FICTION IN BRIEF.

Temuka Leader, Issue 2509, 30 May 1893, Page 4

FICTION IN BRIEF.

FOR HER! By Mary Angela Dickent ( GrwH<Ul(m(jM<;r of the late Clias. Dickens), Auther of « A Social Success," " Margery," &c. [ali. eights reserved.] ('Continued. J face averted now and very still—of th< woman beside her. The low deep voice rather strained as if the effort was a painfu one, went on—- " Do you mean—because he was the hus band of—my dearest friend ?" There was a little catch in her voice as she uttered the last words and it seemed to encourage the other woman for she broke suddenly intc rapid speech. " Katherine," she said " Katherine yor loved her so. How has it come about : That you of all her friends should be the one to stand by him ! When—when—it happened, when people began to say that—that he must have given her—cause it was only because you remained his friend that people went on receiving him at all. Katherine il it had not been for you he would have to go away I'm sure." " Yes, he would have had to go away." " I wondered at you then and I have wondered more and more as time has passed. There is nothing against him now ; you tided him over the worst, and now when that is mentioned he is pitied and Millie is . But I can never forget it. I never seethe man without wondering what—he did to her." Mrs. Adderley paused abruptly. She had spoken very quickly with a flushed agitated face and nervous manner—a strange contrast to the motionless figure near her. After a moment she went on again, and there was a curious ring of excitement in her voice, as if difficult and apparently painful as the subject was, it was not altogether unpleasant to discuss it. " There must have been some reason for it, Katherine. How can you believe she would have done that dreadful thing if she had not been driven to it ? I didn't know her as you did, I didn't love her as you did, DUt even I—even I can't bear the sight of :he man who must have brought her to such nisery. Millie, little Millie commit suicide ? Katherine, Katherine, can't you feel how bad i man he must be ? You who were her friend !" "I was her friend !" The words seemed :o come through the clenched teeth, almost .vithout Miss Grahame's consciousness. There was something stiff and rigid about ner figure as she sat there, still with her grip lightening on the arms of hef chair. '•• And—and—it's so soon Katherine," .vent on Mrs. Adderley, weakly " it's—it's pot much more than a year since it hapDenea I 1 there were nothing else against it, if poor I\7''he had just—died—l don't see now you 'could, I don't indeed. And it is —oh Katherine think how he have made her suffer before it came to that." No answer for a moment. The rigid figure seemed to grow more rigid yet, and there was a strange grey look of unutterable agony on Miss Grahame's face. At last she said in a low hoarse voice, with long pauses be.ween the words: " They said—she—was—mad " " Do you believe that, Katherine?" " I know it was not true !" " Then " But Miss Grahame stopped her. Moving very slowly, as if with a great effort, she turned her white face slowly towards her and spoke in a voice which Mrs. Adderley felt at once must be obeyed though it was so very quiet. " Eleanor," she said, " don't say any more. It is quite useless. I know you have felt for some time that you ought to say this to me. It was very good of you, for I know it has been unpleasant, but—it is useless. I—know Calton Leigh." There was a short silence, and then Miss Grahame, with a self-control at which Mrs. Adderley could only secretly marvel, began to talk quietly of other matters. But Mrs. Adderley was not stong—or as she privately put it " not so hard as Katherine Grahame," and before very long she rose to say goodbye. They parted with a ratherconstrained kiss. Miss Grahame closed her drawing-room door as her visitor disappeared round the bend of the stairs, and at the same instant she seemed to relax the rigid hold she had been keeping on the muscles of her face, and when she turned back into the room she looked an entirely different woman. Her lovely eyes were large and soft with unutterable love and grief, her whole face quivered and trembled. Very slowly she moved across the room to a table on which there stood a large photograph frame with a curtain over the glass. She paused a moment, then drew back the curtain, and sinking on her knees as though to get nearer the pictured face, she kissed it passionately. "My darling," she whispered. " Oh, my darling, my darling, forgive me I know, I know, but what can I do ? What can I say ? Oh my darling!" It was the picture of a girl of about five and twenty, a little fair girl , with a sweet gentle face and innocent trusting blue eyes. There was something inexpressibly strange and pathetic in the attitude of that strong passionate' woman in her mourning dress, kneeling there before that unresponshe girlish face in such an acony of passionate love. jyMdred West and Katherine Grahame had been r'ear friends. It does not perhaps cften happen that girlish friendships outlast girlhood, that youthful enthusiasms deepen into woman's "love, but when it does oceur that love is founded on a rock and must endure. And this had been the case with Miss Grahame and her dead friend. Each had known the other as one hnroan being very seldom can know another and their love had grown with their knowledge. They were curionly dissimilar, and to outsiders it seemed a strangely one-sided friendship. Katherine Grahame was so far the stronger of the two, stronger in her love, in her mental power, in social position, in everything, that it was easy to see what she must be to Mildred West. But nobody but their two selves—perhaps not even Mildred herself thoroughly realised what the steady tender love of that little gentle gir! was to the strong self-reliant woman, and Katherine Grahame returned the love she received with interest, A reserved woman with few ties and fewer affections, the whole intensity of her nature seemed to concentrate itself in her devotion to Mildred West, It was the passion of Her life. Mildred had been on a long visit to some friends when she first met Calton Leigh, and it had so happened that during her two months' engagement, her only trouble rose from the fact" that her friend was abroad with an invalid aunt and could only become acquainted with her fiancee through her own glowing descriptions. Miss Grahame did not return from London until the night before the wadding, and when Mildred proudly introduced to one another the two people she loved best on eaT Calton Leigh was her husband. Mildred's linage seemed to make little difference in their friendship. If Miss Grahame felt any jealousy of Caitor? Leigh, if it gave her pain to know that she had no longer the first place in her darling's heart, she was too strong a woman to let her feelings prejudice her against the man who had superceded her. She accepted him frankly as Millie's husband—consequently as her friend. Then, two years after her marriage, Mildred Leigh was found one morningdeadin her bed, and in her own hand was an empty glass which had contained the prussic acid which had killed her. Mildred Leigh had obviously committed suicide! An awful thing—an incredible thing—her friends and acquaintances said. But facts must be credited whether we will or no. Mildred Leigh had committed suicide, and the kindest thing that could be said for her—said in a hushed, pitying whispsr—was that she was mad. Nobod-' (Jlo be continued.)