Miry's Great Mistake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 3051, 23 November 1908, Page 2

Miry's Great Mistake.

CHAPTER XX. —Continued,

"Isobel, now that your cousin, and my dear daughter, -is back once more in her old home, things will be as they used to be in the days before she left it. Ido not wish to give you any pain or annoyance, my dear; but I must request you to resign that position, and, indeed, all like positions, in my household, to their proper owner, your Cousin Mary, who is now, as she formerly was, mistress of Thrapstone Court, and all belonging to it." Isobel was silent a moment,' all colour had vanished from her face; her lips were white, and strained. She looked almost plain in this moof violence, and excitement. She rose, after a pause and spoke very deliberately. » "So this is life! One may dishonour and disgrace oneself, and all belonging to one, but only adopt a penitential mood when poverty is at one's door, and one will meet with all honour arid glory as one's reward!" Mary, seeing her uncle's face work with sudden passion, stepped hurriedly forward. I "Uncle, I beg, I entreat, let there be no quarrel, no —no words. I-sobel does not mean to hurt me; and it —it is natural, she has been mistress here for so'long, she " "Aye." Colonel Leicester said, speaking with a coldness and an intenseness of severity—"aye, she has been mistress so long, she has almost lorgotten that I am master." Then, laying his hand firmly or. the girl's shoulder, Colonel Leicester added: "Isobel, never again could I hold you worty to be head of my house. You have judged, and condemned, your cousin by the tribunal of your jealousy, and almost unnatural hatred. Mary's wrong was against herself, poor child. Yours is against a fellow woman, one who should be dear to you as a sister, and whom henceforth 1 shall take especial is protected from petty spite, and such unworthy insult as you have put upon her in my presence this day. Your place is here,'' Colonel Leicester said, quietly leading Isobel to a chair at the side of the table. "Mary, oblige |me by taking your proper position as mistress of my house."

Isobel gave an inarticulate exclamation, twisted herself from her uncle's hold, and went hurriedly from the room, while Mary burst into tears, and was clasped in her uncle's arms, and soothed tenderly. At this moment Henry Leicester understood, perhaps, more of the past than any one could have imagined. Isobel's ' revelation of her true character had amazed him, and hurt him greatly; and, as he held Mary's slendar form clasped to his heart, the man seemed to read the mischief, the insidious mischief, such a nature had done to his darling in the olden days.

'lsobel is her father's child," he said bitterly to himself; and then he added involuntarily: "Heaven help Paul Ilungerford. I am sorry for him." CHAPTER XXI. A MOST EXASPERATING DISCOVERY. After that, it can be easily imagined, life was continued under slightly strained conditions at Thrapstone Court. Isobel was nothing if not thorough, and she set herself a line ot action which was calculated to trouble Mary's daily existence, and shadow her almost resored happiness. Isobel did not sulk, nor did she adopt a haughty indifference; she was very gentle, very quiet, and went about with a perpetual pained look in her eyes, and a forced smile on her lips. Mary, despite her knowledge of the girl's real unworthiness, was too warm-hearted, too good, not to feel the reproach Isobel's manner implied; she rr.ade several efforts to establish a good understanding between her cousin and herself, but in vain. So time went; July and August became things of the past, and September, with its mellow colouring, dawned over the country. Doctor Cartwright had become great friends with Colonel Leicester, and now and then he paid sudden visits to the Court. "Must come and look after my patient," he always said, although Mary declared, and that truthfully, that she could no longer lay claim to being an invalid. Yet, though she was so undoubtedly stronger, the traces of three years of misery were by no means eliminated, and the knowledge that she was not free, although, paradoxically, she yet had her freedom, was something that could not fail to be a shadow over such a sensitive nature as hers. Mary was, indeed, almost glad at times that there existed this outside cause of her unfortunate marriage to account for the sadness and depression that constant thought of Paul brought so lyAs a matter of fact, now that she was safe in her uncle's care, Mary scarcely gave a thought of any fear regarding her husband. He might return a hundred times, he could not touch her; he had put himself outside her life. Were he to attempt to molest her, or trouble her, she would then have recourse to legal aid to set herself free from such a man, absolutely and entirely. It was, indeed, her uncle's wish she should sue Ballaston for divorce, under any circumstances, but, with her proud, delicate mind, Mary shrank from takircr this step, unless actually i bl'frei] to do so. Ail .his wHIe Paul Ilungerford was abroad, he never wrote to Istbel

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

except once, to give her an address to which she could send, did she need him for any particular purpose. The big house was shut up, but orders had been sent from the new owner that his mother and sister were to install themselves there as in their home, if they so desired. Neither Lady Emily nor Laurie did so desire.

"I have lived here all my married life," Lady Emily said, with tears in her eyes. "1 am happier here."

Laurie said nothing openly, but to herself she thought:

"Live under the same roof with Isobel—never! even though it would give Paul happiness. 1 always feel a longing to shake her, and see whether her doll-like head would come off; rot," Laurie added decidedly—"not that Isobel's head is empty like a doll's—far from it; she is much too clever."

Lady Hungerford was not invited to reside at the big house; she retired, therefore, in some dudgeon to her future home —the dower house — and proceeded to establish mother's meetings in the unfortunate parish which was honoured by her presence.

In September, to Mary's delight and Isobel's dismay *and vexation Laurie Hungerford came to Thrapstone Court for a long visit.

"At last!" Mary cried, when she held Paul's sister in her arms —"at last! I thought you were never coming, Laurie. I have had all sorts of guests. My dear nurse from the London hospital, who was so good to me. Miss Davis actually left Whiterock for two days. I have had some of the poor sick children —oh, now they enjoyed themselves! Mrs Massingham came for a week. Doctor Cartwrigbt has been here three times. Uncle Henry even insisted on having the guard here, who carried me to the hospital tbat bygone night, and keeping him for several days. Everybody has been but you, Laurie. 1 thought you had forgotten me." "You thought nothing of the kind." Laurie retorted, "so don't pretend such things." Colonel Leicester had a hearty welc.ime for Miss Hungerford, and Isobel smiled her sweetest at the approach of her iuture sister-in-law.

"You know Paul will be here tomorrow?" she said, in her pretty, innocent fashion, which Laurie knew now was so very far from innocent. Laurie was exceedingly startled by this piece of news.

When last she had heard from Sir Paul he had written vaguely, saying he was going to Hungary probably, to shoot wild boar, and now Isobel met her in this fashion, and said he was coming home. "I did not know, Paul wrote to you," she remarked, in her coldest fashion. They were standing alone, or Laurie would not have said it, but she never intended to let Isobel feel that she had forgotten that celebrated interview between them for a single instant. (To be continued).