THE STORY-TELLER.

Waikato Times, Volume XII, Issue 1001, 21 November 1878, Page 2

THE STORY-TELLER.

WIFE IN NAME ONLY. By the author of " Doea Thoene," "On Hee Wedding Moen," "Redeemed bt Love," "A Woman's Wae," &c. &o.

CHAPTER XXXVI,

Margare*- Dornham was neither a clever nor a far-seeing womau ; had she been either, she would never have acted as she did. She would have known that m taking little Madaline from Casfcledine she was destroying her last chance of ever being owned or claimed by her parents ; she would have known that, although she loved the child very dearly, she was committing a most cruel act. But she thought only of how she loved her. Yet, undiscerning as she was, she was puzzled about her daughter's happiness. If she was really so happy, why did she spend long hours m reverie — why sifc with folded hands, looking, with such sad eyes at the passing clouds ? That did not look like happiness. Why those heavy si^hs, and the color that came aud went like light and shade ? Ifc was strange happiness. After a time, she noticed that Madaline never spoke voluntarily of her husband. She would answer any questions put to ncr she would tell her mother anything she desired fco know, but of her "own accord she never once named him. r -^ lfvt c^ nofc l°°k happiness. She even once, hi answer to her mother's questions, described Beechgrove to her— told her of the famous beeches, the grand picture-gallery ; she even fcold her of fche gorgeous Titian— the woman with rubies like blood shining on her white neck. But- she did not add that she had been afc Beechgrove only once, and had left the place m sorrow and shame. She seemed to have every comfort, every luxury ; but Margaret noticed, also, that she never spoke of ber circle of society, that she never alluded to visitors. * Ifc seems to me, my darhuer, that you lead a very quiet life,' she said one day; and Madaline's only answer was that such was really the

case. Auother time, Margaret said to b er — • You do nob write many letters to your husband, Madaline. I could imagine a youner wife like you writing every day/ and her daughter made no reply. On another occasion, Mrs Dornham pufc the question to her — ' You are quite sure, Madaline, that you love your husband ?' 'Love him/ said the girl, her face lighting vp — ' love him, mother ? I think no one m tho wide world ever loved another better !'

' Sttch being the case, my darlinsr/ said Margaret, anxiously, ' let me ask if you are quite sure that he loves you ?'

No shadow came into the blue eyes as she raised them to her mother's face.

' I am sure of it/ she replied, ( as I am of my own existence.' ' Then/ thought Margaret to herself, l I am mistaken ; all is well between them.'

Madaline did nofc intend to remain very long with her nsofcher, but ifc was soothing to fche wounded, aching heart fco be loved so dearly. Margaret startled her one clay by saying —

' Madaline, now that yon are a great la:ty, and have such influential friends, do you not think you could do something for your father V 'Something for my father/ repeated the girl, with a shudder. « What can I do for him V A new idea occurred to Mrs Dornham. She looked into Lady Arleigh's pale, beautiful face. ' Madaline,' she said, earnestly, tell me the whole truth — is your father's misfortune any drawback to yon 1 Is ifc known . Does ifc cause people to look down on you 1 Tell me the truth. I have a reason for asking you.'

But Lady Arleigh would nofc pain her mother — her quiet simple heart had ached bitterly enough. She would not add oue pang.

' Tell me dear/ continued Mar. garet, earnestly ; ' you do nofc know how important ifc is for me fco know.'

*My dear mother,' said Lady Arleigh, gently clasping her arms round her mother's neck, ' do nofc let that idea make you uneasy. All minor lights cease to shiue. you know, m the presence of greater ones. The world bow a down to Lord Arleigh ; very few, I think, know what his wife's name was* Be quite happy about rac, mother. I am sure that no one who has seen me since my marriage knows anything abont my father,'

' I shall be quite happy now that I know that.' she observpd.

More than once during that visit Margaret debated with herself whether she should teii Lady Arl .-fijli hm* story or not; but the same weak fear that had caused her to run away with the child lost she should lose her, now mado her i efrain from speaking, lest Madaline,

on knowing the truth, should be angry with «cr aud forsake her.

If Mrs Dornham had known th© harm that her silence was doing, she would havo.quickly broken it. Lady Arleigh returned home, taking h'er..;silent sorrow with ber. If possible she was kinder thau ever afterwards to her; mother, sending. her constantly baskets of fruit and game— presents of every kir d. If it had not been for the memory of her convict husband, Mrs Dornham would for the first time m her life have been quite happy. Then it was that Lady Arleigh began slowly to droop ; then it was that her desolate life became utterly intolerable — that her sorrow grew greater thau she could bear. She must have some one near her, she felt— some One to whom sho could speak— or she should go mad. She longed for her mother. It was true Margaret Dornham was nofc au educated woman, but, m her way, she was refined. She was gentle, tender-hearted, thoughtful, patient ; above all, Madaline believed she was her mother— and she had never longed for her mother's love aud care as she she did now, when health, strength, and life seemed to be failing her. By good fortune she happened to see m one of the daily papers that Lord Arleigh was^ staying at Meurice's Hotel, m Paris. She wrote to bim there, and toid him that she was dull and nofc very well, and that she had a great longing to have her mother wifch her. She told him that she had desired this for a long time, but that she had refrained from expressing the wish lesfc it shoufd be displeasing to him. ' Do not scruple to refuse me,' she said, *if you do not approve. I hardly venture to hope that you will give your consent. If you do. I will thank you for it*. If you should think ifc best to refuse it, I submit humbly, as I submit now. Let, me add that I would not ask the favor but fchafc my health and strength are failing fast.' Lord Arleigh mused long and anxiously over this letter. Ho hardly cared that her mother should go to the Dower House ; ifc would perhaps be the means of his unhappy secret becoming known. Nor did he like to refuse Madaline, unhappy, lonely, and ill. Dear Heaven, if hs could but go fco her himseif and comfort her !

Long and anxiously did Lord Arleigh muse over his wife's letter. What was

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lie to dd?" If he^too.h&r warlike the generality of ber c*as_, then he Was quite sure ihat the secret he had kept would be a secret no lo igcr -there was : no doubt of that. She would naturally talk, and the servants would prove the truth of the story, aud there would be a terrible .expose. Yet, lonely and sorrowful as Madaline declared herself to be, how could he refuse her? It was. an anxious question for him. and one that caused him much serious thought. • Had he. known how ili she was, n he .would not have hesitated a moment. . He wrote to, Madaline— hpw, that letter was received and. cherished no one but herself knew -, and told her he would be m, England m a d*y or two, and would then give her a decided answer. The letter was kind and affectionate ; it came to ber hungry heart like dew to a thirsty flower. A sudden idea occurred to Lord Arleigh. He would go to England and lind out nil about tbe unfortunate uiiin Dorubam. Justice Lad ni,any victims ;. it # was just within- tiie bounds of possibility that tbe man might, have been innocent —might hive been unjustly accused. If such— aud, ob, bow be hoped it might be ta-.sjliouid prove (to be tbe case, then Lord Arleigh felt that he could take his wife home. It was ihe real cleg c 'ation of the crime that he dreaded so utterly— dreaded more than all ihat ever could be said about ifc. He thought to himself more than once that, if by any unexpected means he discovered that Henry Dornham was innocent of the crime . attributed to him, he would m that ' same hour ask Madalene to forgive him, and to be . the mistress of his "house. "Tliiit 1 was the ; only real, solution of the difficulty that ever cscuri-ed . to bim. If the man was but innocent, be— Lord Arleigh— would never heed the poverty, the obs.urity, the humble name — aU that was nothing. By comparison it seemed so little that he could have smiled at. it. People might b-iy ifc was a low marriage, but he had hh own idea of what was low. If only the roan could be proved innocent of crime, then he might go to ' bis sweet, . innocent wife, 1 and,; clasping Let m his arms, take her to his heart. The idea seemed to haunt him— it seemed to have a fatal attraction f,or him, He resolved to go to London j at once and see if any thing, could be done m the matter: ' 'How he grayed: and- lobgea and h Oped ! He passed through weii-nigii every stage of feel- - ings— from the bright rapture of hope 'to the lowest deaths of despair. He .went first fco Scotland Yard, and liad ,' a long interview with tbp;dtteqfcive who had given • evidence ; agains t ■^ Henry Dornhami The 'detective's idea was that he was enVph-itically a il bad lot.*: ; y ".a^zzZaa.. '.'..- --. He smiled benignly wheu Lord Arleigh suggested that possibly the mail was innocent, remarking that it avus very kind of the gentleman to think so ; for his own part, he did not see a shadow of a chance of ifc. ; ',-'' lobe Continued. V ,