CHAPTER XXIV.

Waikato Times, Volume XXV, Issue 2060, 19 September 1885, Page 5 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XXIV.

ALMOST POKdOTTEK. Hsttib raised her sfcter from the ground and laid her on the bed. The white arms and hinds hung down useless, the pale face- was still, the whice eye-lids olosed. " All for a man 1" thought Hottie, " who is perhaps whistling or singing, but who owes less for her than for the horse he rides or the dog who runs by his side. Oh, Alice, my darling, if you could but oare less for him 1" She was very gentle and kind to this poor, hapless sufferer in this, the great sorrow of her life. She told no one, which to Hettio was a severe pieoe of self-denial. She bathed the white face in oold, olear water ; she ■at by her side until a faint sigh showed she was awakening to her Borrow. " Oh, flettie, is it true-?" sobbed the poor child—" is he really gone ? I had so muoh to say to him— he has been gone so long— and I— l wanted him to kiss me, and to say that he was sorry to leave me— it would have been something for me to hare lived on all the long time that he will be away. I have been thinking all these long weeks what I should say to him." ♦'But, Alice, my dear," said straightforward Hettie, " if you were so anxious to have said 'good-by' to him, why did you leave him ? After all, it is quite your own fault— you know you came away. Why did you do that ? Why did you leave him ?" Alice looked almost hopelessly at her— she could not tell her. She could not say to her that she had left him in anger because his indifference pained her so keenly ; she could not bear it. She could not tell Hettie that, lest Hettie should say unkind and cruel things about him, and those she oould not bear ; she oould only be silent and listen in her siok. sad despair. She caught Hettio's hand in her own. "Ton will never tell," she said, aa Hottie wondered at the burning fire of those hands —you will never tell, Hettie, or they will talk about it, and make surmises about it, until they drive me mad. You will keep faith with me, Hettie ?" •' Yea ; I am rough in "my way, but I will help you— l shall never tell ; I will help yon in every way. I think, you know, thoagh it seems hard to say so to a delicate little thing like you, that it is in a greatjdegree ijour own fault. I should think that he had evidently something to hurry about, 'and in the hurry he thought he had said good-by to you, when in reality he had not— that is all. He meant no unkindnes— he simply forgot ; men do not remember things as women do. I should not make myself unhappy about it— he will write a very kind letter about it when he remembers it." Something like a faint gleam of brightness came over the white, sad* face. "Do you think io, Hettie?" she asked. •' Do you really think that ? lam so glad. I shall be so pleased. And, Hettie, stay with uj e — do not let anyone else come in." It was so new to Hettie to be looMed upon as a comfort to anyone ; she was only too anxious to play her new part gracefully. Presently Mrs. Derwent came to the door, bearing her universal refuge and oomfort in her hand— a cup of strong tea. She recommended that to every one for allkindi of evils, both of body and mind. " Alice, my dear," tha said, " you must bo terribly tired, lam Bare. Drink this ; it will do your heart good. We all have these kind of trouble! to bear." Alice olang to Hettte. If she could only hide her whits face and weeping eyes, she oared little for anything else. Hetti* shielded her ; Hettie took the tea and talked to her I mother while the hot, fevered bands clasped hers. Then Mrs. Derwent, satisfied, went away, leaving the sisters together. "Will id soon be night, Hettie?" was the question that the pale lips asked continually. " At night I shall most likely sleep, and if I sleep I shall forget it, Hettie— shall I not forget and sleep ?" So Hettie watohed impatiently enough until the tun set and the world began to grow dark. She longed for the noises in the streets to cease— she longed for the mantle of silence to fall over the noisy little house, for the scraping of the fiddle, the sound of the pupils' arrival, the loud voice of Frank— she longed for all that to cease, that the burning head might grow 'cool, that the tired eyes might test. It seemed long in ooming, that rest and silence ; carts with heavy wheels rolled down the street, men with hoarse voices called out to each other, while Alice lay sick unto death with despair. Hettie was almost frightened ; the wild pain in the sad eyes, the constant trembling of the pale, sweet lips— she oould never forget them. At length the desire of her heart came; night brought silence and rest, the pupils went home one by one; the fiddle was put away ; Frank went to his room, and the house lay dark and silent. Mrs. Derwent looked in to see if Alice would like more tea ; she talked in her faint, languid style, of bearing patiently all the troubles that of neoessity followed married life. " After all Alice," she said, " you are a very fortunate girl ; it is a sad thing, of course, that your husband hai had to leave you ; but, my doar, you are mercifully spared a great deal. Men make a great deal of work in a house, and give a great deal of trouble. You will have plenty of money to live on, and nothing to do, as it were. I think you are really fortunate. You can onjoy yourself nicely while your husband is away." This was well-meant comfort and consolation, but it did net produce much effect upon Alice ; the listened, and murmured something unintelligible. Mrs. Dorwent went away quite satisfied that she had administered words of wisdom and comfort. Then night began. There have been sonic strange nights in this world. That was one when the German lady watched the dyinf agonies of her husband under the gtarry Hky : that was another when the attendants of Jane Seymour waited to see if Annie Boleyn would be slain, and their mistress married on th( morrow; that was another when Klr/abetl lay toseinp; on her couoh trying to decide whether E«sex should die or not; it was another when poor Lady Jane Grey spent hei last hours in prison, wondering whether mer oould really put one so young and tender te death ; another when Mario Antoinette, th< Auitri \n, w&tchcJ for the li rot f;lram of daj that wad to hn her la<;t. This night that Alice passed waa, in its way as atrange as any of them; it seemed te

ohango her from a girl to a woman ; while it lasted, her youth, her hope, the brightness of her life, all seemed to die. Hettie never f )rgot it ; fine had never been so frightened be. fore. The darkness Bhe had lorded for became almost unbearable, the silence terrible, for, as the night went on, Alice talked wildly, the burning heat inoreased. She cried out that she must see him— ha was going ayay for years, and she must say one word to htm. .But the most terrible moment of all was when Alice, half-mad in the delirium of her fever and sorrow, thought he had returned to her —how she wept, prayed, and pleaded with him— how she pray e cl him for a little love— a little lov«— cfhe kind word, one kiss before he went away. 11 1 hope," thought Hettie, " that such a thing as this will never happen to mo ; I I never have cared for a man— l care still less now. If one can make poor Alice suffer, how muoh suffering is inflicted by a world of men? " ' Then, while the unhappy young wife tossed to and fro, sometimes crimson in the delirium of fever, sometimes white and still aa one who lay dead, Hettie sat by her, wondering what would happen to her — would ahe recover, or would this illness deepen on her until Bhe died? Then Hettie wandered over many things. For a love-match, it was most certainly a strange one ; yet, if he had not loved her — this rich stranger — why need ho have married her ? He must have loved her very much indeed to have married her. What had beoome of the love since, for oertainly, so far as she could see, none of it remained ? He was most completely indifferent to her. " T suppose," thought Hettie, " that a man' 3 love does not last very lopg— * few weeks, or, at the most, a few months, and all is over; the light dies, the glamour fades. Thank Heaven 1 no man will trer either make me miserable or make me love him." She was very stanch and true to her unhappy Bister ; she spent the long hours of the night watohing by her side; she never left her. No one could have believed that that gentle girl, whose fingers touched the hot head so gently, whose voice murmured such sweet words, was Hettie, the romp, the untidy girl, the loud-voiced— in fact, as Mm. Derwent languidly called her, the vulgarian of the family. When morning had broken, fresh and gray, Alioe fell into a deep slumber, fevered and restless at first, but deeper and more tranquil after a time. That slumber, in all probability, saved her from a severe illness. "Is it morning?" she said, when she opened her eyes—" morning, Hettie, and you have been with me all night. I have lived through that now, I shall not die. It seems to mo, Hettie, long weeks Bince I came here to sleep my pain away. You have been very good to me, my little sister." She tried to rise, but the, trembling limbs, the yhitp face, bo full of haggard pain, frightened Hettie, who perauaded her to lio itill. "You must be consent to let us treat you as an invalid, Alice,'" she said, " and rest perfectly quiet." Alice wai only thoughtful ; the sound of the swift current of human life reaohed her, the sound of the busy world wakened into busy day. Sho was quite content to He still and listen— to rest from thought, and purchase oblivion if she could. She never forgot that day— the slow, crawling hours, the lingoriny sunlight— all bringing with them the slow wain of despair. While Lord Carsdale was brisk and bright, thankful to have done, -for a time at least, with a moat dieagreeable piece of business, thinking a great deal about Lady Ethel, and feeling rather pleased than otherwise that ho should see Gibr*ltar. He bought a moat beautiful locket— a mass of most beautiful pearls— and that he Bent to Lady Ethel, anonymously. She would never know that he had sent it, yet he should hay« the great satisfaction of kissing and holding in his hand Bomething that she would wear and like. He sever thought of writing to Alice. Sho had no longer any distinct individuality for him. She was simply part of a disagreeable affair. Indeed the chances were that had any one suddenly asked him if he had ever admired any pretty girl at Ladywell he would have answered, " No." The regatta, the fair, girlish faoe that had brightened so for him, were almost things of the past ; and yet, in spite of all this, women will go on loving and trusting until the end of the world.