Captain Adair's Wife.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXI, Issue 198, 21 August 1900, Page 6

Captain Adair's Wife.

(By Lieutenant John Payne.)

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Mellish had been ugly for days. Se weh't about Mb duties * mthi * >cc that was a picture of sullenness. • 110 had twice sent notes to his wfe asking her, commanding her, .to come io- meet him, and each time she had ignored him entirely. ... n Sirs Bland had put" away fioin W us, much as possible the susplliton Out Oaoa? husband had given Uv buT there still rankled in her mind that vague feeling that have taken to calling "a bad taste in the mouth," because there is nothing else that will give any idea of Its disagreeable nature. The day after Nina returned from that ride with Adair, in which she •had told him of her loss of memory, she was unpacking her trunks, takino- out souvenirs of her girlhood, which she had failed to destroy, and which she hardly knew why she had brought with her, only clinging to them as every married woman does, with a sort of homesickness for that time when she was entirely herself, before another personality had come in to take half of herself in exchange for—Nina wondered even then, before the evolutions which were to follow, if Hecker gave her any proportion of himself. Affectionate pride, attention, ah, yes! But— even now there was a vague feeling that the reserve power which Hecker seemed to keep in the background, was only an appearance. That in reality his depth was the depth of the mirror, and that Bhe could never hope to go into the kingdom of his mind and heart, as a woman of her nature dreams of doing when she marries, because that realm was only a figment of a dream. All the more Nina clung to the things she cherished as a girl. . Mrs. Bland sat by her, doing some delicate sewing. Although there was very little difference in their ages, Mrs. Bland seemed years older than Nina. Her hair was parted in the middle, and the white, even line, seemed but a continuation of the whiteness of her face. It was a face whose repressed lips and sad eyes told a tale which made a woman with a woman's heart turn to comfort, and man turn to seek the cause. In diving into the trunk Nina brought out a short blue serge gown "Do you know," she said, lifting it up, "I haven't the faintest idea why I keep this gown. It's old, and of no value to anybody on earth, but when I start to give it away, there is some sort of a feeling restrains me. I cannot tell what." She put her hand to her forehead. "Edith, I am going to tell . you something. I was terribly sensitive about it at first, but I, am over all that now, only it is difficult to explain —now! When I had been put here for some time last year, I had an accident. It was something about Indians. I know that, and it frightened me so that I had brain fever. The very name of Indian makes me tremble, and I am almdst afraid of /what will happen when I see one1! Harry says it is all nonsensejihat.'lshall, not care atall. "Wh|ni ' fpefcv. MS me, !•■ was wretchedly weak for a time, and they took me to the hotr>springs in Mexico. It was some time before I fully realised it, but after a while I did, that I had lost several weeks from my memory. Mrs. Bland gave a little gasp, and let her sewing fall into her lap; then, quickly recovering herself, went on with her work, calmly, placidly. Nina had not noticed her; she was smoothing out the rough serge gown in which she had married Adair, and in which she had fallen back insensible as the Apache had caught her— fallen into an unconsciousness, a forgetfulness of her marriage, and her former intimate acquaintance with the man whom nature had intended for her mate. "They say," Nina went on dreamily, pressing her hand over the f olda, "that there are people. so sensitive that by holding a bit of texture to their forehead they can see as in a vision everything that the wearer has ever seen, every emotion that has ever possessed him. I should'like to take this old gown to one of them, and let her put it to her forehead." She lifted the hem and laid it against her temple. Mrs. Bland reached and took it out of her hand. "It'would make a very pretty little jacket' for me to wear about the hills here. Suppose you give it to me." < "Why—yes—l suppose I am stupid about it. You may have it," and she turned again, to her unpacking. Mrs. .Bland sent a note to Mellish saying that she, would see him .that evening. ' • . , • It was dark under the Jive oak trees at the upper end of the parade grounds, whioh she had chosen. There, were some old cannon, and a pile of balls there.. Mellish lazily seated himself" on- these. "You must want something," he sneered. "You took you time about coming. What can I do for you, madam?" "You can let me tell you that-you have done the very vilest injustice to a good woman. That the attack which the Indians made on Mrs Hecker,and Captain Adair, that night, deprived her of her memory; that she does not know she is married to Adair " : . "Did she tell you that she had forgotten she had ever married Adair? It sounds like her devilish audacity,'1 Mellish's teeth gleamed in the darkness. "It makes me think something of the boy's essay on Columbus. 'I suppose you are Columbus,' said the niggers. 'There is no help for us,' we are discovered at last!' If Mrs Hecker don't know she is married to Adair, how in the mischief does she know she don't know it?" His wife turned away from him and went on in the careful, monotonous tone that one uses in explaining' a thing to a child, and told him the whole story. l She could not see that his eyes

were brightening, that she was giving him what he considered an extra weapon to pry money out of .Adair's pocket. "Well, I don't think half as much of her as I did before. I thought there was one woman in this day and generation with some nerve, and I thought Mrs Hecker, who had married' two men in the same army post, _ and was carrying on the situation with a high hand, was the womdn. But if sho is only a pool* weak thing who would be. scared to death if she knew whet she had done—like all the rest of you, I don't care a hang what becomes of her. Docs Hecker know this precious story?" "Of course she ,told him of the loss of memory when she married him. Nothing else would have been justice. But Nina says that he did not care at all, himself, but asked her not to speak of it to other people." Mellish laughed. "Well that's slicker of him, than he knows. I can see the why of his reasoning. Adair was an old sweetheart of Mrs Ilecker's—he knows that. He knows he had no Bort of a chance at all when Adair was round. Of course he was tickled to death to bring her back here his wife, and have her forget Adair." Mellish threw back his head and gave a loud laugh, which made his wife's slender black figure shrink. •'lt's the beßt comedy nil around I ever heard of. By George! But I'd like to know what would happen if the actors knew what they were about." "You are surely not so lost to all sense of decency as to tell any one?" His wife put her hands, thin, nervous, strong hands on his shoulders and almost shook him. He took them off, still laughing. "I always did enjoy the climax to the play. Do you remember I never came in until the last act." "You shall not!" "Let go!" he said roughly, "I'll do as I please!" (To be Continued.)