CHAPTER IX.

Te Aroha News, Volume II, Issue 425, 4 December 1889, Page 6

CHAPTER IX.

SAYING (JOOD-BYK. No coldness about the welcome here, no i ungracious remembrances of the past, no need ever to doubt Trixy'a warm heart, and generoue, forgiving, impulsive nature. All Edith's shortcomings were long ago forgotton and forgiven— it ia in Edith's way to inspire ardent lore. Trixy loves hor as dearly, as warmly as she had ever dono— she hugs, 4>ho kisses, she exclaims nt eight of her, in a perfect rapture of joy : ' 0 darling !' the cries, • how good it 13 to &co you again ! what a surprise is this ! Charley, whoro are you ? look here J Don't you know Edith V * Most undoubtedly I know Edith,' Charley answers, advancing ; ' old ago may have impaired my faculties, but still I recognise a familiar face when I see it. I told her I thought you would be glad to se« her, but I didn't tell her you intended to eat her alive.' 4 You told hor !, Where? When f lln the Btore— rthis afternoon. She came in " promiscuous " for black Lyons velvet, wasn't it, Lady Catheron ? You didn't get it, by the way. Permit me to inform you, in my professional capacity, that we have a very chaste and elegant assortment of the article always in s>tock. Trix, where's your manners ? Here's Nellie hovering aloof in the back-ground, waiting to be introduced. Allow me to bo muster of the ceremoniesLady Catheron, MissNollie Seton.' Both young ladies bowed— both looked at each other in the face — genuine admiration in Miss Soton's—keon, joalous scrutiny in Lady Catherou's. She saw a girl of two or -three and twenty, under-bfced and rather plump, with a iaco whiqh in point of beauty

would not for one instant compare with her own or Trixy's either. Bub ib was such a thoroughly yood face, and the bluo, beaming eyes, the soft-cut, smiling mouth, gentle, and strong, and sweet, • were surely made to win all hearts ab siyht. Nob a beauty— something infinitely bettor, and ad a rival, something infinitely more dangerou?. • Lady Cathoron's name is familiar to mo a? a household word,' Alias Soton said, with a 'frank little laugh that subdued Edith at once. * Trix wakes with your name on her lips, I believe, and goes to sleop murmin ing it at night. Lady Catheron doesn't know how madly jealous I havo been of hor before now.' Edith turns once more to Trix — faithful, friendly, loyal Trix and Ptretches foith both hands, with a swift, graceful impulse, tears standing, large and bright, i»i her eyes. ' My own dear Trix !' is what she says. 4 And now I'll run away.' Aliss Seton exclaims brightly ; 'auntie will expect me, and I know Trix has ten thousand things to tell and to hear. No, Trixy, not a word. Charley, what are you doing with your hat? pub ib down instantly— l don't want you. I would very much rather go home alone. ' I Yes, it's so likely I'll let you. There's no earthly icason why you shouldn't stay ; but if, with your usual obstinacy and strong mindedness, you insist upon going I 1 do insist upon going, and without an escoil. You know you are rather a nuisance— in the way- than otherwise --oh, I mean ib. I gob home twice as fast when I go by myself.' > He looks ab her-- Edith 'turns sick- sick, as fehe'sees the look. He says something in too low a tone for the rest to hear. Miss Seton laughs, bub her colour rises and she objects no more. Edith sees it all. A grey-kidded hand is extended to her. * Good - night, Lady Catheron j' Miss Seton's bright, pleasant voice says, and Lady Catheron takes it, feeling in. her heart ! that for once she cannot dislike a rival. I This giil who will be Charley's wife— O. blissful fate —is worthy of him. They go out together, laughing as they go. 1 Isn't she just the dearest darling !' cries Trix, in her gushing way ; ' and, 0, Edith ! whatever would have become of us all without her, I shudder to think. In the dark days of our life, when friends were few atid far bebweon, she was our friend — our saviour. She nursed mamma from the very jaws of death, she got me my place in the fancy store, and I believe — she won't own it — but I do believe she saved Charley's life.'

[ • Saved his life V Edith falters. 4lt was such an awful thing, 1 Tiix says in sombre tones, ' wo were starving, Kdith, litornlly starving. All our old friends had forsaken us ; work we could not get, "to beg wo we»o ashamed." If you had seen Charley in those days, gaunt, holloxr-eyed, haggard, wretched. He looks and feels all right now,' goes on Trix, brightening up a bit, ' bub then ! it used to break my heart to look at him. He tried for work, from morning until night, and day after day he camo home, footsore, weary, despairing. He could not leave mother and me, and go elsewhere — she was sick, father was dead — poor pa — and I was just crazy, or near ft. And one dark, dreadful uight he went out, and down to the river, and — Nellie followed and found him there. Ah ! Edith, he wasn't so much to blame ; I suppose he was mad that night. She came up to him, and put her arms around him as he stood in the darkness and the rain, and — I don't know what she said or did — but she brought him back to us. And Providence sent him work next day — tho situation in the store he has now. I don't know about his merits as a salesman, 5 says Trix, laughing, with her eyes full of tears, 'but he is immensely popular with tho Jadie?. Nellie says it isn't his eloquence— where the other cletks expatiate fluently on the merits of ribbons, and gloves, and laces, shades and textures, Charley stands silent and lets them talk, and smiles and looks handsome. 1 «uppo«e it answers, for they seem to like him. So now you see we get on splendidly, and I've almost forgotten that wo wore ever rich, and wore purple and lino linen and feasted sumptuously every day.' 4 You are happy V Edith asks, with wonder and on\ y in her eyes. 4 Perfectly happy,' Trix repHee, cheerily : I haven't a with unsatisfied — oh, well ! now that you've come. I did want you,,l)ithy ; it seems such ages and ages since we met, and I was tioubled about you. I heard of him, yon know, poor fellow.' She touches timidly Edith's widow's weeds. There is no answer— Edith's tears are falling. She is contrasting her own cowardice with Tiixy's courage; her own hardness with Tiixy's generosity. • How do you know ?' she asks at length. 'Captain Hammond. You letnembcr Angus Hammond, I suppose ?' Trix says, blushing and hesitating ; 4he wrote "us about it, and ' — a pause. 4 Go on ; what else did he write f 'That there was trouble of some sort, a separation, 1 think — that you had parted on your very wedding-day. Of cuurse we couldn't believe that.' 1 It is quite true,' was the low reply. Trixy's eyes opened. 1 True ! O Dithy ! On your weddingday !' ' On our wedding-day/ Edith answered, steadily ; 'to meet no more until we met at his death-bed. " Some day, Trix dear, I will tell you how it was— not now. Two years have passed, but even yet I don't care to think of it. Only this — he was not to blame — he was the bravest, the noblest, the best .of men, ten thousand j times too good for me. 1 was a mercenary, i ambitious wretch, and I foceiyed my just I reward. We, parted at the last Mentis, thank God ! but I can never forgive myself — ne\or !' There was a pause - an uncomfortable one for Trix. ' How long einco you came to Now York ?' she asked at length. Edith told her— told her how she had been wandering over the world since her husband's dea'h how she had come to America to see her father — how eho had tiicd to find them here in New York — how signally she had failed— and how to-day, by purest accident, she had come upon Charley in the Bioadway store. 4 How astonished he must, have been,' his sister said j 4 1 think I ace him, lifting his eyebrows to the middle of his forehead. 1 >id he take you for a ghost ?' 'By no means, and he was not in the least surprised. He knew I was here, from the Hrst/ ' Edith !' 4He told me so. He saw my arrival in fche paper when I first lauded.' •And he never told me, and ho never went to see you. The wretch !' cried Trix. 4 1 don't know that he is to blame,' Edith responded quietly. 'I deserve no better; and ah ! Trixy, not many in this world are as generous as you. So you are perfectly happy, darling? I wonder if Captain Hammond, now, has anything to do with it? 4 Well, yes,' Trix admits blushingly again ;4 1 may as well tell you. We are to bo married at Christmas.' 4 Trix ! Married !' 'Married at last. We were engaged before I left England, tines 7ears ago.

He wanted to marry me .then, foolish fellow!' says Trix with shining eyea, 'bub of courfeo, we none of us would listen to co preposterous a thing. He had only his pay and his debts, and his expectations" from a fairy godmother or grandmother, who wouldn't die. But she died last, mail— l mean last mail brought a black' bordered letter, saying she was gone to glory, and had left Angus everything. He is going to pell out of the army, ;and will be here by Christina*, and — and the. wedding is to take place the \ery week he arrive?. And, oh ! Edith, he's just the dearest fellow, the best fellow, and I'm the happiest girl in all New York !' Edith says nothing. She takes Trix, who is cubing, suddenly in her arms, and kisses her. Angus Hammond has been faithful in the hour when she deserted * them — that is her -thought. Her selfs oproach never ceases — never for one hour. ' We go to Scotland of courFe,' said Trix, ' wiping her ejes ; ' and ma — alt«o of courso, stays with Charloy. Nellie will bo here to till my place— don't you think she will make a charming sister ?' She lauerhs as she asks the question — it is the one littlo revenge she takes. Before Edith can reply she runs on : 'Nellie's rich— rich, I mean, as compared with \ih, and she hae made it all herself. She's awfully clever, and writes for magazine?, and papers, and things, and earns oceans of money. Oceans,' says Trix, opening her eyes to the size of baucers ; ' and I don t know really w Inch of us 'ma likes best, Nellie or me. That's my one comfort in going. Here comes Charley now -Uet's have tea at once. I forgot all about ifcj'but nobody has the faintest idea of the Pi a y£> s °f hunger I am enduring.' ""' Charloy sauntered in, looking fre&H and handsome, from the night air. It was quite dark now. Trix lit the lamp and bustled about helping to get cupper. 'You told Nellie?' she asked her brother in a low tone, but Edith caught the words. • Yes,' Charley answered gravely, 'I told her.' 4 What did she say?' 1 Everything that was like Nellie — everything that waa bright, and brave, and good. She will be here in the morning to say good bye. Now, Mre Stuart, if you have any companion on a famished only son, hurry up, and let's have supper.' They eat down around the littlo table where the lamp shone brightly — Edith feeling cold and strange and out of place. Tiixy and Aunt Ch'Uty might, and did, forgive the past, but *hu herself could not, and between her and Chailey lay a gulf, to be spanned over on earth no more. And yet — how beautiful and stately she looked in her littlo white widow's cap, her sombre dress, and the frill of sheer white crape at her throat. 'Edith!' Trix said involuntarily, 'how handsome you ha\o grown. You were always pntty. but nov— l don't mean to flatter— but you are splendid ! It can't be that black becomes you, and yet — Charley, don t you see it"? hasn't Edith gjown lovely ?' ' Trix !' Edith cried, and over het pale cheeks there rose a flush, and into her dark, brilliant eyes there came a light that made her for the moment all Trixy i=aid. Charley looked at her across. the table — the cool, clear, grey eyes, perfectly r un- 1 dazzled. • I used to think it impossible for Edith to improve ; I find out my mistake to-day, as I find out many others. As it is- not permitted one to say what one thinks on these subjects one had better gay nothing at all.' The flush that has risen to Edith's cheeks remains there, and deepens. , After tea, at Trixy 'a urgent request, she fcits down hb the little hired piano, and sing 3 some of the old eongs. ' Your very voice has improved,' Trix says admiringly. ' Edith, sing Charley ht\ my (/arhvfj, foy -Charloy. It used to be a favomite of his.' Sho gives him a malicioussidelong glance. Charley, lying back in his mother's comfortable, cushioned. rocking-chair, takes it calmly. • It used to be, but it has ceased to be, he answers coolly. ' Trix, co out like~a good child, and get me the evening paper. Among my other staid, middle-aged habits, Lady Cafcheron, is that; of reading the "Post" every evening religiously, after tea. '- Never Edith any more — always Lady Oatheron — ne\er the girl he loved three yenra ago — whom he had said he would love all his life, but the richly-dowered widow of .Sir Victor Catheron. He will not goner» ously forget, even for an instant, that he is an impecunious dry goods clerk, she a lady of rank and riches. She rises to go— it is growing almost more than she can bear. Trix preese* her to stay longer, but in vain ; he never utters a word. 'Shall Charley call a carnage, or will you pi efer to walk ?' Trix asks doubtfully. ' She will walk,' says Charley, suddenly looking up and interfering ; ' the night is fine, and I will see her home.' For one instant, at the tone of his voice, at the look of his eyes, her heart bounds. Her bonnet and mantle are brought— she kisses Trix and Aunt Chatty good-night — they have promised to dine with her tomorrow—and goos forth into the soft October night with Charley. He draws her hand within his arm— the night is starlit, lovely. The old time comes back, the old feeling of rest and content, the old comfortable feeling that it is Charley's -arm upon which she leans, and that she asks no more of fate. To-morrow he may be Nellie Setons — just now he belongs to her. (To be continued. )

ManviiltFenn'e "Of High Descent" which has been running through " Good Words" this year as " Ihe Haute Noblesse," was published in three volumes yoaterday. It is like half a score of other tales by the sam« prolific author, pleasingly readable without being specially brilliant or out of the common. The scene is laid at a Cornish fishing village {probably Fowey), and a burglarious assault (and its consequences) forms the principal incident of a well contrived plot. • The new and cheaper edition of the •'Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple (1652 54)" puts a really delightful book within reach of every family circle. Reading other people's spoony effusions is ordinarily a doleful business, but these love letters of a bygone age aremodels of what such epistles should be. Moreover, there is a modernness in their stylo, sentiment and humour which makes it most difficult to believe they were really written in Cromwell's time. Fortunately the genuineness of the collection is beyond dispute, and th* editor assures us they have not been " tinkered " or altered in any way. The usually caustic "Saturday Keview " describes this book as " the pleasanteit book imaginable." Jerkins : You shouldn't have asked o* Henpeckt it he was going to the cire*« Firkin*: Why not? Jerkins: Because^© was go^ng home. First Doctor — I hear you treatc wy neighbour for typhus fever. Ww it* bad .case ? Second ditto— -Very bad j M« man never paid bis bill.