Mary's Great Mistake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 3029, 28 October 1908, Page 2

Mary's Great Mistake.

CHAPTER Vll.—Continued. "No; but I have heard you,' Cartwright answered with a shor laugh. ''l shall not forget the cross country ride we took together om day last January, when your imagina tion was at fever heat; we came ii first, T can tell you." Mary's colour faded. '"Did—did I say much like that "when I was ill?" she asked in a lov voice. "Fortunately, no," Dr. Cart ■wright said bruskly; '"otherwise you would have worn me out. Well now I must he off to the ward. By tin way, there is a quantity of fruit anc flowers arrived down-stairs, senl by nne of our most generous, sub scribers and supporters, Lady Emilj Hungerford, one of the sweetest wo men in the world. You must see hei one day, Mrs Barnes; she wil harm you. I have given orders that in the distribution of these gifts yoi will always receive your share. Mon sense! you must consent; flowers are the poemi* of every-day life. Yoi need poetry and I like my lady super intendent to have everything she wants in moderation, of course"— Dr. Cartwright spoke in the mosi commanding fashion. "I have souk violets, too, for you downstairs, frorr nurse Rowden. She sent you all sorts of messages. She misses you anc your screen very much." Mary clasped her slender hands together; she was trembling a little. "Dr. Cartwright, I—l must thank you before you go. I must say whal is in my heart. 1 " "Do you think you have need to say anything to me?" he said gently, smiling down at her. "Don't yoi know lam a magician? I can read your thoughts. I know everything you want to say to me; it is said, spoken in your face, your eyes, your restored health, your increasing desire for strength. lam more thar answered, more thai' repaid when I read all this; believe me there is nc need for words between us." He helc her hands for a moment, then quietly gave her some few instructions, and then he went away. Just as he was going, he looked back. "1 expect you will have an influx of visitors to-morrow and the next day. Mrs Masaingham told me she would have a houseful, and most of them will probably come over here to look at the charity which they will support so gaily to-night." "You would like me to receive them, and show them over the building?" Mary asked, adopting his manner, and letting all attempts at an expression of her gratitude pass by. "If you are well enough; but remember you are still an invalid, and I cannot allow you to tax your strength too soon. This is a matter for your judgment; and yet no, it is for me to decide;" he frowned, and his dark, resolute face looked keener than usual. "I think, for the moment, Mrs Barnes, you had better defer fulfilling this duty for another week or so, till you are, in fact, quite recovered Walking a series of visitors over this big house is a very fatiguing affair. You r.re not equal to it yet. Miss Davi3 will relieve you. I will speak to her as Igo downstairs." He withdrew, and then looked -i ack again. "I want you to be out in the middle of the day as much as possible. Go down to the edge of the grounds, and sit in that arbor facing the sea, drink in the ozone—thut is what you want, ozone—and then you will become a perfect Goliath. Goodness! I must go!" and this time he really did vanish. "He is an angel!" Mary said to herself. She walked about the room, letting her tears of gratitude and emotion fall unheeded down her cheeks. She was so deeply touched, so moved by his goodness. Everything about him gave her pleasure to remember, and this in the face of her great, her almost unconquerable pride. Sometimes, as she sat alone in this pretty little room that was all her own, it seemed to her as though she were living in a dream, as though all had been a series of dreams during the last three years. That awful life of misery, poverty, suffering, and shame seemed to her now to have fallen far away, to have melted into the memory only of a hideous nightmare. Her illness naturally had a dream like aspect, and now this new life, with its tasks, its peaceful pleasures, and its quite refined tone, all seemed unreal in these moments of thought. She had taught herself not to think too much, not to dwell too much, on the past, not to question the bitterness 'nf fate that had led her from a path of sunshine and safety through such a turmoil of pain, disillusionment, grief, remorse to her present condition. Her story was, after all, such a simple one. From her babyhood she had lived under her uncle's * roof at Thrapstone Court. Her mother had been Henry Leicester's bert-loved sister and when death had robbed Mary of this mother, and of her father too, the orphan baby had come to the quaint old house to reign there a3 queen over its handsome, grave owner, and over everything hs possessed. Col. Leicester loved »he child, as he had never Joved anything in his l;fe before; she was the idol of his heart. He worshipped her. It was almogt an effort to devote a portion of this love to another orphan niece whom fate threw npjn hi 3 hands for love and protection. \ Isobel was a pretty child, but she was not like Mary. She was too like Ler father to please Henry Leicester. The marriage between his sister I Lucy and Charles Marston had been a I source of the keenest regret and! keenest displeasure to Col. Leicester; I whereas for HH!-> '''-try's father he I had always felt the strongest, truest

By EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS. Anther of iielina's Love Story "An Inherited Feud," " Brave Barbara," "A Splendid Heart," etc., etc.

affection and esteem. They had been fellow soldiers and warm comrades, togethtr in India, and it had been a real joy to Henry Leicester that his favourite and most beloved sister should marry with so cherished a friend. Death robned him of both sister and friend almost before they had tasted the fulness of their happiness, and little Mary was all that was left to the man who mourned' their loss so bitterly, &o deeply. lEobel came with her sickly, ailing mother to share her uncle's home when Mary was a child of ten. The cousins were about of an age, but not in the least degree alike. They grow up together, but tney never were sympathetic. Mrs Marston's death occurred very shortly after she accepted the generous aid her brother gave her. A life of bitter disappointment and pain, brought by a reckless and unprincipled husband, ended prematurely, and thus Col. Leicester was left with two girls on his hands to educate and provide fox*. The task was an easy and a pleasant one. He was rich; he had never married; he loved all young things, and these two became as his own children to him. Isobel was treated in every respect like her cousin Mary. The colonel was studiously careful to make no difference between them; but, though she received the warmest affection she could never touch Henry Leicester's heart in the same way as his little Molly did.

Life was a happy and sunshiny affair for the two girls even through their hard-working school days., and so by degrees they grew up, and were much admired round and about in the neighbourhood. It was generally supposed Col. Leicester would divide his fortune equally between his two adopted daughters. Thrapstone Court would, of course, pass to the next male heir but the money would undoubtedly go to the two girls. The question of any future inheritance did not trouble Mary very much; but Isobel had made many a minute calculation, and knew to the penny how much her Uncle : was worth, and how much she might reasonably expect would fall to her share when he was gone. The knowledge of her future wealth was exceedingly pleasant to Isobel Marston, and if she could have overcome her persistent and daily increasing jealousy of her cousin, she would have been prefectly happy. As it was, however, Mary's superior position in the household —for, as she grew into womanhood, Col. Leicester installed his darling as responsible mistress of his beautiful home—was a source of never-failing annoyance to Isobel. She resented the fact of Mary being put even a step higher than herself, although she was her cousin's junior by nearly a year and she lost few opportunities of vexing and hurting Mary, all, however, in her own peculiarly ingenuous fashion, that made it so hard for Mary or any one to define, much less resent, the petty annoyances. / (To be continued.)