EARLE WAYNES NOBILITY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XVIII, Issue 6147, 30 July 1881, Page 3

EARLE WAYNES NOBILITY.

BY MRS. GEORGE SHELDON, Author of "Sibyl's Influence," "The forsaken Bride," " Brownie's Triumph," dfco.

CHAPTER XLVH. editha's grbetixg. Fifteen minutes after Madam Forrester left Earle a light step sounded outside the door, a trembling hand turned the silver handle, and Edit'ua Forrester stood once more in the presence of her lover.

She was somewhat pale and worn, as madam had said; but a lovely flush of expectation and delight had crept into her cheeks, and a joyous light gleamed from her beautiful eyes, as Earle leaped to his feet and went forward to meet her.

No word wa3 spoken for the first few moments—their feelings was too deep, too sacred, for any outward expression; but Earle drew her to his breast, and held her there with a strong tender clasp that claimed her his own for ever—that told her they would nevermore be parted while both should live. Editha was the nrst to break the significant ■ilence.

"Earle, I am glad you have come," she said, as she raised hor eyes shining with happy tears to read the face she loved so well. It was the same simple yet hearty greeting that she had given him so long ago, on that day before Christmas, when he had come to her.

Earle remembered it, and drew her still closer as he thought of her constancy to him through all the varioue changes of the last four years. "The wiugs of the wind were not rapid enough to bear me to you, my own, when I knew you wanted me; and yet I did not dream of the joy that was awaiting me," he said, with tremulous gladness. "Joy and sorrow, too, Earle; for papa cannot remain with us long," she answered, with a sigh. She still called Mr. Dalton by the old familiar name; for not only would it have been awkward to change, but it would have seemed cruel to the invalid, who in all the world had only this fair girl to cling to. But in her heart she thanked God every day that Richard Forrester had been her father instead of Sumner Dalton, while no words could express her joy for the loving mother she had found.

"Yes, it pains me to find him as he is," Earle returned, in answer to her remark: but he was thinking more of his spiritual condition than of his physical suffering. "He is very sorry for the past," Editha said, with a wistful look; "he talks of it almost constantly in his sleep, in a wild, sad way, although he speaks bitterly when he is awake. He begs Marion—that was your mother, Earle—to forgive him, and tells her that he did not see things then as he does now. I think she would forgive him now if she could see him, and, Earle, I wish you could forgive him, too. Oh, if you could part at peace witheach other. "We can, my darling. I have never wished him any ill, and I freely forgive him every wrong, though it could not be expected that I could feel any affection for him," Earle replied, gravely. "No—oh, no !" "And my mother's wrongs were very grevious." , "I know," Editha said, with a sigh of regret, as she thought of that delicate, lovely girl, and what torture she must have endured when she believed herself betrayed and scorned. "Editha, can you forgive Mr. Dalton for all he has wilfully made you suffer?—for trying to part us when there was no need, and for seeking to hide you from your mother?" Earle asked, regarding her curiously. j The tears sprang to her eyea as she answered : "Oh, yes; he is dying, you know, and I could not let him leave me feeling that I cherished any bitterness toward him. His path to the grave is very dark, and I would not add to its gloom. It has been very hard to bear all those things," she added sighing; "bnt I think papa has been the worst sufferer after all. He never was unkind to me until after my dear father died. Oh! Earle," she cried, her lovely face lighting up with tenderness, " you don't know how I love to think that he was my father—l loved him no dearly. I used to think, sometimes, that 1 was really ungrateful to love him so very much when he was only my uncle; but now I know why it was—it was the natural impulse of my heart going out to him, where it belonged." • . ... " How like a romance the story of your life is, my darling !" Earle said thoughtfully. "Not more so than your own, I am quite sure, Earle. But do you not think my mother is very lovely ?" she asked, eagerly. " She is, truly. How very happjryon are in the knowledge of your parentage." ; "Yes, and for more reasons than one, she answered, with a shy smile at him, accompanied by a rosy blush; then she added, more gravely: "But I wish my mother need not have suffered quite so deeply. If my father could but have known how sorry and repentant she was, and how truly good she was at heart, they might have grown to be very happy after awhile; he need' not have lived such a lonely, sorrowful life, and all this sin and trouble need never have been. a sigh of regret—"we have no right to question the dealings of One who is wiser than we. There is some good reason for all the suffering in the world, and some one has somewhere said that human lives are like some sweet plants, which must be; crushed" ere they' give-forth.their sweetest fragrance. , " - - , ~ ;"And. we are /told somewhere else ; that cold seven times tried ispure.-: How very free from dross, then, you must be, my dar--1 !" ,Earle said,' Svith playful tenderness.

, 'Mo indeed, Earle; my trials and sorrows nothing compared. to , yours, ' earnestly. ■ :■ . , *t, v^vt^" l633 oi tte past disappears in s (° r your fort.tude a -vin endured a great.\{?f upon my life ■Sfitha " and Wa Bps w sake, ~ """ ~ f-. .-....• -her forehead resisted u av ■ . the .hands of *^*^i d w jlf u l gleam in he as they can be! , ; _: ;:.,.::; ■- "

f -":•< And alloißring to your- own- kih'dnesa'o; : .heart and liberal hand, no doubt;"Earlo rer,apQn,die(i,'with'a smile.,';,". ."_. ]"'■' '..'" '"- -7. i:j.":Hww coiiAdT.ne\p expressing'my grati ; tudc jiif "some way' for having that darl j ; mystery; solved; and every stigma: removec from your character? I did help: them t( begin jwith, but theyare going to help them selves now, I stoekeda cunning little stori with fancy and useful articles, furnishedtwi rooms in- the rear for their, private Use, anc they are reaUy very successful in their little business." '■ "■ ■,■•: /'With you for their chief patron, I presome," was Earle's laughing reply, as he gazed admiringly into her animated face, j'Well, of course, I go there," she ad.mitted, flushing, "to get all my needles, pins, thread, &c, and so do a great many oi my friends. But really Mrs. Loker is a worthj woman, and her daughter is as keen as a briai at a trade ; it is a real pleasure to enconragi such people. But I nave talked enougl about myself—tell me something about yeu; adventures with that wicked creature who ha: brought so much trouble upon us." Earle complied, relating all that had oe curred from the night of the attempted robbery, until the time of his departure, while Editba listened intensely interested. "Doyou know 1 stand almost in awe of you to know that you have accomplished such a change in that vile nature—it seems almost a miracle!" she said, when he had finished. "Donot think of it then, for I have no wieh, I assure you, to inspire you with any such sentiment toward me. But I do not think this looks as if you were very much afraid of me," he laughed, as lie gathered her closer in his arms and kissed the fair face upon his breast again and again. " I should be glad to impose a duty upon all such operations in the future, if you carry them to such an extent,' she said, trying to ■ hide her blushing face with a very "insufficient hand." " Then never tell me again that you stand in awe of me, or I shall feel it my duty to take even more effective measures to eradicate the feeling," Earle eaid, with mock gravity. "Butabout this man,"—Editha thought it best to change the subject—"don't you think you are carrying your kindness a little I too fat? He may betray your trust; besides he has violated the laws of the land, and have you any right to shield him ?" " I suppose I am not obliged to give any evidence against him, since he was not arrested by a commissioned officer; the offence was against myself alone, and if I see fit to take no action in the matter, I do not lee how I am violating any right, either civil or moral— particularly as I am conscientiouslyconvinced that the man's salvation depends upon kindness rather than upon punishment." Earle had argued this matter many times with himself and he felt that he was doing perfectly right. "If suffering is any penalty for sin," he continued, '' he has paid it, for he was fearfully wounded. I fully believe, if he had escaped unharmed from the bullet, and been arrested, convicted and sentenced, he would have grown more hardened and desperate, and been prepared for almost any evil deed upon the expiration of his term. But laid upon a bed of sickness, with some one to care for him and treat him as if he was a human being, he has had an opportunity to think as he has never thought before. As Mr. Daltor said to-day, ' things look very differently tc a man when he fears that life is slipping from his grasp, than they do when he is in the full vigour of life,' and I think Tom Drake realized that, if ever a man did. He was not easilj won—he was not suspicious of me and mj motives for a. long time, but when he fount that I would take no measures against him, he was completely staggered ; and the shoci which his hitherto benumbed conscience thu. , received, restored it to something like it! normal condition. I believe he will do well, ind as long as he does I shall give Mm nrj support and confidence." "But didn't you feel the least bit tri umphant when he lay there powerless before you ?" Editha asked. " I cannot say that I did not experience : sense of satisfaction in knowing that, at last >ne so deserving of justice, and so stepped ii ;rime, had been arrested in his career. Bu ny first thought was; ' are my hands stainet ,vith the life-blood of a fellow-being?' I ,vae a great relief when I discovered that hi vas not mortally wounded,. but my anxietj •eturned when he was so sick and we though be would die." " It was a great care for you, Earlo, and ; ioWe thing for you to do after suffering al rou have on his account," Editha said, hei ieart swelling with pride of her noble lover. "You know the more care any one occasions is the more interest we naturally feel, ir hat one." he answered, Biniling at her praise, ind so it was in this case. I saw the mar vas capable of better things; he is naturallj mart, and I longed to save him despite the njury he had done me and others—if there vas one thing harder than all the rest for me o forgive, it was his treatment of you. Will t be disagreeable to you, dearest, to see him ibout the place when we go home ?" he asked, eeing the shiver which crept involuntarily iver her at the mention of the past. Editha flushed gloriously at the mention if going "home," but she said, with gentle gravity : "No, Earle; if we can save him I can onquer the repugnance that I have hitherto elt for him; but as I remember him he eems perfectly hideous to me." "He does not look nearly so repulsive ince his sickness; he is, of course, much hinner and more refined in appearance, vhile his expression is wholly changed." "Whether he is changed or not I will oin you heart and hand in any good thing rou may wish to do for him," she said, leartily. I'What a gentle mistress Wycliffe will iaye," Earle said, fondly; "and you will iot refuse to go back with me this time ?" j'No, Earle, only it must not be at >resent, you know," she returned with some ladness. 'fl do know, dear, and of course shall emain as long as Mr. Dalton may need iittier you or me; but oh, my darling! you cannot tell how thankful I am that I am not loomed to spend my life in gloom and done; everything has looked so dreary and lesolate to me until to-day." Editha did not reply, but she laid her iheek against his in mute sympathy, and vith) a sigh that told him she had also ixperienced something of the desolateness if -which he spoke. "You have not seen Mr. Tressalia yet, I uppose?" she said, aftor a few minutes of ilence. "No, dear, I have not seen him since the [ay I had such a struggle with my selfishiess, and sent him hither to win you and be lappy if he could." His arm tightened around the slight form it his side as he said this, and Editha know iow he must have suffered in that struggle \o renounce her so utterly. "Did you send him to me, Earle?" she Lsked, ]ivith a startled look. "Yes, dear; Paul Tressalia is one of iarth's noblest men. I believed you lost to ne for over. You once told me if there had jeen no Earle Wayne in the world you night have loved him. I wanted you to be wasted him to know something of ;he comfort of life, and I knew of no one vhoml would rather have win a sister of nine than him. It wae a miserable kind of in arrangement all round, but I knew of lothing better." Earle Bpoke with a tinge )f the bitterness he had experienced at the ;ime, as if even the memory of it was ixceedingly painful. "Deir Earle, you might have known it iould not be," she whispered, sliding one land into his and dropping her flushed face ipon nil shoulder. : "Never I not even if our relations had renained as we believed them to be ?" " Nevsr," she replied decidedly. " I could iot chaiie, even though I believed I was inningTvery day of my life, and I would iot wrong him by accepting his loyo when I iad none to givo him in return." ' . "Edith*) m y beloved, I should crown you vith passion-flowers and enow-drops for your, levotiou'and faithfulness," Earle breathed,a low, intense tones, and deeply moved by ier confession.: ... . '; .-, -y _ -', "Hush I she said, releasing nerself from iis encircling,anna, her face like a carnation; 'there is the\bell—that is Mr. Tressalia; he ias heard of the arrival of the steamer, and ias come to Bee if you are here," and she arose ;6 go, feeling that she'could not be present yhile they met. , ..':,■ .' '..'..•- ~ ■■■■■,-.- arose, too, surmising her' thought, jut gently detained he . r a moment longer, . -" "My love—my Editha—my 'happiness, rou have'not yet told me that you are i?lad x> be my wife, and go home with mo to Wy■liffe; let me hear you say it once, he jlended, with grave earnestness, as he studied ihe beautiful face intently. . , „ „; v "You know that I am glad, Earle,' , . and ;he clear truthful eyes were raised to his with Tlook that satisfied him, though the conscious jrimson dyed all her fair face. : . T" And there will be no regret at leaving onr native land!".He persisted, his whole pW thrilling with the consciousness of her ■: i"Ntw. " : r : -:- ; -■„ leave Iselmo, save thi. lonely graves Ishall ■ -nd wouli like to visit occasion^

she thought, of Richard SiQyrester^ndj.his" sister; aleeping".so,,qaietly:BideV r liy"eide' .I'd I Gteenwb'oS,' aiid.~'of vrtWHC'^gTStti 1 ' VJaaiSi must boon ••''■' i'-'

Earle lifted'tne.eiveet.face.andkißsed'the tremulous lips .with; infinite tenderness, then, releasing her, sher slipped -from'the; room" by one door,, as Paul'Tressalia ; entered by another., ■ ' : v' ' '"'*-'' : i- '"'J:'}'*' 1:t ! ' rri " " ..The greeting of the. two y'ouag men.was. cordial and friendly, although each felt a thrill; of pain-as .they] clasped.'hands and realized all that that meeting meant to them; Each knew that as soon ; as'Mrj-Dalton should be laid 'away, '£arle<, would .claim/ Editha as his wife, and take-her back to reign in the home of ,his ancestors, where doubtless a life of joy,"such as falls tojthe lot of few, would be spent;--- 1 ■■■;• -' -'■' '■■'■-■'-' ■■'- ' .' But Paul Tressalia was hot a man to-sit weakly down, and pine--for what he could not have. ~.-:• ' •-.'■■

Since that day when he had pleaded his suit for the'last time with''Editha, and she had in her despair cried out for a friend, strong and trae, be : had bravely setto work to conquer the hopeless passion in his heart, and he had" already learned to look upon his future with a calmness at which he' himself at times was surprised.'. ' •:•.;! He came to-day as both Earle's and.Editha's tried and trusted friend, and the congratulations which he tendered the former had a'ring of heartiness in them not to be questioned'for a moment. '■ '-■',-." ■' ' ■••■ ! - [Tobecontlnn6d.l! ' •-.••