MAGDALEN'S FORTUNES.

Auckland Star, Volume XXII, Issue 23, 28 January 1891, Page 6

MAGDALEN'S FORTUNES.

BY W. HEI M BURG, Author of "Gertrude's Marriage," "Two Daughters of OneKace," "Lora,"etc.

CHAPTER XVlL—(Continued).

I went to bed in a bitter, defiant mood, mortified to the depths of my soul. Feverish and with an aching head, I lay under the old canopy, and gazed out into the darkness; the blood coursed fiercely through my veins, and I clasped my hands tight together. I thought of the time when I first came here, of how I had lain in this bed for the first time, and a dear old face had bent over me to give me a good-night kiss. came back tojme —Charlotte's sweet friendliness and his kindness, the dear, lovely Abbey garden—and now the time was not iar distant when I must leave all this ! Oh, I knew that Aunt Edith would be sorry when I went away, and Charlotte would cry, and Gerard—? I thought I could hear his voice saying, ' You are a little goose, Magda ; you will stay—' But then my heart would cry oub : ' I will not have pity where I looked for something better ; 1 cannot ebay here, because I thought you loved me, Gerard ! I cannot see you with her—with Melanie, who is a thousand times better and worthier of you than I ! I should die if I did.'

But my lips must remain closed, and I should go out of this house a perverse defiant, ungrateful, nob worthy that auyone should stretch out a hand to hold her back. No, ifc waa better that I should go before he came back, and before I saw Charlotte

again. Oh, now I understand it all—Aunt Edith and Charlotte and thab poor sick woman over there had all suffered for love ; mow I could understand the deep bitterness of Gerard's mother, and why she could not bear to see the woman who was happier in her love than she. Was nob Charlotte to be envied in comparison with me ?

I did nob iall asleep til nearly morning, and then I was goon awakened by a sound in Aunb Edith's bedroom. I felt oppressed by a great weight, but I could not at first remember what it wae ; then all at once it rushed over me, and with it all the bitterness I had endured before.

I sat up in bed and pushed nay hair off my foreheadwhen Aunt Edith's pale, worn faco looked in at the door.

' Now, Magda, I shall have to scold you,' she said seriously. ' You have nob even led the cats, the poor creatures are perfectly ravenous. What have you been thinking about, child ?' As she spoke she had como up to the bed and looked at me. ' Aro you ill V she asked, quite startled as the touched my burning hand. I shook my head. ' Oh, no, I am quite well, auntie ;' but as I spoko I felt a leaden w eight in all my limbs, and I seemed to have no desire to move. *

' Things are going very badly over there, Magdaleu,' said Au«t Edith, still looking ab me anxiously. ' I only came home to put on a more comfortable dress. . I have nob slept ab all to-night. She was talking and crying tor hours. Tine and Sister Agnes can hardly hold her in her bed, she is always insisting on going to ltobert.' '

Aunb Edith wiped a few great tears from her eyes. 'God grant that you do not get ill too, my darling. If her strength will only hold out till Gerard comes ; we telegraphed at daylight.' ' Tolegraphed ! Is Gerard coming?' I cried, springing out of bed as if electrified.

• Magda, Magda, you are ill,' declared Aunb Edith, helping me to put on my clothes. ' No, no, auntip ! When can he get here ?' • The day after to-moriow in the evening child. , - ' The-day after to-morrow V I breathed more freely;' 'lam quite well, auntie,'l assured the old lady, * don't disturb yourself. Go back, and I will come over now and then, and ask how she is. . She went. I sat thinking in my room. Minka came creeping up to me, looked at mo, mewing and rubbing herself against my dress. She did not bear malice because 1 had let her go hungry. A few poor women came and got their weekly dole. One of them gave a sidelong glance at me and said: ' You are fretting about the gracious Frau—perhaps she may get well yet; only yesterday I heard the lookingglass had fallen from the nail. . And the other agreed with a nod.

' Yes, and oub in the open courb the death cock crowed awfully,—it was so with the gracious Herr too. Thank you, Frauloin, and I hope she'll get well.

I remember everything that took place in those days, even this little scene.

At noon I went over to the villa, but by a roundabout way. 1 went paab the farmhouses and through the village. For one moment T stopped at the post box, then the fatal letter slipped in. I had not pub my address inside, but that of Christiana. I should not be here when the answer came.

As T walked up the avenue which led direct to the villa, I saw two horses being led about on the gravel. One carried a lady's saddle, and the little groom who had them was casting &hy glances up afc the windows of the upper storey.

I felt a hidden, pang at the thought that; Melanie yon Stelten was here to inquire for Gerard's mother—her Gerard—and as I came out from under the trees, she came slowly across the lawn with Ferra, arm in arm.

Ferra's golden head was drooping, end Melanie seemed to be cheering her up ; the green voil of her hat fluttered gaily against the delicate face that looked as rosy as an apple blossom to-day.

' Don't lose your courage, dearest Ferra, , she was saying in her clear voice. ' God can save her even at the last moment. .

I pursued my way along the other side of the circular driveway, and reached the house without being perceived.

To my question, ' How is she ?' the reply was ' In a very critical condition.'

I went away again, for what could I do here ? But I went out through the opposite door. Here stood the orange-trees in summer, at the foot of the broad steps about the little marble basin, and Charlotte's windows looked out on this side. From them the eye swept far over the trees of the park, to the mountains beyond, in the lap of which Folkerode forest-house lay.

I stood still. What would become of those two ? How would they continue to live with that constant longing for each other in their hearts? But at least they knew that they were loved—they had read it in each other's eyes, and had heard it from their lips—but 1 1 1 Are you so lost in thought, Fraulein yon Demphoff V asked a clear voice beside me. I started up ; there she stood, that charming girl, and looked at me so kindly. ' Did you know that they had just received an answer from your cousin? He expects to be here to-morrow evening—it is very soon. TTerra has just carried up the telegram to show it to Frau Berka. Thank God he is coming, for I am sure Ferru would have quite lost her head if the woret had happened.'

She looked cad as she spoke and her eyes were full of tears. ' I had a great respect for her poor thing,' ehe said, ' stern and harsh as she was, and repellent to all who tried to approach her, yet her real goodness of heart always shone through, after all; she had the same true, honest character as Gerard Demphoff.

• Yes, Gerard is very good, , I assented in a low voice.

She smiled. ' Only good V she repeated. 'He is more than that, Fraulein yon Dempholf, a thousand times more ; I have known him ever since I can remember. He i 8 a man in a thousand, uprighb, honourable, a true nobleman, and so tender and gentle withal —if you had only seen him with Charlotte in Italy !' « Oh, I know it, Fraulein yon Stelten,' I interrupted. 'No one has more reason to praise his goodness than my little brother and myself.' The young lady looked at me with a strange shyness, for I had spoken in a tone that surprised her. She made no reply, bub only flicked a sbone off the granite steps with her riding whip. 'Aren'b you glad thab Charlotte is coming ?' she inquired. ' Oh, of course ; if only the cause were a little less sad. lam so" sorry tor her—how anxious she musb be !'

' There is a heavy weight hanging over Wendhueen,' said Melanie yon Sbelten. • There has been no joy in this house for many a long year. Oh, I have known all about it! First, the death of the old Herr, then Gerard's long, long illness, Ferras unhappy marriage with Riedingen and his sudden death, the horrible tragedy with Joachim'—great tears were now streaming from the brown eyea—' and now the mother may die at any moment.' She sat down on one of the great slabs of stone at the foob of the staircase, which id summer support bhe greab pots-of-orange and pomegranate trees, and her delicate nostrils quivered with suppressed grief. • She loves him !' 1 said to myself, and I went past her down the steps. My heart ached so that I felt I musb be alone. At bhe turn of the road I looked round ; Bhe was sitting there looking after me, and she looked indescribably charming with her lovely head half burned. ' She cannot help • Fie, Magda ! how horrid you are, , I said to myself, and I went back to her.

♦ Pardon me, Fraulein yon Stelten ; I was rude and forgot to say good-by. , 'Good-by, Fraulein Magdalen. Ib is only natural that at such a time you should forget every-day matters. I must go home too, but I shall como again this evening, it is so near.' But I did not go home ; I only walked farther ana farther on into the park. It was a spring day, so warm and sunny, so blue and cloudless thao one would expect all the buds of the trees to open afc once and spread themselves over the torest like a green veil. High up in the blue sky a bird of prey was flying higher and higher in his circling flight, so that at last he was a mere speck in the sky,— ' O falcon flying over Far in the distance dim.' sounded in my ear—Charlotte's song ! She was still happy when she sang that. And her happiness had fled away like the falcon ; ib would have nothing to do with Wendhusen and the people who lived there. The grass plots were a vivid green, and under the trees all manner of gay plants were growing, sorrel, anemones, and the white blossoms of the wild snowdrops with their golden-yellow tips. How . wonderful a spring must be here ! I wondered whothor. George would come sometimes when I was away ?, Oh, I was sure of it. I would write and ask Gerard; he was so kind, But how could I get away before he came back to-morrow ox next day 1 I would go to Chrietiane. I had money enough for that in my trunk ; but how should I get to the station all that long way ? Gofctlieb ? He should drive me there—perhaps he would do it—l would ask him, I could invent something ; that George is ill or something. ' God forbid !' I cried out, recalling my sinful lie ;. no, I did not know what I would do now, but some way I must find to get away. Irom here at any price. { To be Continued.)