CHAPTER XXXVIII.—A TERROR OF GREAT DARKNESS.

Waikato Times, Volume V, Issue 290, 21 March 1874, Page 2

CHAPTER XXXVIII. — A TERROR OF GREAT DARKNESS.

On a bright soft April day, Miriam arrived at the Firs. Sh» had chosen her house in London, and let decorators and upholsterers to work upon it. She had brightened up Mut Monitor's life by her visit to the oottage, her admiration of the covr, and her promise to repeat these kindnesses ; and now she had oome, Itill with reluctance, but with good courage also, to the ordeal of meeting Walter. It seemed to her that this was the only thing the should have to dread henceforth in life, and that the meeting, the first look into each other'a eye», the first fow minutes passed together, without the presence of any other person, over, this phantom — for she held it a mere phantom— would be laid, like the rest, and her way would be quite plain. So, when the time which had been arranged for her visit came, the went to tho trial calmly. Florence was in great delight. The prospect of having Miriam in her old home with Walter, in unrestricted freedom, all the former misery and dissension utterly gone for ever; and that most wonderful of all babies- 1« beibewnto his aunt, was as much happiness as Florence could desire in this world, now that her Walter was at home ' for good.* She did not actually say to herself that it was pleasant tomake up their family party without Mr St Qnentin ; she would have been shocked to find herself thinking anything so dreadful, but she certainly was a little curious to see how Miriam looked in her weeds, and fully expected to find her in capital Bpirits. Florence was a pretty picture in these days. In the fulness of her happiness, the realisation of her thoroughly feminine ideal, her beauty had matured, and the added self-possession of her manner took nothing from its gentleness and its grace. She was as busy as a bfce, but she was not fussy, and she was not narrow. Her whole heart was centred in her home and its beloved inmates ; but her intellect overstepped that boundary, and Florence Clint was as perfect an example as could be 'found of a true woman who, incapable of the moral discord implied in deserting her own sphere, assiduously aspires to the best standard of duty and culture within it. At dinner, Walter was very lively and agreeable; but Miriam, observing him closely, saw that there was a curious indecision about him. There was not much carving dona at table, but Florence did it all. Walter paid no attention lo anything bnt his own dinner ; and 'even about that was slow and awkward, letting his fork drop, and upsetting bis wine-glass. As the ladies were leaving thf dining room, Florence leaned over his shoulder, and said : ' Don't be long over your wine. Miriam wants to hear all about the golddiggings to-night ; so don't go to sleep here.' ' Does ho go to sleep after dinner?' asked Miriam. 'Indeed he does,' replied Florence, 'lint it a .horrid habit ? Almost every evening I hare to go and shake him up ; and sometimes he falls asleep ofter luncheon. Indeed, I often tell him he has quite an unfair allowance of sleep in his life.' 'Do you think that is safe, Florence ? Good for him, I mean ? What does he really do, dear ?' What are the occu> pations of his life V ' The occupations of his life ? Well— l can hardly tell you. He is not agricultural, you know, to we've let the home-farm ; and he is not fond of gardening,, it makes his head ache. A. great many things make his head ache since he had that terrible fever.' ' Does he manage things well ? -look after things, and all. that?' 'Well, indeed, I cannot say he does,' ssaid Florence, laughing } 'he says Ido all that sort of thing better than he does, and that it tires him. He does not even care about the Bt*bles. I'm afraid, Miriam, I muit confess ho'a lazy ; but you must not blame him. He bad to work so hard for such along time ! And he is so sweet-tempered, and so fond of baby and me, and no trouble in the house. You won't mind him being what he calls " all about" a good deal, will you, Miriam? He is not a bit like other men, interfering with women's occupations and bothering them.' 1 1 shan't mind it in the least, dear,' replied Miriam, who was thinking—' He may not be a bit like other men, but h« is alto not in the least like my brother Walter.' And she went on : 'It he fond of reading ?' ' Ho does not care for reading to himself, but he likes me to read to him, and I. do, when I have time. But I have been threatening him to laave off lately, he falls asleep so often.' 1 That was a very bad fever, was it not, he had just at the moment our father died ?' 'o>yes: his mind wandered awfully. But Mr Martin, said that was better. There must have been stupor if it hadn't. He frightened me first) and made mo think it wos not a feverish cold, but fever, by talking about an old man in an Indian gown and a red night-cap making a will, andlooking in the Times for somebody to leave his money to.-— Why, Miriam, you are as pale as death ! Perhaps you don't like to hear about anything of that kind.' - ' I do, indeed— l do. I only turned pale at the idea of Walter's having been in such danger.' 'At I have done many a time, when I have thought that he might hay» disd of the first fever out in that horrid place ; and Mr Daly too ; and we might never have heard anything about eitner of them. And he must have died if it had not been for Mr Daly. I wish you could hear Walter tell the story himself; but he must aot. I never mention it to him ' ' Why ?' 'Because itdistressed him so much. Mr Daly, you know, had the fever before Walter took it, and he never got over the effect of it. He is, or was, when Walter and he parted, a little eccentric — it was a delusior.T-which grew up in the fever, and never left him. 1 will tell you about it some other time ; I must go and wake Walter now. If I didn't, . he would sleep there for hours.' Again, for a faw moments, before they separated for the night, Walter and Miriam were alone together. This time she determined, anything butter than the vague, mysterious alarm which was creeping- over her, to lead him directly to the subject in her thoughts. ' Walter,' she said, ' will you let me tell you how much I felt about meeting you, after all that had passed, and ' 'Of course. I know ; but don't talk of it, Miriam. I) would have come to you in your trouble, if I could, but I. was very ill, you know. Caught cold, and had a fever. It really was not my fault.' ' Wduld have come to me, Walter ? Why, you did come to me !' 1 Yes, yes ; I started, after you telegraphed, of course j but thepe was nothing in that; you know ; licould not go on and indeed I hardly know how I got home. But don't let us talk of it, Miriam ; I hate unpleasant subjects.' Miriam obeyed him. Indeed, she could not speak. To utter astonishment was added a thrill of indescribable dread. For a moment she actually felt afraid of Walter himself, sitting there, ia hia chair, before her, perfectly calm, and making her this unaccountable, reply. He was talking of the second time she had sent for him ; she, of the first, and yet, the second summons had been by letter, not by telegraph. Miriam said no more; but, when Florence was with her up-stairs, in her own room, she questioned her as closely as she dared about Walter's illness. Florence answered her freely, and, being skilfully led up to the point by Miriam, told her it was such an odd thing that Walter had forgotten . all about his having gone to Dover, and was in the utmost distress at his inability to comply with Dr Ashley's summons. ' Mr Martin said it was part of the delirium of the fever,' added Florence, ' and told me not to talk to him about it at any time, and so, of course, I have not done so. Let ms brush your hair, Miriam, ibr the sake of old times!' Then the two young women drifted into a sentimental, reminiscent conversation, which, however, did not so> far divert Miriam from the matter in her thoughts, but that she resolved to discuss it with Mr Martin at the first-opportunity.