THE SILENT WIFE!

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 31, 15 October 1920, Page 2

THE SILENT WIFE!

By MARK ENGLISH.

Rem&rk&M£ Bp&nm of Life .

THE FIRST PART. Doris Thobury, the sister of the childrens's ward, was tellihg the little ones stories,' when the door opened and the matron and Dr Weston came In. Doris's cheekg took a deep tint, for she loved the kindly, grave-faced young doctor deeply. As the doctor went his rounds, she held each little patient's hand, for the pain never seemed so bad when Sister Doris was near} and when all the patients had been examined her duty for the day was over. As she was going out of the Cottage Hospital gate, Paul Weston overtook her. "May I accompdny you?" he asked, and she smiled and nodded. They spoke of m'any things, and at last when they. had . reached a more secluded spot the doctor seized her hand. "Miss Thobury," he said, "I love you — I love you with all my' heart and soul. Will you be my wife?" She looked at him steadfastly as she an^wered "Yes." It was some time later when they parted, and when they did so Doris was the happiest girl in the world. The next morning she received a telegram : "Come home immediately," it ran. "You are wanted at once." And a little later she was speeding towards her home. At the very moment she was answering Paul Weston on the previous night, an interview wAs .going on which was to alter her whole life. "Those are my termsj take them or leave them. Accept them and I pull you through; refuse and you are ruined!" The speaker, Roger Armer, wag a strong hard man; he was Walter Thobury's manager, and the man he faced as he uttered those words was Walter Thobury himself. Doris's father was a failure ; he was weak and lazy, and as he faced his manager he looked frightened. His uncle had died and left him the huge business of Thobury and Co. But he did not trouble himself abdut the business ; he left it all in the hands of Roger Armer. _ And now he found that he was on the brink of ruin, and only Armer could pull him through, and that he would only do so on one condition, and that was that he should marry Doris. And in his weakness and fear of ruin the crushed man agreed — actually agreed to sacrifice his daughter to'save himself. When he told Doris she was horrified. "Father," she cried, "you are not in earnest. Marry Mr Armer? I coudn't. You can't mean it." But her father did mean it, and he grovelled on his knees and begged her to save him by the only means she could. At last she cast aside all her hopes for the future and promised. That evening she wrote a short note to Paul Weston telling him she had changed her mmd and could never be his wife. The engagement was announced, and eventually came the fateful ivedding day. , The service- commenced, and at last' came the words which she was to repeat : "To love, hptiour and obey." Could she say them? "I cannot say those words!" she gasped, and the service came to an abrupt stop as she was led from the altar to tne vestry. It was then she realised that the words must be said- They went back to the altar and Doris Thobury became Doris Armer. It was all over and tney were driving towards their home before Roger spoke. "I am your master now," he said ,as they drove up to the house. "I'll soon teach you obedience, once we are inside those walls." CHAPTER VI. HER GILDED CAGE. Almost hefore the newly-married couple Jiad entered the house, Doris Armer had pulled herself together. When she passed into the large hall, iwhere a staff of servants received her, she Siad banished all traces of the bitter weeping. Love was not for her, but pride remalned. Too well did Doris realise that the latter could never take the place of the former softer emotion. But it' was all she nad left — the only weapon with whicR to fight the dark future that lay before her.

As she passed through the stately hall on her way to" her own rooms, she was conscious -that her husband's eyes followed her. They wore- an inscrutable expression, one she could not make out. She fancied she caught a flash of pity, and this hardened her more than a studied insult would have done. How dare he pity her ! She Bore his name ; she had forced herself to utter vows at the altar against which iier whole soul had revolted ; even,, to the making of a scene which — too well she knew — Roger Armer would never forgive, Oh ! If only she had had the courage to remain in the vestry? and not return to the church! She would be free now. He had declared himself her master. Well, it was up to her to prevent this. It was now that Doris Armer made the first and greatest mistake of her married life. Had she gone to Roger Armer, told how unhappy she was, asked h'im to be gentle with' her, hold out a helping hand to lift her out of this Slough of Despond, it is' "very prohahle that all would, in time, have gone well. ' But pride held her back— that; and some force within her to wThich she could not give a name. And so, with head up, her beautiful face pale and determined, she followed the housekeeper — a stately dame in a black silk dress and old la-ce collar — to the magnificent suite of apartments Mr Armer had prepared for his -bride. Certainly they were superb ! Even Doris prejudiced as she was, could not but admit that Roger had carried out his promise of giving her everything the heart qf woman could desire from the point of view of luxury. But, in her present frame of mind, she saw in her beautiful rooms nothing b.ut an over-lavish display of the wealth for which her father had sold her. In the housekeeper she saw a spy — a gaoler. Had not Mrs Spry been in the Armer family all her life— nursed Roger as an infant? With intens,e pride Mrs Spry flung open the massive doors, and stood back repectfully to allow her new mistress to pass in before her. "I hope you like the rooms, ma'am?" She smiled genially into Doris's cold. pale face. "It's Master Roger's own taste. Every bit of the decoration was done under the master's own eye. I hope you are pleased, ma'am." "I am not fond of blue,*' Ellen said coldly, as she went up to the grate, where a fire of logs was burning brightly ; for the evening was chill, and, as Mrs Spry remarked, "A good fire was always a welcome home." The young wife shivered as she looked round at the blue-and-silver draperies — the exquisitive pale hlue hrocade that covered the furniture. This was her cell, the interior of her gilded prison ; and even into this gilded cage her master would have the right to cgme. She was his wedded wife. An intense feeling of desolation swept over her. She was obliged to hite her lips hard to prevent herself breaking down before — her gaoler; for so, in her own mind, did she regard poor, inoffensive Mrs Spry. "Oh, ma'am! Mr Roger will be disappointed ! He said blue was your colour — that you had on a hlue dress .the first day he saw you. He said, too, that, as you were fair, with a complexion of milk and roses — and, indeed," the garrulous dame continued, "he was right there — blue would suit you. I'm sorry you don't like your rooms, ma'am." There was real distress in the oid servant's voice, and for a few moments Doris wondered if she was not just a little unjust and suspicious. Mrs Spry's next ^Words were unfortunate. "Master said he' expected you'd spend most of your time in your own apartments, so he wanted them to .he hright and. cheerful." "I am much obliged to Mr Armer for his kind forethought," Doris said freeziogly, though her heart sank like lead. "It is kind on his part to make my prison comfortable." She laughed bitterly — a laugh that held a note of hysteria. And, to tell the truth, Doris Armer 's nerves had about reached breaking-point. Of this show of weakness she was desperately afraid. Her only chance of peace— happiness was out o i the questjon

— lay in holding her own with the x r.an who had bought her. "Oh, ma'am! Indeied, I'm sure Ajr Roger never meant you to feel like tliaT! You're a bit tired with your jouruey. I'll send tea. And here's your maid, Jenkins. She was maid to Miss ^rmer, but Master Armer asked his sister to let you have Jenkins, and Miss Marton agreed." A very panic of anger rusbed over Doris. Another gaoler ! Another spy ! Even in her own roorng she would never be alone ! She had heard Roger speak of Kis sister Marion, an unmarried woman some years older than himself. He had always alluded to her as a thorough'ly capable woman. Already Doris hated Miss Armer. By a strong effort the bride. controlled herself. Jenkins placed a dainty tea-table near the fire, She was a pleasant-faced woman of about five-and-thirty ; but, jaundiced as she now was, Doris saw nothing pleas- j ant in the plain face and homely figure of her new maid. . | Everything had been doneTor Her with- ; out reference to her own particular tastes ! Farniturej colour scheme, atten- 1 dants— all had been selected by the hand of the man who had declared himself her master. "I hope you have everything you re- ! quire, madam?" Jenkins inquired. "At what time would you wish me to dress 1 you? Dinner is served at seven o'clock." "By whose orders?" Doris inquired sliarply. j "By the master's." "Order it for eight. Seven is too early for me." Jenkins hesitated. , "The master mentioned seven, Cook had | orders for that hour." "I wish it at eight," Doris said iirmly. ; "I shall not be ready hefore," she said. ! "You will prohahly wish to wear your ' wedding "dress this evening, madam?" | Jenkins ventured, lioping that this cold, ' pale hride would assent, and so give them the pleasure of seeing their master's young wife in her wedding finery. Then, as Mrs Spry had gone, she mad 3 an unfortunate remark. "Master said you would, just to give us servants a treat." She smiled, all unaware of the storm her chance words had raised in her mistress's hreast. "So I'm not even allowed to dress as I choose ! ' ' she thought. "I shall certainly not Wear my wedding dress!" she said. "You are at liberty to look at it — show it to your fellow servants — but not on me!" "Oh, I'm sorry, madam! It wouldn't he a bit the same ! You'd look so lovely in white. IVe unpacked a pretty evening dress. Shall I put that out for to-night? Brides usually dress in white just at first." "Brides!" thought the girl bitterly. "Yes, happy brides dressed in white because they were happy, and to pjease the man they loved beyond all others. But she was not happy, and — she did not love her hridegroom. She could never, never love Roger Armer." "I shall not wear white. There is a black lace dress. Put it out, and — I shall not require you to dress me. I wish to be alone." After this very decided rebuff there was nothing left to Jenkins bnt to retire. > "I can't understand the new mistress," the maid confided to Mrs Spry. "There's no pleasing her. And — I shouldn't say so to anyone but to another old family servant — but it almost looks as though she disliked her husband. But that can't be. No oue could dislike sucli a fine, liandsome man as Master Roger." Mrs Spry had thought mtrch the same thing, but her loyalty.-prevented her from agreeing with Jenkins. "She's over-tired," she said. "These brg weddingg take it out of a girl. You let 'em be, Jenkins j you'll see they'll he like turtle doves hefore the evening's over." Had Doris overheard the old dame's prophecy how bitterly she would have laughed. It was in any thing but a turtle-dove frame of mind that she went down the great black and green marble staircase, to join her husband in the bi'g reeeption room, which had been brilliantly illuminated for the occasion. Never, thought Roger Armer, had he seeu Doris look so beautiful, so digidfied

as she did on the first evening of their wedded life. He frowned as he saw she was dressed in black, though -he was obliged to own nothing could have set off the pearly tints of her marvellous skin to more advantage than this soft, clinging black dress she had elected to wear, instead of the white satin he had wished her to don. It was just possible, he thought, that the sight of her wedding dress would recall the unpleasant scene in the church. So he trred to find excuses. And though he thought that, at any rate, she need not have chosen a black dress, he made no remark ; but, going forward, held out hig hand and smiled, "Rested, I hope, Doris?" "Yes, thank you." She went past him, ignoring the outstretched hand. At that particular moment she felt contact with him to be impossible. "I am glad to hear that," Roger said quietly, though instinctively he felt humiliated by her, coldness, "hecause an old friend called to see me, and I asked her remain to dinner. But if you like I can easily put Isohel Yane off. She will quite understand thatf we wish to he alone this evening. Indeed, she is waiting to know if she is to remain." " The colour rushed to Doris' face, hut she kept silence. "It is for you to decide, Doris. Miss Yane is not unknown to you. I understand she was a friend of— yours." "Miss Yane," said Doris coldly, "is but an acquaintance. But I know her to be a friend of yours, so by all means let her remain to dinner." "I will go and fetch her. She is waiting in the library. " floger left the room. As soon as the door closed behmd him, Doris began to pace the floor. Isobel Yane here! Come to welcome her! What was it she had heard about Miss Vane? Ah ! she had it now ! Rumour had iinked her name with Mr Armer's. It was said that Isohel Yane had once been very much in love with Roger. But that was not saying Roger had been attracted by Miss Yane. If he had been, he would have married her, and not Doris Thobury. Doris could not quite account for the little feeling of annoyance she experienced as the minutes went by and her husband did not reappeax with their visitor. Evidently she was that most detestable creat. ure, "A dog in the* manger." "I'm glad Isobel is here," she told herself. Her 'presence will relieve the situation. How I dreaded that long first dinner with my master!" In this frame of mind she tsmed to greet ' her first visitor. CHAPTER YII. A SNAKE IN THE GRASS. The girl — or rather woman — who entered on Roger's arm was certainly a very striking-lodking indiviclual. Isohel Yane was not beautiful, like Doris. Her features wero too irregular for beauty. But there w.as such an intense vitality in her face that, in spite of obvious defects, it was generally voted attractive. She had fine dark eyes, and a wealth of magnificent red hair which was a beauty in itself. Her figure was well developed; her carriage erect if somewhat stiff. As to age, Isobel Vane might have been anything between twenty-flve and thirty. Besides her Roger's bride looked little more than a ehild. Miss Yane was an adept at cohcealing her feelings. Therefore she allowed nothing of her surprise to appear in her cordial greeting of her hostess. "I do call it sweet of you, Mrs Armer, to allow me to see you. I made a mistake in the date of your wedding. I thought it was last week, instead of this one. I feel such an intruder. I'm sure Rodger must possibly loathe me, though sending Roger an arch glance — "he'sjeyer so much too pollte to say so." "I .assure you, Miss Vane," Doris hastened to say, "I'm absolutely charmed to see you. I know my husband is. Are you not, Roger?" "Yes, of eourse, I am. I'm always pleased to see Isobel." Doris smiled her sweetest. She owed Roger compensation for having humiliated him before the whole congregation that mornfng. Her chance had come sooner than she had antici^atedj and fike Intended

to make the most of it, and bIlow him how magnanimous she could be. But oddly enough, Roger took everything for granted. There was a pause when dinner was announced. Two ladies to one man! Ordinary etiquette would, of course, have sent Isobel in on her host's arm. The occasion demanded that a bri&egroom should escort his bride. "Oh, take Doris! May I call you Doris?" said Isobel. Dorig made no answer. She stood away, a little aloof, a mask-like expression on her face. Roger felt decidedly uncomfortable. "Let me offer you each an arm," he said, seeking this way out of the difficulty. "I object to honours divided," laughed Doris. But her laugh was mirthless, and didn't ring true. With a certain amount of ceremony, Roger led his young wife to the head of the table where she sat silent ; intensely unhappy, grateful that the presence • of a third person relieved her in a measure from the awkwardness of a tete-a-tete, If only Paul Weston had been her bride. groom. The thought flashed unbidden through her mind, as thoughtg have a knaok of doing. How different -everything would have been then. And then, swiftly, she thrust the thought from her. It was a sin, now, to think overmuch of her old sweetlieart. She was Roger Aiyner's wife now, and only death could break the bond that bound them one to the other. Presently she f orced herself to join in the animated conversation that Rog|eir and Isobel had started, but there were so many allusions to situations she knew nothing about, so many "Do you remembers," that at length she stopped talking, and listened instead. Presently Misg Vane rose,* and approached the bride, who was now sitting near the uncurtained windowf gazing out into the soft radiance of an early autumn night. She was thinking how beautiful were the gardens of her new home ; how happy she might have been if her marriage with Roger Armer had been dictated by love and not by duty ! . The bargain had not been of her making. Still, she had consented to it; and now she must abide by the consequences. "Good-night, Doris," Isobel said aloud ; and then,~as Rcger went away to order a car to take Miss Vane to her cottage in the village, she caught the girl's hands m hers. "It has been good of you to put up with me — this evenin-g of all evenings— when I know you are longing to be alone with Roger. You lucky, lucky girl! How I envy you! You have1 — everything!" x * Isobel sighed as her dark eyes followed Doris's clear grey ones, and rested on the park-like grpunds. "You need not — envy me!" Doris forced a smile. "One day you will be in my po^ition-. No, no." She rose, pale and trembling. "I — I don't mean that. Heaven forbid that any girl should be as— - She broke off and put her hand to her head. Her endurance had almost reached its limit. The events of the day, the conflicting emo_tions that swept her very soul were having the usual result. Reaction had set in, bringing with it a sense of utter and complete exhaustion. Oh, how tired she was. What would she not give to be alone. But henceforth this could never be. Doris Thobury had ceased to exist : Doris Armer had taken her place. .Isobel read her like a hook, and a feeling of triumph entered into her. "She isn't in love with him," she - thought. "There's a screw loose somewhere. I wonder what is is? She seems afraid of him, and yet I could swear Roger loves her. I caught the expression in his eyes when he looked at her. And yet he seemed to be as much relieved by my presence to-night as she was. There's gomething at the back of it all that at present I can't undestand. But I'll find out. Now I come to think of it, there was some talk of her marrying Doctor Weston." Then she started. "Weston? Surely that's the name of the man whom Doctor Leech is taking into partnersliip ! I must find out if his Christian name is Paul ! ' ' "Good-night," she- said again, and bent and kissed the delicate face. "You happy, lucky girl." She went softly out into the Kall, where Roger was impatiently waiting to see her off. Deep down in Armer's heart was an aching longing to make his young wife love him, to see those beautiful grey eyes melt beneath his glance, to feel the touch of a pair of soft lips upon his own. He was, therefore in no mood to listen further to Isobel's reminiscences of old times, and when she whispered that this autumn night reminded her of a night

even more perfect, long ago, he bade her a curt good-night ; nor did he respond, as she would have liked, to her pressiug invitation to "drop in" when he felt lonely. "You forget," "he said curtly, "that I am "a married man now. That changes everything." "It does, indeed!" she sighed; and sent him a sentiniental glance. As the car glided away, she turned and waved her hand to the tall form of the man as he stood bareheaded in the moonlight. "How handsome he is !" Her eyes grew dim. "And to think that, but for Doris Thobury, I might have been his wife! Roger is a man. He may be hard, even cruel; but he can love as well as hate." It was with very mixed feelings that Roger Armer re-entered his house. He had got what he wanted, as he did most things that he set his heart on; but the fulfilment of his dearest wish had brought him no happiness. There was no triumph in his soul as he gazed. on that solitary figure iri black that sat on still in the great, splendid rcfbm, There was something pathetic in the droop of the slender shoulders. But as he advanced, making his presence known by calling her name, the girlish figure stiffened, and into the pale faco there came an expression no bridegroom would care to see on his bride's face. The words Roger had been going to utter died. on his lips. "You are thoroughly tired, Doris," Ue said quietly. "1'm going to ring for your maid." He went towards the bell, but before he reached it Doris said ; "I'd rather not have her, if— if you don't ihind." The shrinking, the coldness of her words froze Roger's heart. xfie tender words his heart dictated to this girl who was his very own turned to ice. Please yourself ; you are mistress here," he said coldly. The third chance had passed ! it was--hardly Ifkely another would. come to the unhappy couple chained together by this tragic marriage. (To be Continued).