PARTED AT THE ALTAR.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 5138, 7 February 1888, Page 4

PARTED AT THE ALTAR.

[BY LAUKA. JEXS ÜBBliY.l

CHATTER XV

A TOBTOEED HE.VKT

Frederick was coming home. In a few hours from now she should see him. The idea seemed almost more than she could grasp. What would he say when he i found her there ': That question began to assume a terrible firm to poor Doris. j Would there be a scene 'i She knelt there, in the red glow of the sunlight, trying in vain to drive the terrible doubts and "fears away. Perhaps it wus some faint foreshadowing of the sorrow to come that made her tremble as she knelt there—the first thrill of that strange tragedy which was to cross her life. There came a tap at the door. '' Mrs Thornton would be glad to have Miss Carlisle come to her boudoir." And with a slow, hesitating step, Doris " I want you to read to me. Miss Carlisle," she said. "I never remembered an afternoon to pass so riovvly." Mechanically, Doris picked up the book. The lines on the page seemed to waver before her eyes. The chisk crept up, and the stars came out, Long since one of the little maids had entered and lighted the chandelier. Still Doris read on. It was better than talking. Doris felt that she should go mad if Mrs Thornton were to talk to her about Frederick and Vivian— her favorite subject. Suddenly there was a sound of carnage wheels stopping before tho porch, and the next moment voices were heard in the lower hull. " Mv son has arrived," said Mrs Thoni-

ton. Doris spoke no word. Her face grew pale as marble, even under the brune tint. She could count the great, gasping heart throbs. Sho clung with cold, trembling hands to the table lest .-he should fall, praying, with white lips and shadowed eyes, that she might not die when her eyes fell upon his face. Some minutes —how muny Dons nevci knew. Then canut the sound of footsteps that Doris knew ho well. Sho pressed her hand on her heart, for its wild beating frightened her as each step fell on her ear. She could have cried aloud in agony with the terrible teusioa of her nerves ; but her white lips could form no sound. The next minute he had entered the room. Hutidsonie, laughing Frederick Thornton stood before lser. Sho _ never understood why the sight did not kill her. Why, when her eyes rested upon him, she did not fall dead. Oh, how kindly he greeted his mother, laughing heartily whuii she told him the days he had spent away from her seemod like so many mouths. How strange it was that h- could laugh, Doris thought, when the sin of breaking a heart laying- at his door. Doris shrank back amongst the shadows of the heavy silken curtains, but Mrs Thornton .-po"kc her name, and Doris rose slowly. " Frederick, my son, this is> my companion, Miss Carlisle,"" she heard his mother say ; what elsj was uttered Doris never knew.

Frederick Thornton looked carelessly in the direction she indicated. He sr.v « tsinull. alim, d<trk-f,iccd little creature, who seemed to be trembling with ennlusion, ho thought. His eyes res-ted mi her only an instant. Thou, with alow buvv, he turned away. JXiri.s stood rooted to the *pol. Silent, motionless, ail the traj-vdy and pas*i<m ol her love binning in her t'uee, her aiin> fell helplcaslv to her =iJ...'. tfl.e ..-(.u1.l not have moved to have .saved lit.-r life, .iho had expected, dc--pitii the < h.-iiig.; in her. that he, lhe handsome young hus'u.ui, wlio hail -wedded her, would nvogiu-e lv.-i-: that he would cry out either n> anger or mniwu. But no : "he lunieu away, knotting her not. Oh. the'pity of it :—the cni-J pity ot it : Shu rei/i.e'mbeml how they bad parUtl m the tiunny hotel parlor. '• I hhiill be buck within an hour,"' he had said, as he tossed the well-filled purse into her lap to irpleui-h hor wardrobe : tht:n, with a .-mik- and a n< >d, without n faro well kiss, he had turned ;iiid walked out of tho room, leaving her vj her ;'>H\ She remembered Un; humble night-and tbeday.-- th.-.t had followed- -how she-nearly went mad with watching for him and calling wildly upon him to comit back to lie: , . And t>ha remembered the crowning blow of all—when the good old housekeeper had taken her in lie? arms, attempting to .-outho her as though she hud been a little child, as ahc! whispered the pitiful words in her far : '• Do not grieve and weep for him. child : in my opinion he is not woith a tea-. He will never ecmeba-ek : he lms deserted you."

Doris lived, over again that horrible .scene, as, quite unnoticed, she, gaz>.-d at the handsome face of her faithless young husband. Oh ! why had he married her if he had intended to desert her. Of the terrible accident tbut had occurred, neady costing Frederick Thornton his life, and tUe loss of memory as to the lute events ■which had transpired, sweeping away all remembrance of a bride who awaited him, of course Doris knew nothing . and thus fate continued to play at cross purposes with these two. Ie was to cud in a tragedy so pitiful that the angel* would weep for Doris, the helpless child-bride whose young life had all gone wrong. In the evening the ladies assembled in the drawiiig-rooiu, where Frederick and his father awaited them. Doris would have given much to absent herself, but Mrs Thornton insisted that .she uliould be present. Tnere seemed no loophole of escape for her.

Frederick and Vivian were standing bjone oi th-: lace-draped windows as she entered ,' liis handsome face was bent over her, and he. was talking to her in so low a tone Doris could not catch the. words he uttered.

What was he «syiug to her that brought that lovely Hush to Vivian* checks- and the bright light to her eyesl- Was he coinplimentiug lier <ju her beauty;' Was he, who was bound ti> another by every tie that Heaven holds sacred- daring to tpeak to her of—lovi. ':

The bimkt-r and liirf wife watched them, ;uid nodded and Miiilcd to eiicli other. Gwendoiiu and Isabel «it at the piano discussing some pieces of music, and Beatrix sat curled up in an arm-chair watching the. anguished fa«; of her mother's young companion with niui-h curiosity. " IVar mo, what a expression '." thought Trixy. shuddering. " How she watches my brother and Vivian, a.iul—can it bo ': —there are tears in her eyes. Poor girl.' why is .-.V ■""-' unhappy '< I wonder if mamma hus beeu j-i oldiug her or threatened to di-churge lii-rr"

All unconscious of this intense ssi-mtiuy, Doris still sat waU'liLug the two, standing by the moonlit window. "Ho-.v beautiful Vivian in!" thought Doris, sick at heart. "No wonder he regrets that on the impulse of the moment he married mis instead of Vivian, tho beauty. Ah, who could resist her: Wars she not the very queen of love- : " Women have sulfereu much and will suffer again; they have endured the pangs of death with a smile ; they have listened to words which were thuir death warrant, and have answered with a bright laugh ; they have stood still, firm, and uudismayud while the sharpest sword has pierced their hearts ; but perhaps no woman ever suffered more keenly than Bonn as- nhn nut wmchjng Frederick Thornton and Vivian. She saw him otter Vivian his arm, utid together they .stepped from the long French window out ■nit to the porch, ana down into tin; rose garden beyond. How tenderly )»i had drawn the light scarf over Vivian's shoulderc, fearful lest the uisiht wind should blow upon hv>- too ••■•hlv.

'W Doris kinged to follow thorn ! — "i'luiit them ijj the path, cry"■liiie ! iX> nut take him " every blessing' the ' •■i.vo only him '. ' '>n ! Send him !

tears falling from her eyes. She had had her heart's desire, She had looked npon Frederick Thornton's face again. She bad heard his voice. For this she had borne the almost intolerable restraint of her disguise, and had dared enter his home. She had believed that looking upon his face just once more would still and calm the fever that was burning her heart away. She believed after that the terrible pain of longing would die away. Instead of that, it was re-doubled; it was intensified a thousand times. That first glance at htr husband's handsome, laughing face had roused her love into full and"active life again. She had said to herself she would look at him just once, and go away. Was she ready to go now ? Oh, no, no :- a thousand times no I What should she do then 'r Live on in this way beneath his mother's roof, a paid companion, or should she go and seek her husband, when the house was still and dark, and beg of him to tell her why he had married her and spoiled her life if he meant to desert her? She would tell him tho cruel rumors that they were circulating — that beautiful Vivian was his sweetheart, and that he was soon to marry her—and beg him to refute I those stories," for it could never bo true I while she, his wife, lived. He had deserted her, it was true, but for all that she was his wedded wife. No act of man's could ever part the two whom God himself had joined together by the solemn ties of marriage. She would' tell him that. The lontr hours dragged themselves slowly by as she sat by the moonlit window. At length the house was still. Darkness wrapped it in a mantle of gloom. The midnight hour sounded from some far-otf belfry. Doris rose to her feet, glided k> her chamber door, and softly opened it, .stepping out into the corridor. "May Heaven help me I" she moaned. " This "action is the turning point of my life." Then she walked swiftly down the dark corridor without one glance behind her.

[to be continued.j