HER MARTYRDOM

Auckland Star, Volume XXVIII, Issue 214, 15 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 XXXI.

"Miss Rooclen wants to see me ? Raid Captain Wynyard doubtfully, as Angela's maid delivered her message. "Are you quite sure that tliere is no mistake ?" "Quite sure, sir," replied Jean. "Miss Rooden told me to see you before you went out, and ask if she could see you." "Certainly," said the captain, who never failed in courtesy to those about him; "tell Miss Rooden I am quite at her seviee." A few minutes later Angela, in all the grace of her girlish beauty, entered the room. The captain was a stranger to fear, but he winced before the reproachiul eyes of this younggirl* "You want to see me. Angela ? he saio -somewhat nervously. "Yes," she replied gravely. "I will not detain you long." He did not ask her to sit down, for Bhe walked to the window and stood there, he following and taking a position by her side. He could better have borne twenty histerical reproaches from his wife than the glance of his step-daughter's pure indignant eyes. "Captain Wynyard," she began, in a clear, low voice, "you are my mother's husband, and I do not wish to say anything that is disrespectful; but I cannot endure to see my mother suffer as she does without doing something to help her. Do you remember the promise you made me on the unhappy day when you married my mother ?" "I made so many promises on that day," he replied, trying to speak lightly, "that I may be excused for forgetting one." "I will remind you of it then," she said. "You promised me on that morning that you would make my mother happy, and you have not kept your word." There was a straightforward simplicity about her which he found very awkward to evade. "My dear Angela," he said, with just a trace of annoyance in his manner, "your interest in me is most charming; I am grateful to you. But do you not think it would be better that these little matters should be discussed between your mother and myself ?" "No, I do not," she replied, and her courage in speaking compelled him to listen. "My mother in not strong, and she is so sensitive that what -would not affect another woman is keen pain to her." "I know it," he said; "but I am not to blame for your mother's peculiar temperament." "No; still, knowing it, one would have expected you to treat her with all the more kindness and consideration. Finding that you do not do so, and that yon avail yourself of her great sensitiveness to wound her, I have decided to speak for her. Do you know," she continued indignantly, "that my mother is so changed, so ill, so miserable that her very life is in danger ?" Could she be mistaken. Was it a flash of light she saw in his eyes, an expression of relief that she noted in his face, a something that came quickly and went quickly, and was rather gladness than pain ? A pang ■went to her heart as she noticed it

"If it were not," she went on, "that my mother's death would be your ruin, I do not believe that you would deplore it." "That is another question," he interrupted, carelessly. "We are not discussing that now." And, as the captain spoke, he thought to himself, "What a good thing it is she knows nothing about -he w'll !" "I told you," continued Angela, "before you married my mother, that you did not love her, that you cared only for her money. All the love that you could spare from j'ourself you gave to Miss Rane. I told my toother so, and I tried my best to save her; but she did not believe me. What has happened since your marriage proves that I was right. But it is too late for my mother to help herself; I must help her." She spoke very gently; but there was a ring of pain in her voice which was more embarrassing to him than j would have been a passionate out- ' Jmrst of anger. "I wish with all my heart that my dear mother had been saved from BUch a disastrous fate," she went on, her voice gaining strength as she proceeded. " You married my mother for her money, and you know best how she has lavished it on you. You have all you desire; why, therefore, can you not be kind to her ? Why not—poor mother '.—have let her live on in her delusion as to your being great and good ? She worshipped you, and thought you a hero. You are but a very commonplace man." Her tone amazed and irritated him. He might be admired by others, but this girl's quiet contempt was most apparent. "You might have let my mother live on in her delusion," pursued Angela, steadily, "seeing how happy it made her. You have roused her from it very rudely and very cruelly." "That is your opinion," interrupted the captain. "You must remember I was unprepared to find your mother both jealous and suspicious." "It is not becoming of you to Speak to me of my mother's faults," retorted Angela. "It is absolutely necessary if. those faults exist, and cause the greater part of the unpleasantness that lies between us." "That is not true," said Angela "My mother is one of the sweetest and gentlest of women. You have broken your word and broken her heart. You promised to make her happy, and you have not done so, or even tried. You must see for yourself that my mother's life is a daily martyrdom;" and it is time that h/jr jnisery was ended. You know why it is unpleasant for my mother to jremain in Brighton; and I wish to 63y that I have persuaded her to return with me to Rood." "Just as you will," he said, cacre-l*&-ac"l\" r # "There," remarked Angela, "my

pEARS^__SOAPWHAT ONE. OUGHT TO KNOW. Ruffe* i. SB* re,r,s",'s pEARS^SOAP' A GOO 0 CHARACTER.

mother will not be made miserable. She will not have obtruded on her notice every hour of the day that which makes her most unhappy. I shall take her away."

"You are a very determined younglady," he said. "Is your mother willing to go '.'"' . "You cannot doubt her willingness to leave a place where .your chief effort is to make her miserable," answered tlu girl, bitterly. "I. have no more to say, Captain Wynyard. You have failed to make my mother happy. I will take care of her myself for the future, and you can go the wav that seems best to you."

He looked at her in wonder. She seemed to have suddenly grown older, and her fair young face was full of calm courage and high resolve. He felt abashed and uueasy before her.

"I know," she continued, "that it. is useless to make an appeal to you. You did not love my mother when you married her; you are not likely to love her now. ft is of no use appealing to your honour, and asking you to leave Brighton—to leave the society that my mother dislikes, and go to Rood." "No, that it certainly is not," he i-eplied, promptly. "If your mother and you choose to make yourselves ridiculous, that is your own affair. I like Brighton; I am enjoying myself very much here, and I shall not curtail my visit because your mother chooses to encourage one of her jealous tempers." "My mother has no tempers," said the girl, sadly; "she is simply breaking her heart. I have no more to say. We shall leave Brighton at

noon."

"I may consider myself fortunate in that you have condescended to inform me of your plans," he observed, mockingly. "I should not have done so had it not been a necessity," said Angela, gravel}*; and then, without another word, she quitted the room.

It was well for her that she could not see the look of hatred which followed her. It was well that she could not read the evil thoughts of the man who had so completely ruined her mother's life.

Captain Wynyard tried to laugh at what had passed—to sneer at it; but the grave noble face of the young girl rose before him; the pure reproachful eyes would not leave him. Shortly after he went to his wife's room, aud said loud enough for the maids to hear:

"So, Laura, Angela has persuaded you to return to Rood. I am sorry that Brighton does not suit you."

Lady Laura made no answer; nor were the maids deceived by the regretful words of the captain. "I am sorry that 1 cannot run down with you myself," he continued: "but your decision has been so sudden, and I have ao many engagements, 1 cannot leave just at present." Still no remark fell from bis wife. Her thoughts had flown back to the pier and the two figures she had seen passing to and fro in the dusk of the evening. "Good-bye, Laura," he said, drawing nearer to ker. "Good-bye," she returned, coldly. "Have you anything to say to supplement your daughter's most dutiful address to me ? he asked. "I have nothing to say," she replied. . He was surprised at the change which had come over his wife, and half sighed as he left the room. "I shall be free from reproaches and scenes for some few weeks, at least," he said to himself a little later, "and I will make hay while the sun shines." At noon Lady Laura Wynyard and i Angela left the Grand Hotel for Rood, and the captain was left to his own devices. He did not feel quite so happy as he had expected, notwithstanding the greater freedom he now enjoyed, livery one seemed to think his wife's sudden departure rather strange, and people looked curiously at him when he spoke of Brighton not suiting her. Lady Kitiloch made some very unpleasant remarks about it, and even Gladys seemed, to grow more circumspect. "It is Angela's fault," the captain said to himself. "Laura would not have gone but for her; she would never have had the courage to concoct such a scheme." And he hated his wife's fair young daughter with a hate that was to lead him —whither ? (To be continued.)