THE STORY-TELLER.

Waikato Times, Volume XII, Issue 954, 3 August 1878, Page 2

THE STORY-TELLER.

WIFE IN NAME ONLY. .. By tlie author of " Doba. Thobne," "On Heb "Weddino Mobn," " Redeemed by Love," "A. Woman's Wae," &c, &a. (Continued from last Saturday's issue). CHAPTER XXVI. Lord Arleigh st ired at the packet which his wife hod given him, and again and again he read the words that were inscribed on it—'A wedding preseut from Phillippa, Dinhess of Hazlewood, to Lord .Arleitrh. To be read alone on his : weddiug-day.' What could it mean ? Philippa at times took strange caprices into her head. This seemed to be one of the strangest. He held the letter in hia hand, a strange presentiment ot evil creeping over him which he could not account for. B\o.n the envelope came the odour of a sweet scent which the Duchess always used. It was so familiar to him that for a few minutes it brought hi-r vividly before him—-he could havefancieJ her standing near him. Then he remeuibeied the stnnge words, f To be read alone.' What could it mean ? That the letter contained something that his youug wife must not see or hear. He looked at her. She had seemingly forgotten all about the packet, and stood now with a smile on her face, before one of the finest pictures in the gallery, wrapt in a dream of delight. There could not be anything in the letter affecting her. Still, as Philippa had' written.'so pointedly, it would be better perhaps for him to heed her words.

' Madaline, my darling/ be said, sinking on to an ottoman,' you have taken no tea. Yoa would like some.' ' Leave me here alone for half an hmjiv* I want to think.' She did what she uever done voluntarily before. She weufc up to him, and clasped her arms around his neck. She be..t her blushing fade over his, and the caress surpris3d as much as it delighted him—she was so shyly undemonstrative. ' What are you going to think about, Norman-* Will it be of me?' ' Of whom else should I think on my wedding-day, if not of. my wife V ho asked ' I should be jealous if your thoughts went anywhere else,' replied Madaline. ' Now, there is a daring, speech, Norman. I never thought I should make such a one.' ' Your daring is very delightful, Madaline. Let me hear more of it.'

She laughed the low, happy, contented laugh that sounded like sweetest music in his ears.

* I will dare to say something' else, Norman, if you will promise not to think it uncalled for. I am very happy, my darling hiubmd—l love you very much, and I thank you for your love.' ' Still better,' he said, kissing the lovely, blushing face. ' Now go, Madaline; I understand' and sympathise with the feminine liking for a cup of tea.' * Shall I send one to you ?' she asked. ' No,' he replied, laughingly. 'You may teach me to care about tea in time. As yet, I do not.' He was still holding the letter in his baud, and the taint perfume was like a message from Philippa, reminding him that the missive way still unread. <1 shall not be Jong,' said Mad aline. She saw that for some reason or other he wanted to be alone. 'You will tincl me here/ he ro

turned. ' This is a favorite nook of mine. ' I shall not leave it till you return.' The nook was a deep bay-window, from which there! «a< i< miHghineent' view of the famous Imcclms fcjjft Turkish cushions and ve vet lounges filled it, and near it hung one of Titian's most gorgeous pictures —a dark-eyed woman with a ruby necklace. The sun's declining rays falling on the rubies made them appear like drops of blood. It was a grand picture—one that had been bought by one of the previous Lords of Beechgrove, and the present Lord Arloigh took great pride in it. He watched the long folds of Madaline's white dress, as she passed along the gallery, and tuen the hangings fell behind her, and ho was alone. Once more he held up the packet. ' A wedding-presentfrom Philippa, Duchess of Hazlewood, to Lord Arleigh.' Whatever mystery it contained should be solved at once. He broke the seal ; the envelope contained a closely written epistle. He looked at it in wonder. What could Philippa have to write to him about ? r J£he letter began as fallows—- ' A wedding-preaent from Philippa, Duchess of Havslewood, to Norman, Lord Arleigh. You will ask what it is l My answer is, My revenge —Avell planned—patiently awaited.

* You have read the Hues—- * Heaven has no rage like love to hatred

turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman ssorned.' They are true. Fire, fury, and hatred rage now in my heart as I write this to you. You have scorned me—this is my revenge. I am a proud woman —I have lowered my pride to you. T loved you once, Norman, and on the day my love died I knew that nothing could arise from its ashes. I loved you with a love passing that of most women ; and it was not all my fault. I was taught to love you—the earliest memory ef my life is having been taught to love you.

' You remember it too; It may have been injudicious, imprudent, foolish, yet, while I was taught to think, to read, to sing, I was also taught to consider myself your 'little wife.' Hundreds of times have you given me that ua me, while we walked together as children—you with your arm round my neck, I proud of being called your 'little wife.'

'As a child, I loved you better than anyone else in the wide world —better than my mother, my father, my friends; aud my love grew with my growth. I prided myself on my unbroken troth to you. I earned the repute of being cold and heartless because I could think of no one but you. No compliments pleased me—no praise flattered me. I studied and cultivated every gift Heaven had given to me—all for your sake. I thought of no future but with you, no life but with you, no love but for you. I had no dreams apart from yon. I was proud when people talked of my beauty; that yen should have a fair wife delighted me. ' When you returned home, . 1 quite expected that you were coming to claim me as your wife—l thought that was what brought you back to England. I remember the day you came. Ah, well, revenge helps me to live, or I should die! The first tones of jour voice, the first clasp of yorir handy the first look of your eyes, chilled me with sorrow and disappointment. Yet I hoped against hope. I thought you were shy, perhaps more reserved than of yore. I thought everything aud anything exceDi • that you had ceased to love me; I would have believed anything rather than you were not going to fulfil our ancient contract, and make me your wife. I tried to make you talk of old times—you were unwilling; you seemed confused, embarrassed ) I read all those signs aright; still I hoped against hope. I tried to win you —I tried all that love, patience, gentleness, and consideration could do. It was all in vain.

' What women bear, and yet live en ! Bo you know that every moment of that time was full ot deadly tortnre to me, deadly auguish I Ah me, the very memory of it distresses me ? Every oue spoke to me as though, our engagement was a certainty, and our marriage settled. Yet to mo there came, very slowly, the awful couvietion that you ignored, or had forgotten, the old ties. I fought against that couvietion—T would not entertain it. Then came for me the fatal day when I heard you tell the Duchess of Aytoun that you had never seen thy woman you would care to make your wife. I heard the confenion, yet I hoped against hope, and tied to make you care for me. At last came the night out on fhe balcony, when I resolved to lisk all, to ask you for your love—do you remember H? You were advocating the cause of another ', I asked you why you did not speak for yourself- You must have known that my woman's heart was on fire—you must have seen that my whole soul was in my speech, yet you told me in cold, well-chosen words that you had only a brother's affection for me. On that night, for the first time, I realised the truth, that, come what you would never love me—tnJt you had no idea of carrying out the old contract—that your interest in me was simply a kindly, friendly oue. On that night when I realised the truth, the better part ot rne died ; my love— the . love of my life—died; my hopes-life-loug hopes—died; the be 3 . truest, noblest part of me died. ' When yon had gone away, w \mu

I was left alone, I fell on my knees and swore to be revenged. I vowed vengeance against you, no matter what it might cost. Again let me quote for you the lines— Heaven Las no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a Avoman scorned. You scorned me—you must suffer for it. 1 swore to be revenged, but how was I to accomplish my desire '(■ I could not see any way in which it was possible lor me to make you suffer. I could not touch your heart, your affections, your fortune ; the only thing I could touch was your pride. Through your pride, your keen sensitiveness, I decided to stub you; and I have succeeded! I recovered my courage and my pride together, made you believe that all that had passed had been a jest, and then I told you that I was going to marry the Duke. £ * I will say no more of my love or my sorrow. 1 lived only for veiigouice, but how my object was to be effected 1 could uot tell. I thought of many plans; they were all worthless—they could uot hurt you as }ou had hurt me. At last, one day, quite accidentally, I took up The Lady of Lyons and road it through. That gave me au idea of what my revenge should be liko. Do you begin to suspect what this present is that the Duchess of Huzlewood intends making to you on your wedding-day ?’ To be Continued.