HER MARTYRDOM.

Auckland Star, Volume XXVIII, Issue 211, 11 September 1897, Page 6

HER MARTYRDOM.

BY" BERTHA M. CLAY.

Author of "Beyond Pardon," "The Duke's Secret," "A True Magdalen," "Dora Thorne," etc., etc.

CHAPTER XXYITI.

From that, time the shadow deep^ ened and the breach between husband and wife widened. The captain avoided his wife, for her pale, sad face was a reproach to him, and he knew well that his whole conduct was indefensible. Day by day the coldness increased; but it did not interfere with the captains enjoyment. lie called at Lady KinlochY'as often as he thought prudent, and lie troubled himself about his wife just as little as pos-

sible. The old "'loom and melancholy returned to the unhappy woman, who, do as she would, could, not tear her heart from the man she loved—could not love him less, although she knew that he was unworthy of her. Then there, came a new phase in her martyrdom, one that, was most painful, when her heart and soul rose in rebellion against the cruel fate that was hers, when she cried to Heaven and asked why such torture and punishment fell to her lot. There were hours when she would sit watching the sea. brooding- silent]y over her .sorrow, and then giving way to such bitter tears that Angela grew seriously alarmed. The unhappy and slighted wife had not felt this keen rebellion against her fate before; now she was keenly alive to it. .Mother and daughter were watKiim- one morning down the King's road, and they stopped before a shop with a number of pictures in it. Lady Laura's attention was riveted by one of them. The subject of it was the martyrdom of a young and beautiful woman. Underneath it was inscribed. "A Woman's Martyrdom. Her ladyship stood gazing at it with fixed attention. A woman, young and fair, with a veil of golden hair falling over her white neck and shoulders, lay fastened to the rack. Jn the backs-round were the dark walls of a prison-cell, and the white body of the woman stood out against them in bold relief. Two grim executioners stood ready to begin thenhateful task. Jll the corner halfbidden by the shadows, was a handsome man with a cruel, triumphant, evil face. It was not the fair limbs bound so tightly, it was not the cruel deep lines made by the rope or chain that drew Lady Laura's attention and kept it ; it was the expression of unutterable pain on the face, the agony in the upturned eyes. What her 'history could be who should know ? Why she was dying that terrible death none could tell. But it was plain to see that before the physical pain of her martyrdom had begun her heart was broken. Her ladyship seemed fascinated by the picture. "Angela," she said, in a low voice, "I should like to buy that. I must have it for my own."

"it is a melancholy picture, mamma." returned Angela, who knew by instinct what her mother thought and felt. -I must hare it my dear," she declared. "'A Woman's Martyrdom ! ' Angel, I have been thinking that, despite their smiling faces, most women are martyrs in one way or another. Some live and move with a dagger in their heart, others with a sword suspended over their head : but I live! as the woman in the picture, fastened to the rack. That woman's martyrdom is more merciful than mine. When her executioners apply that instrument she will cease to feel any pain ; and the ropes that fasten her delicate body are not so terrible as the weight that drags at my heart. She will die quickly ; but I innst live on while suffering torture. Angel, is every woman's life a martyrdom. ?" ""No, mamma,'"- she answered, gently. "Think how happy you were when mv father was alive. Thinkhow happy and beloved you would be if he were living now." "I must have the picture, Angel, repeated Lady Laura. "My dear, I ■am the woman fastened to the rack ; and there is one who sees all my pain and smiles over it. But in the picture of my martyrdom it should be Gladys Bane who stands by the rack ready to apply the instrument !" "Oh, hush, mamma ! I cannot bear to hear yon say such things ; it breaks my heart. Do let me persuade you not to buy the picture. It will fill your mind with, melancholy thoughts whenever you look at

"No," she said, dreamily ; "it will he to me a realisation of my life and death. I must buy it, Angela; and it shall hang in my own room.' When tlie captain first saw the painting, he. examined it with unusual interest and curiosity. "'A Woman's Martyrdom!'" he said, when he had finished his inspection. "What a gloomy, terrible picture. Laura !"' "That is how women were, tortured in olden days," she remarked, m answer to his observation. "It is managed differently now." "What do you mean '?" he asked. "It is the 'heart that is racked and tortured now, not the body," she answered. "The best part of a woman is killed, the worst lives on— yet no one heeds or cares." " "If I were you, I should send that tiling away," he said, ignoring her words. "It gives me the horrors to look at it."

"I am not surprised to hear you say so ; but I shall not remove my picture," declared her ladyship dcci-

sively. For a few days after that the caplain did not seem so careless or so light-hearted. "'A Woman's Martyrdom!'" he repeated to himself over and over again. It was not quite pleasant for him, reckless as he was, to know that his wife regarded herself as a martyr; but he tried lo convince, himself that her martyrdom

existed only in her imagination, and reasoned that fair-haired, fair-faced women seldom had much depth of feeling. He could not attend to all the wants and whims of: his wife, and he- felt that she ought to be well content. Still the matter weighed so much upon his mind that he spoke to Gladys about it.

"You see," he said, "I do not believe in sentiment—in fact, I hate it—but this makes me feel uncomfortable."

They were together on the new pier, the captain having met Miss Rane quite by accident. They stood by the rail, nothing before them but the wide, open expanse of sea. Gladys looked at him thoughtfully.

"There are so many forms of martyrdom," she observed quietly. "If it is a question of real suffering. I think my pain is greater than Lady Laura's. She has you; T am alone."

Tlie thought of his wife's suffering had not occasioned Vance Wynj'ard a moment's regret; but at the thought of Gladys' pain his heart ached.

"Does your wife ready love you?" asked Gladys —"love you with all her heart?" "I believe she does." he replied. "I am sorry for her, then," said Miss Kane. But with his words there crept into her heart a deeper jealousy of the fair-haired woman who had the only claim to his love. One morning, when the band was playing and the pier was unusually crowded. Captain Wynyard escorted his wife and step-daughter to the pier-head.. Having found seats for them, he proceeded to move about among- the crowd. Whilst thus wandering aimlessly his attention was attracted by the conversation of two gentlemen standing near him, one of whom uttered his wife's name. "Lady Laura Wynyard —the one with the golden hair. All the town is talking of her beauty." "She was a widow, was she not, when the captain married her?" asked his friend. "Yes. she was a widow with one daughter—that lovely young girl who is sitting near her. Lady Laura looks very delicate. 1 have heard strange things about her." "What have you heard?"

"Why ,that the captain—l do not know ' him—do you?—married her solely for her money .while he was deeply in love with Miss Bane."

Do you believe it?

"What 1 have heard of the captain is not. much in his favour, and I should say that he was quite capable of that, and worse. If anything were to happen to Lady Laura.rumour says he would not lose much time in making Miss Rane his wife."

"That is true," said the captain to himself, with a grim smile. "None, the less. I should like to send the fellow over the pier-head for saying so."

"Nothing but the lives of those two delicate women stands between Captain. Wynyard and that enormous fortune," one of the speakers remarked presently; and from that moment the world was never the same again to Captain Wynyard.

The sound of voices, the sweet music, the Wash of the sea round the pier died away: he heard them no more. But the words "Nothing but the lives of those two delicate women stands between Captain Wynyard and that enormous fortune," rang in his ears, to the exclusion of every other sound.

"What is in them?" he asked himself sharply. Nothing. He had always known that fact. lint it was not at all likely that two women, both young, would die to oblige him. Then the band played the gay "Sweethearts Waltz," and' before it ended, he was saying to himself that, even if his wife died, he would be no nearer the fortune while Angela lived. But, if Angela died first .and his wife followed, the money must be his. and he could marry Gladys Bane. It was absurd, however, to think of such a thing ever happening. True, his wife .was delicate: she did not look strong; but Angela might, and probably would, live fifty years. And, with these thoughts running- through his mind. Captain Wynyard escorted the ladies home.

(To be continued.)