CHAPTER XXX.

Waikato Times, Volume XIX, Issue 1580, 19 August 1882, Page 5

CHAPTER XXX.

"By the power I hold o'er thec." Bertha had been stern and inflexible while Jack was present, but the moment the door shut upon him her fortitude gave ■way; and, seeking her chamber, she sat do^vn, a piey to uncontrollable anguish. What ! would she never see the handsome form of him she still loved so passionately — would his loving eyes gaze into hers no more ? Now she learned the depth and intensity- of that passion which had been growing with her being. Jealousy and despair reigned iv her breast alternately. Now she thought until her heart seemed rent in twain, that she saw him caressing another, and shb entirely foi'gotten ; now the vivid realisation of the fact that she had for ever cast him off burned itself in letters of fire into her brain ; and then, what a black vacuity ,'life appeared to bp! At times, she felt her love become so Rtrong, that she thought of following him into the city, there to fling herself into his arms, and surrender her being to him. She had never loved him so fiercely as she did now. In vain duty bade her follow her father's dictates ; in vain she argued that Jack had forfeited all claim to her love. There he stood before her ; the careless, degage boy, with his many winningVays and touching eyes ; the splendid, fully-developed man, with the glorious impress of the Creator in his handsome, lusty form. Then the rememberance' came of the innumerable love passages that had taken place between them ; those tender episodes that lay bidden in her breast, never to bo forgotten. She could not weep ; the agony was too intense She only clasped , her hands and rrcked herself to and fro, her dry, tearless eyes fixed upon the vacuity where the word " lost" appeared cut in letters of fire. Lost to all eternity ! He whom she had looked upon as her second self — her husband ; in whose arms phe had hoped to lie as wife ; ! in whose heart she thought to have reigned supi'eme. Never more was she to clasp him in tho ecstatic embrace of lbvel Never more ! " Can I come in ?" ( It was her father who spoke, " Yes,' father." paid the girl, in a hollow tone. Mr WJiite had become a ponderous, respectable 1 member of society. Age had told upon him, and 'hd was very grey. One would have tihought a man so highly favoured would' always wear a f aco tin - clouded as a summer sky ', but to -day it was dark and troubled; there' was^ anxiety, depicted in every line, and a strange'fG>eriBh'loolcin:theeyes.* , « ; You ldok'illf TSerth'a, 1 ' ho faid, gently, for She waei the^'only ' thing v 'on earth lie r&ved"e'xcep#nis;mbney, f '* ,She dii^n'qt^reply.'" Thy^teaVs at last canfe^to' fi'er 3fe§{- and' she sank in a'-fifc.of gobliing. HeYiatlier'^topk'Vseat'by her' ' side^Undl^awinf WWliim, asked^' '5 ' '^m^i^tiief&i'u'se oßtlii&lf Mrf'-h las^M»afefifd^ gltlilMm^n|^empto'%pau^%r

"He has-been heVe{- then?"' " ' She nodded' a- reply.'- ■■- •' : "And yoiUgaVeUrimyoufolismissal ?" ' "Again -tile beautiful 'head -was bent down. ' '■ "Bertha, you are a noble girl," said Mr White caressing her. ' 'But cheer up ; this is but the natural outcome of- such a scene. You love 'him as every girl loves the man 'that has first f touohed her heart ; but that is not the true love. 'Time will heal the wound. "■■ ■' ', - ' ' "Never, father/ said tlie girl mournfully: ■ -; , "Never ?"he replied, with a 4ialf scornful laugh. That's what you told me when your pet parrot died ; but ji-'fortnight afterwards you were as happy as' the day is long." ~> ! ' ..-.'; 1 Bertha's tears 'cameagain) The'poorparrot was given tp her by Jack, and that was what had made it so dear to her. One day while, they were out on the hills he espied a parrot's nest in a tree, "and at'the expense of a new' pair of moleskin inexpressibles, had procured one. of, tlie young birds for Bertha. Ah ! those happy, happy days ! ' •■ "Don't talk anymore, father;" -said Bertha, who felt as if death were coming upon her. ''I have done what you ■ have desired ; I have crushed every feeling of my heart, and trodden all my 'love and hopes into the dust, but do not ask' me to hear the past mentioned." "You are right there, my girl," said her father; " some of the poets say:— Let the dead past bury its dead. And that was the only sensible thing I ever read that was in poetiy. But don't think Ihave asked you to do this from, any mere prejudice" of my own. Later you will know why, I am bo pressing that | you should be, married to Mr Macinnis, and at as early a date as possible. For the present be content to obey me, and^ you will find that I have done ' my* best, and you will soon forget this young man." ' Bertha shook her head mournfully. "Bertha!" said her father, "nothing 1 would reconcile me to seemg 1 you married to Bunakutn'B son. I would rather see you in your grave. Don't ask me the reason why. You will madden me. I will now see that the wedding preparations are hurried on." "Oh, no!" said Bertha; "give me another six months. Let me have time to calm myself — to forget." "No," said Mr White, sternly, "I will not. The marriage must take' place boforo the week is out. Hector and I have agreed upon that. " There was a ring at the gate. Looking out, 1 Mr Whito saw Hector Macinnis and Obadiah Swoetcomfort walking up the path" "And here ho comes," said he: "I Avill go and meet him."