FROM STELLA'S DIARY.

Otago Witness, Issue 1320, 17 March 1877, Page 20

FROM STELLA'S DIARY.

Buckingham Hotel, Brighton, Sussex, . July 26.

Five days since we were married, five happy days which have passed like five hours. Surely no two people in this world were ever so happy as we are, and yet love is the only human passion which is eternal. Hate and fear and courage and even hope will pass away, but love remains. Yet love upon earth is not always happiness. I begin now to understand the anguish that underlies the most beautiful love poems. My love has brought me no suffering as yet ; but the suffering is there, deep in my heart; sleeping, perhaps, but still there.

Why come these melancholy thoughts to-day, when I am so happy ? Perhaps because Mark has left me, though only for a few hours. So I open my diary, and try to occupy ."and amuse myself by writing. It was Mark's wish that we should come first to Brighton, and then go to the Continent, and visit Paris and Switzerland, perhaps Vienna and Italy. I let him choose our route, because he has travelled so much and I have never travelled at all, so all places will be equally new and charming to me.

Elaie is with us. Mark said I should want a maid, and I said,

" Will not Elsie do 1 I should be shy of a stranger."

And Mark laughed and consented ; and so the dear old woman is with us still. Bat we do not sit together as of old ; she will not allow that, but shows a respect for Us convenances and appearances in general that I should never have expected from her. She sits in my dressing-room and knits socks for Mark. I tell hun that if he lives to wear them all ont he will be » modern. Methuselah. And most wonderful of all, Elsie calls me "Madam, " instead of " bairn " and " lassie," and I do not like it, it sounds so strange and distant.

I had a letter from my annt Janet this morning — such a cold, characteristic epistle, I wrote to her when I was first engaged to Mark, and then I sent her a copy of the Times, containing the announcement of our marriage, and this morning I received her answer. She hopes I shall be happy, but begs me not to think too much of earthly happines, trusts I shall do my duty as a wife, and offers me a fine receipt o! her own for homecored hams ; hopes I have learned to control my temper, and am less romantic and more practical than of old, begs I will study St Paul's advice to married women, sends her husband's respects to my husband, and, without adding one word of tenderness, one word of love, signs herself my "affectionate aunt, Janet Grant." Some people's affection is very icy. I wonder whether she loves her husband as I love mine, or whether she only has an "affection" for him. However, there can be no doubt that she superintends his dinner, puts the buttons on his shirts, and so fulfils the whole duty of- woman. Is it best, I wonder, to love as I love, or to love as she loves. How foolish I am to ask such a question, when I know so well that I would not change if I could, and that I could not change if I would. I can no more change the colour of my hair and my eyes than I can change the ardent nature which all Aunt Janet's lectures were powerless to subdue, and I must love according to th&t nature. Probably I shall suffer in like manner. Well, be it so. I can bear my suffering for Mark's sake, to serve or please him. One trial alone I could not endure — that he should cease to love me.

What folly possesses me? Is there really some trouble in the air, or is it only the heat that exhausts me ? I will go for a walk on the beach. No, Mark might come in while I was away, and I shold miss him. When will he return, I wonder. He said a few. hours, and, .he has been gone three.

I take up a book, and try to read ; but not even "Middlemarch" can claim my attention. I read the words, but the sense does not penetrate ray brain. Is it Dorothea who marries Lydgate ? or Caleb who hoards his money, and dies murdered and alone ] I think I will ring the bell, and ask for a " Bradshaw." It does not help ma much. There are so many trains to and from Brighton, and they seem to go in so many different directions, that I get more confused than ever. I think he said something about going to London, but I cannot be sure ; and even the trains between London and Brighton are very confusing — some are so quick and others so slow. If he got, by accident, into a alow one, he might not return until 9or ] .0 o'clock, and it is now 5 ;,but then, again, he may come at any moment. How he will laugh at my impatience and foolish feara. Elsie comes in. " Will you dress for dinner, madam V " No, Elsie, not yefc. I will wait until Mr Leyden comes. I can dress as quickly as he does. Bring your knitting, Elsie,

and sit with me. Talk to me, dear Elaie — tell me about my mother." She obeys ; but the subject chosen by myself fails to interest me — I cannot fix my attention. I walk up and down the room, and step out on the balcony to watch the passers-by aB they throng the King's Road. This occupation amuses me, and serves to pass away the time. At the sight of every tall man in grey tweed my heart gives a bound ; but as each in turn draws nearer, and I fail to recognise my husband, I still the pulsation with an effort, and watch again.

I notice one man who walks past the hotel several times, and furtively regards it and me. Yes, lam sure he is looking at me. At first I saw him without seeing him, and then I seemed to catch his eye, though it was instantly withdrawn. That man is watching the hotel — he is watching me. I leave the balcony and the window. It is 6 o'clock. Elsie wishes to order my dinner. " No, no ; let me have some tea ; I cannot eat alone." Half-an-hour later I go to the window again. The man is still there ; his back is towards me ; but he is still watching ; he turns and our eyes meet. Who is that man 1 What is he doing ? Why should he watch me? He is a common, stupid-looking person, except his eyes ; they are singularly bright and intelligent. He does not look like an artisan or a shopman — still less like a gentleman.

I wish Mark would come. For five days I have not thought of that supposed trouble of his which occupied my mind so much before our marriage. Surely it must have been a fancy of mine. He has been so bright and happy since the 21at ; never by word or look haa he given a sign of secret pain. No, lam wrong ; he looked ill and troubled when he went away this morning ; but I thought he was grieved to leave me even for a few hourg. But it may be that the old trouble, whatever it was, has come back, and it is that which has taken him away from me. Ah ! a new and terrible fear strikes me. That man outside — he is watching me ! Can he be watching for my husband ? The clock strikes seven. Again I look from the window.

, The man is gone. I breathe more freely — a load is lifted from my heart. 2^0 — yonder he stands before a Punch and Judy show — yet not looking at it, for as I step out upon the balcony the flutter of my dress catches his eye, and he tarns quickly round. ' I drew back — I am afraid of him. Mark ! Mark ! if you were here — if my arms were round you— l should fear nothing. I could face any danger with you, and for you, but while you are away, I fear everything, and my fears are giants, formless but terrible. -A. thought strikes me. I will go to the station, wait there for Mark, and tell him that the house is watched ; but, no, that will not do— l should be followed. Shall I send Elsie? Again, no. In what words can I tell her my fear, or hint a doubt of my dear husband ? I might smile, but she would think it strange — besides her old eyes and steps would not be quick enough to catch him. No, I must wait — wait.

How well I understand what I have somewhere read — " Waiting is a woman's curse."

The minutes tick out slowly from the large ormolu clock on the shelf. How the time creeps on. I dare not go to the window again. I feel that the man is still there, watching — watching — always watching. I sit and listen. I should know Mark's step among a thousand. Every nerve is now concentrated in one direction. I listen, not with my ears only, but with my heart. But the sound which lam expecting does not come. Perhaps I ought not to wish for it. If that man is really waiting for my husband, it may be better that Mark should not come ; and yet lam his, and he is mine. Let us bear what we must bear together — always together. I wait. Do 1 pray '( I try to pray, but I can- ' not fix my thoughts. Is that his step ? I spring to my feet, breathless. No; the tread goes past, down the road on the echoing flags, and dies away in the distance. Again I settled myself to listen. How loudly the clock ticks ; it echoes through my brain. I can hear nothing distinctly; all sounds are mingled together, so that I can no longer distinguish one from the other.

The door is opened ; some one comes in. Is it ? Can it be ? No, it is not Mark ; it is Elsie, come to ask me to take some food.

"No, no, Elsie. I cannot eat. What is that in your hand 1 A letter ! Give it me."

I take it languidly. Who should write to me, and I have no friends, no correspondents ? I turn it over, and glance at the address. My heart beats, my hands tremble. I try, but try in vain, to break the seal. The letter is from Mark. Ah, heaven ! *****

Letter from Walter Alley ne, Surgeon, to Mrs Jantt Grant. Buckingham Hotel, Brighton, July 28. Dear Madam — If I am correct in supposing you to be the aunt of Mrs Mark Leyden, I need not apologise for the liberty E take in thus addressing you. Two days ago I waa called in suddenly to attend your neice at this hotel. I found Mrs Leyden insensible, apparently

dying. She had broken a blood-vessel on the lungs, and it was with much difficulty that the hemorrhage was arrested. Her present state is very precarious. She is still insensible, and occasionally delirious. Her sole attendant is an old nurse, who, I am sorry to say, seems so much unnerved by the shock of her mistress's sudden attack as to be almost useless. Under these circumstances, % have scarcely dared to leave my patient since I was called in, more especially as Mr Leyden is not here. He left this hotel on the morning of the 26fch inst., and has not returned.

I attribute Mrs Leyden's illness to some mental Bhock, probably connected with the disappearance of her husband, because when I first saw her, she had a crumpled letter in her rie[ht hand, which she still retains — no efforts short of actual force availing to take it from her. I imagine that letter to be in some way connected with her husband, and with her sudden seizure.

Finding that my patient did not recover her senses — that her attendant was incapable of following my directions — also, that my professional duties forbid my devoting all my time to this particular case — I ventured to open a letter which was lying on Mr Leyden's dressing-table, addressed to her, and signed " your affectionate aunt, Janet Grant." I thus obtained the means of communicating with Mrs Leyden's relatives. Doubtless, after what I have said, you will see the necessity of coming to Mrs Leyden as soon as possible. If her life is spared, even for a time, she will probably have an attack of brain fever, during which she will require careful and constant nursing, and greater quietude than can be obtained in this bustling hotel. Hoping for a telegram announcing your speedy arrival, I am, madam, Yours obediently, Walter Alleyne, F.R.C.S. (To be continued.)