FICTION.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1199, 22 February 1895, Page 8

FICTION.

"A LOST WIFE," BY MRS LOVETT CAMERON, AUTHOR OF 'IN A GRASS COUNTRY/ 'A DEVOUT LOVER/ ' DECEIVERS EVER/ ' THIS WICKED WORLD,' &C, &C. ■ (Continued.) ■' CHAPTER XIII. AUNT SELINA. * lam to be married * * * * * * * married past redemption/ —Dryden. From time immemorial nobody ever was born or married, nor ever died in the Clifford family, without sending 1 for Aunt Selina. It was not thought possible to get through any one of therae three primary events of life correctly without her support and assistance —she was as indispensable on these occasions as the parish clerk or the public registrar, and to send for Aunt Selina was as much a matter of course as to consult either of those gentlemen. Under ordinary circumstances, Aunt Selina dwelt quietly enough with her old husband in , somewhat gloomy seclusion in Russell Square. Nobody ever heard how she employed herself nor what were her daily avocations; but no sooner did any one die, no sooner were there distant rumours of marriages or of births, than Mrs Carr became a person of the very greatest importance/and emerged at once from privacy into public life. Aunt Selina's opinion and advice were invaluable; she laid down the law with a clearness and decision which was perfctly convincing, and' from her final judgment in a matter of etiquette or precedent, there was no appeal. Exactly three weeks, therefore, before my wedding-day, according to the time-honoured family custom, Aunt Selina came down with her boxes, her ancient lady's maid, her pet • Skye terrier and her page-boy, and took up her abode at the Slopperton cottage. 'She had not been there since the death of my mother, When she had appeared on the scene with precisely the same retinue ; and it did not occur to; her to be offended by reason of the interval,of time which had elapsed since her last visit,< as no trifling cause would have induced her' to leave her own home. Mrs Carr was radiant with satisfaction at the happy event which she had arrived to celebrate. ; She smiled all over her fat, comfortable old face when she alighted at our' door. She pressed me rapturously to her matronly bosom, many times over, and called me by many tender names before even she looked round to see that Scruff, the Skye terrier, was safely following her. *My darling child—such happiness .'—may ©very blessing—such joy to me !—everything so satisfactory—longing to see him !' Such Were the broken works that fell spasmodically from her lips, choked, as it - were, . with uncontrollable emotion, between the kisses she pressed repeatedly on my cheek; aid,though I thanked her and re-, turned the kisses with suitable affection, I laughed a little to myself; for I knew this was the wedding formula which the good lady had repeated for years to one and all of her nieces under, similar circumstances. The necessary display of sentiment over, Aunt Selina proceeded to business ; for let it not be supposed that she had come to Slopperton for pleasure alone. Pleasure, accompanied by Mr Carr and her wedding garments, would follow in due time—and ho doubt Aunt Selina meant to recoup herself for her labours when that eventful day arrived; but, for the present, stern business is the order of the day.. Behold us, therefore—Aunt Selina and I—' seated in the dining-room on the morning after her arrival. A consignment of clothes which Mrs Carr had herself ordered for me has come down from .town with her, and is lying piled ,up: in heaps on the dining-room table and ohairs. I have been looking through everything, whilst my aunt, pencil, and paper in hand, is making notes and remarks thereupon as we "'"'gO. ' " ■ ' There'. so far, so good! The trousseau is fairly forward. Madame Dentelle will send Zour wedding-dress on the twentieth at the itest, and your veil is to come in the same box. I arranged, all that with her, and there is a grey \ cachemire for your going-away dress/ 'But, aunt, T should prefer brown tweed.' 4 Impossible, Freda ! it would be out of the question: A hat instead of a bonnet you may Serhaps be'alio wed, for things have a good eal changed lately, but the grey is de rigueurd Now let us turn to other matters. "Who are the bridesmaids ?' ' I have ho bridesmaids.' Aunt Selina laid down her pen and took off her spectacles to stare at me in horror. 'No bridesmaids! Good heavens, child, who ever heard of a wedding without bridesmaids ?' ' 'They are hot necessary to the eeremony, I

"believe.* - * They are absolutely indispensable,' says Aunt Selina, resolutely, taking up her pen again." •' Who are your friends ? 'My only friend is a -widow,' I answered, laughing. * Don't be childish, Freda,'says aunt, reprovingly.; ':lf you have no friends, I had better write at once to your Cousin Sophia's two, daughters. : I daresay she will let them come. They are fairly nice-looking, and are about the same height.' ' But T have never seen them, since they were babies,' I remonstrate. 5 Aunt Selinaris like the ocean, resistless and relentless. She draws her writing-case to her and begins her note of invitation. ' We will write to Russell and Allen by the same post and order their dresses—something pale blue or coral eblbur will do; we can safely leave it to them.' .-•" . She says it in a tone of decision which leaves me absolutely without voice in the matter. .. ';....' '•'■'•' ■ ■ ' , , 'And now, about the breakfast,' she continued, laying down her pen and removing her spectacles from her nose, in order to gaze at me with impressive solemnity as she broached this all-important subject. ' What has your father said about it ?' ' The only suggestion 1 have heard papa make upon the subject,' I answer, with becoming gravity, ' was—tea and plum cake !' „ ■•'■ Mrs Carr waved both hands before her, as though to deprecate anything like frivolity or , jesting on such a topic. 'Your poor father was. always eccentric. Of course, my dear, nobody would dream of consulting '.him about the eatables ; besides, you need not worry him about it at all. Your uncle and I are going to order the breakfast f<4r you from Gunter's that is quite decided.':" J '■'' * You are very kind, aunt.'

f ' Not at all, my dear —I always do something of the kind at my nieces' weddings; and Mr I Carr prefers it to be the breakfast, because then he is sure of getting .vhat he likes himself. What I want to know is how many we shall be and whom your father has thought of asking ?' A sigh of impatience escaped me. I could not rouse myself to take any interest in the matter; was not everything connected with the day—that was to divide me for ever from the man I loved —hateful, odious, unbearable j to me! |

' Oh, what does it matter ?' I exclaimed, wearily, with hot tears gushing up into my eyes. * Ask anyone you like, aunt —only for Heaven's sake let it be as small a party as possible.' ' Freda, I am quite astonished at you !' said my aunt, looking at me reprovingly. 'lt is most childish of you to give way like this so long beforehand. A bride should make it a point of duty to keep up till the day arrives. You will be fit for nothing if you do not exercise a little self-cbntrol. Arid' why, pray, should there be a small party? I never heard of any wedding where it was more essential that the breakfast should be a large and pleasant one, nor where it was more desirable that everything in the arrangements should be of the very best. A penniless girl marrying a rich man must not be given to her husband like a beggar. Your own delicacy of feeling should suggest this. And here am I ready and willing to take all the trouble and oxpense of everything off your hands. All I want is a few simple directions from you. Now, let us have no more tears or impatience, my dear child. Lot us make out a list of the people, and then you shall place yourself in my hands, and I will see that everything is properly done.' I disputed no more with Aunt Selina—she had her own way in everything, and how she I revelled in it has been a matter of amusement to me to reflect upon ever since. She turned the whole house inside out; she hired furniture from the country town to make the long-unused drawing-room habitable ; she ordered in china and glass recklessly ; boxes came down from town by every train ; the page-boy was kept running backwards and forwards to the post-office with telegrams all day long; and even old Sarah caught the infection of the general excitement and almost forgot to cook our daily meals, in the perpetual ferment which Aunt Selina kept up in her head by giving her minute and contradictory orders a dozen times a day. As to papa, he literally fled the house, and took refuge at Eddington for days together. 'Your aunt is a good woman, Freda/ he said to me confidentially ; ' a most excellent woman, and we ought to be very grateful to her, for we never oould have got through it without her. I remember she ordered everything for your poor dear mother's funeral—she's a wonderful woman; but then, you know, I never could stand a woman with a tongue : perhaps it's my fault, for your aunt is a most excellent person, but I never could.'

And so, with his manuscript under his arm, papa trudged up daily to Eddington, and I was left to cope with Aunt Selina alone. Once Aunt Selina and I went up in state to lunch at Eddington in order to inspeot my future home. It would be impossible to describe the good lady's delight on this oooasion. She overpowered Mr Curtis with questions and congratulations, both of which embarrassed him considerably. Her volubility was perfectly unrestrainable. She told him in one breath that Eddington was a home fit for a queen; that my father's ancestors came over with the Conquest; that a union between him and myself was the summum bonum of all earthly desires to all concerned, and that our posterity would rise up and call us blessed.

How much further my good aunt's enthusiasm would have led her in the expression of these latter-named pious aspirations I know not, for, with a wholesome dread of what her next words might bring forth, I arose from the luncheon-table and fled out on to the terrace.

I felt very miserable, but I tried to console myself by reflections over my future wealth. I said to myself, aloud—--4 It is a lovely old place ; I shall be able to do as I like with it. I can ask my own friends to fill the house. I s>hall have everything I can wish for. It is the dearest old house in all England. A woman must be hard to please, indeed, who could not make herself happy here.' But though I said the words, my hearb would not go with them. I could only see, not a vision of future pleasures, but a memory of past happiness. Through the shrubbery walks, among the falling leaves, I seemed to be wandering once more with Mark Thistleby, or standing on the terrace by, his side, looking out over the smooth lawn towards the now forlorn and dismantled flower garden. From these melancholy retrospective dreams I was aroused by the voice of my aunt, calling out to me from a window above my head. I went into the house.

Mrs Carr had been dragging the unfortunate bridegroom-elect from room to room all over the house. She was in a fever of excitement and fussy importance. I found them in a little octagon-shaped room that had been the late Mrs Curtis' boudoir. It was filled with dark, old fashioned furniture, which would have excited the envy and admiration of an antiquarian. The - walls were hung with faded blue satin and the chairs were covered with old brocaded silk, such as no money can buy in these days. In this quaint old-world chamber I found my Aunt Selina discoursing and suggesting and giving her advice with eager volubility, whilst poor Mr Curtis stood by with a mild and bewildered face of much-enduring meekness, most ludicrous to behold. ' Oh ! here you are, Freda !' cried my aunt, as I entered. ' Just in time to hear what I am saying to dear Mr Curtis about this charming little room. Of course, love, it must be your boudoir—it is made for it.' ' I had thought so, too, aunt—that is to say, if Mr Curtis ' I added, looking up at him with dutiful deference.

• My dear Freda, the whole of my house is at your absolute disposal,' said my lover, with courteous gallantry. ' Ah ! what a lucky girl you are !' cried my aunt, uplifting her fat hands in admiration. 1 It is just what I was saying ; and you must let me write at once to Maple, and have a man down to do it up. We want fresh paper, white and gold, or perhaps little bunches of rosebuds. I saw a sweet paper the other day at a house in Tavistock Square, where I was paying a visit. It was all covered with little birds and pink roses—something quite new.' ' Good heavens ! Aunt Selina !' I cried, uplifting my hands in horror. ' My dear, it would suit this room to perfection,' continued Mrs Carr, who never paid any attention to my interruptions, as she had but a low idea of my intelligence; ' and with

(it we shall want a pretty, fresh cretonne, pink or turquoise blue, with cupids—appropriate to the joys of Hymen, eh, Mr Curtis? Then we must turn out these old-fashioned, I uncomfortable chairs, and replace them with some nice low, well-stuffed sofas, and hang some pretty water-colours on the walls. We shall make it the brightest and pleasantest I room in the house. Now, do give me carte blanche, Mr Curtis. lam sure you would be charmed with the effect.' I

I George Curtis looked helplessly at me. 'lf Freda wishes it ■' he began. 'I wish it? Not for worlds!' I cried. ' Why, aunt, this room would be utterly spoilt if it were altered. It is quite charming as it is.' Freda, you never had any sense!' answered my aunt, with a sigh of despair. 'Mr Curtis, I know, quite agrees with me ; but you were always an obstinate child, and brought up in the wilds of the country, as you have been, and with your poor father, too, always running his head into things. Ah ! yes, I know, of course, Mr Curtis, that he is very clever, and all that; but neither Henry nor my niece are in the least able to take care of themselves. It is a good thing lam able to come down and see after things a little ! Now, Mr Curtis, let me go upstairs and look titrough the bedrooms.'

The rest of the house was gone over. Aunt Selina talking incessantly, admiring every room, suggesting alterations, laying down the law, and no doubt erjoying herself immensely; whilst George and I followed in her wake with mute resignation; and I made mental and most ungrateful notes as to never asking Aunt Selina to stay at Eddington after my marriage if it could possibly be avoided.

When at length we were in the carriage again, on our way home, as we drove out through the lodge-gates Annt Selina turned round to me and said, solemnly, with impressive fervour—

' Frederica Clifford, you ought to go down upon your bended knees and thank God, night and morning, for giving you such a husband, and such a house!'

CHAPTER XIV. PARTING. ' O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day; Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And, by-and-by, a cloud takes all away.' , —Shakespeare

• The time was five o'clock in the afternoon ; the scene—Farmer Ricketts' six-acre field at the bottom of our orchard. Background—last summer's hayrick, thatched with straw; foreground—one threshing machine rampant, and one field-harrow recumbent, drawn up side by side and resembling the skeleton ribs of huge mammoth animals. Dramatis persona) —two snow-white calves, with pink, watery eyes, being fed out of an unsavoury-looking bucket, an ancient matron in a rusty black gown and a battered yellow sun-bonnet on her head, and a young lady stretched at ease upon her back under the shade of the aforementioned hayrick.

The calves are both playful and greedy—they are possessed with an insane desire to get their two heads simultaneously into the bucket, a feat which, beine a moral impossibility, Molly endeavours to frustrate by presenting the bucket to each in turn with strict impartiality, whioh stratagem the twins resent by increasing* efforts to upset it. Two or three ducks, attracted by the prospect of food, have waddled up from the farmyard, and stand grouped around expectantly, and a couple of groy pigeons are whirling about round and round overhead.

Presently the calves, with convulsive gurglings in their throats, come to an end of their repast. _ Off goes Molly towards the farmhouse in the hollow, bearing the empty bucket, and after her hurries the whole of the live stock—calves, ducka and pigeons—and I am left alone on my back under the hayrick. Papa has gone to Eddington; Aunt Selina has driven into Narborough upon a shopping expedition. I have a letter from Bella in my pocket, which I mean to read over again presently. It is a long letter, and tells me that she is going abroad immediately for three months, and wishes I was not such a fool as to marry, as then I could have gone with her. I wish so, too. Three months abroad with Be 11a would be infinitely preferable to an in definite period at home with George Curtis Furthermore, Bella tells me she will write again from Paris, "and begs me to make use of her house whilst she is away if I want to be in London. It is this portion of Mrs Thistleby's letter I intend to read over again from my couch under the haystack ; but ram very idle, and I cannot rouse myself sufficiently from my reverie even to the extent of putting my hand into my pocket and taking the letter out of it.

I lie quite still on my back, with my arms folded into a pillow behind my neck and my eyes cast up to the blue sky straight over my head.

It is one of those lovely days which one gets sometimes at the end of October —warm as summer and still and balmy. There is hardly a cloud in the sky, and a lazy little breeze came softly sighing up from the we3t that just stirs the hair upon my forehead with a soft, sleepy flutter. There are all sorts of sweet scents about me —a scent of freshly-turned earth from a ploughed field hard by, a scent of ripe apples from the orchard beyond, a scent of hay from the rick behind me, and then —all at once, a soent of what does not appear at first to possess any raison d'etre; a scent inappropriate, unromantic, unlovely! yet which to a man's nose is ever refreshing, to a woman's eminently suggestive—the scent of a freshly-lit cigar. This inexplicable odour, totally foreign as it was to the surroundings in which it suddenly developed itself, caused me to spring rapidly from the completely horizontal attitude into the partially recumbent. I sat up. A shadow came round the corner of the hayrick and lengthened itself across the short grass at my feet. ' You don't look surprised to see me,' said Captain Thistleby, as he seated himself leisurely by my side. 'I am not. I knew you were ooming.' 'How so?'

' I smeltyou,' I answered gravely, with a corresponding upward sniff of my small nose. He laughed softly, after his wont —a little, low laugh, that had a peculiar fascination for me ; it said so little, yet meant so much. He contemplated the end of his cigar for a moment, and then replaoed it in his mouth. For an instant we were both silent. Swiftly my thoughts travelled back to that blessed day at Seacliff, when he had come unexpectedly, as now, down the garden steps behind me and had sat, as now, at my feet. I remembered with what a queer feeling of dismay I had realised that he was to be my Companion through the day, and then how rapidly the fascination of his presence had

, wrought upon me, until, ere the day was • ended, I had learned to love him. ' And since then how many nights had I not fallen asleep with his name on my lips P How many days had I not awakened with his image before my eyes ? And yet he seemed (further —miles further—from me here than he had done at Seacliff. Evidently his thoughts, too, had travelled back to that first day of our acquaintance, for his next words were an allusion to it. ' I am not going to throw it away, though,' he said, in allusion to the cigar. ' You like smoke, you know—you told me so at Seacliff. Do you remember ?' ' I do not remember any of the silly things

I said to you at Seacliff; it is so long ago,' I answered, looking away lrom him. * Ah! I wish I could forget them as easily. By-the-way, what an unkind message that was you sent me by Bella the morning you went away.' ' You were very lazy,' I said, laughing out of sheer gladness of heart; for the landscape seemed to be fairer, the sunshine to be brighter and the sky bluer since he had come to my side. ' Why did you not get up to say good-bye to me, then ?' ' impossible to say,' he answered, giving me a sidelong glance under his long lashes. ' I cannot remember; perhaps I was sleepy.' 'Oh ! by-the-way, you had registered a very uncomplimentary vow the night before — you swore you would never see me again.' Captain Thistleby contemplated the burnt ash of his cigar. 'I kept that vow very well, didn't I?' he said, with a smile. ' Remarkably.' ' What a funny girl you are !' were his next words. 'Do you know, you have never asked me what brings me here so suddenly nor where I have come from.' ' Have I not ? Where do you come from ?' I said, indifferently, not caring much for the answer. That he should be here at all was enough for me. It did not occur to me to be critioal as to why or wherefore. ' Well, I have been at Newmarket, where, with my usual luck, I have lost my money. I am on my way to town. I had to pass Slopperton station; I thought I might as well stop an hour or so. I am fortunate in finding you. Your servant directed me to the field. I have called, yon know, to see if you -had any message for Bella, for I shall see her in a day or two.' 'No, I have nothing to send to Bella,' I answered, carelessly. What did anything signify to me now, since he had so plainly come here for my sake, just to see me ? It almost irritated me to think he should frame so many elaborate excuses for coming. , I sat looking away from him, across the valley, in silence, with a great joy at my heart. Suddenly he bent down and looked into my eyes. ' Do you know that you cannot hide your thoughts one bit ? Everything shows in your face. Child, you look ever so glad to seel me !' .

' I am,' I answered, simply. He closed his hand upon mine, and held it tightly. I did not make even an effort to take it away from him. I was too happy. Surely now, I thought, he must see that I love him. Surely now he will say : ' Give up your engagement, and come to me.' I waited breathlessly, trembling from head to foot for his next words. His next words were as follow: ' You are very foolish to sit on the grass in that thin dress —you will catch cold. There was a heavy shower this morning.' I jumped up hurriedly. ' Yes, you are right,' I said, sharply, with a sort of discord in my voice; ' the grass is damp, and I am very sorry I have sat here so long. lam going in.' And I walked rapidly along the narrow footway that led across the field towards the orchard, Captain Thistleby following me, since there was no room for him by my side. The shallow stream that divided Farmer Bicketts' field from our orchard was spanned from bank to bank by a single plank. ' You have left your sunshade under the hayrick,' said Captain Thistleby, as we reached it. ' Wait an instant for me, and I will go back and fetch it.' It was too true. In my indignant haste I had forgotten it, and my companion had not been slow to take advantage of this point in his favour. Common politeness forced me to stand still until he b/ought it to me. I crossed the stream and leant against the knotted trunk of an old apple tree, awaiting his return. Great branches, heavily laden with crimson' flushed fruit, hung over my head and swept down on every side of me to the ground, shadowing the blue of heaven and screening me in a framework of greenery. Fallen apples, some rosy-red, some creamy-yellow, lay scattered over the short, thick grass at my feet, and the clear, brown stream rippled on with a pleasant murmur in front of me. Presently Mark Thistleby came back to me across the rustic bridge, with my sunshade in his hand. As he came up to me, our eyes met suddenly. Captain Thistleby forgot to give me my sunshade; instead of doing so, he first took my hand and then drew me close to him —so close that my head lay for one blessed minute upon his breast, whilst his lips touched mine.

Then he put me suddenly from him. ' It is hard to give you up,' he said, in a j broken 7oice. ' I ought never to have come here, Freda; I have done you a great wvong, I fear. "When I came to stay at Chadley I was desperate, darling—so desperate, that I had made up my mind that I would make you my own at any cost; but I have thought better of it since. I love you too well to drag you through trouble and disgrace.' 4 Do you think I should care ?' I broke in, passionately. ' Do you suppose it would matter to me what was said of me ?' I longed to tell him that I loved him so | dearly that to give up wealth and position for his sake would be no trouble, but only a happiness—that to be thought worthless and heartless by the world would not disgrace me so much in my own eyes as to marry one man whilst I loved another. I longed to toll him this; but Mark Thistleby did not ask me for my love. He drew my head down again upon his shoulder, and softly stroked rry hair. ' My little darling,' he said, tenderly, ' I have come here to-day to wish you good-bye for ever. Had our live 3 been differently shaped, we might have been very happy together ; but it cannot be. There are things between us that can never be swept away. Don't cry, sweet love ; you will be happy by-and-bye, when all this is gone by. I wanted you to know that I really loved you, because sometimes I have been afraid that you have accused me of trifling with you. I am a bad man in many ways; but believe me when I j'tell you that my love for you has been, and 1 will ever be, the purest thing in my life,

and that is why I will not spoil your life for you.' I clung to him, weeping. 'Tj ere is no dis £ race — nothing that I would not bear for your sake,' I said, brokenly. ' He held me tightly to his heart in silence.

' How sweet, m er long §' rief and pain, a iT° ee * my true l° ve ' s arms About ine once again.' m Alas ! why did it not last for ever? Lookmg back upon that moment of joy in after y ea /s, I can truly say that, greatly as I suffered later, that instant of' happiness was cheaply purchased at tho expense of all that was to come. ' Darling, I must go,' he said, gently withdrawing himself from my arms ' Ah ! will you not explain to me ?' I cried despairingly. Since I bad found my lover' it seemed so hard to let him go. ' Mark whv must yr>u leave me ? I love you so !' ' ' Hush!' ho interrupted, quickly,laying his hand upon my lips, ' don't tell me so. I know it well enough, darling—but don't tell mo of it; it would make it too hard to leave you. Believe me, it is best. Nothing can alter what is, and I will not spoil your life. Perhaps, bv-and-by, the day may come ; but now I must go.'

He tooK both my hands, o.ie in each of his, and, one after the other, raised them to his lips, kissing them hungrily and lingeringly; and then he dropped them suddenly and, turning from me, strode away through the apple tall, strong figure in dark relief against the primrose evening sky; whilst I sank prone upon the grass where he had left me, and wept as I have never wept again.

(To he continued.)