JOHN WINTHROP'S DEFEAT.

Auckland Star, Volume XXII, Issue 250, 21 October 1891, Page 7

JOHN WINTHROP'S DEFEAT.

Bγ JEAN KATE LUDLUM. • Aubhor of ' Under a Cloud,' • Under Oathj» \ «At a Girl's Mercy,' 'Thab Girl of Johnson's,' 'Called, , Ebc, Etc.

CHAPTER X.

'and after. .

*ThE light of life, dying from Harold Graham's face as the lilac sunset) faded from the heavens, left upon the face of his wife the leaden pallor that is worse than death. For a half-hour she remained kneeling beside the bed, unable to believe that never any more would her husband's voice or smile stir her heart; never any more would his eyes seek hers for comfort ; never any more would ho reach outs weary arms to comfort her. Never any more! Her face, like marble, resbing beside that other face, that a few minutes ago was alive and brave for her, and now was fast falling into peaceful lines after the lasb struggle for breath, was immovable, as though that, too, had been touched by the Death Angel, save that life's bitterness etirred the soul's Marah waters to the dregs. Her eyes were wide and strained, and her lips apart, as though she were holding her breabh to watch for an awakening in the quieb face before heri One arm still lay about him, and one hand held resolutely his cold fingers.

She was not disturbed by anyone, for who outside that room could know that death had come in unto her, although they knew that death was close at hand ; and the silence of the room lay like a burden upon the heart throbbing passionately with grief and love and loneliness in the kneeling woman's breast, until she could no longer endure the heavy repression and rose to her feet, fighting back her tears, crushing down any cry, shutting proudly and patiently the sweet, grieved lips. She bent above her husband, standing at the bedside, and searched the still face. With one trembling, tender band she brushed back the black hair from hie forehead, still holding her breath as though she could not believe that he were dead.

' Harold !' she said steadily, scarcely above a whisper. * Harold, deareet !' Bub he did. not answer—she knew now that he could not answer—and all the pantup sorrow and pain were for one instant concentrated in her face, her self-command gone, a bitter cry upon her lips as she clasped her hands convulsively, drawing herself away from him. 'Then,' she cried, sobbingly, though there were no tears in the lifted eyes, ' bear witness for me that ifc is John Winbhrop, in his pride and arrogance, has brought this sorrow upon me!' Then, with a swifb, bitter gesture of the hands, as though she would sweep away this weakness, and begin her lonely life with the old proud silence, she turned away eteadily her face, calm and cold, and passed out ab the door, the folds of her gown trailing about her, the flowers ab her belt crushed and falling like her hopes. Perfectly self-contained, perfectly calm, steady of voice and manner as she rejoined her waiting friends in the rooms below—no tears upon her lashes, no grief upon her face. * She does nob care !' _whispered some among her friends, eyeing her askance. * Perhaps it is true that her husband did not make her so happy as he ehould.' But the physicians, wiser in their science than her frieuds in their love, said that this calm was worse than a storm of tears, and unless she were roused, she, too, would die. Some days previously the physicians warned her friends to notify her relations in the Easb of tho approaching sorrow that would fall upon her, and bo urge them, if possible, to come at once to her. Following this advice, a message was senb, ebarbling them indeed, for Alecia had nob mentioned h&r husband's illness—with her usual thoughtfulness of them—lest it cause them unhappinesa to learn that other grief had come.

But Alecia, moving quietly among her friends, knew nothing of this message, and her heart was heavy with longing for some dear homo face and voice and touch. For how could she know that a westwardspeeding train was bringing to her two from home ? Her mother and Beatrice ! All home faces were very dear, but these two from among them holding warmest place in her heart. And when preparations were completed for conveying the body home, and the widow, in her heavy crape—Htill more a woman of marble by contrast—showed no sign of softness or grief, then into the midsb of the friends gathered for farewell came these two dear faces ; and Alecia, with sudden revulsion of feeling, was sobbing in her mother's arms ; and Beatrice, mourning above her sister, would not be comforted in the tenderness and warmth of her j'oung heart. ' Poor little 'Lecia ! Poor little 'Lecia !' she kept sobbing. But the mother said no word. Her hearts went out to the sad heart of her daughter— both widows—and what could words utter more than the loving arms and tender silent caresses 1

So they took her home—a sad homecoming—and every tenderness bhab love could devise was gabhered around the woman who had made sunshine for so many thab in her time of need was reflected back upon her; and the days dragged by, and never any hour the less or moro because of her grief; never the shadow of turning of one star or one sun because her life was darkened ; never one instant's pause in bhe world aboub her because love lay dead in her heart.

Infinitely tender to her, comprehensive of look or word ; shielding her, petting her, loving her—how could she fail to respond ■with gentleness and renewed bravery of spirits? The weighb of misfortune and heavy care did not crush her from life as it had the proud spirit of her husband ; but she was very weary and weak, and unable to lift her life as brightly as of old for many long days. But she fought that, too, as Bhe fought anything that could darken the happiness of others ; and by-and-by, a3 is life's way of healing open wounda that as first bleed so bitterly, relief came to her ; a tender patience; a loyal faith. Not for many a long day indeed —nob for weeks and months, but time and lb?e are merciful, or there could be neither time nor love for any wounded heard. • We will go to Europe/ said Mrs Field, one day } as they sat in converaation in the breakfast room, when the service was removed and they were alone. ' fthe girls are not satisfied with their trip last fall, and it will be excellent for you, Alecia, dear. Wo can remain away as long as you desire and take in the Bast. i r ou need utter change, my dear/

Alecia smiled

'Tuscany,' said Marion kindly, a new light in her eyen, for Marlon loved the cuteido world better than home quiet—'Tuscany will rest you, Alecia, and bring back the'old colour in your cheeks. Where else IE there such light or colour or beauty ? ? 'As though you could judge of that! eaid Cora, with a flash of her black eyes. 'I think if Alecia desires real change and brightness she will bo much more certain of it in Paris—' ' Paris!' replied Marion, in her calm, superior way, Ms no olace for one to regain colour or quiet, Cora". I know Alecia bettdr than to mention such a place. If you are

going for the express purpose of showing your bright eyes and making captive slaves, you had much better remain at home, my coquette!'. 'lam not a coquette!' protested Cora, with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. ' Bub if you expect me to be very calm and horribly dignified—like yourself, Marion Field—l can't be! It is too good to be happy—' She checked her thoughtless speech selfreproachfully, as she caught the dull hue of her sister's mourning, the flush deepening uncomfortably in her cheeks, her lips quivering as she asking pardon for her unintentional wounding. But Alecia smiled kindly upon her, no thought of reproach in her heart. ' I think that Paris suits little Corienne admirably,' she said. Corienne was their pet name for the girl. • And Maid Marion in her blonde beauty suits well the Tuscan sunsets. If we are bo travel ab our &weet will, mamma, why nob gratify all the girls ? I shall be glad to go for a year or two. I believed myself braver than I have proved. I long to run away as far from the old memories—oh, as far as ever the world could bake me ! AD sence * perhaps, will give me strength.' ' Dear libtle 'Lecia !' murmured Beatrice, her hand surreptitiously patting her sieter's hand. 'Just as though the dear thing could be anything but brave. ' 'But I am not brave, Bee,'Alecia said, steadily, softening her words with a smile. ' You do nob know how really hard and wicked lam sometimes. I cannob see that all is best —always—when so much i 3 difficult. I think that Harold kept me from this harshness of judgment by his kindness to all, but now that I have to judge for myself, I place him in the balance, and I cannot see justly.'

No tears in her eyes or voice ; no mournful note along any word; nothing bub sweetness and tenderness. She did nob shut out her husband's name from conversation, as some let fail silence over a loved one dead ; she kept his memory fresh and true and sweet in the hearts of all; a friend dear, and gone away for a time, bub nob lOit.

• Like Justice with a bandage over her eyes, 1 said Beatrice, tenderly. ' Such sweet eyes, Alecia.' ' And still it isn't settled,' said Marion, remindingly. Marion did not court sympathy, and shunned manifestation of it in others. ' Where are we to go, mamma ?' ' We will go to Tuscany, ' said Mrs Field, quietly, ' for the summer, and any other place you girls desire. Then, for the winter, we will go to Paris. After that wei will turn eastward and take in Egypt and the Nile and the old cities. When the two years have passed I think wo will all be rather glad to see the old home.' j '" There's no place like home.'" hummed Beatrice, lightly. 'Even among the " pleasures and palaces" of Paris, Corienne.' 'And as tho Etruria sails in two weeks let us go in her, , said Frances, 'if we can get ready. , 'Of course we can get ready, , said Cora, gayly, delighted at the prospect of a winter in the gay French city. ' I would be ready I to start to-morrow if I could.' ' And mourn for the remainder of the time because of the dresses you had forgotten,' said Beatrice, contemptuously, ' and your perfumes and laces.' ' You forget that there must be time for sleep,' retorted Cora, not to be ruffled by their badinage, her heart too gay. ' I'd have to sleep sometimes, saucy May Bee, for even June roses need sleep the entire winter to be sweet in spring.' • Even if " the rose by any other name would smell as sweet,"' echoed Gregory Bensonhursb, regarding them quizzically in the doorway. ' 1 beg your pardon, Mrs Field, bub your footman told me thab I would find you here, and I had no intention of eavesdropping. And here's Dillingham, too, if it is early for calling '. Mayn't we please come right in here—you look so homelike ! And why, if I may inquire, was Miss Cora putting the roses to sleep as we came in ?' •So you are going away,' he said, by-and-by, when he and Dillingham were made to understand oub of a babel of chatter and bewildering eyes and pretty morninggowns. ' And for two years ! Whab a programme you have laid out ! Enough to make a have-to-stay-at-home fellow like me green with envy. It is delightful of course —for you—but'we will sadly miss you. , Doubtless he was sincere in bhis inclusive speech, bub ib was perhaps only chance that his eyes should rest specially upon Beatrice in uttering the last words of regret; and it was, of course, bub chance thab Beatrice's bright face should grow rosier and shyer under his eyes. • Oh, but then you know ifc is only for two years, Mr Bensonhursb—l could wish it were for ben,' cried Cora, vivaciously. 'I wish I might live in Paris for ever —I love ib so !' 'Ib suits you, Miss Field,' said Harry Dillingbam, smiling. 'Itis an appropriate setting for a jewel. I, too, am fond of Paris, but in bhe long run givo me old New York.' ' Yes, , said Frances, brightening into new beauty from her reserve. ' I am too patriotic to love Paris or Tuscany, or anywhere better than America. But,' her voice was more quiet now, for all eyes were upon her, and Frances seldom showed her real self to many, 'if there is any place across the ocean almost as near my heart as homo, ib 13 Scotland, with her lakes and hills and warm hearts. The clane, you know, sound so strong and friendly. I shall insisb upon going there, mamma, if I have any choice.' ' Of course you will have choice, Miss Frances,' said Dillingbam, with comical earnestness. 'It is only fellows like Bensonhurst and I who have no choice ! One mighb find ib in one's hearb to wish there were no choice bub for you bo remain at home, if it were not too unkind. One should wish one's friends ion voyage, and nob regrots !' 'And you are glad to go as well as they,' said Gregory Bensonhurst, standing apart from the others with Beatrice, ab one of the long windows, where the lace draperies fell between them and the outer room, the inner curtains of yellow silk a vivid background for the girl's face with its eloquent lifted hazel eyes. 'Ib will be pleasant for you, Miss Beatrice. Only,' his voice was very winning, ' you are not to forget old friends for nevr. Promise me that!'

•A promise easily given and easily kept, Mr Bensonhurst,' she answered, lightly. He should not be allowed to guess that she cared more than the others. ' One nevor forgets old faces if they are faces of friends. One's memory should .be a pleasant storehouse of good things fio fall back upon when there is need. Who said that? Some one, I am sure, for it nevor originated with me. I'm not a bib wise you know.' Silence for a moment save for'the light conversation and laughter of those within the room.

• I understand that Harold's old enemy goes abroad to-morrow with his mother,' said Gregory, the-.), in an undortoae, slowly as though it were aa unpleasant) duty. ' I thoughb it best for "you to know, Miss Beatrice. It weuld not be wise for Mrs Graham to meet him, with her husband's loss so recently upon her mind. She blames John Winthrop for that, you know, as we all do more or less, though I believe ho thought himself right. Ah first when I learned of your going, I must confess my regret. However, of course, it is only one of fate's happenings, and you may not meet.' The girl's head was lifted haughtily in the full light of the window; her eyes were black as midnight with emotion ; her red lips curled with ineffable scorn. One white 'land was lyinsr lightly upon the

window ledge; with the "other she held back the lace and silk draperies. Both were clenched.

'Fate is sometimes kind, Mr Bensonhurst, , she said, ' and if ever John Vt inthrop is placed in my path, so thab I can wound him, be assured thab I shall not forgeb what Alecia has suffered through him. Remember that, and you need not fear for her.'

{To he Continued.)