ALONE.

Auckland Star, Volume XX, Issue 146, 21 June 1889, Page 3

ALONE.

BY MARION HARLAND, Author of 'Nemesis,' 'Hidden Path,' * Moss Side,' 'Miriam.' 'Empty Heart,' 'Helen Garduor,' ' Husbands and Homes,' •Ruby's Husband,' 'Phomie'a Temptation,' Etc.

CHAPTER XXIII. (Continued.)

A few mornings. afber the doctors announced his safety, Ida observed at breakfast that Mrs Read was looking badly. ' Coniinement in a sick room does not agree with you, I fear,' said she, with interest. 'We must nob leb you fall ill, too. Will you not delegate one of us to represent you this forenoon, while you take a ride ?'

'Constant attendance is "unnecessary,' she replied. 'Hereafter, I shall not stay in doors as I have been doing. I thank you for your offer, however. If I can avail myself of it, I will do so.' ' Why did he not come down to breakfast V asked Josephine, ironically. ' He cannot leave his bed,' was bhe calm

reply. 'Nor turn himself in it, I believe, madam ?'

' You are right.' 'It must cost you a pang to surrender to another the priviloge of allaying his pains and paying those endearing little attentions to which affection imparts such sweetness. How can you think of it V

' I do not consider my health unimport anb.'

' Not in comparison with his ?' continued Josephine, provokingly. ' The duty is not rendered less imperative by any comparison.' ' Tho pursuit of pleasure and ease is included in this prudent cave of yourself, I presume, madam?' 'In that, as in everything else, I shall consult my own inclinations.'

' I did not know that a woman had a will of her own after she married,' retorted Josephine. ' I am not conscious of having lost my volition or free agency.' ' And acting upon this unbiassed volition, you will occupy your box at the bheabre bo-night. I saw a ticket upon the table in the parlour.' ' I shall he there ; but thero will be room for you, and whatever friend you honour by accompanying.' ' And this is conjugal devotion !' the suppressed wrath boiling over. ' After cajoling a feeble old man into marrying you, you desert him upon a bed of languishing, where lie is laid by your follies, to flirt with your train of gallants in the mosb public place in bhe ciby !' 'If you have more remarks of like imporb to make, I will hear them in your father's presence, Miss Read,' answered tho unruffled step-mother. ' Miss Ida, please excuse my withdrawing before you have finished your breakfast.'

Josephine had emphatically picked this quarrel. She had received no provocation, and combined with this disadvantage, that of loss of temper. Chafing with anxiety to commence tho warfare she had declared, she was too eager to wait for a pretext, and had plunged into a rash conflict before estimating the strength of tho enemy's forces. Ida said nothing until she was ready to ;',eave the room. She deemed it her duty bo speak.

' Josephine,' eaid she, mildly, 'it is not my place to dictate to you ; but as a wellwisher, I warn you nob to carry this any further. Constant dissension will be the only result. She is inclined to livo peaceably wibh you ; and she will be a dangerous, a powerful enemy.' ' Have I asked your advice?' said Josephine. Her scowl dissuaded Ida from a second remonsbrance. In reckless .audacity she proceeded straight to her father's chamber. It was pitiable to see that greyhaired man—helpless as infancy with disease, and remember thab his frayed bhroad of life was entwisted with the golden cord of hers, who had barely attained the meridian of her early womanhood.

Josephine's visibs had been rare and brief, and his salubabion was surly. 'To whab am I indebted for this superlative pleasure.' he inquired, stretchiug his upper lip across his teeth, as was his wont when displeased. 'If I had supposed that my presence was conducive, to your comfort, no consideration should have detained me fromyou,sir,' was the meaning rejoinder. He did not answer, but moved, uneasily, and asked his wife for water. The gobleb was nearest Josephine, and she held ib to him. ' Lifb my head !' he said frebfully. ' Ugh ! you hurb me! bhis conies of your officiousness. Why couldn't you let her do it?'

' I regret, sir, thab my unskilful touch is painful,'said Josephine, ' since you are to be dependent upon my cares.' ' W hue the deuce are you talking about ?' he demanded, sharply. The slumberous eyes surveyed her listlessly over the couch. 'My speech is blunt, sir; I learned it from you, and I have an inconvenient practice of saying what I think. Old mon, who have young "and fashionable wives, should not indulge in the luxury of sickness. What woman, who has a right appreciation of her charms, can hesitate what course to pursue, when a decrepid husband is pub in one scale—society and a score of beaux in the obher ?'

His glare of impotenb fury was demoniacal—he was too weak to control it. The liquid eyes were dreamy and motionless still. The irascible old man jerked his head, so that ho could see her face—' Helen ! what is that girl driving at'?' ' She can best explain herself, sir.' ' Speak I' ho commanded, at the top of his tremulous voice.

' I hope you have made your will, sir,' said Josephine deliberately. ' By my life, I will do ib, and cub you off without a copper, if you parley much more !'

'You virtually severed our connection bwo months ago, sir. A sbranger has supplanted me in your hearb and house; and up to bhis time, I have held my peace. This is my revenge. Your idol, having used you for her pleasure and advancement, does not mean thab this sickness, caused by your doating indulgence, shall fetter her dainty limbs. On the contrary, it frees her from the restraint of your observation, —the incumbrance of your attentions.' She dropped each woid slowly, purposely to aggravate his impatience, which was novy frightful. Manacled, bound down by the fiery bands of his malady, he writhed, as upon a Procrustean bed. ' Helen ! speak '. tell her she lies !' 'I never reply to inuendoes, sir.' The eyes were passionless as ever. ' She is* gontleness and patience personified,' said Josephine. ' Ask whom she' will accompany to the theatre to-nighii and pray her—your faithful wife—to stay with'you.' ' The theatre I' he uttered. ' Are you going, and with whom ?' 'With Mr and Miss Talbot,' and save that she fastened her gaze upon him instead of her, she looked and spoke the same.

' The " Miss " is an adroit addenda,' sneered Josephine. Her father was silent. His selfishness was wounded. He was angered and mortified that his wife should consign him to the care of others and find enjoyment) in

gay recreations, while he lay crippled and racked ; but he detected the spring _of Josephine's interference, and pride cried loudly that her impertinent malice should be punished. ■ A study of his wife's determined face settled the point. If they differed, the mischief-maker should not know it. ' Hark you!' said ho, with sudden composure. ' I soe your game, my lady, and you may as well throw up your cards. lam master in my house, and there is no law against turning you out of it. I thought I had taught you this already. I have a piece of advice you will do well to bear in mind. Attend to your own business, and let your betters alone. Now, be off! and don't lob me see you again until you can behave yourself.'

: 'I' obey you, sir. If you want my services, I trust you will send for me.' Mr Read was awkwardly embarrassed when left with his wife. Domineering and stubborn as he was, she awed him. Her haughty, endurance of his foolish fondness gave him no Hen upon her affections ; and the, sang-froid she had preserved under Josephine's insolence was a bad augury of the efficacy, of reproaches. She consulted her watch, and informed him that it was the hour for his medicine; administered it, and shook up his pillow. * Helen,' said he coaxingly, ' are you in earnest about leaving me ? What shall I do ?'

' Sarah will wait upon you. I have the utmost confidence in her fidelity.'

'But what is a servant's nursing after yours ?' ' It is a pity you retain this repugnance to everyone's attentions but mine. My health and spirits are injured by fatigue and want'of rest. You are recovering, there is no absolute necessity for my remaining with you, and it is necessary that I should take care of myself. We had best suspend this discussion, Mr Bead. You have been too much excited this morning, and arguments are useless, us myplans are made.'

And "my plans are made" became the law of the household,—Josephine excepted, who had her schemes also. There was an ominous calm. Mr Read mended gradually. His daughter's resentment outlived his ; but his pride was as inflexible as hers. She would not enter his chamber, and he would nob recall her. His wife performed mechanically a routine of duties, selfenjoined, as covering all that could be required of her. The residue of her time was devoted to the world, out of which she did not seem to live. She held her position as leader of the ton. She was the best-bred, best-dressed, and besb-educated woman of her circle. No party was coinplebo without her; and none vied with hers in elegance and agreeableness. People gossipped, and prophesied, and pitied her ' poor old husband ' —courted aud aped her. Ida had made a public profession of her faith, and was humbly 'waiting.' Her healbh did nob now debar her from mingling insocieby; and she could discern neibher wisdom nor pity in a hermit's life. Hor re-appearance amongst them was hailed with acclamations by most of her acquaintances. Some were shy for a time, thanks to Josephine's exposition of her ' strait-laced notions ;' but her cheerful frankness banished their reserve ; and if not so noisily admired,! she was more beloved than in her palmy days.

She was one evening ab a ' sociable' at Mrs Morris's, the cynosure of a group, the liveliest in tho room, for it comprised Ellen, Mr Thornton, Charley, Mr Gormaine, Mr Villet, and Richard Copeland. Charley was relating an amusing story ; and Ida's peculiarly contagious laugh created as much merriment as the anecdote.

' Miss Boss is ever* happy,' said Mr Villet. ' Your being dtvole does not make you sad, morose— comr.il a Vordinaire.'

A glance of apprehension was exchanged by some of the circle, ( and Ida coloured as she replied, smiling, 'I do nob know why ib should, Mr Villet.'

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders : ' Nor I ! I do nob comprehend these affairs myself, bub ib is usual, I believe, for bhe visible visago to elongate with the expansion of the — qn'est cc que c'esl I —grace in the soul.'

There was a laugh. Charley and Ida were grave; and Mr Villet's politeness book the alarm. ' I entreat your pardon, Miss Ross ; I did not meditate an offence.'

'You have given none,' answered she. 'You would nob knowingly make sport of what you must respect. Religion is nob gloomy, nor is ib ridiculous.'

' Its professors, with some honourable exceptions, are one or bhe other,' said P.ichard.

' This is their misfortune or failing, not the fault of the system,' returned Ida. ' Mortal naburo is fallible, Mr Copeland.'

'You admit it, then ?' said Mr Thornton. ' The greatest objection I have bo pious people is that they do not permit this indulgence to abused human nature. They wind themselves up in their impenetrable cloaks of sanctification and perfectionism, and send us—no matter where— for hankering after innocent amusements. And if one of their caste beats time to a merry tune, or shows his head inside of a theatre, ho is run down as if ho had the hydrophobia. Such sermons as they preach about the hand or foot offending ! It would be a wise precaution, in my judgment, to make the amputation of the feet pa; t of the ceremony of initiation into church membership. You are superior to such narrow-minded-ness, I hope, Miss Ida ?' 'If " narrow-miudedness" signifies drawing a distinct line of demarcation bebween the Church and the world, I shall come under your lash, Mr Thornton.'

' And do you, candid and liberal as you are, declare that there is sin—mind you ! " a want of conformity to, or transgression of the law of God"—in moving through a certain form of steps to the sound of music?' said he, indignantly.

' I do nob confess bo sco sin in the mere acb of. dancing,' replied Ida; 'but—l do not wish to argue, Mr Thornton. If nothing else forbade my joining in the amusement, it is prohibited by the church to which I belong.'

' Worse and worse ! Miss Ida, this is unworthy of you. It is the Penal doctrine of depositing one's conscience in the priest's pockeb book. If your church commanded you bo steal or kill, would you obey ?' ' No, for a higher law forbids it. I am bound to follow the church only so far as ib follows the Bible.' ' But the Bible says there is a time to dance.' Ida smiled. 'I am surprised,' said she, 'that sensible persons should quote that poor text so frequently as authority for dancing. In the same connection we read "bhere is a time to kill"—you would be loth to defend a murderer who justified j his crime by an appeal to this passage. "A time to die " —who sees in this permission to shorten his days ?'

' And you must turn pavier, Thornton, because " there is a time to gather stones together,"' said Charley. There was another laugh, in which Mr Thornton joined good-humouredly. ' Wealas my text is, I am consoled by the knowledge that yon cannot produce one interdicting that which reason and observation teach is not reprehensible.'

' Not an explicit prohibition, perhaps, answered she. hesitating.

'Well, an implied one, then?'

Ida's cheeks flushed, painfully, but her voice was firm as she said, ' I read, " Be ye not conformed to the world," and "Whatsoever ye do, Jo all to the honour and glory of God," and my conscience says I would be guilty of wilful disobedience to the written commandment, and dishonour my profession, if I disregard the plain meaning of these words.'

Charley had bided his time. She stood the test well, and he came in to the rescue. ' She is right, Thornton, You and I know it —why dispute it? Only yesterday you were laughing at the inconsistency of the

'I.commended their liberality, their freethodox brethren about here d notna * until ib is as smooth as\ a ball-room T.,°V;,.^- d . UCC °P shining route I used to think some preparation wIsS utertb afore I could be fitted for heav_n &cm a;m Mrl ortedi . ***-i&S3g them. My chance is as good as theirs in run.." Those werf your very word -deny .them if you can, or that you were ridiculing them, You are, like myself ■ more thin a Sabbath-day's journey from being a Christian ; and you assert that they are not much better off: Tho plain English of win eh is, that you are consistent to your profess .ons—they say they believe one bhmg, and pracbise bhe opposite. Pretending to despise the vanities of this life, they pursue them more eagerly than the things which-are umseen and eternal. If a man unites himse.'f with the church, let him 1 Uveas if he were changed. • I go to the theatre, although Ido not consider ib the : ' best school of morals one can frequent; but it grieves me to t _c, in my neighbour, a so- j called pious man. lam ashamed for him '■ my respect for th c reputation of his church,'is greater than .his. I dance—and sleep : afterwards with ai 1 easy conscience; but if i you ever see me "tripping on the lighb' fantastic toe," wi bh an angelic creature! who is a communic ant in a Bible - reading I sect, you may write it down as an im- j mutable fact that she asked me—not 11 her !'

Charley was lawless. Nobody criticised or was offended with him; and Ida was always certain of finding in him an ally and an advocate ; but, grateful as she was for his ready aid upon occasions like the present, she prized more highly the counsels which his know ledge of mankind and his undeviating sensii of rectitude qualified him to give. Shu had faults, —he pointed them out; she er.red in judgment, —he corrected the evil as far as he could. The spectacle of his daily Kfe was useful. He possessed almost boundless influence over his associates, and their attachment to him was close and strong. They understood, intuitively, the worti'i of the inner man — never fully unveiled to the majority of them, and could not bub admire and esteem. And Ida's constant thought of him was—'lf he, calling himself unconverted, accomplishes so much--what oughb not I—a Christian, to attempt: (To be-Continued.J