Mary's Great Mistake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 3022, 20 October 1908, Page 2

Mary's Great Mistake.

By EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS. Author of Selina's Love Story "An Inherited Feud," •« Brave Barbara," "A Splendid Heart," etc., etc.

CHAPTER IV.—Continued. . • ] After he left the company he went 1 to London, and there he consulted and j employed one of themost experiene- , ed detectives. Hope had sprung up \ afresh at the confidence with which J this man Walters had undertaken to solve the mystery and find her whom j he sought.. It had been an easy s matter to trace Ballaston. He had j gone to America almost imm°diately J after his flight, and if he were want- , ed the detective would be able to put ' y his hand upon him at a moment's notice, figuratively speaking. The £ question of Mary wai fraught with j much difficulty, and Paul's hope died , •when a week went by and Walters j could give no information whatever. He grew thin and ill with anxiety, { and a sudden longing for the peace and comfort of his mother's presence drove him home unexpectedly. ( He had said he would remain jn j his home, but only one day had gone j and already the fever of unrest was } burning.in his veins, urging him to £ go on, anywhere, no matter where, so ( that the path would lead him to some trace of Mary. j This was his mental condition this 1 day of his first meeting with Isobel . Marston, and after his first effort to j make himself conventionally pleasant ; to his aunt's guest, he relapsed into ( his former apathetic state—a state 1 born of intense mental suffering and ( suspense. : Two days later Lady Hungerford and Miss Marston honoured "The ; Elms" householdby their company at dinner. Sir Rupert had an attack of the : gout, and could not come, but his wife ( made up for his absence by her gorgeous apparel and her affability. ' Isobel was a charming vision in a : dress of some delicate pink material. ; "My dear, you look like a wild , rose," Lady Emily said with her J ready graciousness. ( She drew the girl's face down toward her and kissed the fair cheek 1 warmly. : "She is certainly a pretty crea- ■ ture," Laurie Hungerford thought to , herself; "it is a pity she is so stupid." ( Paul's sister was looking very . bright and pretty herself: she had j charming features, and her gray eyes ] were like her mother's. She was . a good contrast to Isobel's flaxen ': loveliness, being tall and strong looking, with a healthy, tanned colour on her face. "I wonder if Paul is going to give , Aunt Anne fits to-night, or raise her hopes sky-high?" was Laurie's next thought, and then she sighed. "Poor Paul!" was in the sigh. It was so odd to her to sigh for Paul. She could never remember to have felt a grief for him before; he had always been such a creature ot sunshine and happiness. He was luoking very handsome and distinguished as he stood with his back to the fire talking to Isobel. The sister's heart, full of her vague fears and forebodings, rested with a sense of comfort on this girlish pink figure. "If he could only forget; if he could grow to care for her. I think she would make him happy; she looks simple and good, and I verilj believe she is half-way in love with him now." As they were ail passing though the hall to dinner the butler handed a telegram to his young master. "You will excuse me, Aunt Anne," Paul said, his face grown suddenly ashen pale. Lady Hungerford bowed her head. They seated themselves at the table, all except Paul, who, with an apology to the rest, had remained by the hall lire to read his telegram. His hand shook so much he could hardly tear open the envelope. The message was laconic enough, but it carried a whole volume of agony to Paul Hungerford's overladen heart. "Search ended. Case discovered. Individual required died week ago! "WALTERS." There was a smothered sob, a sort of broken moan; and then Laurie, whose eyes had been watching her brother through the open door way, rose hurriedly. "Paul is iIL" she said, and she ran out of the room, followed by her mother. Laurie knelt down by the stricken, unconscious figure; her first work was to take the crushed telegram from his nerveless hand. "It is only a faint; don't be frightened, mother. Where is Dawson? This is work for her. Aunt Anne, will you please look after mother unci Miss Marston? I shall go up-stairs with Paul. This is the result of his neuralgia; he has been cornplain.'ng all day; mother, darling, 1 assure you he will soon be all right." So talking and coaxing, Laurie got her mother out of the way and then followed her brother's form as it was carried up the stairs. Despite her brave show of indifference, the girl's heart was bleeding for her ioved one. "It must be something very had," •she said sorrowfully to herself, as >Bhe stood besid'> his bed and watched Dawson rti-iorc him to consciousness. But even in the wealth of her great woman's sympathy Laurie little knew how .bad the trouble was. CHAP'IER V. THE DOCTOR PROPOSITION. Mary Ballaston was not dead. She lay on a narrow iron bedstead in tha ( trner of a long, lofty room, full o* <• .."responding beds, each holding its 1 -irden of suffering humanity beneath the blue and white coverlets and L rough, though scrupulously clean, Bhcets.

Gentle women in print gowns, white caps and white aprons moved noiselessly about the room, bringing nourishment to this patient, medicine to another, giving words of sympathy here, or a laughing remark there, and bearing an atmosphere of comfort about their bright, in many cases pretty, persons. It was a London hospital, and Mary had lain in this ward ever since the night of the day that saw her leave the town of Riving - ton, desperate almost beyond description by the last horrible brutal wrong her husband had done to her. She could scarcely have told why she went to London. She was, in fact, at that moment not conscious of anything but that starvation pnd desolation, and a humiliation greater to bear even than these first, stared her in the face. Her proud, tortured soul shrank from the ordeal that she knew would come upon her if she were to let herself meet any of the people who had been about her all these dreary months. Starvation, death itself, she could endure, but not pity, not charity, especially from them. She was very ill, a fever burned in her veins, her head throbbed, her breast was pierced with aharp pains at every breath she drew. She knew some illness was close upon her. The knowledge spurred on her feeble strength. She must go while yet thece was a grain of that strength of conscious will and power left in her fragile frame. To the kindly meant protests of her landlady she lent a deaf ear. Important business called her away immediately, she said. She felt perf actly well, and could travel quite easily. Her heart rose in her throat as she received the news of PauFs visit the preceding night, and of Ms intention to come a second time that morning. She told herself fiercely she would die rather than hear the story of her degradation from other lips. She did not stop in this moment to differentiate between Paul and the rest of the company; she hardly., in fact, realised it was he who wished to see her. She desired only to escape from all comment. She gave a curt, imperative command that she could see no one, and decided to leave the house the instant a cab had been found. How •she managed to get into her clothes she could never afterward tell. There was an agony in her head and eyes that almost blinded her. Fortunately she had packed her trunk the preceding day, and she remembered now that it had struck her at the time there was a considerable diminution >in her husband's wearing apparel. It was evident to her now that he must have quietly removed everything he required, thus pointing to the fact that he had acted, not on a wild, drunken, irresponsible thought, but with a deliberate and previously arranged plot. • The man's desertion, so far as he individually was concerned, could not be otherwise than a relief to one of her delicate, refined organisations. Life under the same roof as Hugh Ballaston had been little less than daily torture. It was the publicity, ■the horrible shame, the ingratitude, the ilack of consideration, the lack ..of humanity, that hurt her so.terribly. (To be continued.')