CHAPTER L.X.

Waikato Times, Volume XXV, Issue 2093, 5 December 1885, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER L.X.

JWNIHIIBB. It seemed to Ailio tbat she did not fully realize what had pspred until oho found heraeli driving rapidly along the road tbat led to the station. She had a dim memory of servant a crowding round her, of farewells and aood wishes, of Lady Ethel's beautiful face touching her own, while a gentle voioe whispered to her : " lam sorry you are going, Miss Dprwent, for I like you. If ever you want a friend or want«holp, write to mo ; I will always help yon." And she remembered -the cold, eiuk despair that oame over hor as she thought that the fature held no help, no friend for her— that 'all was over, and the lovely woman speaking so kindly to her would soon stand in her place and beat her name. She felt almost sure that she had seen tears in Lady Gcrtrudo'g dark eyes; even those had not touched her. She was bewildered and d»zecl ; she oould not think or feel ; she could only remain quite passive, with n dull, troubled wonder as to what fate would do for her next. The morning was no beautiful; the rich, luxuriant nemmer was gradually giving way lo the brilliant autumn— this day seemed to bo a union of both. The pky had uo olouds, the mn was shining warm and blight, the sweet air was filled with the breath of Bweot flowers; bpt neither sunshine nor psrfutno reaohod her ; she was dazed, as one who has had a, terrible blow. From betTP«n tho tall trees f;he saw tho towers and turrets of Hobonpath — her. husband's home, tho homo she should never see again. She remembered how light of heart, how happy oho had boen whon she entered that house, atrong in the hope of winning all hearts there ; now she waa leaving it, disgraced, her fair fame tarnished, her fair name shadowed, all hope of winning the liking of her hufhand'3 friends gone forever — all hopo of winning hor husband's heart and love gone forever. She would not even much longer bear the empty narao of his wife. Desolation and misery could go no further. Then the carriage Htopppfl, and the footman came to tlio door. Lady Waldrovc had told him to buy Mina Derwent's ticket, and help with her luggape. " Where bhall I tako a ticket for, mha ? " ' naked tho mm, touching his hat and wondering, m she looked up at him with dim, vague ryes. " Where for, wise ?" he repeated. Heaven help hor — where for? She know no mora than tho birds flinging on the treea where to go ; sho was only quite determined of one thing — that sbo would hido herself where no one in tho world could ever find her, and where she should never see a familiar face. ' The footman repeated his question, and thon it dawned across her quite suddenly that the jmust give him an answer of some kind. " To London," sho roplied, on tho impulse of the moment — " to London Bridgo station." Then tho eeivantfj did their last kindly offlee for her— her luggage was placed in the train, a neat in a first-olass carriage was found for ber, hei ticket put in her hands, then they loft her. "Well," said James, the footman, to John, the coaohmftn, •• I have never scon an j one look a* that young lady looLs. She is no more fit to travel than a baby. I bcliovo she is going mad. I never Raw such a look in tho ejes of a sane woman." Tnay talked for some minutes as to why she was going ao auddenly. " You may take my word for it," nuid the footman, " that some one she loves is dyiny — she has jusi, that look." While the train fcped on through the sweet, flowery southern conntioa to the great city, it was one long dream to Ailie. Sho oould hardly collect he r thoughts ; she could hardly realise what had happened, or where ebo was going ; her brain whirled ; her eyes burned so that she could hardly oloje them; hsr thoughts were all fancied and unreal. She said, to herself over and over again that eho should soon cease to be Lord Caredale's wife— he was going to obtain a le^ul separation from her ; that he did not love her, and never would ; that fihe had been dismipaed from hi 3 mother's house with a ah^adow on her fair fame; that hDb had been Bent away with insult and contumely ;. that who was to go where never a friendly face would meet hera— where life would soon wear itpelf away. She had wlmoft forgotten her identity as Ailio Derwent. If the strong passionate love had completely swept away all smaller affections; if father or mother had just at that time suddenly appeared boforo her, she would have been troubled just at first to recognise thorn. When the train reaihPd London Bridge she had buried her faco in her hand, and was crying aloud to Heaven to take pity on her. The next minute she Btood in that crowded railway" station, quite alone, " Cab, inis3?" said the porters, as they hurried by. More than one paßseDger stood still to look curiously at tho whito, beautiful faco, with the vogue and frightened eyon. Where was she to go ? Sho could not stand in thatorowdod station, and no oue was coming tohclph^r; she had but herself to dopend on. Ob, if strong-hearled Ilettie or kindly Rose hail but been there 1 But blio would never see their faces again — never I Suddenly she beard some ono say : " Tho London Bridge Hotel. " Ah, there wrvu a place of shelter, at least until she could miTse up her mind where to go &n<l what to do. " I will go to the London Bridge Hotel," she said to one of tho porter*. The man looked juut a little su.-pvised, but said nothing, and in a fow ininuten afterward she was comfortably installed in the most comfortable sitting-room of that most comfortable hotel. There the people looked outioualy at her, and one brisk chambermaid passing by touched hp r forehead significantly to another. There they brought he* meat, wine, and tea, and carried it all away untouched. There sho sat by tho window, watohing the crowd, until tho shadows of night fell over tho vast city— the same night that lay bo ucftly on the far-off hills and dales of Roseneath. " It is my bolicf," paid the brisk chambermaid, Patty Morvon, tohersolf, " that if Borne one does not roune her, buo will sit there until midnight." She bore it until sho could bear it no lonfjor ; then she went to her. " Shall I bring tome lights, miss ! " asked Patty. "It is growing very dark ; you will be nervous sitting here alone." "Dark," repeated Ailie, raising her faoo,

witli 'hut aamo vpfiie expression— " dark ; I h&d tot noticed it." T!^) f/irl ''ii-1 kflr rfvarl that tbo tone in whieL tho VS.? fcjofco made Lei" blood run " I had not noticod "it," aho repeated. " How long has it been datk ? " 11 For moro than two hours, miss. I am afraid you are not well. Can I get anything for you ? " "I am quite well," said Ailie, dreamily. Yet, an she spoke, she wai conscir m of ft strange penaation of nurobnens. " Baf," B&'ul the good-natnred Patty, " do you know, miss, that jou have not broken your font since you entered the honoo ? I brought you dinner, and curried it away untouohed; I bi ought you tea that you never tasted, and I'm afraid that you will bs ill." Ailie tried to raise herself, but it seemed as though eaoh limb were numbed — aa though she could not feel. "I did not know," ahe said ; " I forfltt all about eating." The good-natured Patty continued : " Now, let mo bring you some warm wine and water. lam sure, inias, that you will be ill if joli do not try to take something." Ailie consented to tako anything that was brought for her. " You will stay here for the night, miaa ? " continued the girl ; and onoa more Ailie looked at her with the vague, ci.'m, stiangoexpreaHion that terrified her. "Yep," sho replipd, after thinking for a few minutes ; " I shall stay hero to-night. I leave to-monow." "Thank Heaven, sho has spoken to me 1 " said Patty, afterward. " Fanoy Bitting there, an she had done, for six hours »t tb»t window, without stirring, without moving, neither eating, nor drinking, nor speaking ! My idea is, that either tho poor lady has had ho mo dreadful trouble, or that ahe is going mad." She felt some relief when Ailie went up to her room. " Are you going away early in the morning, miai ? " Bhe asked. And Ailie answered : " I cannot tell at what hour I shall go until I know whore I am going." At last she was alone in the darkened room, faoe to fac with lha question — where was ahe going ? Tar below hor lay the cvowded city street* ; from them rose the murmur of the crowd, thot never seemed to grow much loss. Last night at this hour she was within the fltately old Abbey walla, waiting for one word with the husband she would never sen Bgr.in. It seemrd to her that a whole eternity had passed pince then ; yet it was only twentyfour hours — only cne ni^ht and day. " How shall I bear my life, /neat God ? " sho cried ; " how shall I bear it t " How far awaj from her in that moment Becrnod the kindly-sheltering heaven where the great God reigned. She flung herself on her knees, and bin wept passionato teara — tearo that deemed to burn and blister her face aa they fell, yet which perhaps saved her life. Sho wort there until she was exhausted, then fiho lay down to flle^p. A thought came to her. Tho tears had evidently cleared her brain, for until now she had been unable to think. Now a thought camo to hor, and it wrb that sho would go to Fernbay. It man not possible that *he could live ; ehe had never contemplated living without her husband ; but Death would not come j'iflt when she wanted him. Thero would ba many months of pain, of wnstins? and dpcuy ; then tho bridegroom, King Death, would claim her. Bhe bad had one happy day in her life, only one, nnd it was the day ohe had eppot at Fernbay at tho regatta. She would go there ; ohe would Bit and watch the wave?, as ahe had watched tbom that day with him — that ouo wonderful day, when this gr^y earth had suddenly changed for her into P<uadi&p. No one would ever think of looking for her there; no one knew she had beun there; and tho desolate heart took novae littlo comfort from tho fact thf.t at least Bhe would be where ho had been.