A TERRIBLE SECRET.

Auckland Star, Volume XX, Issue 288, 4 December 1889, Page 6

A TERRIBLE SECRET.

BY MAY AGNES FLEMING,

Author of 'Guy Earlscourb's Wife,' »A Wonderful Woman, , ' A Mad Marriage, , Etc.

BOOK 111.

CHAPTER XL

THE NIGHT.

At first they thought her dead—but ib was not death. Sho awoke from that long-, death-like swoon as morning broke—so near unto death that ib seemed the turning of a hair might weigh down the scale. And so for days after ib was—for weary, miserable days and nights. The sjreab reaction after the great excitement had come, all consciousness left her, she lay white and still, scarcely moving, scarcely breathing. The one beloved voice fell as powerless on her dulled ears now as all others, the dim, almost lifeless eyes, that opened at rare intervals, were blank to the whole world. She lay in a species of stupor, or coma, from which it was something more than doubtful if she ever would awake. The few spoonfuls of beef-tea and brandy and water she took they forced between her clenched teeth, and iv that darkened room oi the great hotel, strangely, solemnly quiet, Life and Death fought their sharp battle over her unconscious head.

And for those who loved her, her father, her friends, and one other, nearer and dearer than father or friend, how went those darkest days for them ? They could hardly have told—all their after life they looked back, with a sick shudder, to that week.

For Charley Stuarb.he never wants to look back—never to the last day of his life will he be able to recall, to realise the agony of those six days—days that changed his whole nature —his whole life.

They watched with hei-unceasingly—death might come at any moment. There were times when they bent above her, holding their own breath, sure that the faint chread had already snapped—times when they held a mirror to her lips to be sure she breathed at all. For her new made husband, he never left her except when nature sucenmbed to the exhaustion of ceaseless vigil, and they forced him away. He forgot to eat or sleep, he aat tearless and still as a stone by the bedside, almost as bloodless, almost as wan and hollow-eyed as the dyine bride herself. The doctors stood gloomily silent, their skill falling powerless here. • She needed only the "excitement of this preposterous marriage to finish her, 1 one of them prowled ; 'I said so at the time—say so now. She had one chance for lifeperfect quiet—and that destroyed it.' On the fourth day, a letter from England, in a woman's hand, and deeply bordered with black, arrived. Edith, in the first days of her illness, had told Trix to open all her letters. She would have passed the power over to her brother now, buG be waved it away impatiently. What did it matter whom it wae from—what it contained—what did anything matter now? His haggard eyes went silently back to the marble face lying among its pillows, so awfully still. Trixy opened and read it. It was from Inez Catheron, and announced the death of her aunt, the Lady Helena Powysa. •Her end was perfect peace, , said the letter; • and in her will, she has left her large fortune divided equally between you and me. If possible it would be well for you to return to England as speedily as may be. If wealth can make you happy—and I hope at least it will aid—my dearest Edith, you will have it. For me, I join a charitable Sisterhood here in London, and will try to devote the remainder of my life to the relief of my suffering and poor fellowcreatures. As to the rest, if you care at all to know, my brother reigns at Catheron Royals now! He is, in all respects, a changed man, and will not, I. think, be an unworthy successor of him who is gone. His wife and children are all that can be desired. • Farewell, my dear cousin. \\ hen you return to London come to the enclosed address, and see me. No one will welcome you more gladly than

•Inez Cathekon.'

So another large fortune had been left Edith—she was rich now beyond her wildest dreams. Rich ! And yonder she lay, and all the gold of earth powerless to add a second to her life. What a satire it seemed. Youth, beauty, and boundless wealth were hers, and all were vain—vain ! The seventh night brought the crisis. ' This can hold out no longer,' the physician eaid ; ' before morning we will know the end, whether it is to be life or death '

•Then—there ishope yet?' Trixy breathed, with clasped hands. . He looked at her gloomily and (turned away, the meaningless formula on his ' While there is life thero is hope.' • It will be little less than a miracle if she lives, though, , the obher added ; ' and the days of miracles are over. Hope if you like-but—' .. . • You had better nob let him sit up tonight,' said the first physician, looking compassionately at Charley; ' he won't be able to stand it. Hβ is worn out now, poor fellow, and looks fit for a sick-bed himself.' . 'He knows it is the crisis,' Trixy answered; 'he won't go.' # •He has watched the last two nights, , Mise Seton interposed; 'he must go, doctor; leave me an opiate—l will administer it. If—if the worst comes, ib will be but a moment's work to arouse him.' The doctor obeyed. '~, • I will return at day dawn,' he said, «if she be still alive. If not—eend me word.' The twilight was falling. Solemn and shadowy it crept into the sombre, silent room. They went back to the bedside, pale and tearless; they had wept, it seemed, until they could weep no more. This last night the two girls were to watch alone. .; She lay before them. Dead and in her shroud she would never look more awfully death-like than now. He sac beside her —ah, poor Charley ! in a eorb of dull stupor of misery, utterly worn out. The sharp pain seemed over—the watches, when his passionate prayjpbad ascended for that dear life, wild and rebellious it may be, when he had wrestled with an agony more bitter than death, had left their impress on his life forever. He could not let her go—he could not! ' 0 God!' was the ceaseless cry of his soul, 1 have mercy—spare 1' , Nellie Seton's cool,, Bofb hands fell lightly on hie head. Nellie's eoft, gentle Voice epoke: ' Charley, you are to leave us for a little and lie down. You must have some rest, be it ever so short ; and you have had nothing to eat, I believe, all day ; you will, let me prepare something, and take it and go to your room.' She spoke to him coaxmgly, almost as she might to a child. He lifted his eyes, full of dull, infinite misery, to hers. • To-night ?' he answered ; • the last night! I will not go.' , ' Only for an hour then,' she pleaded; •there will be no chang«. For my sake, Charley! , , All her goodness, all her patience, came back to him. He pressed her hand in his own gratefully, and arose. • For your sake, Nellie—then —for no other. But you promise to call me if there is the slightest change V ' I promise. Drink this and go. She gave him a glass of mullftd wine, containing the opiate. He drank it and

left the room. They listened breathlessly until they heard his door, further down the passage, open and shut—then both drew a deep breath.

' Thank Heaven, 5 Trix said ; « I couldn't bear to see him here to-night. Nellie, if she dies ifc will kill him—just that.' The girl's lips quivered. What Charley had been to her—how wholly her great, generous, loving heart had gone oubto him, nob even Trix ever knew. The dream of her life's besb bliss was ab an end forever. Whether Edith Stuarb lived or died, no other woman would ever take her place in his heart).

The hours of the nighfc wore on. Oh ! those solemn night watches by the dying bed of those we love. The faint lamp nickers, deepest stillness reigns, and on his be I, dressed as he was, Charley lies deeply, dreamleesly Bleeping. It was broad day when he awoke—the dawn of a cloudless November day. Hβ sat up in bed suddenly, for a moment bewildered, and stared before him. Only for a moment—then he remembered all. The night had passed, the morning come. They had let him sleep—ib seemed he could sleep while she lay dying so near. Dying ! Who was to tell him that in yonder distant room Edith was nob lying dead ? He rose up, reelinglike a drunken man, and made fter the door. He openedit, and wen tout, down the passage. It was entirely deserted, the great household were not yet astir. Profound stillness reigned. Through tho windows ho could see the bright morning sky, all flushed, red and golden with the first radiance of the rising sun. And in that room there what lay—death or life ? He stood suddenly still, and looked at the closed door. He stood thero motionless, his eyes fixed upon it, unable to advance another step.

It epened abruptly—quickly but noiselessly, and Nellie Seton : s pale, tired face looked out. Ab sight of him she came forward—he asked no questions—his eyes looked at her full of a dumb agony of questioning she never forgot.

' Charley !' she exclaimed, coming nearer

The first ray of the rising sun streaming through the windows fell upon her pale face, and it was as the face of an angel.

' Charley !' she repeated with a great tearless sob, holding out both hands ; ' Oh, bless God ! the doctor says we may— hope !' He had braced himself to hear the worst —nob this. Ho made one step forward and fell at her feot like a stone.

CHAPTER XII

THE MORNING,

They might hope ? The night had papsed' the morning had come, and sho still lived. You would hardly have thought so to look at her as ehe lay, deathly white, deathly still. But as the day broke she had awakened from a long sleep, the most natural and refreshing she had known for weeks, and looked up into the pale anxious face of Trix with the faint shadow of a smile. Then the eyelids swayed and closed in aleep once more, bub she had recognised Trix for the first time in days—the crisis was over and hope had come. They would not let her see him. Only while she slept would they allow him now to enter her room. But it was easily borne —Edith was not to die, and Heaven and his own grateful happy heart only knew how infinitely blessed he was in that knowledge. After the long bitter night—after the darkness and the pain, light and morning had come. Edith would live—all was said in that.

• There are some remedies that are oither kill or cure in their action, , the old doctor said, giving Charley a facetious poke. ' Your marriage was one of them, young man. I thought it was Kill-it turns out it was Cure.'

For many days no memory of the past re turned to her, her existence was as the ex. istence of a new-born babe, spent alter, nately in taking food and sleep. Food ehe took with eager avidity after her long starvation and then sank back again into profound, refreshing slumber. • Let her sleep,' said the doctor, with a complacent nod; ' the more the better. It's Nature's way of repairing damages.' There came a day at lose when thought and recollection began to struggle backwhen she had strength to lie awake and think. Mere than onc*e Trix caught the dark eyes fixed in silent wistfulness upon her—a question in them her lips would not ask. Bub Miss Stuart guessed it, and one day spoke : ' What is it, Dithy ?' she said ; 'you look as if you wanted to say something, you know. , • , • How—how long have I been sick ?' was Edith's question. 'Nearly five weeks, and an awful life you've led us, I can well you ! Look at me vvorn to skin and bone. What do you suppose you will have to say for yourself when Angus comes V Edith smiled faintly, but her eyes still kept their wistful look. • I suppose I was delirious part of the time, Trixy ?' 'Stark, staring crazy—raving like a lunatic at full moon ! Bub you needn't look so concerned about ie—we've changed all that. You'll do now.' ' Yes,' she said with a sigh; ' you have all been very kind. I suppose it's only a fancy of the fever after all.'

• What V «I Trixy 1 don'b laugh afc me, bub I thought Charley was here.' ' Did you ?' responded Trix; ' the niO3t natural thing in life. Hβ is here.' Her eyes lighted—her lips parbed — a question trembled upon them, but she hesitated. • Go on,' said Miss Stuarb, enjoying it all; 'there's somebhing else on your mind. Speak up, Edie ! don't be ashamed of yourself.' • • I am afraid you will laugh this time, Trixy—l know it is only a droam, but I thought Charley and I were—' •Yes,' said Trixy ; 'were—what? , ' Married, then !' wibh a faint, little laugh. ' Don'b tell him, please, bub ib seems ■— ib seems so real, I had to tell you.' She turned her face away, and Trixy, wibli suspicious dimness in her eyes, stooped down and kissed that thin, wan face. • You poor little Dithy !' she said; 'you do like Charley, don't you ? no, ibs not a dream—you were married nearly a fortnight ago. The hope of my life is realised—you are my sister, and Charley's wife !' There was a little panting cry—then ehe covered her face with her hands and lay still. - m •Hβ is outside,' went on Trix; ' you don't) know what a good boy he has been— so patient—and all that. He deserves some .reward. I think if you had died be would have died too—Lord Lovel and Lady Nancy over again. Not that I much believe in broken hearte where men are concerned, either,'pursued Trix, growing cynical; 'bub this seems an exceptional case. JB e'e awfully fond of you, Dithy; 'pon my word he is. I only hope Angus may go off in a dead faint,the first time I'm sick and get better, as he did the other day. We haven't let him in much lately, for fear of agitating you, but I think, , says Trixy, with twinkling eyes,' you could stand it now—couldn't you, Mrs Stuart V She did nob wait for a reply—she went out and hunted up Charley. He was smoking downstairs, and trying to read the morning paper. . • Your wife wants you,' said Miss Stuart brusquely ; 'go ! only mind this—don'b etay too and don't talk too much.' Hesbarted to his feet—away went 'Tribane' and cigar, and up the stairs sprang Charley—half a dozen at a time. And then Miss Stuart sits down, throws her handkerchief over her face, and for the next five minutes indulges in the exclusively feminine luxury of a real good cry.

After that Mrs Charles Sfcuarfc'a re

covery was perfectly magical in its rapidity. Youth and splendid vitality, no doubt, had something to do with it, but I think the fact that she was Mrs Charles Stuarb had more fco do still.

There came a day when, propped up with pillows, she could sit erect and talk, and be talked to as much as she chose, when bliads were pulled up, and sunshine poured in ; and no sunshine that ever shono was half so bright as her happy face. There came still another day, when robed in a pretty pink morning dress, Charley lifted her in his arms and carried her to the arm-chair by the window, whence ehe could look down on the bright, busy city street, whilst he sat at her fceb and balked. Talked ! who is to tell of what? ' Two souls with but a single thought —two hearts that beat as one, , generally find enough to say for themselves, I notice, and require the aid of no outsiders. And there came still another day—a fortnight after, when looking pale and sweet, in a dark-grey travelling suit and hat, Mrs Charles Stuart, leaning on her husband's arm, said good-bye bo her friends, and started on her bridal tour. They were to spend the next three weeks South, and then return for Trixy's wedding at Christmas.

Christmas came ; merry ChriHtmas*Bparkling with snow and sunshine, as Christmas ever should sparkle, and bringing that gallant ex-officer of Scotch Greys, Captain Angus Hammond—captain no longerplain Mr Hammond, done with drilling and duty, and getting the route forever, going in for quiet, country life in bonnie Scotland, with Miss Beatrix Stuart for aider and abettor.

Charley and his wife came to New York for the wedding-. They had told Mr Hammond how ill Edith had been, but the young Scotchman, as he pulled his ginger whiskers and stared in her radiant, blooming face, found it difficult indeed to realise. Sho had been a pretty girl—a handsome woman—happiness had made her more — she was lovely now. For Charley—outwardly all his easy insouciance had returned—he submitted to bo idolised and made much of by his wife, after the fashion of lordly man. But you had only to see him look once into her beautiful, laughing face, to know how passionately she was beloved. Mr and Mrs Angus Hammond had a splendid wedding; and to say our Trixy looked charming would be doing her no sorb of justice. And again Miss Seton was first bridesmaid, and Mrs Stuart in lavender silk, smiled behind a fifty dollar pocket ! handkerchief, as in duty bound. They departed immediately after the ceremony for Scotland, and a Continental tour—thut very tour which, as you know, Trixy was cheated bo cruelly out of three years before.

Mr and Mrs Stuart went back South to finish the winter and the honeymoon among the glades of Florida, and ' do, , as Charley said, ' Love among the Roses.' Mr Dnrell returned to Sandypoinfc. Mrs Stuart, senior, took up her abode with Nellie Si'ton, pending such time as her children should get over the first delirium of matrimonial bliss and settle quietly down to housekeeping. After that it was fixed thab she was to divide her time equally between thorn, six months with each. Charley and his wife would make England their homo; Edith's ample fortune lay there, and both loved the fair old land.

In May they sailed for England. Thoy would spend the whole of the summer in Continental travelling—the p!ea?anb iamb ling life suite:! them well. Bub they went clown to Cheshire first; and one soft May afternoon stood eido by side in the old Gothicchurch where the Catherons for generations had been buried. The mellow light came softly through the painted windows— up in the organ loft, a young girl eat playing to herself soft, sweet, solemn melodies. And both hearts bowed down in tender sadness as they stood before one tomb, the last erected within those walls, that of Sir Victor Catheron. Edith pulled her veil over her face—the only tears that had filled hor oyea since her second wedding-day falling quietly now. There were many remembrances of tb# dead man. A beautiful memorial window, a sombre hatchment, and a monument of snow-white marble. It was very simple —it represented only a broken shaft, and beneath in gold letters this inscription : Sacred to the Memory ok SIR VICTOR CATHERON, of Catheron Royals, Bart. Died Oct. 3, 1867, in the 24th year of his age, * His sun set while it was yet day.' [The End.]

Do not be "a penny wise and a pound foolish," bub ask for and buy Brown, Barrett, and Co.'s gonuine pepper, it is cleaner and cheaper than the adulterated stuff sold as pepper. To make sure of getting our manufacture, ask for tins. Every tin bears ourguarant.ee. —Brown, Barrett, and Co., Coffee and Spice Manufacturers.— Advt.)