Novelist. [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] TWICE TRIED.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXII, Issue 2617, 20 April 1889, Page 1 (Supplement)

Novelist. [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] TWICE TRIED.

BY ANNIE S. SWAN, Aullior of " Aldersyde," " Carlowrie," " Across Her Path," " Sundered Hearts," CHAPTER XXXIX.— A Wasted Life. The summer wore on, flying with golden wings for the happy and light-hearted, but dragging slowly and heavily for those who had little in. their lives sympathetic with sunshine and summer weather. August —hot, sultry, oppressive August— found Robert Angus still in town toiling in his office at Lombardstreet like a galley slave. His partners urged upon him to take a lest, to join his wife on the Continent for a week or two, or at least to relax his unceasing attention to business ; but he assured them he was in no need of a change. They were astonished, and discussed between themselves the probability that Angus and his clever wife were not on good terms with each other. In times gone by he had not needed urging to turn his back upon business, but had been the one most frequently away. Whatever the explanation, Robert Angus himself gave them no hint, or any satisfaction whatsoever, so they had just to cease speculating about the matter. Ho was sitting at his desk one afternoon about closing time when the office boy brought him a letter in an envelope with a broad black border, and sealed with a crest he did not recognise. The writing was a lady's—a clear, delicate, refined hand. With some curiosity ho broke the seal, and when he saw the address he started, and ran his eyes rapidly over it. Thus it read : "32, Boardman-square, " S. W., August 24th.

"Dear Mr Angus,— My children's governess, Mrs. Amy Burnett, who, as perhaps you are aware, carue with mo from St. John's, is lying dangerously ill. The doctors say recovery is out of the question, decline being the malady. £Jhe implored mo today with great earnestness to send for von. I was greatly surprised, not knowing she had any acquaintances in London outside our own circle. I may say she appears to bo in great distress of mind, and if you could ease that distress in any way you would greatly oblige me by calling immediately, if possible.

" Hoping you are all well, and that Mrs Angus is recruiting abroad, —I am yours siucerly. Lucy Annie Fincii." Within the hour Robert Angus was ringing the bell at Lady Finch's door. He was shown into the same room where he had met Amy face to face, and almost immediately Lady Fruch entered. They had never met, although each was well known to the other by repute. She bowed and quietly thanked him for his prompt attention to her message. " lam greatly surprised, and a littlo distressed as well, Mr. Angus," she said, looking keenly at him. " Mrs. Burnett led me to understand that she had no friends, and yot in her wanderings she has mentioned many names, your own and your wife's with the greatest frequency. There is, I believe, some mystery about her." " There is indeed. Lady Finch, may I ask you to trust me until I have seen her 1 I assure you you will not be left in the dark one moment longer than I can help," said Robert Angus quietly, and with that winning entreaty which seldom could be denied. She bowed. " Most certainly," she said kindly. " Will you please step upstairs now. Mrs. Burnett is awake and quite conscious. She is growing very impatient for you to come." Robert Angus nodded and turned to follow Lady Finch upstairs. " I will not come in. Do not agitate her more than you can help," she said, anxiously. " Ring if you think she requires my assistance ; I shall not be far away." Robert silently nodded, and entering the room, he shut the door. He started violently at sight of the woman who had tried him so cruelly and if any bitterness remained in his heart it fled before the fast approaching majesty of death. Mie was sitting up in bed, propped by pillows her short, bright curls clustering about her head like a halo, her eyes unnaturally hollow and brilliant her wasted check bearing that vivid red Hush so unmistakca bly indicative of decline. Robert Angus was inexpressibly shocked. Was it possible that three months could have wrought this swift and terrible change. She turned her head, and a wan smile flickered for a moment about her wasted lips, and the feeble head beckoned him to come nearer. " I am so weak I cannot speak loud. I can only whisper, and I have a great deal to say," she said with difficulty, and Robert Angus silently obeyed. He really felt at that moment he had not a. word to say. j

" You see I am nearly done with life,' she whispered. " It has weighed upon me all the summer till it has brought me to this. " What?" he asked, with strange abruptness. " The weight of my secret. The thought of Joan and of you, the yearning for my mother—all, all have killed me," she said, wearily. " They tell me I have not many days to live, so I sent for you to ask you to forgive me. Where is Joan ? Are you living together still V "No; my wife left me three months ago. She is now living abroad with my father and his wife," was Robert Angus's brief reply. " How did she bear it ? You thought it would kill her. But hearts are not so easily broken. Oh, Robert, Robert?" The golden head drooped upon the breast, and burning tears forced themselves from her eyes. " Hush ? hush ! you will exhaust yourself," Robert Angus said gently, and, impelled by a vast compassion, he laid his hand soothingly on the down-bent head. She caught it in both her own and passionately kissed it. "I will try to bo calm. I will do everything you wish, if only you will speak so kindly to me," she said brokenly. " Tell me something about poor Joan. Do you think she would forgive me if she knew I was on my dying bed 1" " Slip forgave you from the first, Amy," Robert Angus answered, with difficulty. " What can I tell you of her 1 I have not seen nor heard from her since the beginning of May. She is but in inditferept health, my father tells me." " Was it a great blow to her ?" whispered Amy. " I used .to lie awake at nights picturing how she would look when you told her. I know now how very wrong I was in keeping the knowledge of my being alive from you. It was .done thoughtlessly and heedlessly, but I have suffered for it. I have indeed " " We have all suffered, Amy," said Robert Angus, sadly. " Why did you ever leave me at all < I have often wondered that." " I don't know myself. I seem to have been pursued by some evil thing hunting me to my fate. Oh, what would I not have given to be back in safety with you when we were tossing on the sea ! I knew too soon how great my sin and mymistake had been." " We will not speak of it any more," he said, in a low voice. "Nor need wo prolong this interview, which is painful for us both. What i can I do for you ? Would you like to see any of your friends'.'" A strange ; bright, eager light sprang into her eyes, and she said in tones of pitiful yearning— " Jjo you think any of them would come I My mother—is she still alive? What you said about her being on the brink of the grave has bauuted mo day and night. I

was vi;ry often nearly going home, only I was afraid." " Your mother will coma, Amy. 1 will bring her if you wish." " Will you ? How can you be so kind, so ready to help me, after nil the cruel sulTering I have caused you 1" she asked, wonderingly. " J lad anyone so injured me I should live hut to be revenged." "Joan taught rue, Amy," he said, and she saw the quick light of passionate love for the absent one leap into his eyes, and knew that his heart was wholly estranged from her. '• Do you love her very dearly, Robert ?" she asked, wistfully. " She was my wife, and she loved me," said Robert, quietly. " I was your wife, too," she said ; then, as if the words were forced from her against her will, " But you love her more than you ever loved me. Am I not right 1" " For Heaven's sake, Amy, do not torture yourself and me by such questions," he said, passionately. " What can it matter to you now. I think I had better leave you. I will go down to Scotland to-night, and by Thursday at the latest your mother will be by your bedside." " You are sure she will come 1 Tell me how they bore it. It must have been a terrible blow. I have never dared to think of my father. We feared his anger, perhaps becanse we saw it so seldom." "It can do no good to recall the unhappy past," he said, gently, but firmly, feeling inwardly a little impatient of her persistence in referring to such painful matters. " Only one thing morn before I go. It is my intention to tell Lady Finch the whole story before I leave the house.'' " Do you think it must be told ? How she will despise me; perhaps turn me out of the house," she said, with a burst of childish tears. " Would it not be better to wait until I am dead 1" " No, I will tell her to-day. She has a right to know. How otherwise could this interview and the arrival of Mrs Burnett be explained 1 Be reasonable, Amy. Lady Finch is too kind-hearted a woman to turn you away now." " Very well ; if it must be, it must be. I want to do right but it is so hard. I hate unpleasant things. Robert, do you think Joan would come and tell me she forgives me, if you ask her 1 I should like to see her once more," " I could not bring her home in her present state of health and subject her to such an ordeal," he said, quietly. " You may accept my assurance that she does forgive you. I know she does in her inmost heart."

" Very well. Of course you must be very careful of her, when you will claim her again so soon/' she said, plaintively. "Are you going? But 1 shall see you again ! I must see you again 1 t Do you know I love you ten thousand times better than Joan could ever do 1 And—" " Hush ! hush !" he said, sternly, and turning upon his heel quitted the room ; for he could make nothing of her, self seemed to be so predominant still. " Will you ask Lady Finch to grant ruo a few minutes conversation, please ?" he asked a servant he met on the landing. " Yes, air. She is in the draw-ing-room ; will you please to step this way?" the girl answered, and he followed her into the presence of her mistress. It was with some curiosity that Lady Finch turned to greet him again, for hor mind was a maze of bowildoruioat aud doubt. li You found her much changed and very weak no doubt," sho said, enquiringly. "I hope the interview did not exhaust her." " I do not think so. Yos, she is greatly changed," said Robert Angus, loaning his arm on the mantel, aud fixing his eyes on the wealth of green boughs intertwined about the tiro-place. There was a moment's sileuco. " Lady Finch, you are surprised at my acquaintance with Amy Buraott," ho said, presently, without looking up. " Yes. Havo you known her long? Did you know her in that mysterious past to which sho lias never oven casually roferred to till now? " Yes, I knew her woll. She was once my wifo." An exclamation of surprise aud dismay fell from Lady Finch's lips, and sho rose up. What manner of advonturess had sho sheltered so long? What manner of woman had sho permitted to bo the guide aud close companion of her children ? "It is a painful story, Lady Finch ; may I ask you to resume your seat while I relate it to you as briefly as possible 1" he asked ; and she sank helplessly into her chair again, and folded her hands on her knee. Then as concisely and briefly as possible Robert Angus laid bare to a stranger the story of his life. It was painful for him to tell, painful for her to listen, and both were relieved when it was over. Lady Finch was deeply shocked, deeply hurt likewise, that her generous kindness had been s» undeservedly bestowed. " What a mistake it has all been, and I have made her my bosom companion—have loved hor almost as a sister," she said, with a slight Hush of indignation in her gentle eyes. " What a course of deceit her life has been ! Oh, I do hope she has not contaminated my children ; and yet I do not think she

has. I have frequently heard her urge upon them the fearful consequences of wrong-doing, and the necessity of standing ever by the truth."* "Out of her own bitter experience she could speak with added weight," said Robert, "Lady Finch, you have done already for the poor creature upstairs what can never lie acknowledged or repaid. May I ask you, as a personal favour to my wife and myself, that you will extend your mercy a little further, and allow her to die? We are comparative strangers to you, and it is a great deal to ask, but will you grant my pray r?" " For your wife's sake, because of the strength and stimulus she has so often given us in her books, I will gladly grantyour request," she said, smiling a little. "It would ill become me to turn a dying woman to the door, even though she had in a manner injured me. That is not the lesson the Master taught." " God bless you !" fell fervently from Robert Angus's lips, and he looked with admiration and reverence upon the sweet face shining in its compassion and kindly feeling. " What of her friends. Her poor father and mother—-any of her relatives will be welcome to see her here," said Lady Finch, presently. " It might make the last clays easier for her, and her mother's heart would be set at rest." "If you will allow me, Lady Finch, I will convey your kind message to Mrs Burnett. I intend going to Scotland to-night." " What trouble you arc willing to take on her behalf !" exclaimed Lady Finch, involuntarily. "Not many could be so magnanimous." " I cannot forget what she. was, and I love her mother very dearly, Lady Finch," said Robert, quickly. " Besides, it is what Joan would have me do." " This, then, is the explanation of Mrs Angus's protracted residence on the Continent 1 ? Need I say you both have my heartfelt sympathy ?" said Lady Finch, with glistening eyes. Tic nodded, and there was a moment's silence. " Please God, there will be happier days in store for you both," she said presently. " Are you going now ? Good-bye, and thank you for your confidence in me." " I need not ask you to regard it as sacred, Lady Finch. Perhaps the world need never know that our marriage tie was dissolved for a time," lie said, as lie held her hand at parting. " You are right. We cannot too jealously guard our family histories, for the world has a prying, uncharitable eye," she said, warmly returning bis clasp. " Not even to my own sister shall I tell the story, Mr Angus. You may rest assured that it will never pass my lips again." CHAPTER XXX.—The Erring Child.

" What is it, mamma 1 Are you feeling worse V "No, dear, not worse, only restless and uneasy. How hot it is ! I think there is thunder in the air." Mary Burnett looked anxiously at her mother's careworn face, which was flushed beyond its wont, and her eyes restless and troubled in their expression. " The room is hot, mother. I shall open the window a little," said Mary, pushing aside the curtains and throwing it open as he spoke. " No word of the boys yet, Polly V said Mrs Burnett. " Isn't it almost nine ?" "Yes, but they have scarcely time to be back from Strathblane, mother," answered Mary. " I wonder how the match went to-day. Willie is so jealous for the honour of the Auchengray Thistle. He was so excited he couldn't take a bit of dinner. James will come with them likely. He went out, you know, by the five train. He is as much of a cricketer as ever." "Jamie will be a boy all his days," said the mother, fondly. "Is that your father coming across the park V " I am just wondering," answered Mary, musingly. " Isn't it rather tall for papa ? and ho is carrying a bag, too. It isn't a Castle visitor. He is coming here." Mrs Burnett loaned her arm on Polly's shoulder, and the two stood silently watching the approaching Strang;:.!'. As he drew nearer a quick Hush sprang into Polly's face, and she uttered an exclamation of surprise. " Why, mamma, it is Robert Angus !" " Impossible !" " It is. Don't you recognise him now i I can see his face quite plainly. Dear mo, he looks different from what he used to —quite old and grey." " That is the explanation of my restlessness, Polly. I felt as if something unusual were going to happen," said Mrs Angus, sinking into a chair. " I wonder what brings Robert here to-night. I hope his wife is quite well." "I will run and see what Susan has in the larder," said thoughtful Mary. " He looks as if he had just come off a long journey, and he will need something substantial." Mrs Burnett nodded rather listlessly and sat still. It was well for the Burnett household that Mary was such a capable housekeeper, and such a practical, thoughtful, unsclI fish person, for Mrs Burnett was no

longer able to fulfil her part. The bodily weakness, so long protracted, had begun to weaken the mental faculties; memory had failed, and the poor mother could not follow out any train of thought. Mary investigated the larder, gave her orders to Susan, told the housemaid to prepare a room for the unexpected guest, and then ran out to meet him herself. She was anxious to learn first whether he brought any bad tidings with him, for things had to be broken very gently and gradually to Mrs Burnett now. " Well, Mary, how are you?" said Robert Angus, cordially, for there was something very attractive and pleasant about the neat girlish figure, and the kind, open, pleasant face. Mary Burnett was a woman now—a cheerful, helpful, reliable woman, of whom everyone spoke well. " Quite well, thank you, Robert. How surprised we are to see you, but how glad. Is Mrs Angus quite well ]" " I have not seen her since she went abroad," lie answered, a little reservedly." You will be grieved to see the difference in her. The doctors cannot give us any hope that she will ever be much better. Robert Angus's grave, face took a yet graver shade. Truly Amy Burnett had a great deal to answer for ; the painful consequences of her sin had not been confined to herself— nay, she had escaped with the least hurt. Mrs Burnett was effusively glad to see Robert Angus, but the wonder at his coming had already faded from her mind, and she greeted him as she might have clone had he dropped in after an evening stroll from the town. During the few minutes he remained alone with her, her rambling uncertain talk and restless, uneasy manner struck him most painfully, He could scarcely believe that the wasted, fragile being before him could be the bright, cheerful, self-reliant wife and mother who had once been the centre and guiding light of her happy home. "So you have been travelling, Robert 1" she said, kindly. " Has the girl taken your portmanteau upstairs, and arc they getting you something to eat? You sec I am not able to do much now. I have been so poorly since Amy went away." He was relieved when Mary reentered the room to tell him his supper was laid. Sho accompanied him to the dining-room, and hovered about him, attending to his comfort in a gentle, unobtrusive way which reminded him of Joan. " Mary, does your mother talk much about Amy ?" he asked, when he had laid down his knife and fork. " Talk ! Amy's name is scarcely ever from her lips, Robert," said Mary, with tilling eyes. " She has brooded so long and painfully on the idea that her thinking powers have become weakened—so the doctor says."

" What effect do you think it would have upon her to be told that she is still alive ?" Mary stared violently, and her eyes dilated with terror. " Why do you ask such a question, Robert?" " Because it is true, Mary," said Robert Angus, rising to his feet. " Your sister is still alive." Mary Burnett stood absolutely still, spell-bound in her astonishment. "Alive! How? Where? Were they not all drowned in the wreck ?'' " No, she alone survived," he answered, and then in a few brief words told her all that it was necessary for her to know. " She is very ill now—dying, in fact," he continued, " and it would ease her to ask forgiveness from your father and mother. What do you think ? Could she bear the shock aud the journey immediately ? For we must go to-morrow, if at all. There is no time to lose." Still Mary Burnett never spoke. Her quiet oyes never averted, for she was overwhelmed with the old shame which any mention of her sister always caused. " I cannot take it in, Robert," she said, with difficulty. "Amy alive, and in London ! —but it will make no difference for you and Joan." " It has made a difference," answered Robert, wincing a little. " That is the explanation of my father's hurried retirement from business, and of his sudden resolution to reside abroad. Joau is with them. I have not seen her since the month ot May." Mary Burnett uttered a low cry, and covered her face with her hands. Oh ! was there to be no end at all to the misery arising from her sister's wrong-doing ? At that moment life seemed a very sad and tangled web to the young girl, whose early womanhood had been shadowed by the sin of others. Mary Burnett had not been the same girl since her sister's flight. "Do not be distressed, Mary, and do not turn away from me. Blame you ! No, how could I '!■" Robert said, kindly. " You have been a true sister to me, Polly, and always will be, I hope. Try to calm yourself, and let us see what can be done. You are so sensible and helpful, I rely upon you to make this all right." " Well, I will go and try and break it to mamma," said Mary, more quietly, though her voice was still unsteady. "There is papa

corning in. I can leave you to tell him." Robert nodded, and Mary left the room. When she entered her mother's sitting-room she found that she had lain down on the couch, and seemed to be asleep. "Is that you, Polly ? Have you made Robert all right?" she asked, turning at her daughter's entrance. " What had you to give him to eat?" "He had a bit of chicken and a cup of coffee, which I think he enjoyed, mamma," answered Mary readily. "Are you more tired than usual, that you are lying down?" "Oh, no. lam well enough. Robert is not going away to-night, is he ? I should like to see him again, and ask for Joan. I am growing very stupid, child. Fancy forgetting to ask for his wife! What must he have thought?" " Nothing at all, I assure you. What do you suppose Robert has come for, mother ?" " Is it anything particular 1" "Yes. Ile wants papa and you to go back with him to London tomorrow." " Dear me, that is something like Jamie. He thinks you can be ready to fly at a moment's notice," answered Mrs Burnett, with her old smile. "It is very kind of him and Joan to invite us, but I couldn't travel so far." "Not oven to see someone dear to you, if it was the last chance you would ever have of seeing them ?" said Polly, nervously. " There is nothing wrong with Joan, is there ?" asked Mrs Burnett, sitting up. "If she is ill and wants me I must go. She has no mother, and I love her as if she were my own. I thought she would fret for her baby ; that's her nature." "It is not Joan, mother, but somebody dearer even; somebody you never thought to see again." " Who can that be? Don't torment me, Mary. There is only one, I can think of, and she was drowned, you know—swallowed up in a moment in that stormy sea. What are you speaking about, girl ?" " Mother, mother, Amy isn't dead. She was saved, and has boon well carod for in a happy homo all these years," said Mary, trying to spoak soothingly and calmly, though she was much agitated. " She is very ill, not expected to recovor, and Robert has como to take you to see her." Mrs Burnett sprang from the couch, and a change sproad so rapidly over her face that Mary was amazed. The eyo was lighted by hope and joy, the mouth quivering with excitement, the- whole being stirred. "Is it true? Has God indeed been so good ? Oh, Mary, bring Robert Angus hero, that I may thauk him, as only a mother can, for the tidings he has brought!" Mary had feared the shock for her mother, but she saw now with grateful heart that it was a shock in the right direction. All her restlessness was gone; in a moment of time she was again the brisk active woman, bustling to plan and prepare everything, discussing ways and means—in fact, she was a now being. The load of despair was lifted from her heart at length, and the wheels of her being sprung into their proper places, and did their work as of yore. She sat far into the night alone with her husband and Robert talking the matter over, discussing it in all its bearings. Mr Burnett did not say much, but it was easy to see that his former bitterness against his erring child had died away, and only fatherly feeling now remained. To these Robert Angus made light of his own pain, and told them Joan had borne it bravely. Not yet could Mrs Burnett quite realise anything except tha fact that Amy still lived, that there was a chance still to repent, opportunity given to turn her thoughts to a merciful God. (To he continual.)