Mary's Great Mistake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 3047, 18 November 1908, Page 2

Mary's Great Mistake.

By EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS. Author of Selinas Love Story "An Inherited Feud," " Brave Barbara," "A Splendid Heart," etc., etc.

CHAPTER XVlll.—Continued. Paul guessed immediately what -was in his sister's thoughts. "I am going to speak to Isobel on a matter that is important in many senses of the word." He said this very quietly, and with the air in voice and manner as of one who has deliberated, and made up hio mind how to act absolutely and decisively. "Aunt Anne was greatly exercised in her mind the other day as to the exact date of our marriage. I wish Isobel to fix the matter this evening, so that there may be no more trouble or uncertainty. Will you wait here for me at the lodge, Laurie, or wili ysu come back, too.''"' :''l will walk orf," Laurie said hurriedly. "Perhaps yod will overtake me. I don't feel equal to a second dose of Aunt Anne tonight; sne is oiiVhtiv overnowerino - '" fU: ~

rj t " "i-rdo'n'V fancy,'" L«U}'lß added with a laugh, that she tried to make natural and like herself- I don't fancy Aunt Anne is quite soft* what shall I say~so copy-bookish and tiresome in the winter as she is in the summer. The frost and ewt wind nip her sententiousness in the bud, but the sun and the flowers seem to give it new life and vigour. "Well, I shall do my best to put her into ' a good temper to-night, Paul said lightly. "Are you sure you are all right, Laurie, darling? Laurie laughed. "With seven dogs! It would be a brave man or woman who would dare to vnolest me to-night, my brother Au revoir." Laurie suddenly stood still and then stretched out both hands to him. She could not speak for a moment, and, when she found her voice, it was broken and changed. "Heaven bless you, Paul," she said. "I—l know you are doing right in one sense-yet, oh, Paul Paul!" Paul clasped her hand fervently, but he answered her sternly, aimost eoldly. , "Don't say any more, Laurie, words can do no good. I know all your heart holds, but I must go on until the end, with all the grace and comfort I can. Tell mother I shall not be late." Laurie walked swiftly home; As though divining her mood, so different from her usual one, her dogs trotted quietly around and about her, lo'king like little phantom bodies with their white coats gleaming out of the dusk. There were tears in Laurie's eyes, hut they did not wet her cheeks; she was proud, and she was strong, and she could face trouble as bravely as most. The troubb of this moment was very heavy, • for what touched Paul touched her almost more nearly than her. own affairs, would have done} but nuW that the last hope 'Sid"gon"eT how "thai Isobel bad shown her that there was not the smallest, the faintest chance for Paul's freedom. Laurie shut away from her thoughts all tantalising visions of obtaining that freedom, and prepare- herself for the worst. "Omy I won't and can't, be a hypocrite," she said passionately to herself, as she walked. "I won't be at the wedding, and I shall do my best to avoid Isobel all I can, until she is married, and away from here. Aunt Anne may say what she likes, there is no law to compel me to do what I absolutely hate, and abominate. If there is any fuss, well," Laurie continued, with a bitter little laugh,, "'. shall in all probability speak out the truth. lam not Paul; my lips need not be sealed." And then the girl sighed wearily. "But it won't come to that; Isobel will not let it; she is clever enough to stop anything, or arrange anything. Oh, what 1 would give to have guessed at her real nature, ar.d character, before this. I might have- saved Paul from a life of wretchedness, instead of which I unconsciously urged him to it. It only shows how foolish I am, when I think myself so clever.. "I know what I will do," Laurie determined suddenly, as she reached her home; "I will write to Mrs Massingham to-night and tell her I am going to take her at her word, and pay her the visit she has always been asking for. I shallsee this poor child whom Paul loves. I . will grow to love her, too; we will be friends; and then it will be ever so much easier for me to try and work the reconciliation with Colonel Leicester.

. "What a funny thing life is!" mused Laurie, feeling a curious relief as this determination -framed itself in her mind. "Who would have thought that bygone day at Whiterock, that the lovely girl who found my locket was none other than the poor creature whom Paul was mourning as dead—none other than the cousin of Isobel Marsfon, whose loss, even my uninitiated eyes cduld see, was more than an ordinary grief to Isobel's uncle? I suppose things will right themselves some day," Laurie finished, stifling a sigh, as she approached her mother; "at least, as Paul says, there must be some happiness for him it he can only know Mary Ballaston i 3 safe in her uncle's home once more; and, if my hands can only help to bring this small happiness to him, they shall work day and nieht till it be accomplished." On the following afternoon, after receiving a delighted telegram from Mrs Massingham, Laurie started for Oakdene. The date of Paul's wedding had 'been fixed for the last day of July, only a few weeks ahead now. Lady Emily Hungerford, in l.er sweet unconsciousness of the grief and discomfort making such havoc in her beloved boy's heart, immediately plunged into animated discussions with her maid Dawson on Ihe fu i < t of her dress for the occas-

JJaw- n, who had her own, an!

doubtless good reasons for not admiring or caring for the bride-elect very much, proved far from sympathetic in this discussion. "And, indeed, my lady," she said tersely, and as if to end the matter once and for all, "I think you might very well wear your beautiful gray brocade which you had when you presented Miss Laurie last year. It would want very little alteration, and would be more than suitable, especially as Miss Marston does'nt intend to have a grand ceremony, no bridesmaids, nor nothing." For this had been Isobel's decision, announced greatly to Lady Hungerford's surprise, and some annoyance; but it was , a decision J?obei had made with her usu"^ 1 tubtiety, since it settled the difficult question of Laurie most effectually.

NoW : !;Utn6r tallfle were at the oel i eniony» or hOt, it would not so riiueti matter. Her absence would not cause so much remark if the proceedings were all arranged quietly. Jf there were a great deal ot fuss and feathers, then the fact that the bridegroom's only sister refused to be a bridesmaid, or, ta.ke part in the wedding at all, would have given rise to all sorts of comment and suggestion, and Isobel by j no means courted that, or any argument.

After that brief interview in the dusk with Laurie, apart from her own personal vanity, and ambition, there was the desire to carry her power to its full extent, to bind Paul to her, to tie him with legal cords, coerce him to do her will by such measure as these, even though she could not melt his cold contempt, or touch his heart; and even greater than this desire was the longing to punish Laurie; to give her all the pain possible in return for those bitter, uncompromising words spoken with such scorn and truth. It was bad enough for Isobel to know the feelings which Paul held for her, but it was a thousand times worse to have them expressed so bluntly and curtly by Paul's sister. Thickskinned as she was, it was none the less mortifying to find that the truth of her betrothal to Paul was qiute clear to Laurie, and that the young man's cold, indifferent, albeit cSurteous, bearing toward his fiancee had aided and strengthened Laurie in the suspicion that speedily became conviction. Isobel was delighted to hear that her enemy had gone away; though, could she have known of IVary's presence at Oakdene, her pleasure would have been short lived in the extreme. The very name of Mary, as has been shoiV", WBS natefuJ to Isobel's ears; the old jc»! oUß y lived aa strongly in her heart now a» " a ." done in the days before her coiisin had been disgraced, and had gone out of her path forever. Just as Isobel's anger was roused by Paul's cold bearing, and Laurie's open dislike, so was it roused by her uncle's silent grief over the girl he loved so dearly. (To be continued.)