THE MOTHER-IN-LAW.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2146, 10 April 1886, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE MOTHER-IN-LAW.

' FrvK "p ooll^ of grapcu !' said old Mn "Arnold^ in astonishment. 'Are you quite isure you understood your mjHtress's order, ■Jane ? H<>t-houno gr.ipes we a dollar -» 'pound, and surely for no ainall a dinnerparty a* this—' ' There's jiojnistake, niajara. 1 . said Jane, portly. Servanl* will soon learn the spirit of their. s,upejiers v and Jaoe knew that young 'Mn 'Arnold frarticuUrly partial to her husband's stepmother. ' I imik lliuiuJw uiiwlf, met it ain't likely I ■houlct bf mistook.' ' Jans !• quite right,' Mr* Evelyn Arnold, who came in at that moment, a handtotne brunette in a pink cashmere tnorarng-dms* trimmed with bands of black velvet— rather a contrast to the neat cambric gown which her mother-in-law was aocurttom'ed to wear about her morning avocation* at horn*. * And Ido wish, mamma, you wouldn't interfere !' The oldiladyV serene brow flunked. ' Mjr dear,' she remonstrated, '.I do not wish to meddle with jour concerni,- but I really fear that Evelyn's income— ' Evelyn's income in bis own, to spend as he pleases,' interrupted the yoUng lady. ' And yon seem to forget, mamma, that people don't live now-a-d*ys as they did wr hen you were a girl.' . Mrs Arnold'naid nothing more. It was not the first time, nor yet the second that «ha had. been given to understand by Mrs Evelyn that her interposition in the house bold affairs wan unwelcome. „ ' The stepson, fvKom she loved with as fond a devotion as if he had been her own child, had married a beautiful girl, and settled in the city. So far all was well, although Mm Arnold had secretly hoped thistiie wouldi )ov» sweet Kate Lindsay, •he ciarryman's daughter, ' of Merryvaie, •ndaettb down on the old farm, aa ( his {fetter Ihm) done before him. ,1 Yet, if , i^velyn -was happy, she also woujfl,, rejoice, she assured^ herself, e*eh although he preferred inperipus Marguerite Eilertou to Kjik UuSmty, and thebu«tlo df the great metropolis to the sweet peace of the vales and glens. If Evelyn was happy ! Y*s there was the question. And sometimes Mrs Arnold feared he was not, in spite of his smiles and assumed cheerfulness. It had been hi* fondest hope that his abepmothervinight be one of his household after hU marriage. Mrs Arnold had hoped so, too ; but -after this, her first visit, she felt that the dream wat. in vain. ' "Oil and wate; will not mix, she said with a sigh. 'And. I belong to *'past jpneration.' , ' ■ At ihe left the store-closet, where; Mnrgoerita and her cook were holdiaff counsel «ito a proposed dinner-party, she went spiritlessly up to the breakfast-room, where Evelyn was reading the morning paper before the fir?. , 'Evelyn.' she said a little abruptly, ' I think I had better gp back to the Chestnuts this week. . ' Mother !' he remonstrated. ' I don't Ihink that Marguerite wants me here any longer." ' Ev«lyn Arnold reddened. ' I hop*, mother,' he said, ' she hat not said anything to—' 'It is not natural that she should naed my presence,' said the old lady gently. ' I might have known it ; now lam certain of it. Home is the be«t place for ins. But remember one thing, dear Evelyn. Do not live beyond your income. Marguerite is young and thoughtless. You yourself are inexperienced—' 'Ob, it is «11 right, mother,' said the young man, carelessly. 'But I did hope that you could be happy here !' Mrs Arnold shook ber head. 'I shall sea you sometimes.' said she. 'If ever you are in trouble, Evelyn— you or Marguerite «ither— you will know where to com*.* SS tne old? lady' went away from the pretty bijou of a house in Mayfair, with its btiy windowß, rich draperies, and the boxes of flowera in All casements. ' ' Marguerite,' said the young husband, as h<| studied jt>ver ( .the list 61 weekly bills a short time after, ' I believe my toother was right. . Wo art overrunning the constable, andy«d y« must pull up at once, or we shall find ourselves in tbe wrong box altogether.' ' Pshaw !' said ll^srgteriUi, who was sewing * frill of point late on the neck of a roM'Ooloared aatin receptiou dress ; 'what put* that ridiculous idea into your head, Evelyn^ it 'Ifftcti tod fi euros,' answered Evelyn. ,«.,.,. , .., , , ' But I don't want to look,' said Madge, impatiently turning her head away. ' won't — ho there !Of course one can't live without^ money, especially if one goes, into society. . ' But Marguerite,' said h« 'if a man's income is a hundred a month, and he spends two hundred, how are the accounts to balance at the end of the year ? 1 1 don't know anything about balances and accounts,' said Marguerite with a gay ; laugh. The young man's brow contracted, and he looked at his wife with a sorrowful expression. ' How do you like this dress Evelyn ?' holding up the gleaming folds of the pink satin. ' I will wear it on Thursday evening.' 'Do you think, Madge, ' said the young man, gently,, ' that it is wise for us to co so much into society and entertain so much company on our income ?' 'That arrow came from you mother Evelyn !' said Madge, with another laugh. ' She was always preaching about your income. ' 'She said only the truth, Marguerite,' said her husband, gravely. ' I would as soon die a live without society,' said the young wife. ' But, after all,' said Evelyn, ' what do we care for the fashionable people to whose houses we go, and whom we invite to our parties? They wouldn't one of them regrot if we were to go to Jericho to-mor-row,' 'Oh there! do leavo off lecturing me, Evelyn! Society is all that makes lifo worth having for me, and you know it?' And with a deep sigh, Evelyn held his peace. <»♦•♦*• That was a long, lonely winter for Mrs Arnold, senior, at the Chestnuts ; but she possessed hsr soul in patience like a true woman. Snow set in early ; the river froze over as if it were sheeted with iron, except in the ravine where a restless pool of ink-black water boiled and bubbled at the foot of a perpendicular mass of gray rock under the shadow of gloomy evergreens. 1 The sunshine glittered with frozen brightness over the bill, and the old lady wan often secretly sad at heart as she sat alone in the crimson parlour by the big fireplace, when the logs blazed in the twilight. As the New Year passed, and the bitter cold of January took possession of the frozeri world, a vague apprehension crept into her heart. ' Something is going to happen,' she said. 'I am not superstitious, but there are times when the shadow of coming events stretches darkly across the heart. Something to going to happen. 1 One afternoon, as the amber sunset blazed behind tbe dry and leafless trees, turning the snowy fields to masses of molten pnarl, she put on her fur-lined hood and cloak. i 'I will go and take a walk,' said she. ' I shall certainly become a hypochondriac if I sit all the time by the fire and nurs4 my morbid fancies like this. She took a long, brisk walk, down by the ruins of- the old mill, through the woods, across the frozen marshes, and then the paused. > 'I will then come back by the Black Fool,' tthe thought. 'It is a wild and picturesque spot in winter, with icicles hanging to the tree- boughs and wierd iceeffects over the face of the old gray rock.' It was a dark and gloomy place, funereally shaded by the ora elms, which grew there to a huge size ; and when Mrs Arnold got beneath their boughs she started back. Was it the illusive slimmer of the darkening twilight ?— or was it really a man who stood close to the edge of tbe Black Pool? ' Evelyn ! Oh, Evelyn, my son ! She was barely in time to catch him in her arms and drag him back from the awful death to which he was hurling himself. When they reached the wainscoted parlour, where the blazing logs cast a ruddy reflection on the red moreen curtains, Mrs Arnold looked into her step-son's face with loving eyes, and said, — 'Now, Evelyn, tell me all about it. Heaven hats been very good to you in saving you from a terrible crime. 1 ' Mother, why did yon stop me ?' he said, recklessly. 'lam a ruined man I I shall be dishonoured in the sight of the world ! \ Death would be preferablo, a thousand times to disgrace }' ; ' Evelyn, 1 said the old lady tenderly, 'do you remember when you used ts get into boyish scrapes at school ? Do you remaui- , ber how you used to confide, in me ? Let

us forget all the years that have passed. Let us be child and mother once again. 1 So he told her T^ll— «f the recklc* expenditure on Margueiitu'* part— hi* own, alao, he c<>nfensied-s-Which had Woven st»elf like a fatal web ahwut his feet — of the unpaid bills, tho cUtiiourin^ tradesfolk, tho throat* of poMnc eipomire, which hart driven him at last to the forgery of his employer's signature in order to free him •elt from one or two of CBa most pressing r»f the demand. 1 !. , * And if my investment in tho foreign railway bonds had proved a vicce-w,' he tmi&i-Tmttwtiy. ' I ««kiM h*v© foleen «fr every one of these note* before they becaniu due. But there was a change in tl)e mat-ket, and now— now the bills will h( presented next wpek, and my villainy will bo patent to all the world ! Oh, mother, mother ! why did you not let me fling my self into the Blark Pool ?' ' Evelyn,' said tho stepmother, ' what is the amount of thene— the-.e foiged bilk ?' ' Two thousand dollars !' he annwoiod, staring gloomily into the fire. 1 Exactly the amount in the Throe Per Cents which your lather left me,' haul Mrs Arnold. ' They would have been your* at my death. They are yours now, Evelyn !' 1 Mother, you don't mean — ' ' Take them,' said Mrs Arnold, tenderh preying her lipt to his forehead. 'Go U> town the best thing to-moirow morning and wipe this stain from your life as you would wipe a few blurred figures from a slate. And then begin the battle of life anew.' And up in the little room which he h.ui occupied as a child, Kvely» Arnold slept the tint peaceful hlumber* which had de aeended'upon his Weary eyelids for many and many a night. In the midnight train from town camp Marguerite to the The Chestnut*, with a pale, terrified face, and haggard eyes. 'Oh ! mother, mothar !' »he> sobbed ; ■' where is he— my husband ! He ha* left me, a,ud the letter on the dressing-table declared that he would never return alive ! Qh, mother, it is my fault ! I have ruined biro f Help me, comfort me, tell me what 1 i*all do !f! f Mrs Arnold took her daughter-in-law's hand, and led her softly into the little room whnre her husband lay sweetly sleeping. Marguerite drew a long sobbing sigh of relief, and clasped her handd together as if in mutp prayer at the sight. ' Hush !' said the old lady ; 'do not wake him. He is worn out both in mind and body. Only be thankful that Heaven has given him back to you, almost from the grave.* ■ And as the two women sat together by the blazing logi in the crimson parlour, Mrs Arnold told Marguerite the whole story of the meeting at the Black Pool. 'Mother,' said Marguerite, with ft quivering lip, it is my doing. You warned me of this long ago. Oh, why did I not give heed to your words ? I deserve it all.' ' You will do better for the f uturo, my dear, ' (aid the old lady kindly. 'Only be brave and steadfast.' So the young people went back to town and commenced the world anew, withdrawing from the maelstrom of 'society,' and living within themselves. M» Arnold, senior, came with them. Madge, as everyone calls her now, is learning the art of house-keeping under her direction. 'Mamma is an angel 1' sayi the young wife, enthusiastically. 'And if I could only be just like her, I should have no higher ambition. 1