THE STORY-TELLER.

Waikato Times, Volume XL, Issue 3210, 21 January 1893, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE STORY-TELLER.

II DOMESTIC_TftAG£DV. CONCLUDED, Lena wrote, and ceased to \uite in fatigue, and began again. She fought passionately against the weakness and pain that bosofc her, and at last finished. Much of hor letter was almost indecipherable, much incoherent, but in it and all through it was the burning desire to see her lover before she died. Yet she told him it was impossible. She bado him good-by o, and then implored him to come to her. She ended unintelligibly, her hand failed her, tho letters were half formed, she could not sign it. Summing all her strength she put it in an envelope, and wrote the address with comparative clearness. She fell back in oxhaustion. Grace had left tho room as she began to write, It seemed impossible for her to stay. What was Lena writing, and to whom ? To what friend, or to whom tlmt was more than a friend, did her thoughts fly 89 she lay dying? Sho was stunned, and walked as in a hideous dream. Such women know so little, and when some terrible fact comes into their life they stand as appalled as though in the face of a convulsion of nature. Do people break the commandments? They would answer "Yes"; but who thinks of such crimes among those they know? Even if they know that they themselves aro capable of much that none suspects, there is a wide charity in their ignorance of others. And now, she had promised to post this letter! If she did not? If she did? In either case something dreadful might como of it. Yet it seomed best to keep her promiso. She thought so much of her brother's peace. Tho letter lay on the bed with the addressed side down when she entered the room.

'• I promise," said Grace. Sho went downstairs with the letter in hor hand. There was a pillar-box two houses down the street. She took a garden hat from tho rack, but as she passed the hall-table, she stopped t) examine the cards lying on it. There were only three—one that of a Mrs Green, an old friend of her brother's; two were George Wilton's. Grace turned thorn over mechanically, thinking how she had once hoped; she had once loved him —she loved him yet, How rarely lie came now. Vet in three days he had called twice. Was it because Mrs Hill was dying? Yes, he had asked for her. Suddenly she contracted her brows. She wished she dared ask the servant how he looked when ho was told how serious the ease was. For a poisonous thought began to grow in this hitherto unsuspecting woman. Could it be possible? No, no—it could not bo! But she went into the dining-room and sat down by the fire, instead of going out. She put the letter, face downward, on the little book-tablo close to the fire, and sat there trembling with the birth of new passions which opened to her strange possibilities lying within herself, Though she choked it down in her anger and her jealously, a certain charity born of understanding rose in her heart, She was certain in her very soul that this very letter was to Wilton. Should she look to sec? She had promised she would not. But all promises, all oaths, are as nothing in the sight of passion, which in burning the soul scorches its ancient bonds till they snap like threads in (ire. Trembling in every limb, she turned tho letter over with averted eyes, She rose and went to the window ; her locked hands struggled with each other. Suddenly she turned, and with her arms held rigidly by her side she went swiftly to the table and looked. She moaned as she read the name—the one she had fearoil to see. : Though Grace Hill went out five minutes afterwards, that letter was not posted. She could not do it, She tried to console herself for treachery to her promise by reflecting that keeping it would have been treachery to her brother. She rested her soul on; virtue, though the real motive of her. act was jealousy. • That night Mrs Hill seemed a little better. The fever was not so high; she did not suffer so much pain. And yet she was asking herself all the time what would George do when lie received the letter. Would he take it as a final goodbye, would he answer it, or would his passion compel him to make an effort to come to her? But in any case she did not trouble so greatly sbe had done her utmost. As for Grace's knowledge that there were strange and bitter sctrets in her life, that was nothing. She trusted her completely, she so loved her brother. In the morning she was still calmer. Benson came early, and seemed more hopeful. Hill, who was bitterly anxious about his wife, but not so anxious that urgent business should seem urgent no longer, went to town as usual, making arrangements with Grace that in case of any sudden change lie should be sent for, A sombre quiet fell upon the house that lasted until nearly two. But with a return or rather increase of fever, Lena grew very restless, She asked what time it was.

•' Are there any letters yet, Grace?" "No," answered Grace, sullenly. The stricken women looked at her steadily, and Grace turned away,

" You arc sure?" " 1 am sure."

" Dill you post my letter, Grace f " Why should yon ask me that?" said Graco, nervously—"why should you think 1 didn't J" She rose and went out of the room; she found it so horribly hard to lio. Vet if sbe did not lie, if Lena insisted on a direct answer, what would this woman do? Perhaps she had been wrong; it might have been better not to have taken it into her hands to direct destiny. She felt Lena capable of strange things if impulse on desperation gave licr the strength, How much better it would be if she died at once. When she entered the room again, and passed the bed, Lena s hand caught her dress. She turned round, i' You never posted that letter, Grace. Don't tell me yon did—l sha'n't believe you!" «I» —'began Grace and stopped and, with sudden strength, Lena sat up in bed. " You read tho address, you miserable girl! Why didn't you come and tell me you did, and that you couldn't post it? I am sure—lam sure!" She shook her feebly, for sbe bad got hor by the arm. Grace trembled dreadfully. "What did you think of it?" said Lena, with blazing eyes. "What? And what about John? Didn't yon want to save him ? on fool! you fool! you have destroyed three people. If you had sent it, that would have been the last of it, and no one would have known. Give the letter to me—give it to j me!"

Grace made no motion of denial; sho put her hand into her pocket and gave the letter up. Lena took it and fell back. In a moment she gasped with pain, and rolled over on her side. Sbe screamed faintly. But she never let Grace's dress go. Lena spoke again : •' It is too late now. I am dying —I know it; and you have made me seem cruel to the only man 1 love. Do you hear—do you hear ? Grace, go and take this letter at once—take it yourself I" Grace tore her dress out of Lena's hand.

"I will not—l will not! You wretched woman, you aro dying—and talk like this!" She burst into tears. " Lena don't—'don t make mc hate you so! Why can't you think of othcrs-oh, and of yourself. What will happen to you—when you are dead ? She knelt by the bed. " Don't talk to me of after death, We sutler hero, here—oil, my God! what have I suffered these long, long y ca r S — w hnt do 1 suffer now? If I iiad never thought of others, I could have gone away. But I want to see ilim. Did you read the name? Then I want to see George Wilton!" Grace turned ghastly white, and put licr hand tip to her throat. She tried to speak; tho words choked licr, and she tore open her collar. She drew herself to her feet holding oil to the bed-clothes. "You mustn't say it, Lena! I am a woman, too—a woman, and not a child ?" '•What do you meanf cried Lena, in a horrible voice. " 1 ou—you—ah ! —" The blood rushed into the younger woman's face, and neck, and bosom, whence she had torn her collar and dress; she burnt visibly, and paled again to a dead white. When she spoko her eyes blazed, aud the tears slowly foil. "All these long, long years, Lena, all these long years, when he used to come here, and talk to me and you, once a week or more, and when lie left off coming, and I wondered why, and hoped lie would come back and speak—l loved him—l loved him. And 1 love him now, even though I liato him. And how can I do what you want ? These three years I have been miserable, and told no one: I have wept, and no one know it; I have tried to put him out of my mind, and failed. And when he has come he has looked worn and ill, so near almost death ; there was such a tone in his voice, the tone of a voice that told of misery and loneliness. And my heart bled, and I would have sold my soul to help him!" Lena leapt upon the bed and almost screamed. " You would have sold your soul! But you didn't sell it—you didn't! And you can be hard on me when 1 did—when I did! What am I—what am I? But I tried to help him, and it has killed mc! And now I don't care—l don't care for anything! Go,go-and bring him to me! Perhaps when I'm deadOil, 1 wish him to be happy—l want him to be happy !" Grace stared at her and mumbled with her lips. Sho fell upon tho bed, and Lena caught her. She bad fainted. When she came to at last, Lena lay with her eyes closed, and she, too, was almost unconscious, Grace rose, bathed her own forehead in wator, pinned up the bosom of her dress, aud arranged her dishevelled hair. She raised up Lena, settled her pillows, and said in a low voice, " Give me the letter. I will take it. I shall not be away half an hour." She went down stairs mechanically, and at the foot met the servant, who said, "Mr Wilton is in the drawingroom, and would like to see you, Miss Grace," Wilton had waited long enough, He had been to Benson, and the doctor had told him (he truth about Mrs Hill. When he got into the street he looked like one stricken mentally, he caught hold of the railings of the next house, He

walked on at last, but without knowing which way lie was going until lie enme to Regent Street. Having to pull himself together to get across the Circus, lie began to think more coherently, But liis coherent ami logical thoughts were more intolerable than the nightmare of his emotions. He came to a resolve, and, jumping into a cab, was driven to Wimpole Street, lie must, at least, ask some one aJbout her; he must get near her; he must see some one who tended her. Oh, if he had but somo title, however small, to ask to see hor for one moment! He stood in the drawing-room waiting j each minute seemed intolerably long. Grace stood outside tho door with her hand upon tho handlo for nearly five minutes. What would ho say ? How should she answer him? Could she control herself ? In any case ho would hardly stay long, her brother might return any moment —he usually came home now at four. Sho twisted the handle harshly and entered tho room. Her hand as it touched his was like ico. All her blood was in hor brain and heart. Wilton wasted no time in polite preliminaries " How is Mrs Hill ?" he asked, wondering as ho did so whether this girl would notice the bitter constraint of his voice. "Sheis not very well, wo aro afraid "-she stopped; Wilton shivered. "I have not seon much of you lately," he said, " but when I heard she was ill I could not help coming. "It is very kind of you," said Grace, and again her voice failed hor. She was thinking or trying to think—what about this letter? Is Mrs Hill too ill to see any one ?" " Yes," replied Grace;" she is in bed."

But what about this letter—what about it? What should she do? She looked at him strangely. Ho began to bo conscious of something more than her natural grief at the blow that threatened the house. Lena had said she was so afraid of herself, so afraid lest in bitter desperation she might tell the truth. If sho had not written, she had not been able to write, she must be even worse than they said, and in despair. To dio without hor lover near hor was bitterer than any of tho long enduring punishments that had marred their twisted, tortured lives, Ho rose, and sat down again. What could he say ? No, no, ho could say nothing! He looked at Graco again, and could not mask the mute anguish gnawing at his heart. For all her horror of sin, sho pitied him as she had pitiod Lona. Lona had said " We suffer hore-horo." Sho saw ho was torn and racked by emotion, that tho control of his emotion was even more cruel than the natural pain, Her own misery she half put aside; for sho loved him still, oven though he had fallen so from the pedestal on which hor pure and ignorant love had placed him, Ho rose again and held out his hand. Sho touchod it and tromblod. " You will tell her ?" She nodded. He walked to the door. She fumbled in her pocket for tho letter. It was not there. " Stay a moment," she said, suddenly, as they wore noar the halldoor. She ran upstairs and found the letter on the landing. Without a moment's delay she picked it up and ran down. She thrust it into his hand. " There is a letter for you. I—l forgot to post it." He looked at it, and thfln at Graco. She knew tbon, he said—sho knew it all. He staggered against the marble table, and with his hand flat against the surface supported himself for a moment. '' Good-bye," he mutterod hoarsely and turned. As his hand touched the catch, he heard a voice very low or very far off. " George 1 George 1" He turned and looked at Grace. But it was not she who had spoken. Sho was standing there like a statue, rigid, with hor hands locked, her hpad twisted back under her shoulder. He followed her eyes and saw Lena on the upper landing, bending over tho banister, which she clutched with hor wasted hands. He made a step towards her, and Grace awoke, She caught his arm. " No, no—you muan't IGo now, go now!" He moved on and she dragged on him heavily, holding him with both hands, " George Wilton, don't—don't!" And Lena said again in a lamentable voice, " George 1 George 1" " Mr Wilton, it will kill her—and think—think, suppose any one comes. You must not—you must not!" and she who had onco hoped to hold him thus with far different thoughts wound her arms about him in desperation. But he thought of her not at all. He had forgotten everything but the dying woman wholovod him. Ho tore Grace's arms away, and sho fell upon the floor. He ran upstairs, saying "Lena! Lena!" Shs fell into his arms. Oaroless of aught, he boro her into her room and laid her down. The door slowly closed of itself. They were alone again; alene once more. Grace gathered herself together and sat upon the lowest stair. She was stunned and unable to act. What was this devilish thing they called Love ? Sho had loved, and beon unselfish; she had thought for others, and been kind and gentle. But this passion, this cruel, blind solfish passion, whose offspring was it that thus begat Anguish and Death ? Sho hated Wilton now; she shud. dered for Lona—what could sho

do ? If she had only sent that lottor perhaps this might not have happened- She saw ho had grown dosperafo because ho know Low was dying and fancied her unable to write. And that sense had quickened into knowledge ill Lena that she knew he had come ? Suppose others camo. John would be back soon. Though it was to split her own heart and teach her tho blackest depths of tho passion sho questioned herself about, she must go into that room and tako him away. She must, she said hoarsely, and she rose. She saw Wilton's hat lying on the hall-floor, sho took it up and put it on a chair m the darkest corner. She was half way upstairs when a latch key rattled in the hall door. Tho blood stayed in her heart, sho caught the banisters to prevent herself falling. John Hill ontorod, nnd sho turned to meet him. Sho was silont and half paralysed. But one thought reigned dominant within her: sho must save her brother tho knowledge which would overwhelm him and perhaps bring even a bloodior tragedy into that stricken house Sho stayed at tho foot of the stairs. " How is she, Grace ?" asked hor brothor, anxiously. Unblessed though his life had beon, he still loved Lena in his own 'ray, which had not been hers, and was still ready to offor her sacrifices, though they proved unacceptable in her eyes. " Sho is asleep, John," whispered Grace. "Don'tgo up yet." She thanked God the hall was dark. The whisper covered the terror of her natural voice; but if he saw her, what would he think of her ghastly face ? As though tho devil prompted him, he struck a match before she had time to turn away. He lot it drop, and caught hold of her. " What's tho matter ? What are you looking like that for ?" ' "I am tired, John—l am tired!" He lighted another match, and set the hall gas blazing. Ho drew her under it, nnd saw her agitation. 11 You. you—what's this moan ? Grace, is she dead ?" " No—no!" whispered Grace, shaking all over, with a deadly fear in her eyes, Hill let her go, and began to go upstairs. She rau and caught him, and writhed in front of hiui. "No. John, don't go up; you will wake hor! She has been ill and now is asleep." Ho tried to put her aside, but she held him fast. "Youmustn't—you mustn't!" " Let me go!" he said. " What's all this ? What do you mean 1 And ho wrenched her hold loose. She ran after him and passed him at the very door. She fell down and caught him by his knees. "No—no!" sho cried in a strangled voice; " I won't let you!" She could do nothing' now but trj to stay lnm as her strength failed her. She could neither invent nor lie. But aa her grasp loosed, Hill's efforts to pass her relaxed. He looked down on her strangely. Why was this? If Lena, wore dead, Graco would not act so. Could it bo worso than death? His brain whirled as ho sought out tho possibilities of explanation. He began to tear his knowledge that a solution must lio beyond tho door in front of him. As he hositntod, that door openod and a man came out of the room. Hill stood paralysed. Yery curiously, ho shrank aside a hair'sbreath to let this man pass in the semi-darkness. But he said "Whatis it?" Grace bowed her her head and caught her brother again. With a groan, he knew the truth, or seemed to know it. He stooped, and, as Grace fell backwards, John Hill ran down the stairs. He touched tho unknown man upon tho shoulder' He turned, and they stood faco to face. "Sho is dead," said Wilton, mechanically. Hill struck him hard upon tho cheek and Wilton staggered, "You are wrong," said Wilton. "She is dead. Sho is dead. She was very good." He did not say " to mo." Hill raised his hand again, but let it drop, and Grace came down tho stairs. "John," she said, "dont! Go, Mr Wilton—go!" " Good-bye," said Wilton, drearily He was going without his hat, but Grace handed it to him. It was better so; better to look like other people until he reached home. Those were wrong who said he took morphia or he would have taken an overdose that night; and as it was, he cut his throat. And people said a clever man was dead. " We suffer here—here," Lena told Grace. As she lay dead, thoro was a smile upon hor wan lips that seemed to promise peace at last.