Stella; A-TALE OF TWO HEMISPHERES.

Otago Witness, Issue 1325, 21 April 1877, Page 20

Stella; A -TALE OF TWO HEMISPHERES.

By Fabian Beix. (Written for fh". Otago Witness.) Chapter VIII. From Stella's Diary. May 20th. — Daring the last two months I have been too busy to write my diary ; my time has been fully occupied in attending upon my poor, dear Elsie. Early in March she caught a violent cold, and her system being already much weakened, she took to her bed, and never rose again. She needed constant care and attention, and I was happy in being able to give them to her. The dear old woman did not suffer much. It soothed her to see me by her side ; and when I held her hand, she would sometimes speak to me as if I was still the child that she had once nursed ; and again she would return to her own childhood, and spend hours pulling "gowans" on the breezy hillside just by her mother's door. Never once did she speak of Mark, or recognise me as the woman who had loved and suffered bo deeply, and in whose fate her own had been bound up. I was a child, or we -were children together. And the end was very peaceful — as the child, weary with play, sinks smiling to rest in its mother's arms, so, all the toil and soil of life forgotten and ita troubles past, the gentle, faithful, trusting Christian laid down her tired head and slept in peace. I could not grieve for her ; I envied jj cr — life is so hard, death is so easy. Yesterday, we laid her in the pretty, quiet cemetery, just where the hillside first catches the morning sun. There, the roses and forget-me-nots will grow over her grave, and the thrushes will sing to each other all the summer long. For the first time in my life I am utterly alone. I sit down, and think over my plans for the future. A wife,. and no wife. A woman who can never make for herself close ties and dope friendships until the shadow which is upon, her life shall be removed. A few months ago, I thought I could endure this life of patient waiting — that I ■would, remain here in Brighton until Mark should return to me. Now, I know that it would be impossible. I could not live alone that life of daily torture and snspense. Other women may be differently constituted, as they are differently situated ; they have: homes and families, parents, husbands, children. I have nothing — why should ■ I live this life, pleasing and serving no one 1 For weeks past an idea has been taking root, growing and forming into definite shape in my mind. , I will follow Mark to New Zealand. I will implore him to give up his useless search; to take me with him to some lonely bush cottage, where no human being will ever seek us to reproach him with, the crime of which he is. innocent— where, in the monotony of country life and country pursuits, he will forget his troubles and fears— where he will fell trees and guide the plough, while I keep the house tidy, and ever welcome his return with smiles — where we can resume the old half-savage life of our ancestors, and ignore the wants and ties of more advanced civilisation — where the world's commendation will be of no importance to us, and we can 'live for each other, content in each other's love— " The world forgetting, by the world forgot." Is such a life possible ? Ido not know ; but I know that lam more than willing ; lam anxious to try it. Mark cannot return to England, but I can go to him. His present quest, he himself terms "a task worthy of a madman." I shall tell him that I believe in him, and then he will giffeup his hopeless search ; or, if he does not yield to entreaty or argument, I -will tell him that I cannot live without him — that it would be kinder to kill me outright than to condemn me to this life of inaction and sickening suspense. When Bessie Alleyne recognised the clematis flower, and so gave me the clue to seek for Mark, then it was that this thought came into my mind. While Elsie lived, I put it from me, knowing that my immediate duty was to her ; but now, that she has left me, no duty, no tie of any. kind, prevents my following my husband. May 30th. — Bessie Alleyne has been to see me, and I have told her of my determination. For some time she did her best to dissuade me, saying, what is indeed true, that I do 'not know where Mark really is. That, because the flower he 'sent me grows in Otago, that is no sufficient reason for deciding that he is there ; it may grow in other countries as well. But I have faith in my floweromen, as also in my own love and energy. New Zealand is a large country, but it has not a large population. It cannot be but that if I go to the large towns, one after the other/ 1 shall find Mark or traces of him if he has been there. Bessie's second objection is more serious. What if Mark should leave New Zealand before I get. there, and we should pass each other on the way 1 At thig suggestion my heart stood still, and for a moment my courage failed. But instinct rather than reason tells me that his search will be a long one, and that if the end of it ■were approaching, he would write to me, and I have had no letter since January. No, my determination is taken. I will wait until tho next mail is in, and if it brings me no news, I will take my passage in the Brecknockshire, which is advertised to sail next month. "Do not try to stop me, Bessie, dear," I cried, " Something in my heart telk

me that I ought to go. If you love me, help me in every way you can, but do not try to keep me back.* I must go." Then Bessie threw her arms round my neck, and said — " I think you are right, Stella. It will be terrible for me to lose you, but I think you are right, and I will not say another word to detain you. I will help you in all your preparations here ; and I will write to my uncle, who, as I have already tcld you, is a squatter in Otago, and he will meet you and help you when you get to Dunedin, for I suppose you will go there first ?" " How can I thank you, dear ! You are, indeed, a true friend." And so the matter ia settled. I shall not write to my Aunt Janet until the last moment, as I dread her objections and remonstrances. June 10th.— The New Zealand mail has been in three days, and I have received no letter from Mark. I therefore write by this post to take my passage in the Brecknockshire. June 12th. — The Brecknockshire will Bail on the 25th, and I am going to stay in London with Besßie Alleyne until then — partly for the pleasure of her company, partly to be ready to embark at a moments notice. Mr Alleyne called to-day to bid me good-bye. I have not seen him for some time— not since dear Elsie's death— but his sister had written and told him of my intended departure. Certainly, there is a change in him since I knew him first — since he was so kind to me after my serious illness in the winter. He is as kind as ever, as tender, as thoughtful (he gave me a hundred directions for my health and comfort on board ship, which I shall try to remember and carry out), but he seems changed. He is sadder and sterner. Either he has worked too hard, and has some bodily ailment, or he is ill in mind. I tried to probe the wound, but he would not let me. I must speak to Bessie about him. I think he works too hard, and leads too lonely a life. He ought to marry, but I fancy he is rather difficult to please. He is a good man, and he has been to me the "friend in need," who is "a friend indeed." I should like to know that he was happy and prosperous. June 26th. — These are the last lines I shall trace on English ground. The Brecknockshire has left the docks—only two days after date — and' to-morrow I shall join her at Gravesend. To-morrow I shall begin my long three month's voyage. I; who have never been . on board any ship, never spent even an hour upon the sea. lam not afraid, perfiaps because I am so ignorant of the causes of fear ; and if the days are long and lonely and objectless, I shall think at night " I am one day nearer to Mark," and so I shall forget all minor disagreeables. And three months will soon pass. It is nearly a year since Mark left me — eleven long, weary, hopeless months, each one like an ordinary year. Now, I have hope. lam going to Mark. Surely these months will seem short, for every day will lessen the distance between us ; and I shall not feel that I am approaching a wild and strange country, but rather that I am seeking a " land of promise," where he whom I love | is awaiting me. Something very extraordinary has just happened. The Brecknockshire carries a surgeon, and that surgeon is to be — Mr Walter Alleyne. This was all decided today, and he has just come to tell us. The surgeon engaged for the voyage refused, at the last moment, to fulfil his engagement, and Messrs Shaw and Savill asked Mr Alleyne if he could recommend any one to fill the vacant post. He offered his services, and was immediately ac-. cepted, and so my kind friend and doctor sails with me. Of course, I am very glad ; I shall no longer feel lonely, for, as he says, he will be always at hand to watch over and amuse me. But I cannof understand thu sudden decision, and I think that Bessie is annoyed by it, though she will not confess as much. It is strange that Mr Alleyne should leave his Brighton paradise, and accept so poor a position as that of a ship's surgeonl He says that he is out of health, and I have long noticed a change creeping over him, and perhaps a sea voyage may be the best remedy. It will be very nice for me to have a friend on board ; but the whole affair is mysterious, and I fear— nay, I will not allow myself to harbour a fear which would wrong the truest friend I have ever had. Mr Alleyne is a gentleman and a man of honour, but I fear that on this occasion he is not anting wisely. I entreated Bessie to urge him to remain in England. She shook her head sadly. "It would be useless. Remonstrance would only annoy him. He has decided, and must act upon his decision. You are his friend, Stella ; be wise and wary as well as gentle." " And he also is my friend, Bessie — the best and truest I have ever known. Do not fear for either of us." But, although I apoke so boldly, my heart sank. • Again I feel how terrible my position is — a wife and no wife — and I long passionately to be with my husband again, safe under his care and protection. Mark ! Mark ! will no little bird of the wilderness tell you that I am coming? Will no vision of the night solve my doubts, and tell me whether it is a true instinct which is guiding me over the trackless ocean to your amis and to your heart ? Sometimes I shudder, fearing lest my fate should resemble that of the wandering dove, who found "no rest for the sole of her foot." End or Fibsi Part,