FICTION IN BRIEF.

Temuka Leader, Issue 2510, 1 June 1893, Page 4

FICTION IN BRIEF.

FOR HER! By Mary Angela Dickent (Grand-davi/Jiter of' fhn Into Chast. DicJicns), Author of “A Social Success,” “Margery,” &o. [all eights reserved.] ( Continued.) saw Miss Grahame —no one, not oven the grief-stricken husband, might toucli tier terrible anguish, and when the sad story was discussed, as it was whenever two or more of their mutual acquaintances chanced to meet, these two were spoken of with the same deep pity. “ Poor Calton Leigh ! ' people said, " Poor Katherine Grahame ! But when the first shock of sympathy began to pass off, when people had bn'light themselves to accept the bare facts, the inevitable question arose. “ Why did she do it ?” Perhaps there is nothing in social life more incongruous, more terribly significant, than the gossip which grows up round a great tragedy, until the original horror is lost in a mist of sensationalism and excitement. The contrast between the aspect presented by the same thing to the few who are agonised by it, and the many who talk about it, is one which should make us think twice, before we indignantly repudiate as we are apt to do the suggestion of the possible existence of a fellow-leeling between ourselves, and the cruel old Romans who filled the Colliseum in by-gone days. We do not enjoy our fellow creatures physical pain now-a-days—we are more refined—but we find the mental sufferings which go to make up a tragedy “ so exciting.” Mildred Leigh’s acquaintances found the discussion of the motives, which must have inspired her ghastly action, quite inexhaustable, and gradually out of much talk it came to be generally understood, to be indeed an accepted fact, that Mildred’s married life had been far from happy Nobody had any reason for saying so ; nobody had thought oi such a thing before her terrible death; bin it was obvious that if she had been happy she would not have committed suicide. And through this uncontrovertible statement, it was easy to reach the conclusion that when such a woman as Mildred Leigh is unhappy in her married life, her husband is certainly to blame. That the steps to this conclusion were not clear as might have been wished by a strictly judicial mind made no difference to anyone. There was nothing against Calton Leigh, only—no one wanted to meet him, no one cared to ask him to his or her house, and he was gradually being quietly and completely ostracised when Katherine Grahame* electrified everyone by coming suddenly and firmly to his side, and quickly making it very clearly understood that she at least was his friend. It was an utterly unexpected move and people found themselves pausing. Even those who had somehow produced the most detailed and authentic histories of Gallon Leigh’s misconduct felt themselves slightly shaken. Miss Grahame had been there so much— Miss Grahame had been Mildred Leigh’s dear friend—surely Miss Grahame must have known if there had been—anything. Perhaps after all they had been misinlormed. If his wife’s most intimate friend was friendly with him still, certainly no one else had any right to cut htm—he must be asked to dinner—just a quiet little dinner—without delay. And gradually it came to be a usual thing that when Calton Leigh was asked to dinner, Miss Grahame should be asked to meet him. A sensation is a very short lived article and leaves no perceptible marks on those who enjoyed it, except perhaps an increased appetite for the next, and people’s interest in Caltton Leigh and Miss Grahame was beginning to flag when it was suddenly revived by certain very interesting reports—reports which were confirmed by individual observations. Nothing could be more suitable and delightful people said. They had sympathised wilh and consoled one another until they had fallen in love ! Very natural! A little soon perhaps for Calton Leigh to have forgotten his wife—a little soon for Katherine Grahame to have forgotten her friend but—very natural !

There was no sound in the perfect draw-ing-room but the quiet crackling of the fire. Miss Grahame's lace was hidden on her arms now, and the calm sweet eyes in the picture looked serenely down on her bowed motionless head. She did not speak again, but in every line of her kneeling figure was love and sorrow unuiterabli-. She knelt on until the sound of the front door bell startled her suddenly to her feet. She stood for a moment listening intently with her breath coming quick and short and her eyes glowing with a strange deep light. Then she drew the curtain once more over the picture, and crossing to the fire-place, seated herself just as Gallon Leigh entered the room.

He gave a quick glance round as he came in, and said eagerly : " This is very nice. I was afraid I might be too soon." She looked up at him with a smile, which made her face wonderfully fascinating, She did not hold out liar hand, but as they had met so recently that perhaps was not necessary. “Too soon?” she said, "Yes. I mean I was afraid that you might not be alone." She laughed a low musical laugh, still with her beautiful shining eyes fixed upon him, and as he looked at her, his own eyes seemed to grow deep and wild with a feeling he could hardly control. He whitened slightly and turning away his face with an obvious effort, sat down near her. For a few moment there was silence, She sat watching him with a strangely expectant expression on her face, and he, though he seemed to be always conscious of her gaze, never looked round at her. At last she said with another low laugh, " Have you nothing to say, Mr. Leigh, now you are here ?" He started as though he had been shot, and turned to her sharply, rising to his feet gs he did so. "To say!” he began vaguely. "To say—" Then he broke off and stood looking at her, as if he could never turn his eyes away again. She did not turn her head from him, only her face was deadly white, and her eyes unnaturally dark and bright, as she smiled that wonderful smile, right into his eyes again. Then, suddenly, with a low hoarse cry. he fell on his knees beside her, and caught her arms in both his own, "To say !’’ he cried again. " Katherine ! Katherine! you know what it is I must say, what I hardly dare say. I love youl I love you ! I love you, My life is nothing to me without you 1 I think of you day and night; I long for you ; I hunger and starve for you, with every breath I draw. Katherine come to me, come into my life and satisfy me, my love, my love. I cannot live without you—come !" As he touched her, she turned as cold as death, and a strange film clouded her eyes, but she never turned her face from his burning passionate eyes. She had made no effort to resist, to release herself from his touch, and as he ended, — "Yes, I will come," she said, CHAPTER 11. Two months had passed away and Miss Grahame was alone in her drawing-room evidently expecting something or someone. It had been one of those stange and terrible days, when London is enshrouded in a weird and inexplicable darkness. There had been no fog to speak of, and }et it had been dark --dark as night almost. Over Miss Grahame’s beautiful house all day the heavy shadow had brooded, the pretty cheery rooms had looked gloomy and mysterious, and the servants had gone about with that depressed, almost awe struck manner, which is the nearly inevitable result of so unnatural a state of things. No one had called, of course ; Miss Grahame had hardly left the {lo he continued,}