LOVE IN HATE

Dunstan Times, Issue 2486, 21 June 1909, Page 4

LOVE IN HATE

"You had better come to me this Sum er," Aunt Ryder had written to me and wc will talk over yenr plans together .!;■> not like you to live alone."

Alone! That was the word in the letter hat struck like ice upon my sore heart. I vas utterly alone ! Even Aunt Ryder was ny uncle’s widow, not really related to me, hough F.lsie and I both loved her. E.kne was my step-sister, my second mother since my own died in my infancy, my teacher, friend, companion and comforter. And Elsie was dead.

She was thirty-seven when she died. Wasting away slowly, 1 thought of no danger till it was 100 late.

But I accepted Aunt Ryder’s invitation, and was preparing to visit her for the sumncr, when 1 found the key note to Elsie's life, herdiarv.

I read it. lam not going to quote it hero, but far back upon the yellow pages I read how my sister gave her heart years before to one Rodney Wallace; how they had exchanged vows and rings, and a wedding day was set, and he left her to prepare a home in the city for his bride, and never returned.

1 burned the diary, because upon one ot the pages Elsie had begged I would if ever I read it.

Then I finished my packing, and went to my Aunt Ryder. She was the widow of rny mother's brother, and our grandfather’s estate was divided now between herself and me. It was all mineafter Elsie died. And I was an heiress in a small way, having the income of at my command. Aunt Ryder took’ me to Brighton, and insisted on my wearing thin, light, black dresses and white lace. All my energies seemed numbed by Elsie’s death. We had been but a few days at Brighton, when Aunt Ryder, who is a handsome, sprightly woman, admired in society, met some friend she had known in Paris, where she had lived many years. She was quite excited o-er this meeting and insisted upon having a luncheon party at our cottage. •• Do try to brighten up a little, Rhoda, for one of my pets will be here!” And who is' she ?” I asked, being accustomed to seeing Aunt Ryder pet everybody. This time it is he. He came to Paris some eighteen years ago, and your uncle was very intimate with him. They were both artists and had a mutual admiration for each other's works. I have npt seen him since I left Paris—nine—*pu years ago,”

“Doeji he happen to „ave anything so convenient a;; a name ?’’ I asked. <■ Oh, yes, Rodney Wallace. He painted ‘hat portrait of mine over the piano at home, with * R. W.’ in one corner!" Rot an hour later, black dress, white roses, ghastly face and all,was presented .0 a tall, grave man, with iron-grey hair c.nd soft brown eyes, the very reverse of the gay Lothario I had pictured as the man who had " loved and rode away."

I was young, romantic, and I hated this grave, sad man with all the impetuosity of my youth and romance, and yet he awed me from the first. There was a grave patience about him that reminded me of Elsie. And it was to me, to me who so hated him, that- he turned for companionship all through that long summer time. And I, little by little, learned a lesson I had not dreaded" when near him. How could I love when I hated ? How could my heart be won by my sister’s murderer ? So the dying days of August found me, not brightened or benefited by my sojourn at Brighton, bui pale, listless, wretched, tortured by my fidelity to the dead, my love and hate for the living. One resolve I made. I would never marry Rodney Wallace. Vst when he wrote to me, a manly, straightforward letter, asking my love, it ?ost me hours of wildest weeping t® move my heart to refuse him.

When I tried to nerve myself to send away the fatal letter 1 heard steps in the drawing-room, and then Aunt Ryder spoke: " Koddey," she said in a tender voice, as [f she were sneaking to her own son, " you have made me very happy. I hoped this would happen when I introduced you to Elsie’s sister." “ Elsie's sister!" Rodney cried, harshly, as 1 had never heard him speak before.

“ Hush ! Elsie was not false." " Not false ! Was she not my betrothed, iimost my bride. Did I not love her with all the strength of my heart ? She' broke my heart, she desolated my life! And now -now you tell me the woman I love, as I never hope to love again, is Elsie's sister !" My heart throbbed almost suffocatingly : my brain reeled; the room seemed to grow black and rock around me. But I heard Uint Ryder speak. « Rodney, in those days in Paris when I mew but little of your story, I never dreamed chat it was Elsie you loved.” “ But the truth ?" Rodney replied, ** what was the truth ?" " Elsie did not write that letter. Elsie died, believing you false to her. She was her mother's heiress, Rodney, and her mother married a villain. Were Elsie married, and his own child still a mere baby, the home must be broken up, the money held in your control and that of me trustees, and so a forged letter was seat to you." " Does—she know ?” "No one knows but me, no one! My husband was with Elsie’s step-father wu-uv lie died and heard this confession, too late to remedy the evil.” “ And—Rhoda ?” • “ Rhoda was so young she prom ■> y never heard of Elsie’s engagement, Rodney. Promise me yon will never tell her. member that Bayard Woolston, fortune muter, forger as he was—was yet her father. I stole softlv upstairs. Over my empty rrate I burned my false, cruel letter, vowing a my utmost heart to be Rodney’s time omforterand wife. It is two years since we were married, ■jl the shadows are gone from my. husband's ■ace, end he tells me his plot urea are pouted ,y tbs Usht pf iov» v