CHAPTER LXV.

Waikato Times, Volume XXV, Issue 2099, 19 December 1885, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER LXV.

A MTLE \TOM\N» ADVICH. " I do nnt hnt-w," ?aid Lord Car^Ala, " how I have ftminonsd courago to tell you the frrnth. I can never hopo that you will forgive nv." He wai eitting with Lady Ethel under one ot the great .«pn>ading oaks in the park. He had a«ked her to coma out with him, as he liftd something verjr ptyticnUr to eaj to h.-r. Oeo look at hid (ronbled, bayard ffico told her the words wero nst idle ones and, v? jfh•ut any reply, she put on her bat and mantle, and went wi'h him. How be told her the story ho never knew. The words Iff t hia lips, but be cecmed to have lo*>fc all control over them. The only thing tbat ho remembered very tlparlj was that some late roses were blooming near them, And tbat, to tbe end of bis life, the od/mr of a roie made his very beaut sick and fairit. " I bavo nothing to forgive," eaid Lady Ethel. " I have long since felt qoife sure tbat there was a secret of some kind or other in your life. I knew that you loved me when you met me here fiva yean? ago ; but, Lord Carudale, I do not understand why you asked me that question a few days since. If you wcno married at that time, how could you wont to know whether I loved you or not? " Ho told her what he had intended, and Bhe shrank from him us she listened. " Tbat would have been wrong," she said, 41 and if yon had askf-d me, I should have told you so. Onte a marriage, always a marriape —nothing can change it. Even if you had legally and lawfully obtained that separation, and if I bad been told, the truth, I should have refupefl to marry you." " Eth|l 1 " he cried, reproachfully. " I am speaking the plain truth," she enid. " I have my own ideas oi ripht and wrong ; nothing could change them." " I wish," ho said humbly, '■ that ydu would tell mo just what you think of my conduct, without the least fear— will you, Etbal ? " Sbo raised her beautiful fnco to his, and he mv hew pale it was ; his heart smote him as ha looked at her. , 11 1 will tell you," sba oaid, " just what I think. Your adrry'ration of a pretty and gentle girl was pimple enough ; the first wrong step was in spr-Rhog to her ; you had no right to do it— Bhe wai not of you* stattoo or your class, and no good could come of any acquaintance between you ; the sscond wrong step waa in asking her to go out with you ; etill, yottr motive wa3, you nay, kindness, yet it was most dreadfully imprudent. Of yesr marriage, I can only say that It was a Qjixotio folly ; I can understand it, though, and in some meneuro forgivo it ; it waa the raah impul-io of a ifceh boy — the quickest but mort fatal way out of a difficulty. WiH you fcr^ive me, if I «ay that your marringo seems to me far Ices oulpablo tnan the silenco that followed it. You ask mo to dissect your conduct, and I do so. Why did you not boldly own what you had done ? I retake all allovianco. You did not like to grieve your narerlta, yet you have b^en oblfged to grieve them in the sad. Ytfu were cautious on account of tlv 1 Duke of Claverdon ; biB love for your sister must have been very woak if it could not stand that strain on it. It seems to mo that your iilenca was weak and cowardly." " Ob, Ethel," be cried, " spare me I" " You havo Ofkcd me for the truth," nhe caid; l> I must tell you that or nothing. It may be useful to yon at some dime." •You are right," he caid. "Go on, Ethel." J'Tbon, I thteknexfc, that you did vfrong

over me, very wrong. I was young w"nen 1 met 50a here, find yon ionght ms. Why did you do that, knowing that yon were married ? True, you did not perhaps what thp world cnllg make loec to me, hst you were like my shadow, and jinn must have seen that I was learning to care*f«r you." " Ethel," he cried, hurriedly. " I tell you, fhengh the words cover rae with shame, I loved you so madly that I never hardly thought of my marriage; I did not realise it." " It was a cruel wrong to me," she said, \»ith spntto dignity, " very cruel." 11 Will yon forgive mo, Ethel ? " he asked, fladtv. " I can mvor forgive myself." " Yea, I forgive jou ; but all my life I shall have to suffer for your folly. Lord Carsdale, people cay that prudence is a prim, prosaic virtue. Look at the desolation and the suffering brought into so many ltvoa, then say if prudence be not the virtue of longs." " I see it," he said, gravely. H9r face lightened and brightoned through all its pallor. "That is what I think of you," she said. " I have told you the worat ; now let me com fort jou by saying that I do not think you have been guilty of sny great pin — impr^p d6nce is not; always a sin ; but while I speak so 0! joa, tell mo in what words I am to speak of that glorious, that nobla woman, your wife? B*ie is beyond praisa, and I think of har with'my heart warm^and my eye* fflll of tears. Think what sha has fnffared Vt ho» brave, how nob'p, how courageous Hhe if. She must have felt that, quite un consciously. I was her rival. Tet she wa*always ready fro help me— to invent pretty dresses for me. I declare to you thai l never once saw an impationtflook on herfaea : and, oh, Lord Caradale, do you remsmber that evening when my drcsg was disarranged, and she knnlt down to etitch it ? I understand your impatience now. Tuere is no one likelier in the world — not one. Think," she eotstinned, "of hw patient lore, imagine her diVnce under all those falsa acousations. j Lord Oaradale, you may thank Heaven that you huve found so good a wife. Your irapiudenee in thi? cane has turned ont a blessing to you. I consider Ailie, as you call her, one of the most noble and perfect women I have ever ieen." " Thank yon for speaking soikindly of her, >.Ethel," he replied. " I know it all, and more. Of her beauty there cannot be two questions ; one only seed such a face in a life-time. Yon hava every ryapon to bo proud of your wifs, Lord Caradale." ] " Ileaven bl«si you, Ethel, yon are a true friend," he replied. "Now you have made the wound, givo me the cure. You tell me very frankly in what I have done wrong. Now tell me how I can beat set about making that wrong right." j She mueed gravely for some minutes, then ehe looked earnestly at him. " Arc you ready to follow the advice that I shall give you," she asked, "even though it , bo in eomo me&sare painful ? " 1 Yea, lam quite willing, Ethel ; I promise it," ho replied, gravely ; and she knew that ho v, r onld keep his word. " Thmi I will toil yon what I think, Lord Candale, aud how it is beat for you to maka the wiong ri(>bt. Your first duiy i§ now to your wife— to follow her, to find her, to atone to her for all that she has suffered ; to bo a true, good, kind, loving husband to her ; to make some nice home for her abroad for Bomu years, and then, if possible, to seek a rcconeiliation with your parent! ; I do not t'timk they willrefuie it." " I will obey you, Ethfl, implioitly," he said. " You will \ut me write to you sometime* 1 Home I know will be closed against rue, and I am pledged not to tell my secret to my sister." " Yes, you may write, at times," she replied. 41 And, Ethel, tell me that you forgive me. Give me some hope that in yotfr thoughts you wftl not despite me." " No," ehe replied, simply. "I have liked you to© much for that." "Tell mo that I have not spoiled your li'c," ho said ; " that in the future you will bo bnppy ; toll mo that, Ethel ! " Shu shook ht'r beautiful head gravely. " It would be idle to pretend that I do ; not suffer. Lord Carsdalo, I do ; but I hope, pleaso God, my life is not all spoiled. You have gone the quietest way to work by di 3 enchanting me, by letting mo iee that you could ba weak enough to keep a secret, and let a woman* Buffer for it. I know that I shall be unhappy for a time, but I hope to forgpt all about it, and meet— with— a truer love." "Do you mean that, Ethel?" ho asked, half sadly ; "do you know " She hold up her white, jewelled hand, with a charming gesture. " You lire geing to talk nonseneo again," she said, " and I will not listen. If you wish to show your esteem for mo, obey me promptly." " I intend doing co," he s&id. " After all that has happoned," she continned, "it would be quits impossible for you and me to remain in the same house We must study appearances; they must b a kept up, no matter what go« 3 wrong, and I think it best for you to go at once, and I will remain ; women have more self control than men. I oan talk, sing, and laugh, where you would break down." "I have arranged to go at once," he said, sadly. "I shall not see my father or mother again. I leave soon after noon — and, Ethel, Ethel ! when shall I see you, or tho dear old home, or the old horn? faces a^ain ? " "When it shall plense Heaven," she replied, reverently. " Tell me, Lord Caradale, where do you think Ailiu has gone ? " " I can form no idea, but I shall find her," he replied. " That ig right— that is earnest ; now let us say good-bye. I must go back to Lady Gertriulo; she ii waiting for me." He sat qatto still for a few minutes, then he said : " Good-by, Ethel ; may Heaven bless you with every blessing 1" He held that white hand as tbeugh he would never Ist it gc. He intended to do right. He r°gretted all the folly &nd imprudence ho had b >en quiljty of, but he was part in o ' for ever with the woman that he loved, and might never see again. Thofo who have seen fihe face of the woman they lovo, yet darre not touch ifc — those who have liftpned to the voice Wiey loved, yet dared not speak, may tell what ho endured. He saw the beautiful, bril liant face grow paler and paler. Sha raised her lovely eyen to him. " My strength is failing, Lord Caredalo," she said. "Imuetgc;" and the next minute she had passed out of bight. " I mint live it down," she said to herself twenty times over, " I must live it down. I have my life before me." Lord Caradale, afcter that farewell, did not re enter the honae. He walked to tho station, intending to go to London that day; his boxes and trunka would be sent nfter him. As he stood in the station it occurred to him that he had not the least idea where Ailio leally was. She might havo gone home, but he Hid not thpk it likely. He inquired ef the clsrk is the booking-office, who remembered one of the Riaeneath footmen purchasing a first-class ticket for London. Tnen «ho had gono to London. What would ehe do there? On arming in London, he wont at once to Iho Langham, and then it occurred to him that ha ehould havo more difficulty than he had anticipated in discovering whoro Ailie had taken refuge.