CHAPTER XXIX— WELCOME HOME.

Waikato Times, Volume V, Issue 266, 24 January 1874, Page 2

CHAPTER XXIX— WELCOME HOME.

It wm on a beautiful day in early autumn that Walter Clint returned to the home from which he had been so unjustly baniolied, to Cud the utmost desire of his heart fulfilled. Ha had readied Liverpool on the previous evening, telegraphed his arrival to Florence, and started by tho earliest tram in (he morning. A serene shllneso was over the face of the earth and the cajrn blue sky. The trec3— with their manytinted foliage, sad when looked at sirgly, but gorgeous in their grand masses, overspread with countless shndes of brown, and russet, and gold — were quite motionless, and the few leavei which fell ever and anon dropped silently on the grata. Sound travelled far in the deep stillness of the weather, and Florence, leaning out of an opfn window, at the top of the house, could hear the manotono is rattle of the tram many mill's away. The sun wa» declining, the delicious scents of evening were blending with the air. As Florence leaned out, breathless, and feeling, now that he really was coming, that it could not he, that it was all a dream, and yet, at the lame time, that nothing else could be, that this was the one truth, she heard the grating of wheels, find saw the dog-cart she had ordered to be sent for Walter driven rapidly down the avenue. She could not stand another moment. On her knees by the windew-sill she watched now, and heard Hie two sounds — (he monotonous I rattle of tho tram at it neared Drington Station, and the rnpid whirl of the wheels of her own carriage on the road. Presently both cented. She had put off her heavy mourning for that day, ami wore a white dress with black ribbons. Her fair brown hair was curled upon her neck, as Walter had liked to see it, as she had not the heart to wear it during his long absc re. Q-ooA God ! hi* long absence ! — how long, how fernble it had been .' She only realised it noi> — now, when it was nil but ovir. Dow had she ever lived though it ' It ceemed ulteily impossible that she could have endured it. All the pangs of this dreadful time, this cruel waste of their brief lives, tins irreparably lost treasure, seemed to be mingled with tho assurance nnd the expectation of that hour. She had planned thit event, this meeting, a thousand timet over, and now not one incident would resemble her fancied sketch of it. She was to )»tp looked at herself in tho ?l«s, and finally, touched up her dress before he came, q,nd run down to meet him at tho doer, when she should hear the dog-cart return. But the Bound of wheels is on the road now, and Florence cannot st r. She cannot think of what her dreis is, or how tho looks in it, or whether everything is right down-stairs. An extraordinary tremor and weaknets have hold of her ; she shrink* from the intomity of her own joy; tho whole of the past is in these m,omen,t9, anil yrt there is inextricable confusion of thought in $hem too. The sound of the dog-cart is in the avenue, but Florence cannot itir. All the doors are open below, and, ringing clear through the purging and beating in her can, she hears Walter's voice. ' Where is she ?' he says, and wnia one ans^er9; and then twift footsteps flee up tho frUirs, and cross the room, and Waller hold* her m Ins, *rin»! ' 0 Walter; <o think of your having had that frightful fever, a.ud my never knowing auything about it ! To tiling

tiiat you might hare died, •Mho rcxj timo I was preparing or your coming homo! How awful, how awful** ' ifj dirhn», don't cry so You aro crying aa if it had • ell happened, whereto} none of it happened. lam quite well, tnd frith you, and orprythm^ is ft thousand tt nea happier and- better tnac wn could l;ave hopod tor.' •I know, I tnow, and Zai* thankful i lam hapnv, but you roust let iw cry n. little, until Ie in over it, W wt<?r. I seem to PCv? it all, in live thiru&li it, *veu no«, i cil tho terror of a gieit can,><! fiotn a fearful da-i"or is i.jon ruo ' 'It toot a bmi fw»<r,' stid Walter, 'rung to chrck hor Tery unusual v"lietneno9 of rino^mn I>y e|*«king en -oli is'.y , ' but I am none t'lo wor^o for jt, though, of com.-c, I am changed. But tlien, you must remember, long jounuys and hard work and time, tell on mo, litUr Flo. ; and if lam thin and brown, and my hair is grizzlad, them aro reasons besides the ferer. I assure you lam perfectly well j I w^sh I could say a» much for Daly, poor fellow. Etc was hit . hard, in earnest ' 'He said, in the letter he wrote for you — how httle I dreamed there was any cause for your employing him, beyond the hurt hand you pleaded — that ho had been ill. Was it a fever like yours ?' ' A mui'h worse one, it must have been, though it did not look liko it at the time, and he was not ill nearly so Ion?. But' — hero Walter's face grew puzzled and downcast— ' he has never recovered it, in one serious rotpect. Hu mind hiw no»er been cloar since.' ' Walter ' Can it be possible ? Oh, poor fellow !' llt is v<ry sad. But do not mention it to any one ; it may be all right by the tune he comes home ; and even now, nobody but myself could tell that ho has a fixed delusion in Ins mind, for he in perfectly rational in overy other reapect, <-y nd it is only to me he would mention the absurd notion ho conceived.' 4 What is it, Walter ? May I know ?' ' You shall kuow as much as I do,' my darling,' replied Walter, in an einlpiiTadsed, uneasy tone ; 'andth««n. let us drop the subject, far I don't like it, as you may suppose. Lawrence fancies that he and I dug up a big nugget at our cla m, and that I buried it somewhere, while he was ill. He botnered me with innumerable questions, when I was re covering from the fever, and, though I persisted m avoiding any reference to it, I could see his mind was quite full ol the cr.ize, up to the time we parted. Of course, it made me I very unha )j>y.' La ' '* lien tllerf was no foundation at all for such a notion ?' |£ ' Not the slightest ' F^ ' Walter,' said Florence, after a pame, 'is this— his mind f being quite clear on every other point— insanity ?' 1 1 don't know,' answered Walter hastily ; 'it 13 certainly a crnz«' t but I don't think it amounts to that.' ' Think God ! I must always lovo Lawrence, for your sake and for his own, and regard him as my dearest friend, whatever befalls— but you never found out what a coward I | am !' ' No, indeed, little Flo., I never did ; and considering the scenes you have gone through here, I should think no one else ever did.' 'All, but they mi^lit have done so' I am dreadiiillv afraid of any one whose mind is in the least disordered. It j is weak and wrong, I know, and I wish I could get over it, tmt my flesh creeps, and my heart quails at the mere thought being with a mad person.' I ' Don't talk, don't think of Daly as mad, 1 said Walter ; 'he will be all right when ho comes home Let's talk no more about it.' * He rose, sighed, and walked about the room Florence followed him with her eyes. His face was sad a«d puzzled. "ils happiness is not perfect.' she thought. 'This is a gi**t grief to him. What had I better do? Not ask him questions about their life abro.id, which would direct his mind to tins misfortune. And yet, I did so lone to know every particular. However, that must be given up.' It was never very difficult for Florence to reiolve on giving up her own wishes on any subject She mentally made the sacrifice, and adhered to it Walter was now standing beside the glass-door of the study, which opened no longer upon a narrow rough gravelled pathway, but upon the smooth shaven green-grass plot of the new ilow«rg rden. His profile was turned towards her, and as she looked at him, Mie realised, for the first time, how much he was altered. Climate, hard work, and illne3B had indeed been busy witli him. The brightness of youth had gone • from his face, and there was no startling contrast between the thin features ami embrowned co nplexionand tho prematurely gray hair. Florenco's heart overflowed with thankfulness as she gnzed at him. She nas convinced that she miiht indeed have been very near losing him. Presently ho said, with a shako of ins head, as if discarding a painful impression : ' What uas jour lust news of Miriam '' • I heard from her two days ago. There was nothing particular in her letter. She s=eins to be enjoying herself in her (inn wnv. 1 ' I don't understand her or her way, I confess. I cannot reconcile mv^elf to that marriage of her* ; and— l'll tell you what, Flo., I shouldn't wonder if the old man left her nothing, or ne\t to it ; or if he does leave her his money, th it he hampers it with somo condition to destroy its value ' ' O do you think he would be so wicked ?' ' I do ; and I am not quite sure it would be so very if he did, either; at least, of course it would be but npt so entirely unjust. You must acknowledge Miriam tries him a good deal ; and as she undeniably man ied him for Ins money — a,s there never was a plainer ca«e of bargain, I think she migut keep her part of it a httlo more liberally.' ' He worries and degrades her by his senseless jealousy.' 'No doubt ; but w ho suffers by it most ?' 1 He does, I suppose.' lOf course he does. How happy we might all have been, as things have turned out, if Mina'm had not made the great blunder ' However, that is another pleasant subject, and I will neither talk nor think (if it. I will think,* he continued, seating himself beside her, and encircling her with Ins arm§, 'only of the wonderful fortune which gave a fellow hka me such a wife as my little Flo.' 9 They were very happy.

We (Wanganui Herald) understand that a new religion is fastening ground amongst the natives of this district. Its founder and propagator, Matia, is a native of Kaiwaike, who, »ftcr astonishing the inhabitants of his own village, proceeded to Kai Iwi, prraolung and prophesying to the natives who had a-seinbled there. The last prayer meeting »a q hp'd yesterday at Wangaehu. The languiiee of the ceremonial is partly unintelligible to the natives. One pleasing feature in the new religion is its striking resemblance to manj of the religions ;of the old world, and Europeans arc to be converted by ' the power of truth,' instead of driven into the sea, at formerly. Malia appears to be a man of intelligant observation, and amongst one of many schemes for converting his European neighbours, whose division into numerous spets he sincerely regrets, is to be the introduction of b nntrs. aprons^ and processions,— an idea he seems to have imbibed since a recent excursion trip to his native pa,— as he informs his European friends that it is to be • all the same as Kura Tempora [Good Templars]. ' We are much, pleased with these signs of the times, and •wish Matia every success, recognising hm sincere wish to Instruct us in religious thought. Matia, after couveiting the European portion of tli,e community of these isles, int«»ndi purchasing a schooner by peuny subscriptions for tho purpose of extending the benefits of the new gospel to other lau<{«.