Mary's Great Mistake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 3033, 2 November 1908, Page 2

Mary's Great Mistake.

, CHAPTER XL—Continued. Determination might be as strong as iron, and will as firm, but thought it is an unruly member; it will be governed by none of these things. And as strength returned to Mary, by sure and, since her arrival at Whiterock, by swift degrees, her mind became filled with perpetual pictures of the past, which refused to be blotted out, no matter how hard she might endeavour to destroy them. , Of the man she called her husJband, Mary was almost afraid to think. She felt that in such a matter as this, it would be better not to probe her wound too deeply. It was a wound of such bitter, unutterable mortification, of such pain, of such proud despair. Regret for the man himself had not even a place in thia pain. All her regret was for the sorrow, the disappointment she had worked to her best and truest friend through this base creature, and for his most unworthy sake. Her own humiliation her own history of daily suffering in her life with her husband, faded into nothing beside her regret and remorse over her past conduct to her uncle. If she could only wipe out that miserable record! If she could only free that once again she was, as she had been all the years of her young life up to that time, the joy, the delight, the pride of Henry Leicester's heart! If she could feel once more the inexpressible happiness of being his "little Molly," his "fairy," his "darling" his "queen!" as she so surely had been! But all that was gone—gone now forever. Hope for the attainment of this end was shut out from the fut ure. Now more certainly than before would it be an impossibility to seek any means of becoming reconciled. The force of circumstances was too much against her. Mary winced even as 3he thought of this. The memory of Isobel's letter, with its bitter stings, so cleverly veiled, yet so clearly revealed, lived with . her always, night and day. To approach her uncle now would be to lay herself open to the basest , imputations, the imputation of seeking him because she was forced to do so—of pleading for his forgiveness because she was alone in the world, and save for her own feeble labours, face to face with destitution. Mary shivered as she quickly conjured up all the cunning suggestions her cousin would bring to . bear on her actions; and then, too, though she did not really doubt her uncle, or his great loving heart, she had learned enough to know that Isobel would have, made good use of her time in these three long years, and that the keenness of Colonel Leicester's anger and bitter disappointment might moat probably have changed the man from ths one she had known to something utterly new and equally cruel. , "If he should think, as Isobel thinks, that lam driven to go to him for pardon from necessity, v oh, that would kill me!" she said to herself. She was sitting where <ieorge Cartwright had told her to «jt, in the arbor, at the end of the grounds facing the eea. Tt was the day after" the ball at j Mrs Massingham's house. A glorious day, with v that touch of dawning warmth and joyousnesa of lif<3 that spoke of the summer just lying' he- j yond these spring moments. '.The eea lay gleaming under the after-'J noon sun; it was placid and still, as still as the ocean ever is. Whiterock was not a fashionable place as yet, though the medical profession was beginning to recommend it large--ly; and very few people were to be" seen on its beach, or natural parade.The Home, too, was situated ai the extreme end of the little town',- and was almost isolated. The voices of children, however, were wafted on the breeze to Mary's ears now and then, and far away, down at the water's edge, she could see some youngsters scampering about; but, gag rule, there was not a living soul jtp bg pe&fi bcjcw from this coign of vantage, and Mary 1 ms the betfe?/ She had left the "house just as Miss Davis had been called to meet some visitors. Mary felt a great sense of relief pass through her that she was granted a little longer holiday from this branch of her duties. She felt very nervous, and shrank from the thought of meeting a number of fresh people, and having to converse with them, and answer their questions. She shrank, too, from any chance of cemifig in contact with those whom she had known before, | either in her happy days at Thrapstone Court, or her miserable ones as Hugh Ballaston's wife. It was far more natural that, if such should ever be the case, visitors wuuld belong to the former category rather than the latter. The mass of third-rate actors and dingy lodging-house keepers, who had constituted her world during her life with Ballaaton, were certainly the last class of persons to be either in a position or to have the desire to pay a visit of inspection to a small convalescent home. Most of the people who came—as she had learned both from Dr. Caitwright and Miss Davis-were either patients or friends of the former. "Although, as the charity was now beginning to be better known, and, of course, as i f s name and good mission extended, frdsh and stranger guests would naturally be expected. - Mary sat in her arbor for over an hour; then, as the wird was chilly, despite the bright sun, she rose and resolved to return to her room. As she walked along a pathway, leading to the bouse, she saw something glittering in the sun-

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

shine. She stooped and picked this something up. It was a heart-shaped locket, about the size of a florin, studded with diamonds; a tiny chain was attached with a broken casp. It had been dropped evidently by one of the visitors who had come to inspect the Home. Mary turned the jewel over in her hand. It was a dainty thing, and she admired it very much. "Some one will be unhappy about this," she thought quickly. "I had better take it in at once; perhaps the owner may not be gone."*' She looked at it once again, and noticed now that the heart was open, and that inside there were two small portraits. She would have given these no thought at all, nor, indeed, have glanced at them, but as her eyes fell on one of the faces, that of a handsome young man, it seemed to her that she immediately recognised it as familiar. The portrait of the sweet-faced lady on the opposite side was, however, quite strange to her. She gave a long and scrutinising glance at the man's picture. The more she looked, the more certain she was she knew the original; but where or when she had seen him, and whom he might be, she could not for the moment call to mind. It did not seem to her that she could have known him really, but that there was an extraordinarily strong resemblance in face to some one she had known, was very certain. She closed her hand over the locket and walked more quickly to the house; and, as she went, she saw at once that the loss of the jewel had evidently been discovered, for two of the servants, with Miss Davis and a tall, handsome-looking girl, were occupied in walking round and about the paths seeking for something-un-doubtedly the locket she had just picked up. Miss Davis lifted a troubled face toward Mary. "We are in great distress, my dear," she said. "Miss Hungerford has been so unfortunate att to lose a valuable locket." "Heart-shaped, set with diamonds," Laurie went on, scarcely noticing the newcomer as her eyes went round and about, eager to catch a gleam of her treasure; "I think I must have dropped it here. I can't quite remember, but I fancy it cry, "Oh, you have found it. I am glad. Thank you so much. Where did you find it? It would have broken my heart to have lost it. I don't know how to thank you enough!" "I really deserve no thanks at all," Mary said, with a faint smile, and yet with a slight contraction of the brows for something in this handsome, smart pirl recalled that same vague feeling of former acquaintance that had come to her on seeing the portrait in the locket. "I saw something glittering in the sun just there," pointing.to the path she had traversed, "and I picked it up, fortunately, before it would be injured. I am sure you must be glad to have it back. It is very beautiful." (To be continued.)