Mary's Great Mistake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 3060, 3 December 1908, Page 2

Mary's Great Mistake.

CHAPTER XXVl.—Continued

That one moment at the dance, however, when Isobel had spoken these few strange words, had therefore, come upon Paul as a most unpleasant shock, and, as-we know, the receipt of the little note Isobel sent him the following morning, had annoyed and troubled him still further. With his whole heart, and life, and soul buried in the grave which he imagined held Mary's beautiful form, with his whole being still jarred and unstrung by the memory of the miseries that had beset her whom he had loved so strangely, so passionately, and so well, and who had gone from him without ever knowing of this love, the mere thought of any close friendship, much less any warm feeiiDg for any other woman, was an utter* impossibility. It is needless to recapitulate all that resulted from Isobel's clever and cunning stratagem. When Paul woke to consciousness, it was to find himself the hero of a false romane. Isobel Marston had proclaimed herself throughout the house his affianced wife. The seai of honour was set upon his lips, and he had for this reason alone permitted himself to acquiesce to the most extraordinary engagement that surely had ever been entered into between man and woman.

Paul's disgust and contempt for Isobel had, indeed, almost eliminated the tender consideration which he bad for her as for all women; and it was the recollection of these most justly felt sentiments, added to the knowledge which she herself had revealed in her fury, that she was even more despicable in nature than he had imagined, that helped Paul to dismiss her from his mind now. His conscience was perfectly clear. He had done no wrong to Isobel, now or at any time. Had sh3 not by her own conduct made it impossible for him to link his life with hers, he would never have swerved from the hard path of what he had told himself was a duty to his honour; but now he was free, free to think of Mary, to dream of her, to love her passionately, unrestrainedly, hopefully. There was at times mingling: in with these feelings a faint, yet a true, touch of despair. He crushed it down hastily, nervously, putting it out of his thoughts almost before it had time to be shaped in them; but the spectre of this-despairing fear was there nevertheless; not even the greatness, the intense strength, of his new born hope could destroy it.

' George Cartwrigbt, who had not had, the same chance of studying Mary's character as Paul, had fathomed her so well as to feel this touch of dread and insecurity about her future, which he, in common with Laurie, was now so eager to see accomplished, how could it be otherwise with the man who had allied himself to her so closely in spirit and in sympathy all this long time?

Paul was only too conscious of the chill presence of that pale, cold spectre of fear which stood in the background of no matter what radiant picture his ardent hope and eager longing might paint; and, through they said nothing to one another, Paul knew Laurie had the same nervous apprehension on this score as himself. The thoughts of both, however, were but vague, and might have been dismissed as the natural accompaniments to a disagreeable and painful episode, had not Lady Hungerford come to the fore, and given them very clearly to. understand that there "was to be considerable annoyance and trouble now, and in the future.

Idobel had by no means drifted out of Paul's life—far from it; after those first few days of silence, he found himself harrarfsed, irritated, and tormented by her name at every turn.

Lady Hungerford positively swooped down upon the family at Birchdale in her amazed indignation. She sent no warning of her intended visit; she desired to take them by surprise, and she succeeded admirably in her intention.

Laurie was more than surprised, she was deeply concerned and exasperated at this unexpected visitation. < Her mother was really very ill, having caught a severe cold; she was confined to her bed ; a delicate, sensitive woman at all times, just at this moment Lady Emily was certainly in no rit condition to meet her sister-in-law when she arrived, garbed in deep mourning, and deeper wrath. •3 Paul was out on a long day's business with his agent, and Laurie had to face her aunt alone. She braced herself up wonderfully for the occasion, and was as cool and resolute as she wished herself to be. As she \saw that Lady Hungerford had thought several trunks, she went out to hall door. "Jobw d'ye do, Aunt Anne? This ]is a suWise! Why did you not write? y° u g°'™g u p to the bi £ house 7 We\have not a spare inch here, and mottW is very sick !" " Lady glared at her r>iece. \ y Upon my word, Xaurie, you are the rudest young woraafey I have ever B3en. Extremely ho ipK,table, t too. No, I am not going to the iW house. The big house belongs tb^your brother,' and " Here ensued a pause which was sufficienly eloquent. ' Lady Hungerford alighted from the\ fly. , ""Drive on," she directed the coachman, "to the Green Dragon, and then come back for me. And, Grant!" addressing her long-suffer-ing maid, "arrange everything for mv comfort. You understand. Take two or three rooms, if rteeess; ry, as I may sake a stay."

(To be continued)

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

Laurie's heart sank. So there was going to be a real fight! Well, the girl set her head firmly, and defiantly; it should be a fight, and a victory, too, that she .soon determined. All the same, Laurie felt a sharp pang in her heart, she was so eager for Paul to have peace and comfort after his Jong period of trouble; and it was not he himself she feared at this moment. It was the trouble that would come to him from Mary, who would be, she knew only too w<?U, given her a full dose of this same discomfort from Isabel's malicious bands; and whose sweet, gentle, sensitive nature would suffer far mere than any of them from this attack. The interview that followed between Lady Hungerford and Her niece was stormy in the extreme. Aunt Anne did not mince matters. "'I consider Paul has behaved dis- | gracefully, shamefully!" she said, ! in her loud, strident tones, hardly before she had entered the house. "He has, in fact, disgraced us all, and how can you have the indecency to stand up for him, and aid him in i this wrong, is something that passes my comprehension altogether, Laurie." "Re is my brother. I love him. He is the soul of honour. Whoever has told you he has behaved disgracefully has lied to you, Aunt Anne. Paul is incapable of any mean or unmanly act. If you knew all, you would speak very differently." Laurie tried to say this very calmly, but she was quivering with indignation. "I know quite enough," Lady Hungerford said loftily. She sat expansively in a chair, her black garments billowing about her, "and I am not here to discuss matters with you, Laurie. lam here to speak to Paul, to try to show him the shameful wrong he' has done, and is doing, and to bring him to a sense of ris duty, if possible." "You shall talk to Paul as much as you like, aunt, only you shan't worry or trouble him if I can prevent it. He has suffered quite enough. I suppose you have received your version of this matter from Isobel Marston? If she has dared to malign Paul, to say wrong and bitter things of him, she " and thyn Laurie pu led herself up. paused a moment, and then finished quietly, "it is Vrorthy of Isobel," she' said, in a cold, quiet, contemptuous voice. "I can say nothing more than that." "Most certainly I h&ve heard all from Isobel."

Lady Hungerford was not profoundly susceptible to delicate inflections or suggestions. She only understood things that were put before her in plain, broad lines. Laurie's selfrestraint, therefore, did not convey very much to her, while, on the Contrary, ißboel's heart broken and pathetic letter had at once revealed to her an entire history. 1