Mary's Great Mistake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 3062, 5 December 1908, Page 2

Mary's Great Mistake.

CHAPTER XVI —Continued. Mary had not had one hour's peace or happiness during these past weeks. Her heart was tormented. An overestimated, overwrought, and altogether wrong feeling of loyalty and pained sympathy for Isobel struggled day and night w ; th the yearning, despairing love she held for Paul. She tried so hard to judge, the situation coolly, to master her emotion, to let her duty, or what she had set before her as her duty, overcome all other feelings, and settle this inward struggle once and for ever. In vain! Love was so great, so powerful, so tempting, with all its sweetness; her heart, barren, so long chilled, starved by her bitter experience, and expanded and blossomed into a living, breathing thing, full of am conscious desire, of involuntary iopeTHaving a hundred new senstions, a hundred new phases touched with that same strange joy that the thouht of Paul produced within -her. If, she said to herself passionately, if she might only have been free to grasp this boy, to stretch out her two hands to this wonderful happi • i!ess, and hod it clasped forever to her heart! But, even as this passionate thought came, there arose the vision of Isobel to kill, it. Isobel, who was ill, pining, breaking her heart over the trouble that had come to' her, and come, so Mary had been informed, in a dozen indirect ways, through her and by her alone. Mary had expressed the desire to go and see Isobel, but her aunt wrote very plainly on this point. Isobel's nervous system had been so tried, she was so very delicate, she was not strong enough to go through any new trouble, and she felt she could not call a nieeting with her cousin by any other name than a trouble. Mary was keenly hurt and sorrowful by this answer. She wrote, and implored Isobel. to return to Thraputone. She made her uncle Write also. If Colonel Leicester had been well enpugh, she would have insisted on his going to London, and bring Isobel back. "I will go away for a little while, if she does not care to meet me," poor Mary said, her sweet lips quivering as she spoke. "She ought to be here, Uncle Henry. She is ill, and unhappy, and . this is her home." CHAPTER XXVH. LAURIE'S REQUEST. Colonel Leicester was quietly eyn pathetic, but he was far mora troi hi id about M ary, in his heart of hearts, especially as the days went by, and the arrows launched through Lady Hungerford by Isobel found resting-places amid all her enemies. HeJcnew the bitter struggle that was eating into Mary's new-found peaee. He feared, not only the effeet of this on her health, but he feared, as Laurie did, for the future. He himself was in constant communication wath Laurie, and he had had one letter fxom Paul, very brief, but very tender and breathing- an infinity of hope »f)d patience jrj ft* ; every word. . ' Colonel Leicester? „ m ° ba f **- ceived the true version 7 &i Paul's enr gagement from Laurie, W) fulJ j sympathy with the young man." „ | He gave Paul's letter to MaryH without a word, bat she had thrust it from her, swiftly. < "Don't ask me, dear Uncle Henry. 1 cannot—l cannot," she said, in low, trembling tones. She never mentioned either Paul or Laurie. She had had many letters ' '•"* no the latter, but she had ***•»».—.. " CICU only once." "Darling" she wrote, "i ktiOW I am giving you pain. I know you will, perhaps, hate me for what I am doing, but, Laurie, 1 mu3t be silent. I must not listen to your words—to his. There is a shadow between us—the very shadow of Isobel's breaking heart. She is very, very ill, I fear. She will not" see me. It is a terrible thing for her —for him. 1 sometimes wish I had never, never seen him, for I have brought him all this trouble. I am in great sorrcw, dear Laurie, but you will try and understand me, as you will try and forgive me. Say that you will, dear, or my sorrow will be greater still." Laurie's answer had been Characteristic in the extreme. "You are behaving very wrongly, Ver "y" cruelly. I have the greatest e ympathy for real sorrow, goffering; but not for the you are giving yourself an<J my dear brother. You are a | toget h er mistaken about iSO j, eL y ou are sacrificing t" i 0 i} ves f or the sake of one who is, utterly unworthy. She is not breaking her heart, believe me, for Isobel has no heart to break. I knew she would work further mischief against Paul, and she has done it, indeed. Jf you really love him, and are the woman I take you to be, Mary, you will not permit this miserable, this mistaken, state of things to last much longer. When I look at Paul's changed face, I can hardly see because of my tears, and I must confess I feel very bitter against you for giving him so much uneces=ary pain and disappointment." This letter had reached Mary at the same time as one from Lady, Hungerford. Tne girl felt stricken to the hearthy those last pathetic words of: Laurie's, but Lady Hungerford's epistle only thrust hsr still further, dawn tr.o pathway of resolute, renunciation. She took both letters' to ***r n^He. "Answer them/' sire -'sard' briefly.' f«I cannot."

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

Colonel Leicester held her in his arms for a moment, and kissed her cold, white lips. ?"' "My poor Mollie," he said, and then, urged by his love and anxiety, hj« tried to put matters before her. He unfolded to her the story Laurie had given him of the way in which Isobel had become engaged to Paul. "Do you not see, my darling." he said, as he told her all, "do you not st e you cannot accuse yourself of robbing Isobel, for Paul Hungerford never loved her, never pretended to love h'ir, never desired to love her? He has never loved any woman but you. Mollie, Mollie, pause, my child', before you throw £way such happiness forever.' 1 i "I am tired. I can think no more yet; not now," Mary had answered, and he had wisely left her alone as he saw the look of nervous pain that had come over her foe©, "You are my dear Mollie!" he said gently, and then she went out to walk, as she walked, every day, in the leafless woods, and Colonel ! Leicester sat and wrote such consolation as he could to Laurie. "Undoubtedly, our greatest weapon is Isobel's weakness, and I hear from her aunt that the girl is ill—really ill. Alas! I wish I could see a clear path out of all this trouble for my Mollie; her face has become so thin and white, and her ceaseless misery is painful to see." Laurie, when she got this letter, went direct to the big house. Paul had settled himself there now; and cailed it his home, but Laurie had a strong fear of hearing any moment he was going to leave his home, and wander out intu the distant parts of j the world to woo peace, if not forget•fulness. As she went, she dropped a letter into the village post-box. It was addressed to Doctor George Cartwright. "Now, we shall see what is the matter with Madam Isobel!" she said to herself, and she felt a certain glow in her heart as of approaching habpiness, if not triumph. She found her brother in the library, a map spead out before him, and sundry books denoting travels piled at his elbow. "Whither away?" she said lightly, sitting on the corner of the table, and stopping to press a kiss on his head. "I am tracing a tour through India," Paul answered, without looking at her. Laurie was very quiet for a moment or two; she swung her foot to and fro meditatively, as she thought. "How soon do you think of starting?" she asked, after this pause. "Next week," wss Paul's brief reply. Laurie was agai;i silent. "Will you do something for me before you go?" she asked then. Paul smiled up at her. "If I can," he answered. "Oh, you can. It is something very simple.'*' Ho be continued).