Novelist.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXII, Issue 2608, 30 March 1889, Page 1 (Supplement)

Novelist.

[ALL KIOIITS RF.SKRVED.] TWICE TRIED,

BY ANNIE S. SWAN, Author of "Aldersyde," "Carlowrip, ,, " Across Her Path," " Sundered Hearts, , ' &c, &c.

CHAPTKK XXV.—Amy. Robert Angus uttered a low cry, and staggered on the stairs like a drunken man. Kitty silently withdrew, leaving him standing with his arms folded on the balustrades, and his head bowed low upon them. But in a few minutes she heard him slowly and heavily ascending the stairs. He passed the drawing room, where the fire was crackling sending a ruddy glow across the iloor and right out to the landing. Robert Angus paused and looked into the room with a strange feeling as if he were about to bid farewell to it and its many sweet associations ; for there many of the happiest hours of his married life had fceen spent. Then he turned away and ascended the stairs to the nursery Hat. He had heard them moving in the room, and the door being wide open, he could see the interior and the occupants. Evidently the last offices for the dead child had been performed, for he could see the white cot and its occupant; he could even discern the sweet childiace lying upon the snowy pillow. Joan was standing at the head, and her hands were full of white chrysanthemuns, which he had brought into the city only yesterday. Over at the tire the nurse girl, Ellen, was crying quietly to herself. Not quite so absorbed as her mistress, she had heard the step on the corridor and the movement at the door. When she turned her head her muster signed to her to leave the room, which she did ; then he entered it :and shut the door. Then, and not •,fcill then, did Joan look round. When she saw her husband the ilewers fell from her hands in a white shower upon the bed, and uttering a strange sobbing moan, she tottered across the floor, and was clasped to his heart. , " Oh, Robert, where have you tieen 1 What happened to keep you away ? I bad to go through it alone.

I thought I should have died," 3he whispered, through her trembling lips, and her arms clung about his neck as it they would never unloose again. How could he take them away, how could he tell the stricken, trembling woman, seeking comfort on his breast, that he had no right to comfort or care for her any more?

" My darling, my darling. I could not help it," he said hoarsely. " Oh my poor wife !" The intensity in which he spoke struck her strangely, and she raised her head to look at him. Her eyes dilated with fear as they dwelt upon the face which was dearest in all the world to her. It was so changed, so wan, so haggard, the eyes dim and weary-looking ; and, strangest, saddest of all, the rich waves of dark brownhair had grown grey in a single hour. " 3ly dearest ? my husband 1 I did not know you could feel it so terribly, and you bore it all away from me V she said, forgetting her own pain in herintinite pity for him " We could have been braver togeher. Come and see him, Robert," she added, in a voiceless whisper. '■ Although the end came so suddenly, it was perfect peace. It is well with the child." iShe led him with loving hand to the sido of the cot, where the child lay among the flowers, himself the purest bud of all. Upon the sweet face, from which kind death had smoothed away any line of pain, was a lovely smile, like a reflection of glory from that Heaven to which the spirit hud returned. "' Of such is the kingdom of Heaven,' " whispered Joan, beginning dreamily to arrange the fallen flowers. A great peace had stolen into her soul, calming the tumult with which she had been struggling formany weary days. How different her quiet heart from the tem-pest-tossed spirit of the man by her side , ? How little dreamed Joan Angus at that moment of the battle which had been fought and lost in the solitude of the night 1 Ah 1 poor Joan 1 her cup was not yet full. " It is wonderful what strength is given for such heavy trials,'' said Joan, hiding her tearful eyes on his arm at length, her work of love ended for the present. "We have not lost our little one, Robert. It is only separation for a little, and he is safe." " Yes. There are things worse than death," said Robert, in a loud, thick whisper, which had in it a ring of despair. " Yes, wo might have lived to see him go far astray. That would have been worse than death," said Joan. " Shall we go down now ? I am concerned about you, dear. I cannot understand this terrible change in you. You are all I have to care for now."

He turned his head away, averted his ashen face from those tender love-lit eyes. Every word she utered stabbed him to the heart, lilvery moment seemed to make it more impossible that he could ever tell her the truth. When all was over, when nursery and cot alike were empty, and a green grave in a suburban cemetery was all that remained of Eric Angus, then Joan broke clown. Isabel came up from Auchengray and nursed her through her illness with a sister's care. She was grieved, indeed, to sec that the loss of their child had told so terribly on both. Perhaps the change in Robert was the more marked ; he was as different from the Robert of old as could well be. It seemed to Isabel that he wns like a man weighed down by a secret care which nothing could lessen or remove. In these dreary days they saw little of the Harringtons ; but when Robert Angus heard by accident that Lady Finch and her household had gone to Bournemouth he felt an unspeakable sense of relief. When Mrs. Harrington mentioned casually that it was more on tho governess's account than her own that Lady Finch had sought tho health resort, he hated himself for the thrill of passionate hope which filled his heart. Oh, if kind death would but step in, he said to himself, what an easy and satisfactory ending to the terrible chain v\ hich bound him.

When Joan began to gather strength once more, and was able to come down stairs, Dr. Roberts ordered an immediate change of air and scene. After much consultation it was agreed that she and Isabel should proceed to Cannes for the months of April and May—Mr Angus, the elder, being glad enough of the proposed holiday for his wife. So Robert Angus was left alone in his empty house to brood over his secret care. Joan left him with a somewhat heavy heart. She had tried in vain to lessen or lighten his deep gloom, the only result of her tender questioning having been a forced cheerfulness, which was even more painful to her than his depression. He had grown irritable and uncertain-tempered, too, apt to break out in little bursts of passion, such as none had ever witnessed in him before. But in his love and devotion to his wife there was no faltering or change. Nay, it seemed to Joan that in these times of sadness and depression he became knit to her in the bonds of a deeper love; but there was a strange, yearning passion, a visible intensity in it she had not seen before. It troubled her, and, as 1 said, she hit him with a h< avy heart Little did she guess with what thankfulness he saw her go, for he had much to ac-

complish ere she should return again to their home. At the end of April Lady Pinch returned to town ; an item of intelligence which Robert Angus received with gratitude from the lips of Mrs Harrington, lie was beginning to despair of seeing Amy Burnett, and he lived in dread of his wife's return, for her letters already breathed a yeai'ning for his presence and for home. By a little adroit and careless questioning he learned Lady Finch's exact address, and, schooling himself for the painful ordeal he was about to meet, he proceeded directly after business hours one afternoon to the quiet square whore the Governor's widow had her horn e. " Lady Finch is not at home, sir," said the maid, who opened the door to him. " She has gone up to Wal-ton-Thames. Can I take any message for her ! Or will you see Mrs Burnett?" "Yes, I will see Mrs Burnett," he answered, quietly, and followed the girl into the morning-room. He had not be.en long left alone when he heard alight footfall in the hall, and then the door opened. Slowly he turned from the window to meet with stern, accusing mmi the woman who had tried him so bitterly and long. She had entered the room with a pleasant smile, expecting some mutual friend, but when she saw who awaited her, her pale face grew white sis death, and she staggered like one who had received a terrible shock. Then she sank shivering on the couch, while Robert Angus quietly walked to the door and turned the key in the lock.

•'You are surprised to see me," he said, in tones which his pain made intensely bitter and scornful. " Yes, how did you find me out?" she faltered, not caring to raise her shame-stricken face. "I thought I was safe here; London is so big. How did you ever find me out. " Are you not aware that I have my home in London now 1" he asked, quietly. "Do you not know that Mrs Harrington, the sister of your benefactress, is my wife's dearest friend V " Your wife!" she repeated, vaguely, and, lifting her head, fixed her eyes, slowly filling with horror, on his rigid face. "Yes, my wife—Joan Laurence. You know now, if you did not before, Amy Burnett, what you have clone" he said in the same strange, passionless voice. " I hope you are satisfied with your work." " Joan Laurence your wife !" she repeated, and then, as the full import of his words dawned upon her, she uttered a low cry, and once more hid her face. " Yes, Joan Laurence is my wife, or rather was. God help her and me, she is not so now." " Does she know 1 Has she gone away from you ?" fell thick and fast from Amy Burnett's ashen lips. " I never thought that anything so awful could happen. How was I to know that you would marry Joan Laurence whenever I was away 1 If I had thought that I would have refused to be rescued—l would have drowned myself rather in that awful frozen sea. Don't you believe that ?" " I believe il". was your usual thoughtlessness which wrought the mischief," he said, more ldndly, for her distress was apparently very keen. "If you had had a moment's consideration for anybody but yourself, Amy, you would have let me know you were safe." "I was filled with shame and repentance for what I had done. I knew before the catastrophe that I had make a bitter mistake," she said, hurriedly. " And when I thought of the disgrace and humiliation I had brought upon you all it seemed to me the only reparation and kindness I could make, to sink into oblivion, to let you believe me dead."

" Why did you come back to England then ?" he asked, almost sharply. " Oh, I know I did wrong, but how could I leave the kind friends who gave me shelter and home ? Because I was English Sir John Finch came to see me when I was lying ill in the hospital, and then his wife came, and, when I was able, they took me to their own home. I had to deceive them. I had to tell them I was ao orphan, and that my husband was drowned in the wreck. My life since has been one long course of deception and misery. I have borne mj punishment for my sin. And I thought that in London I would be quite safe—as safe as in New Foundland. How was I to know that you would be living in London, and that you should know Lady Finch's sister, or that you had married at all 1" She looked at him with something of the petulant querulousness he remembered so well. The old impulse to excuse and pity herself, even when she was in fault, was cropping up again—ay, even now, when she ought to have been humbled and cursed to the very dust. Ay, verily, she was a strange mixture, a very enigma to read. Robert Angus bit his lips to keep back the words of bitter recrimination he could, oh, so willingly, have poured upon her selfish head, and and schooled himself once more, by a desperate effort, to keep calm. " You have not answered my question," she said, presently. "Where is Joan? Has she left you 1" " She is in France at present," he said, briefly,

" But I cannot understand why you did not seek a divorce from me," she said. "I thought that would be the very first step you would take." " You forget. Your death was reported not ten days after you left me., otherwise it would have been my first step," he said, bitterly." It is well you can think and speak so calmly of such things, Amy. Brooding over care or wrong will not send you to an early grave." " I dare say you would not be sorry," she said, with a strange fleeting smile. " I think I would be glad myself. I have been nothing but a misery to myself and others all my days, and I have nothing to live for now. Why will you not answer me about Joan 1 Does she know I am alive ?" " No," said Robert Angus, slowly. " She does not know."

CHAPTER XXVI.—The Blow Falls.

"She does not know? That means you have not told her, of course. How long have you known it ?" " Since one clay in February when I met you with Lady Finch's children in the Park, You did not see me." " No, I did not see you. Well, what are you going to do ?" Her indiffei-euce and calmness nearly maddened him, but he still kept his passion held in curb. Not many men could in like circumstances have been absolutely masters of themselves. " I came here in the expectation that you might be not only willing, but eager to do what you could to repair the almost irreparable injury you have clone to those who never hurt a hair of your, head," ho said, quietly. "Ifind I have been mistaken. There is nothing for me now but to go to my wife and tell her the whole truth." "And then." " What right have you to question me ?" he demanded fiercely," I daresay you know very well what this means to her and to mo. I suppose you know that one hair of her head is dearer to me than you ever were, body and soul." He was sorely driven, or he would not have given her such, a stab. It was a stab, for Amy Burnett's heart had awakened too late in response to the love she had so lightly thrown away, and it had been like the very sting of death to her to hear that he had so soon forgotten her. Her chequered life had not killed the innate selfishness of her soul. " How could 1 make any reparation ? What could I do?" she asked, more humbly and anxiously. " I am quite willing to do anything; to go away back to Newfoundland if you like, if only you will not be so hard upon me, Robert." "Don't take my name on your lips," he said, fiercely. " No, I want you to do nothing but pray for a human heart to feel for the agonies of others, and for a penitent soul to plead forgiveness for your sins." So saying, he turned upon his heel, and unlocking the door with an angry hand, was about to leave the room, when she intercepted him. " You will not betray me," she said, wildly. " If I am cast out from this house my fate will lie at your door. I have nowhere else to " You need not fear," he said, laconically ; " so long as you can deceive the kind and generous lady you have deceived so long you will be safe, so far as my wire and I .ire concerned. In the midst of our own agonies bp very sure your welfare will not be forgotten, only for the sake of the mother whom your wrong-doing has brought to the edge of the grave." So he left her ; and though the very bitterness of death was in his soul, there was something strange, unutterable sense of relief, whispering to him that it was better so. Amy Burnett had brought him face to face with that baser self which for a time had been his master and he the slave, and had made him ashamed. Now that he had firmly and finally resolved to tell his darling all, that peace, born only of well-doing and noblest thoughts, had once more whispered itself to his riven and weary soul. Verily " the ways of transgressors are hard ;" it is the narrower path which becomes at length the easier for pilgrim feet. An uncontrollable yearning for some human sympathy and comfort, in his hour of bitter need came upon Robert Angus, and his thoughts turned so longingly to his father that he made arrangements for his absence for a few days, and went down to Scotland by the night mail next day. He sent no announcement of his coming, knowing the old man would be glad to see him ; doubly so in his solitude, which, doubtless, he would be finding clreary enough. Robert felt that after having unburdened his mind to his father he would be stronger to face the hardest trial of all—breaking the news to his wife. Little did he dream that in his absence Joan was to learn the bitter truth for herself. Kitty, the housemaid, was the only person loft in charge during the master's absence, the other two having been given permission to tako a few days holiday. So it may be imagined that it was a pleasurable surprise to the faithful girl when a cab drove up to the door, the day after the master's departure, and her

mistress, accompanied by Mrs Angus, alighted from it. " Well, Kitty, surprised to see me back 1" said Joan, radiant with restored health and pleasant rxpectancy. " Baven't we stolen a march upon you all 1" "On me, ma'am, you have," answered Kitty, smiling in return, glad, in love of her heart, to see her dear mistress restored to her old home, health and beauty. "I am all alone in the house." " All alone ! Have the girls run off, or have they been guilty of some misdemeanours which your master thought worthy of dismissal, eh ?" said Mrs Angus, gaily. " No, ma'am ; but Mr Angus has gone to Sootland, and he allowed Ellen and Sarah to go home. It was my turn to keep house." "Gone to Scotland!" repeated Joan, blankly. "You hear that, Isabel 1 What can have taken him to Auchengray just now 1" " Oh, he may have taken a fancy to surprise his father, just as you took the fancy to surprise your husband, and would give me no peace till I packed up," answered Isabel, with a twinkle in her eye. " Don't in the depth of your disappointment, grudge him a holiday j I am sure he needs it." " I don't grudge him it, I am glad he has gone. Only, of course, L am disappointed at not seeing him," admitted Joan, and there was a suspicious tear-drop trembling on her eye-lash. "Will you still persist in going to Scotland to-night V " I think so," said Isabel. "You won't mind being left for a day or two. lam sure Robert will hurry home directly he sees me." " Oh, I shall not mind it in the least. I dare say you are as anxious to see your husband as I was to see mine," said Joan, laughingly. " What a prosaic ending to my romantic surprise, isn't it? But I hare the joy of meeting still in store." " How has your master been during my absence, Kitty f asked Mrs Angus, when the girl followed her f o her dressing-room to offer her assistance in unpacking. " I do not think he has been very ill, ma'am," Kitty admitted, reluctantly. "I am glad you have come back. We are all anxious about him." •' That is what brought me home so suddenly. I had an intuitive feeling that all was not right," said Joan, with a cloud on her brow. "I am greatly better, Kitty, so I must nurse your master now." " You look quite different, ma'am," said Kitty. " I am so very, very glad you are better." •'You have all done your duty faithfully in my absence," said Mr Angus, kindly. " I shall have something more than thanks for you when the others come back. My girl, I shall never forget your kindness and sympathy with us." " Hush! hush! ma'am. How could we be anything else to such a kind, good master and mistress !" said Kitty, warmly. " I never was so happy in any place, and Ellen and Sarah say the same. Ellen is so afraid, ma'am, that you will dismiss her now, her work being so much in the nursery."

" I shall never dismiss Ellen while I am able to keep her, and while she will stay, Kitty," said Mrs Angus, quickly. " She might have known that. I intend to ask her to stay as my own maid, I will do so when she comes back." So Joan settled anew the arrangements of the household, little dreaming that the breaking up was so near at hand. {To be continued.)