Mary's Great Mistake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 3056, 28 November 1908, Page 2

Mary's Great Mistake.

By EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS. Author of Selina's Love Story "An Inherited Feud," " Brave Barbara," "A Splei.di(l Heart," etc., etc.

CHAPTER XXlV.—Continued. It was in the evening that the value of George Cartwright's presence made itself felt; he adroitly turned the conversation on to Mary's matters, and speedily gave Colonel Leicester as much anticipatory pleasure and excitement on her account, as he had suffered pain and mortification about Isobel. As for Mary, she | listened to all that was said in a dim, j weary sort of way. The memory of ! her cousin's vencmous words, the j after effects of that scene in the ■ boat-house, was nothing but pain. I She had a jarred, wounded gene§ q£ J regret and disillusion; it was hor-j rible to remember all Isobel had paid j In her rage, horrible to recall the suggestion made —horrible, because, despite the coarseness of the insinuations, Mary knew she could not deny that she did, indeed, love Paul as she had never believed it possible she could love any human creature She had imagined her secret was locked securely in her heart, except, perhaps, from his eyes. They had seemed to draw her very soul from cer ujy and their j passionate ggerneHs; uU t, though ( xnis were so, Mary had felt no shame, no pain, in the self-surrender. She was conscious only of a great, an exquisite, happiness when their eyes had met, and they had exchanged this swift, mute language of trust and tender delight. Isobel, however was another matter, and Mary felt the hot blood scorch her cheeks a3 those bitter, insolent words rankled in her heart. She paid, in consequence, not half j so much attention to the important j business of Doctor Cartwright s com- j munication as she otherwise would j have done.. Yet, despite all the j thoughts that burned m her brain and j mind, she found herself agreeing to all that was submitted to her: and, indeed, it was with & sensation of al-most-acute relief that he vrent upstairs at last, having tinalty settled to depart early the next ramming for Liverpool, ! i'n company with her uncle and George Cartwright, to prosecute all farther inquires in person, and ascertain whether the dead man ■were in 'tefluth he «whom she had married, *or whether Doctor Cartwright'had been *on a wrung traca altogether, and she was still a wi*'e, and fcound to one '-who had wantonly | and (deliberately deserted her. | T-fasre 'had been no word spoken be-tween-'her uncle and herself atxDUi Isobsl, but, ;a'fter she had sat some tiiue by her open window, gazit&g ouc dreamily into the glory of the might, j tfeese Avas a>knock at the door, which she irecognised immediately, and, opening it quickly she was as Quickly ©nsfolded'in her uncle's embrace. "•I must speak to you of .your cousin,"ithe colonel said, in-s. low, doubled voice, as she drew him into the room. "I scarcely know what to ido'for the best, Mary. If I studied try own wishes, I would send her :away from here at once. &he can railways find a home with her'father's sister, and, now that this mErriage will not take place, that seems to me the best thing to arrange." Mary answered eagerly: 'VQi, dear uncle, no, na. "It would break Isobel's heart. You know she does not like fcer Aunt Margaret; and besides, fading, this is her home, You have had iher since she was a little .child; do noc turn her away from her home." "'A home she has abused. Mary, I have seen more than you ibave imagined. You have A been happy to •be back with me. Ah! yes, my dear child, that I know; but Isobei has j managed to cloud your happiness in every way possible to her. It will be wise and better to let her go. She shall want for nothing. I will give her " But Mary broke in again with her gentle eagerness. She had, indeed, suffered at Isobel's hands, but she desired no punishment; she did not even understand the meaning of the word revenge, and, moreover, Isobel's punishment had come. Mary's tender heart had nothing but pity in it for the girl who had shown her so ■little kindness, and had worked her so much evil. She could not thoroughly associate herself with the bitterness of Isobel's disappointment, but she knew enough to be sure the girl mas suffering greatly. "You are an angel!" her uncle eaid, as she ceased speaking; "and, sinoe you ask for her, she shall stay; but, Mary, I cannot endure that you should be made perpetually miserable. I want your life to be as bright and sunny as it is possible for it to be. I want you to be happy', my Moflie, my dear, dear child!" "And am I not happy"/" Mary answered him, tears springing, to her eves. "Have I not you? Have I not your forgiveness, your love? How can I be miserable with such treasures as these? Dear uncle, believe me, I am happy." "Please Heaven, you may be, indeed," Colonel Leicestersaid earnestly. "It seems a wicked and coldblooded thing, MoUie, dear, Jto say, but, if I can but be assured that wretched man has gone to his last account, I shall be at peace about you I shall fee! there is, indeed, a security of happiness for you, a satisfaction, and a rest atter all your many sufferings." Marv sat long into the night after ber uncle had left her. The breeze from the gardens beyond came in cold and chill through her open window. Mary shivered now and then as she sat. It was true, as she had said to Henry Leicester, she was hnnpv, back in her old home, in her old life, m the true, deep, abiding love am! forgiveness of her more than father-; and yet to night it came to Mary a? a sort of revelation that there was a happiness possible in life far greater, more divine in ita

environments, than this. The story Paul's eyes had spoken to her this afternoon, the thrill, the nameless ecstasy, in that moment of silent communion that had almost mastered her for the moment, gave birth to a sensation which had now be • come a fact. Mary wondered vaguely, as she sat gazing out into the whispering stillness of the night, how she had ever lived all these years without this new-born, this tender, love; it was so beautiful, so exquisite; it ran like some sweet, strange music through every nerve of her bony; it left her trembling by its swiftness, its power, and yei: through tha golden glory that surrounded E3W into the distance, and beheld the pale spectre of a new-born pain standing behind the new-born boy. Aye, as she loved and tasted love, so would she suffer and taste a new and more bitter suffering, for love and pain aie synonymous. A great pity filled her heart as she thought of those long three yesrs of Paul's devotion, and saw with her eyes, no longer blind, all he muse have endured in that time for and through his love. She was full of pity for MAW. She knew, he Wist b? ' deeply pained with the events of this eventful day. He, who shrank from hurting the meanest of living creatures, he had been forced to administer punishment and shame to the woman who was to have been wife. How Isobel had fallen into that position Mary had never klicwn, of course, and, indeed, she had not thought much about it. All she had known was that Puul, whatever his true feeling's and sentiments were, held hims&lf bound in honour to her cousin 5 and if Isobel had not, by her won almost incomprehensible, I conduct, g'iven him the right to de- ! mand his freedom, he would never have served from those bonds which held him to her. He would never have even tried to cut himself adrift from fter. Mifry's calmness began to desert her as memory brought before her all George Cartwright had said, and all that, maybe, lay before her on the imerrow and following days* Somehow, she never doubted the success o£ their searching. Somehow, in an indefinable sort of way, she seemed to know the serarchicg was not redlly necessary, that Hugh Bal'laston did, I in truth, lie in his grave, and that she | was a free woman. Free! For one instant "the blood mantled her face, and her heart beat with a wild, suffocating swiftness. Free! Free to <love, and be j loved; free to gaze into those honest, j beautiful eyes. Free to let her j hands rest in those strong,:sun-tanned J ones! (Te be continued).