CHAPTER LXII.

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 142, 17 June 1899, Page 6

CHAPTER LXII.

AX IXDIGXA.XT WOMAN. The Duke of Castlemayne repeated his question—

'Which of us two has been most cruel toward the other?'

riien she raised her colourless face

He saw that she would not again deny that she was his wife. She looked at him more calmly.

'You,' she replied; 'you who left me in the hour of my distress and . hume. You, from whom a word would have saved me, and you refused to speak that word. lam Naomi Wyuter—the simple, foolish, unhappy girl who placed her trust in you. and was rewarded with the basest desertion. 1 am -Naomi, but your wife— never again?' The words fell clear and calm, cutting the silence that reigned around them.

'We will not discuss that now.' he said; 'perhaps when you know more about my sorrow, aud what I have Buffered you will be more merciful— more pitiful. Just let us speak _of yourself. Oh. Naomi, what a meeting for us!' "How could you do it?" she said; and the piteous reproach in her face and voice touched his heart more than any words could have done. 'How could you? 1 was so young, so friendless; 1 loved you so much, 1 was your wife. How couid you do it?'

"1 do not know. Listen to me. Naomi: 1 have uo excuse—l can offer none; none that would avail me in the least. There could never be any excuse for such a thing in any man. The only explanation is that for the time "being I was paralysed. You know that my mother was very proud, very haughty; she had great influence over my father and myself. No man living ever could or has given me the slightest sensation of fear, but I honestly believe that 1 was afraid of my mother.'

'Aud you sacrificed me to her?' she said.

'To my eternal sorrow and remorse! Yet, judge me fairly, Naomi; love for you was as strong iv my heart as fear of my mother. J was afraid if she knew" of our marriage she would at once have it set aside and parted us. I did not know why. but she had always seemed to me so powerful. Then I thought that if you went away 1 would follow you in a few hours and take you to River Mew, where we mig-ht" have lived in peace and happiness for years. I sent a message to you: but that horrible woman, ray mother's maid. Sidonie. would not allow it to be delivered. I wrote a note to you. She would not give it to you. Then 1 sent Leduc with orders not to leave you until he could telegraph me to come to wherever you were. All the misery and sorrow of these long years have been caused by the mistake he made in leaving you before I came. 1 saw it when it was too late: but from that moment until this I have never relaxed in my efforts to find you.* 'Strange,' she said, bitterly, 'that you should take so much trouble to find what seemed so little worth keeping—most strange!' •Xaomi.' lie said, humbly, 'I make no excuse; if I had been face to face with a foe, 1 should not have run away: if the feet of my foe were pressed on my throat I would not cry for mercy. J will challenge an\- man for courage; but mine failed me before my mother's wrath. 1 was young when 1 made that fatal mistake —I should not make it now. There is no humiliation so deep that I would not make to obtain your pardou for it. My darling, I sinned: but Heaven knows that I have suffered. You were so gentle once. Xaomi, so kind, so lovely, that you would not have refused pardon even to your most bitter foe.'

'A foe would have proved a truer friend than my husband," she replied. 'Have you ever thought how atrocious. how horrible your conduct was? I was your lawful wife—a young wife with no one but you to love, and in your very presence you allowed your mother to brand me as a lost woman. You stood by when she accused me of having sought you, of having forgotten the modesty and delicacy of my sex and age. of having thrust myself on your notice. You stood by mute and dumb, refusing to speak the word that would have saved me. And after that you dare to kiss me, to call me wife, to expect that I shall forgive you? Never! I appealed to you." she continued, in a voice of passionate emotion.' And what was your answer? You looked at. me and made no reply. I might with more hope have appealed to a marble statue. You left me, shamed, branded, disgraced, when one word from you would have saved me. Then you ask who has been the most cruel, you or I? What manner of man can you be to ask such a question?' T must have been mad.' he said, humbly; 'yet Heaven knows that it was the only cowardly act of my life, the only one.'

'I am glad to hear it. for it was bad enough to mar the life of a better and nobler man than you. T have read much and I have seen much of the world; but I never heard of a parallel incident: for a man to sacrifice his wife's honour and good, name to the fear of his mother. Then you ask me which was most cruel? T laugh such a question to scorn. I did what you made me do. Your silence shamed and branded me: your silence drove me. with a red brand on my brow, from your mother's roof into the wide world: your silence took from me the name of wife, and gave me another that your mother was not slow to up-

braid me with; your silence blighted mv life, and —and broke mv heart.'

She; Jell ua her knees, leaning her heat! against the gilded railings, and weepiug as woman never wept before; the tears fell like rain down her beautiful colourless face—drawn, Hitter

sobs. Here was a sorrow before which he was powerless; every word she had uttered was true, and they had lashed him like the sharp thongs of a whip. He was humbled before her; he could not bear the sound of her weeping; it, seemed to tear his very heart, and he laid his hand on the golden head, every hair of which was so dear to him.

Xaomi. do not; you distress me so

greatly

She flung off the caressing bane), hor face Hushed, her eyes flamed righteous anger on him.

'Do not touch me,' she cried. '1 will not bear the touch of your hand: it is horrible to me.'

She rose from her knees and stood before him with the greatest disdain. the most bitter scorn in her face.

'Do you think,' she said, 'that a fewkisses, a few simpering words,- can undo the wrong you have done me?"

Her bitter contempt seemed to rouse him at last: he grew very pale, and the lines round his mouth deepened as he withdrew further from her.

"You know how to wound. Naomi; your darts shoot home. 1 begin to see there is no hope for me; I was foolish enough to think there was.' She turned to him wruthfully. 'Did you fancy thai i was so weak, so infirm of purpose, so dead to my j great injury, so little gifted with selfrespect, that when yon met me, you ihad nothing to do but offer me a fine apology, humble yourself graciously. and all would be as it was? —were you !so mad as to think that?" 'I am afraid 1 was,' he replied. .humbly, 'but you have taught me my ; mistake.' I 'A worm turns when it is trodden upon,' she cried. 'Had I. been really | what your silence made the duchess j believe me. then you would have in all probability defended me. stood by me. It was because I was your lawful [wife that you had no word to say for j me.'

'Xaomi. do not reproach me any more: 1 cannot bear it. My own heart and conscience have enough all along; 1 cannot bear it."

'I have no wish to do so," she said. 'Let me go; I will leave London tomorrow.'

'But, Naomi," he cried, passionately, 'surely you will not leave me again; you cannot, it would be too cruel. Where is my son. Let me love him. Your heart is harder than the nether millstone toward me: surely his will not be so? Surely you will not leave me with my heart bare and desolate as when 1 found you?'

'I have nothing to do with it.' she replied: 'your silence made rue an outcast from your heart, your home, your name; I will remain where your silence placed me.' His colourless face fell, and he clinched his strong hands like a man in agony. 'Answer me at least a few questions before you leave me, Naomi, in pity and in kindness. Do you never intend to return to me?' 'Never.' she replied. 'I would sooner die.' 'Have you never intended to do so?' 'Never from the moment 1 left." she replied. 'Nothing would ever make me consent to it.' 'I offer you," he said, 'thai which has always been yours; the whole and sole love of my heart. 1 oiler you my whole life and fortune; evory thing that I possess in this world I lay at your will. Will you stay with me, Naomi?" 'No,' she replied. '1 will not. So far as worldly advantages go, I. have had better offers of marriage than even yours. I have had none from any man whom 1 despise more." 'Say no more unkind things to me. Naomi—l fcive heard enough to kill me. Will you tell me whether you came to London with any desire to see me again?' 'No, 1 did not,' she replied; 'I came to England because it was my uncle.-: wish, and if I had raised too many objections he would have been suspicious, naturally." 'Then you never thought that I should recognise you,' he said. 'No; I felt quite sure you would not.' she replied. Tarn much taller than 1 was when you left me cowering before that stately lady, your mother—taller, stronger, and changed altogether. I never thought that you would know me. I would never have returned to England had I thought there was any chance of such a thing: I would have remained in America." 'Then you did not care to see me again. Naomi?" 'No. lam quite sure I did not," she replied. 'Do you know. Naomi.' he said, sadly, 'when I heard the truth about you, 1 was foolish enough to think that it was love for me that had brought you here.' 'You were mistaken,' she said. 'Since the morning I left Rood Castle 1 have never had the least intention of returning to you. I will remain where your silence placed me." 'In Heaven's name, what will become of me?' cried the duke. 'You must get a separation and marry Lady Valentine Arden." she said. 'There may be two opinions on that matter.' said a quiet, low voice, and looking up they saw Lady Valentine Arden standing before them.

(To be Continued.)