Mary's Great Mistake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 3030, 29 October 1908, Page 2

Mary's Great Mistake.

By EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS.

Aithor of' Selina's Love* Story "An Inherited Feud," " Brave Barbara,"

"A Splendid Heart," etc., etc

CHAPTER Vll.—Cor.tinued. j Maw, though she was well aware of the difference that existed between Isobel's appearance and character, would have willingly sealed a bond o± good-fellowship, and affection with her cousin had it besn possible; but this was just what was not possible, for the two poles were not farther asunder than these two girls in their thoughts, feelings and natures, bne always tried to put the best construction on everything that Isobel did, however, and her pride and exquisite refinement of mind, apart from her deer, love for her uncle, always arose to keep any and every one of her difficulties from him; but it was very hard sometimes to have to sit witn sealed lips when Isobel, with her marvellous ingenuity, brought some element of annoyance or discord into the daily life. . Looking back, Mary sometimes said to herself if it had not been for Isobel and her extraordinary cunning she would never have drifted into the partisnship that was to end so sadly Hugh Ballaston had come to the small church at Thrapstone as organist when Mary was eighteen. lhe son of an old college friend of Co . Leicester, he was received as a welcome guest at the Court. His talent and his appearance alone would have won him this welcome, and for a time all went well. ' Little by little, Mary could hardly have told why, she found herself continually defending Mr Ballaston from Isobel's merciless tongue. J or, being herself an enthusist in music, Mary, with all the impetuosity and romance of youth, clothed this man with an argument of poetical and exquisite imagination. He won her symnathy immediately, her pity by cleverly thrown-out hints of a misunderstood life and a.cruel fate. She had not a thought of love in her brain; she admired and respected him; she was charmed, bewildered flattered, infatuated by his music and by his manners. Opposition to such a nature as Mary's was fatal; that is, opposition in its most stern and relentless form. The day that Col. Leicester discovered his girl's danegr was the day -that sealed it. _ Isobel's eves glistened with delight as this truth was manifested to her. Another brief period, and Mary's coveted place wculd be hers; she would be mistress of Thrapstone Court, and Mary would be nowhere—an alien an outcast from the home she loved so well and the protector she loved still better. Isobel was wise in her generation. Everything happened exactly as she had foreseen and as she had worked and assisted in a hundred small ways to bring about. t Hugh Ballaston imagining Mary s future to be secure momentarily speaking -whatever happened took advantage of the girl's mistaken friendship and faith to urge flight and an immediate marriage. Henry Leicester furious at the man's audacity and scarcely concealed cupidity lost his reason and tact in his anger and drove the girl away from her sense of right and duty by that anger. Every circumstance at this unfortunate moment waged war against the poor child's happiness. In a moment of unconquerable pride and mistaken sense of injustice, and to her everlasting regret and after shame, Mary yielded to Ballaston's passionate entreaties and became bis wife. It is scarcely necessary to dwell on the aftermath. The fact of Col. Leicester's quiet stern renuniation of his niece, coupled with the material blow that she was penniless, stripped Mary's husband of the garments ■ of love and disinterestedness with which she had clothed him. Disillusionment was all too speedy—regret, remorse, a very anguish of despair all too deep and long. The rest of Mary's career with the rascally husband has been briefly touched upon. Three miserable years dragged their daily torture to a close. To Mary it would have been an utter impossibility for any one to have sunk lower than she was dragged in these three years. How she lived through them she scarcely knew. She had prayed to die so often, but with this prayer had always come another, an earnest entreaty that before her lips were sealed in death it. might be graned to her to ask forgiveness from her more than father, to feel the clasp of his hand, and l hear the sound of his voice in her ears. For this, and this alone, had she humbled herself to write to her cousin. The fact that Ballaston had signed an agreement to go with the company to Australia, and the fealing that probably she might never return from that far-off land, had urged Mary to make one effort to grasp the only thing in life that could now give her happiness—her uncle's forgiveness. She might have known by bitter experieace that she was most surely putting herself into an enemy's hand when she wrote to her cousin to beg her to arrange an interview for her with Henry Leicester before she left England, perhaps forever. It was her desperate pain, her agony of Jonging, too great to listen to wisdom or experience, that made her do what she did. She realised her mistake only too well when Isobel's answer came, and tiv; bitterness of her disappointment coulj not subdue or overcome the other bitterness of her pride's hurt in receiving her cousin's supared repulse. This bitterness had faded away •somewhat since her illness, and indeed as sha moved about her room this day at the commencement qf a new and peaceful R'e. Mary had j almoßt forgotten Isobel, and her cruel, unwomanly, and ungenerous

treatment. She had told herself she would think of nothing that was gone and over, she would think of nothing but the tasks that lay to her hand, and the pleasure she would derive from fulfilling them and realising she was earning her daily bread. But despite this wise decision, Mary could not still the clamoring of her heart for her uncle's love, her uncle's forgiveness. If this could only be vouchsafed to her, she ,told herself, she would be content, she would ask for no more, even though fate held her linked to one who was not worthy the name of man. CHAPTER VIII. THE WAYS OF THE SIREN. It was a delightful ball. Isobel said so a dozen times to Laurie, who smiled at her as one might smile at a child. "Really, it does one good to see any creature enjoying herself as Isobel does," Laurie said to her brother once during the evenings " How pretty she is. She makes quite a picture in that corner of palm-trees." Paul looked obediently across the room; it it was very evident he saw nothing of the picture Laurie meant, however. "She is very nice," he said listlessly. Laurie frowned. "Paul," she said abruptly, "I want to talk to you. Take me out into the conservatory. No opportunity so good as the present; and I have intended speaking for some time past." Psul offered his arm in silence; but she saw that he was roused out of his apathy and that her werds had astonished him. "So much the better; it is a good beginning," she said to herself. Her mind was made up. Something must be done, and done quickj ly. or Paul would drift on in his ! present condition till he became hopeless and beyond rousing. I Laurie was spurred on to action ! now by the numerous remarks she had received touching her brother's appearance this evening. She had been asked by almost everybody what was wrong with him. Had he been ill? What had happened? "Look 3 as if he had been in hard luck," her host had said, for his comment, and Laurie's proud, loving heart had been hurt. She was so very proud and fond of Paul. The inspiration to "go" for him" and do something to alter the present state of things had come to her when she had been sitting for halfan hour with Dr. Cartwright. There were old friends. Lady Emily swore by George Cartwright; she would have no one else to attend her when she was ill, and she was, as he had told Mary, one of the warmest supporters and most generous of helpers to hi* convalescent home at Whiterock. Laurie liked George Cartwright, too, and the doctor returned the liking with interest, with admiration both for the girl's handsome appearance and splendid character. "I am troubled about Paul," Laurie had said to Cartwrigh, as they ceased discussing other matters. (To be continued.) j