FACING THE WORLD

New Zealand Times, Volume LIII, Issue 12434, 30 April 1926, Page 4

FACING THE WORLD

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

DOMESTIC STORY OF ATTRACTIVE INTEREST

BY

FLORENCE HOPE,

Author of “The Trials of Madge Moberley,” “Paying the Penalty,* “The Lordship of Love,” “Against the Wind,” &c., &c. [COPYRIGHT]

CHAPTER XIII.—BAD NEWS. Throughout the day Geraldine kept Mah busy, and Gilbert did not appear downstairs until dinner-time in the evening. Nothing had as yet been said about Mab leaving them, and she was imping that perhaps Geraldine would find her too useful a companion to part with, for she had done the work of a maid that-day, and the secretary had been turned into lady’s maid. She dreaded, yet longed, to hear Havelock’s story from his own lips, for ho would surely tell it her in detail, or, at any rate, something more than the bare fact when they met again aloiie. She would offer her sympathy, for it must oe a sad story that could part a wife from a husband, and she could see no reason for leaving him herself if she could smother her own feelings towards him, hide them deep down in her heart, and guard her voice and manner, for her face he could not-see. The second post came in with but one letter, and that for Geraldine from Lady Glenworth that she opened whilst sitting over dessert. “There is something that concerns you, Miss Lorrimer. Lady Glenworth writes that your sister seems to he an able secretary, but rather fears she is not strong enough for the post, ; as she has been having fainting fits, and had so bad a one last night—it must have been after you had gone—that the housekeeper called in a doctor, who see'ms rather concerned about her heart. You have not heard yourself by this post?” "No, oh, but I left her well—at least she appeared so. This is dreadful; she looked fragile, I thought, thinner and whiter, but she told me nothing of fainting fits, only said she had had a worrying time lately, but she" would keep it from me. Rene would not want to make pie anxious— —” “It seems that fainting fits run in your family"; yours was a bad one last night,” said Geraldine. “Mine was nothing; I never fainted in my life before, but this—if it is the heart”—her voice broke- off suddenly, for Mab remembered that her own mother had died of heart disease. Irene might have inherited the terrible malady. “Lady Glenworth is a fussy woman who makes mountains out of molehills. I would not let yourself become too anxious, Miss Lorrimer. Write to your sister to-night and ask her to wire back at once how |ho is, and to let you have more particulars later,” advised Havelock, hearing the anxiety in Mab’s tremulous voice, and longing desperately to show his sympathy by touching her hand. “Thank you—yes, I will do that. WiH you excuse me?” said Mab, turning to Geraldine, who inclined her head graciously. When the letter had been' written, Mab felt slightly better, for she had entreated her sister to let her know without delay how she really was, and to write after she had forwarded the telegram.

As she went downstairs again she heard Havelock playing the piano in the drawing-room. It was that same nocturne of Chopin’s that she had first heard him play, and it brought back a flood of memories and longings. How much had happened since that spring evening when she had stolen up to the old home to bid it farewell. Now she was asked to accept it for her own. What if Reno were really delicate—if the doctor should order rest? The thought dismayed the girl, for it seemed to her a 3 if she were being driven by Fate—drawn towards something so dreadful that she closed her eyes involuntarily with pain, as if she could see the picture of the future before her.

The drawing-room was dim with only a shaded lamp lit here and there in the long low room. The windows were closed, for the autumn mists were rising, early though it was, and tile evening air was chilly. Gilbert Ha-velock ivas alone, Geraldine having gone to the library to answer licr correspondents. Directly Mab came into the room Havelock ceased playing, and looked up expectantly. “I hoped you would come back here,” he said, “for there is something I want to say to you, something that must be said, however difficult it may bo to say. Will you sit down near me so that I may hear that you are there?”

She drew near the piano, and puiled up a chair that he might hear the sound, and her dress made a soft little rustle as she sat down. He remained on the piano stool, and as he began speaking one hand struck some melodious hut plaintive chords. “You have heard the truth about me from Lord Hamersliam, I understand.”

“Yes, I wish you had told me your, self, Mr Havelock.” He noticed with a pang that she did not address him as Maestro. “I wish to heaven I had ” ho answered, passionately, and his hands dropped from the ivory notes of the keyboard.

“Ho might have left it to you to tell me. I think,” continued Mab, sadly. How ho noticed every inflection of her voice, how he wished lie could save

her pain, but if she cared for him he couldn’t, no, ho must hurt her still more and drive the blow deeper. “I ought to have told you, I was wrong to keep it back, hut, child, you do not know, you cannot guess how bitter it is to me to speak of my wiiu. to open the old wound.” His hand fell unconsciously upon the notes and mado a discord.

“Then do not speak of her, let it be; I know that you are married; is that not enough? I have no right to know more, and if there is trouble—as there must he—T am sorry. I grieve for you, Maestro,” said the girl in the tenderest of tones.

“How good you are I How sweet! i But it is better that you should know j all, and should hear the story, such as it is. Listen! I married when I was an undergraduate at Oxford. She was a little milliner who flirted with most of, the fellows, but seemed more serious with me. She entangled me with her provocative glances, her coquettish ways, and before I knew where I was I had married her in a registry office, antf for ever after she hung like a dead weight upon my career. She drank, and as years went by grew worse, it became’ a nightmare in my life, a dread of how I should find her on my return to our home, and at last I had to hove her shut up. But from time to time she has come out, better for a short while, but the lapses more and more frequent, and the last so fearful that she was dangerous. It was my wife who blinded me.” “All, no, no, no, how dreadfully you have suffered!” The girl’s hands went out to him, and clung round his arm, her head bowed upon them. One of his hands stroked her hair gently as if comforting a stricken child, and then lie went on to tell her the rest of the story. “The vitriol did its work well. I shall never see again, and since then she has been shut up, absolutely mad. Whether she will get better as she has done before Ido not know, but I think it is scarcely possible, and perhaps best not. Her own friends in Oxford are continually trying to get her out. She has a tin shy sister who used to get money osl of my wife, more than I could afford to give her, for she was inclined to extravagance herself, and there was trouble of every kind, I think. With this blindness, my career at the Bar was wrecked, hut I have fortunately an income that brings me in sufficient to live quietly upon, and Geraldine has her own Now you know —all.” His voice ceased, and the quiet in the room was only broken by the stifled sobbing of the girl, whose heart was wrenched with pain for the sufferings of the man who had grown so much to her in her life. “Don’t cry, little girl. You must not do that, things are better in a way now, for though lam blind, I have peace whilst she is away, and—and I have your friendship, isn’t that S ° “Always,” she whispered, “always, if you care for it.” “And I do,” lib murmured. She unclasped her hands then from his arm, and sat up. She must try to deserve that friendship and be strong as he. “There is something more I have to say.” “What is ltP’LJi Was there something worse to tell!' Something that would hurt her still more? Ah, God help her to bear he prayed. ' “We are goiug away from here. Geraldine wishes to go abroad, and I have been advised to consult a German oculist of some renown, not that I think there is any hope, still even a chance must not pass of my regaining my sight—and so my little secretary must seek another home. We must part, it must be, my child. I must bear it, and you—too.” The thing was said that she dreaded. She could not speak for some moments, she Felt choked, hut with a great effort she managed to control herself, and replied that she quite understood that it was the right thing only—only—it was rather hard, she faltered. His hands„w .i:derert over the piano keys softly, giving her time to grow calmer. He was improvising; his own thoughts and longings seemed to cry out in the plaintive music, and then suddenly there came a, jangling chord that jarred on the girl’s ears. He had remembered all at once Hamersham’s proposals, the week would be slipping away, what would be her answer? He turned sharply almost harshly upon her.

“What about Lord Hamersliam? He has asked you to become his wife, and mistress of Old Hall. I ought to advise you to accept such an offer, wealth, a beautiful home, no more struggle in the world that is so hard on penniless girls, it would he folly to refuse—” “How can you? Oh, how can you hurt me so? A woman does not marry for those things whilst she has brains and hands with which to work. Lord Hamersham has had my answer. I rejected his proposal last night and again this morning. Wien he asks me the third time ”

She did not complete the sentence, for at that moment there sounded a loud prolonged peal of the door bell, and instantly, almost afterwards, a servant entered tho drawing-room with n telegram for Miss Lorrin^r. (To be continued.)