Mary's Great Mistake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 3017, 13 October 1908, Page 2

Mary's Great Mistake.

CHAPTER ll.—Continued

took up hi 3 pen and began writj.»; quickly:— "MY DEAR MOTHER: Yes, I 1.-now lam a perfect brute to you, but you will forgive me, won't you? A thousand thanks for all your ne.vs and the things you have sent, but don't send any more just for the present. I have everything 1 want. I went to church on Christmas Day, and thought *>f you all in the dear old home. I have penty of money, darling. You know I earn quite a lot and I am getting to be quite a crack rilayer. Old Narini was right, there is nothing like plenty of practise and experience for making one as nearly as perfect as possible. We piay a different score every night, so you see I have lots to do. "Tell Laurie she might send me a line. 1 bad a letter from Aunt Am.e forwarded from town last week. I often laugh to myself when I think of the horror she and Uncle Rupert would have if they knew where I

was, and what I am doing. I suppose '• they would have a fit if they heard that the heir to the great Hungerford title was travelling about with a second-class operatic troupe, earning a weekly salary like any other poor mortal. You are a brick, mother darlmg, to let me do as I like and to say nothing about me. "I am afraid, however, in a little while they will begin to wonder why <[ never turn up at Hungerford, and am so little at home. Then will come the storm! "Aunt Anne was very full of a new girl she had picked up somewhere. I suppose another wife for me. Poor Aunt Anne! Has she told you anything about this last paragon —a certain Miss Isobel Marston? If you have not heard of her yet, you will, uncle, indeed, Aunt Anne discover some one else a littlemore of a paragon, whom she will promptly proceed to fling at my head, dear stupid old thing, as if a man ever chose to accept his fate in that sort of way! If ever I marry —" Here Mr Dering broke off in his writing and leaned back in his chair; he fell into a deep train of thought and

roused himself only as the clock outside chimed the hour of two; he-bent I hurriedly over the letter again. "But never mind that now; it is an event for the remote future. What I want to say is more to the purpose; I have had an offer to go with the company to Australia for a few months. I have settled nothing yet; but if you don't object, dear mother, I should like to go. I ough<" to travel a bit beiore I cume into the splendors and duties of the Hungerford title. At the most, I should only be away about six months. "I know you will cry out about the distance, but nowadays the antipodes are really only next door ; and before you realise lam gone, I shall be bank again. Send me a word by return, dear, as I must give Maxwell my decision this week. I hope you will not object. Of course I shall run down and see you before I sail, if I go, which would be about the < end of January or beginning of February. "Now, darling, I must shut up; it is very late. Take every care of your de'*!* self. Tell Laurie I will write to her next. "Your affectionate son. "PAUL." He folded this letter, put it into an envelope apd addressed it to Lady Emily Hungerford, The Elms, Birchdale, shire, and this done, he began to throw off his clothes and retire to bed. He lay staring at the dark, small room for a long while, but at last he grew drowsy. "To let her go to the other side of the world, to lose sight of her forever," was the burden of his thoughts ere sleep came to wrap a veil of unconsciousness over them. /'Not to know how she fared, or what he did! No, no, I could not. It is a madness, I know. A, pigheaded sort of folly, but I can't help myself. I will try and cure myself, but I must first see her started in a different path. I must do some- > thing to lighten her lot. I don't know how I arn going to do it, but time will show me. It is not, surely, merciful or just that one poor, fragile, thing should suffer on and on till her life ends. If—if I stay near, the chance may come. I may see a way; I may offer her my friendship, and somehow 1 tell—l know now she will not refuse my help; she will turn to me when such a moment comes as to one whom she can trust; one who will not fail her. Heaven bless her! may that day come soon!" * And then the dark, misty room faded from his sight. The image of Mary -Ballaston's sad beauty melted from his brain, and he lay lost in a deep, dreamless sleep till the morning light and a sharp rap at his door recalled him to life and another day. »'** * * * There was no journey for Mrs Ballaston on this particular Sunday. She awoke feeling too ill to rise. The landlady, easy on the score of payment, since the fivi.-pound note Mary had received reposed i:i her possession, way sufficiently sympathetic, and did all she could to make her unusual lodger comfortable. Paul Dering did noi learn of Mrs Ballatson's illness til! he had reached the station. He wa.s told of it by the oitnager, who had received a penciled word from Mary asking him to kindly convey to her husband the fact of her inability to travel for a day or <w j. Paul heard in silence, and made no comment when the manager expressed himaelf in strong language - " the subject of Hugh Ballaston. If he could.have remained behind with

y EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS.

Selina's Love Story "An Inherited Feud," "Brave Barbara," "A Splendid Heart," tc, etc.

out attracting attention, Dering would have done so, but he never acted without the most careful thought for Mary, and his absence • would have been immediately noted and commented upon. He went, therefore, with the rest to Silchester, and spent a very miserable two or three hours. Though he would not return to stay, he determined to go back (o Hivington, just to make inquiries an i see how she was. There was a trr.in leaving about four o'clock; he resolved to go by thatarid hi sat trying to read some newspapers at the hotel where he put up til! the time for his departure came. Just as he was getting very sick from mingled restlessness and anxiety, his manager was announced. He wished to see Mr Dering immediately on important business. Dering bad him,admitted, and in a very few minutes heard ail there was to hear. It was a very brief matter. Ballaston had disappeared. I There was not a trace of him to be found in any part of the town; the woman, too was missing, and there could be little doubt as to what had happened. "And there's that poor creature lying sick at Rivington—-blame me, but I think that brute ought to be hung!" was the manager's remaik when his story was told; and then he went on with the reason of his visit. "And now there's the business of telling her, and who the deuce is to do it? There isn't one of the ladies 1 could send, you know; none of'em hit it off exactly with Mrs! Ballaston. They ain't quite her sort —in fact, none of us are except I you. You're a cut above us, too, Dering, you know, and that's what's brought me to you now." Here the manager paused. Paul looked at him a moment. "You wish me to carry this information to Mrs Ballaston?" he asked in a low voice. The manager nodded his head. "You've hit it first time," he said. Paul was silent a long moment. He was face to face with a horrible difficulty. The thought of her pain, her humiliation, her suffering was terrible. Yet there was no chance of keeping it from her now. She must know. Batter the news should come from him than from any of the rest. He might be able to clothe his own words more delicately; he had the instinctive feeling that Mary would rather accept the news of her husband's desertion from his hands. He spoke hurriedly. "I will do my best, Maxwell. It —it is not a pleasant task, but I will do my best." The manager thanked him. *'l am very sorry for the poor woman, not that his loss can be anything but a relief in a sense, I should think, but she (was proud as Lucifer, and she'll suffer, and then look here, Dering, I don't expect he'll have left her any too much cash. Just find out and let me know there's a good chap. I can't do much, still I can do a little, and " Paul thanked the man involuntarily, and then they parted. It was late before he reached Rivington, too, late, in fact, 'to do anything but walk to the door of Mary's lodgings and inquire for her. To prevent misunderstanding or vulgar thought he pretended to have left something at his old room, and only asked for Mrs Ballaston by chance. i She was very ill, he learned, with a severe, feverish cold. (To be continued.)