, had been the means of bringing so much misery into their lives, they freely forgave,

ond prayed that God r would have mercy upon his soul. Reverently and seriously they look forward to a union'in whictt mutual foroearance, earnest striving and high endeavour shall be the joint aim of both husband and wife. - ♦ Straight as a Die ' had been their motto, and now reward had come at last, as, in pome shape or other, it generally does to all those who battle nobly and courageously with the ills of life. The End.