THE STORY-TELLER.

Waikato Times, Volume XII, Issue 985, 15 October 1878, Page 2

THE STORY-TELLER.

WIFE IN NAME ONLY. By the author of " Doha Thohne," "On Hbe Wedding Morn," "REDEEMED BY Lovi:," " A WOMAN'S War," &c. &f (Continued from last Saturday's issue). CHAi-TJiji XXXII. The golden head dropped forward and fell on fco :i is breast, her hands oluug Lo him with almost despairing pah . 11 I will be so humble, darling. I can keep away from all observation, ft is ouiy to be with you that I wi3u —only to be near you. You cannot be hard — you cannot send me away ; you will not, tor I love you !" Her hands clung- more closely to him. " Many men have forgiven their wives even greater crimes, and havo taken them bad: after the basest desertion. Overlook., my father's crime and pardon me, for Heaven's dear sake ! " "My dearest Mudaline, if you would biu. understand ! I have nothing 1 to paruon. You am sweetest, deaivsl., loveliest, bcs:. You are one of {.bo purest and noblest of women. 1 have nothing to pardon ; it is unly that I oaunot take disgrace into my family. .1 Canuot give to my children an inheritance of crime." "But, Nomiun," said the girl, gently, "because my I'aiher was a, felon, that does not .make uiu one - because he was led into wrouu-, it does not follow that X mus- do wrong. Insauily may bu hereditary, but surely crime is no(; ; I eides. I have heard my father say that his father was an honest, simple, kindly Northern farmer. My father had much to excuse him. tie was a handsome man wiio had been flattered aud made much of." 4My darling, I could not take your bauds into mine and kiss them so if [ fancied that they were even ever so slightly stained with sin.' ' Then why not take me home, Norman ?' 4 1 cannot,' he replied, m a tone of dererminatien. ' You mast not torture me, Madaliue, with further pleading. J cannot— that is sufficient.' , . He roser and walked with rapid stops down to the shore. Row hard it was. how terrible — bitter almost re* the anguish of cle-Uh ! She was by his side again, walking m silence. Tie would have given the whole world if he could have taken her into his arms and have kissed back the color Lite her g:-id young face. ' Norman,' said a lo«r voice, full of bitterest pain, ' I aoj come to say good-bye. I ntn sorry I came. I have done harm — not good. lam sorry. Good-bye.' ' It has made our lof. a thousand times harder, Madaline,' he returned, hoarsely. * Never mind the hardship ; you will soon recover from that,' she said. ' I am sorry that I have need against your wishes, mul broken the 10..g-----■lili-noe. J will never d«> it again, N'ovman.' ' A ever, umL-.ss \oii :ii>j ill and uei-d na;, 1 he suj):' l'lueiiu^l. 'Then you have promised to send for me.' ' I vviU do so,' she said Yon will rememSei, dear husband, that my last w O! d« to you worn ' Good-bye, aad Heaven bless yon !' ' The words died avvuv on her lips. He tinned aside lost she should see

t a 5 ■-- -blit.y of nis face ; he never ! co.nplaino. t... he". He knew how i that she thought him hard, cold, unfeeling, indifferent- that she thought his pridH greater than his love ; but even that was bettor thau that she should know he suffered more than she die! —she must never know that. When he turned back from the ' tosstn -.;■ waves and the summer sun, she was gone. He looked across the bi-uch— there was no sign of her. She wns gone; and. he avowed to! himself thub it would be wonderful if ever m thi? world he saw her again. She diii not remain its TiiVagel ; to do so woold be useless, hopeless. She saw it now. She had hoped againyi hope • she had said to herself thai ia a year and a half he would surely have altered his mind — he would have found how hard it i was to 3iVe' jiioue, to livt> without J love— he would- have found that there was soniHthiug dearer m the world than family pride— he would have discovered i hat love outweighed j everything elaa Then she saw that her anticipation* were .>il wrong — he preferred his dead anchors to his living wife. She went back to Winston House and toc'k up the dreary round of life again. jSke mijrht huvn made her lot more endurable and happier, she might have travelled, hjive sought society and amusement ; but she had no heart, lor any of these things. She luid spent the year and a half ol her married life m profound study, thinking to herself that if he should claim her he would be pleased to find her yet a. ore accomplished and educatt d. She was indefatigable, aud it was all for him. Now that she ■was going back, she waß without this mainspring o: hope— her old studies and pursuits wearied her. To what end ;;iid for what purpose had been all her study, all her bard work ? He would never know of her proficiency j and she would not care to study for any other object than to please him. * "What am 1 to do with my life ?' she moaned. ' Mariana m the moated grange was not more to be pitied than I.' How often the words occurred to her — 4 The Hay is dreary, c He eometh not,' Bhe uaid ; She aaH, lam aweaiy, aweary, 1 would fcba* I were dead J' It wa3 one ot the strangest, dullest, saddest lives that human being ever led. That she wearied 'of it was no wondi-r. She was tired of the sorrow, the suffering, the despair— so tired (hat after a while she fell ill ; and then she lay longing for death. It was a gloiious September, and the Scottish moors looked as they had not looked for 3 ears ; the heather grew m rich profusion, and grouse were plentiful. The prospects for sportsmen were excellent. Not knowing what else to do, Lord Arleigh resolved to go to Scotland for the shooting ; there was a sort oi savage satisfaction m the idea oi living so many weeks alone, without on-lookers, where he could be dull when he liked, -without comment — where he could lie for hours together on the heather, looking up at the blue skies, and puzzling over the problem of his life — where, when the fit of despair seized him ; he could indulge m it, and no one wonder at him. He hired a shooting-lodge called Glabnrn. In his present state of mind it seemed to him to he a relief to live where he could not even see a woman's face. G-laburn was kept m order by two men, who mismanaged it, after the fashion of men \ but Lord Arleigh was happier theie thvin he had been since his fatal marriage day, simply' becauso he was quite alone. If ho spent more time m lying on the heather and thinking ol Madaline than he did m shooting, that was his own concern— there was no one to interiere. He had been at Gladburn some weeks before he discovered that he had a neighbor. Once or twice he fancied that he saw a tall figure striding along m the distance ; but he preferred solitude to society, and he made no inquiries as to whom it might be. The time came, however, wheu he waa to know. Cue day, when he was iv one of his most despairing moods, he went out quite early m the uroraiog, determined to wander tl.lo day through, to exhaust himself j/itiit'ssly with fatigue, aud then see if lit* cm)M not rest without dreaming of Madalino. But, as he wandered eaat and west, knowing little, and caring less, whither he went, a violent storm, such as breaks at times over the Scottish moors, overtook him. The sk^- grew dark as night, the rain fell iv a torrent— blind, thick, heavy — ho could hardly see his hand before him. Ho wandered on for hours, wet through, weary, cold, yet rather rejoicing ia ' his fatigue. Presently liuuger was added to fatigue ; and then the matter becatmi more serious — he had no hope of ueiuj: ablo to find his way home, for he had no idea iv what. direction he bad strayed. At last In; grew alarmed ; life did not hold much for him, it was true, but be had no desire to dip on those Jonely wild 3, without a human being near him. T'acn it became painful for him to walk ; his fatigue was so great tiiat his limbs ached i:t every step. He began to think his life was drawing : ear its close Once or twice ho had cried ' Maclaliae' aloud, aud theuaniß seemed fco die away on ihe sobbing wind. He grew exhausted at. last ; for some Lime past he bad struggled ou m the face of the tempest •I shall have to lie down like a dog by tho road- side and die,' he thought to Li IUS •.]': 7so other futo seemed to be before him but. that, and he told himsef that after all he bad sold his life cheaply. ' Found dead ou the Scotch' moors' would be the verdict agiinst him. What would the world say? What would his golden-haired darling say when she heard that he was dead. Zo be Continued,