Untitled

Otago Witness, Issue 1465, 13 December 1879, Page 21

Splendid Mistery.

„..,. A,NpYEL. o . lf by Wjt 1 x Avmm of "zizir audlei 's ' : ; Ohaptisr XVJI. , , , ■ Buried Lett«r«, BiirUd Hope*. ' LOSSIE tWas elated exceedingly when. she was told, of | her eißter's i engagement ; even, I the little serving-maid; Amelia, ' ' sang louder than ever for' joy ; 1 the sick mother mended slowly; but surely from 1 that hour. : Barbara alone "wati 'sad. ''", She; •tooted about .' wlowly, as if' I , leaden' (weights' "' were" tied .to , her . feet;; jner, heavy eyes, looked straight' .before her, gazing with infinite horror ( into. a hateful futurity. In her mother's , she contrived to smile, and even i ,to talk gaily. Lore gave her courage, love gave her strength. She was the old , happy Barbara in the sick-room. Pride forbade that she should bare her wounds! before' the volatile Flossie. . To her, lover i We was uniformly courteous, with a grave ; politeness which would have disheartened ' an ordinary lover, "b]u.t;> .which Yyvyan Penruth accepted placidly, as, if, he. ex- . pe.cted nothing more. ; ,;>.,..!■. o ; [There was no need to pay any further ivisits to the dusky office round the corner by; the silversmith's shop. The insolent clerk -who had squeezed Barbara's hand saw' her no more. Her lover gave her a Hundred pounds for immediate necessities, and she took the money without compunction. 1 &he^h'a|d "sold herself fora price, .and.sh'el/f elt.no shame in accepting any .portion of; tiiat price. , The shame was in $he bargain itself— a deeper shame for her i plighted ; husband than for herself, she thought. One of, the first uses she made tof i Mr Penruth's money was to send {Amelia to redeem her firat lover's ring. But the golden circle was never to be worn by. her again. The bond of which it' ''was^'thG sign had' been doubly broken. "V. ' , ', ;,/!,•*'' '„' She. packed the ring ma. little box, and inclosed with a.letter addressed, to Cap.: tyjn , Leland's mother,' begging , her ,-, to restore,, jit to her actn. a,V a iconvenient opportunity., t > .«. Iju ■ /^»'t ■. -!'- ' ■ :.; "No doubt you know, that :i Captain iLeland cancelled bur-'^engagement some months i agb^' r wrote t r •' ( l Perhaps' \i ought to have retdrn^d the , ring tfoli' ; btff J I; was. So' fdolisiras to' think'; that j he might 'change his mind and ( that bur engagement might' some day. be, renewed, and I could hot bear to part with! the souvenir of his love. , But now. I am going to b« married I have no right to keep the, ring any longer, and; I shall esteem' it L a favour, if you will take an parly opportunity of sending it to him with my sincere wishes for his 'happiness." • ■'" x '~ ; ' ,' "' J" There was : no more than this. It was the most commonplace of letters'; 'and seemed heartless in its' poverty- of .phrase. Yet the girl wrote with a breaking heart ana\eyes drowned in tears. \ Hotiiouse grapes, good old wine, all the luxuries,. that .money can buy, were delivered .at No. 20South lane ; but it was not , theVwine or the invalid turtle, the spring chickens or asparagus, that brought back the colour to Mrs Trevornock's cheek or, the strength to her limbs. It was the knowledge that her child's future was provided for,-it .w_aavthe delightful idea thai her favourite daughter was goiDg to be a great lady, that restored her. She | had Bunk under the' weight of petty cares and harassing trivialities, and now the burden was lilted Qff, her shoulders altogether. She had no longer to calculate and provide for, the necessities of the morrow. For the first time since her luckless marriage, she could, fold her hands, and take her rest, and say, with a contented spirit, " Sufficient for the ( day is the evil thereof." She 'could/ see no evil in the day. or the morrow ; she had no misgivings as to her child's, happiness. To the matter-of-fact .temper of middle age the passions and sorrows of youth seem of small account. No doubt poor Barbara had been very deeply in love with Captain Leland ; but she must have almost forgotten him by this time, and would, as in duty bound, become attached to Mr Penruth, whose generous devotion was calculated to inspire grateful affection on the part of its object. "If I had met with such a man in my youth, instead of Mr T., what a happy woman) I 'should.have been !" inusVd Mrs Trevornock, .forgetting that at nineteen years of age she had not been so well acquainted with the value of worldly wealth as she was now. ; ' '' A week went by without , bringing any response to Barbara's letter, and then came an answer in a strange' hand on deeply bordered mourning paper : — "T)eab Miss Trevornock, — I am sure you will be grieved to hear that my dear mother died last November after a short illness. It has been a terrible blow for us all; I will send the ring to George by the next mail. v I am sorry your engagement should have been broken off, but it is perhaps 1 better so for both. My brother.has not been fortunate in India, and he' is ' in , ho position . to marry. < I ttjlnk' he'jwill, be surprised to hear that you/arip engaged to some one, else.— Yours veryirujy^a, *;,«;•'. -i ■<; . . - •

"He. has not been fortunate," sighed Barbara. "Was it his bad fortune that made him give me up ? That can hardly be : for I , told him I had no fear of poverty or even of disgrace — that I would be true to him in the darkest days of my life. If he had carod for me he never could have flung me off. Well, it is all over and done with, and it is my duty to forget him." She did try honestly, to put her lover's image away from her during these early spring days, which seamed to hurry by her, drifting her towards her doom. ' They were day,B evermore to be remembered ; days now historic. Suoh great and terrible scenes were being played out yonder in the Crimea, that Barbara's petty griefs Bhould have' seemed as nothing to the heroic mind. Yet they were large enough to fill her little world. Never had she been so miserable, yet never had the days been so short. She clung to her mother with ever-increasing fondness. The idea of going away to her husband's distant home was intolerable to her. " How shall I ever bear my life so far away from you ?" she said, sitting on a low stool beside her mother's arm-chair in the sunny southward fronting window. South lane was putting forth buds and blossoms under the April sunlight. The almond trees were in flower ; the lilac bushes were covered with green buds ; the garden was yellow with daffodils. Mrs Trevornock was well enough to sit up for an hour, or two in her own, room when the day was at its warmest. ■ "My sweetest, you once thought of putting a much wider distance between us," she said, smiling, down, at the, sad face nestling againßt her pillows. "You did not shrink from the idea of' going to India." "That was to be three years hence, and I hardly realised the idea. When the tim 9 came it would have been dreadful to go so far away — even with him." " Cornwall is really no distance in these railway days. A day's journey at most. And we shall come to stay with you sometimes, I dare say. Mr Penruth is so kind that I am sure he will wish us to visit you." ' "Of course, of course, mother.. My life will be bearable only when you are with me." , " Barbara, .don't talk like that !" cried the mother, looking, at her: anxiously, tf, My love, if you have such a feeling as that — a conviction that you are going to be in your married life — the marriage must be ' broken off, late as it is', and though it' is such a grand match for you, 1 and has made us all so 1 happy." lv '( . ,''" „ " \ '„• "Ho, mother, I am hot going to bjreak n*y engagerijent to Mr Ppnr^th.,, One broken engagement , in a lifetime is enough, is it nob 1 But you don't suppose I am desperately in love with him, 4o you?" . . ■• : ) " No, dear ; but I look forward to your being a good and dutiful wife, and a very happy woman." " Yes, mother, I phall be happy ; I am happy, for you are'spared^tome. Q, I amr an ungrateful wretchj When jyou were , 111 I , wearied Heaven with. , ( my prayers: arid now I am not, half grateful enough. . I fancy, my jfate a hard one — "., ... ; . „, <- . • . s "My dearest, it is a fate' that ninetynine 'women out of' a hundred would envy," interrupted. Mrs Trevornock. "Do you mean that ninety-nine out of a hundred would marry for money V* •'■' "Yes, dear, if they had learned the value of money, as we have, by bitter experience." " Bitter experience !" echoed Bab. "Whatever my future' may be, ,1 shall look back at my days in South lane as the happiest part of my life. " , ' Everything was settled. The wedding- . day' was fixed for the 20th of May. Mr Penruth was unaffected by Flossie's protest against a wedding in May as proverbially unlucky. He was not given to such , small superstitions, though not entirely ! free'. from that leaven of 'belief in the un:canny which lies deep in the Cornish nature, not to be eradicated by time or civilisation. There was every reason to (suppose that by the 20th of May Mrs ]Trevornock would be well enough to assist, at her daughter's marriage, and [except her illness' there was no reason for idelay. It was. all decided with very , slight reference to Barbara ; she gave |her consent to the arrangements with ' a meekness, which was rather submission than content. The when and and the how mattered little to her, since this thing was to be. Aunt Sophia wrote warmly in approval of the new engagement, and sent her ,neica fifty pouncU to buy wedding gowns. 'She had considered Barbara's previous engagement the height of imprudence. She had disapproved of Captain Leland as a partial boarder ; she had disapproved of him as a lover. The whole .business had, in her estimation, been one of poor Flora's mistakes'. But now slu*. was r enthusiastic in her congratulations. " I know all about Mr Penruth, but by repute only," she wrote to her Bister-in-law ; "for his estate is bo very far west, and the Penruths have been always rather an eccentric family, living very much to themselves. They are among the best people in Cornwall, aa no doubt you know. One of the Penruths married a Miss Mohun, an heiress. They have intermarried with the Carews. Barbara ought to feel very proud of making such a marriage. Mr Penruth's age may perhaps appear a drawback in her mind ; but as he has never been married before, and is 'so devoted in his attachment to her; that ought to make very little differ-

ence. I consider her a most fortunate •] girl; and I think that even you, Flora, : will allow that in this instance my brother \ Thomas has done very well for one of his daughters, and has some claim to your gratitude." Slowly and reluctantly Barbara set about the purchase of her wedding clothes. ' She shrank with secret horror from any act or part in the preparations for her' marriage. Yet she tried heroically to* hide her misery, lest her mother's love should prevent the sacrifice. - ; " What a strange girl you are !" ex- - claimed Flossie. "I'm sure if I had' my purse stuffed full of bank-notes I; Bhould be rushing off to the Road to spend them." , The Road — otherwise the Wai worth road, or at furthest Newington causeway | — bounded Flossie's horizon in , the way of shops. But here Mrs .Trevornock, , with her experience of a previous existence in more fashionable localities, suggested a cab and a pilgrimage to Regent street and Oxford street. - - ; . "That will be delightful !" cried Flossie. "A cab! To think that we' can afford to hire a cab whenever we k want one ! It is like entering upon a new stage of existence." , "You really had better make your purchases this afternoon, . Bab," urged Mrs' Trevornock, -who had now descended to the parlour. "We are half-way through April already, - and dressmakers are so slow." ' ... Barbara had no objection to offers; so she, arid Flossie went to Oxford street; and selected such raiment as might b« suitable to a Cornish gentleman's, wife living in a lonely, old house' far off the beaten tracks. Mr Fenruth had counselled her to buy no finery. He kept no company at Penruth Place. His nearest neighbour lived seven miles off. This might have seemed a dreary look-out, even for a woman who had loved him. But it made no difference to Barbara. "You will let my mother and sister come and see me sometimes, won't you ?" she asked one day. v Yea, of course. They can come when they like, but I'm afraid they'll find it dull. Your sister won't like Penruth Place. She's fond of gaiety, theatres, concerts, and so on." "Yes,, but. she ia fond of the country too," urged Barbara. " I hope, you will let me have.my mother and Flossie to stay with me — often."/ ' ' She would have liked to have said "always," for she felt that only" under suoh conditions could her Cornish lifebe tolerable.- jl , , , ' "O, yes, they ( can come,"^ responded P.enruth, np.t too graciously, '•' provided they and my sister can hit it pretty, well together." j , >„. Barbara shivered.. ' That . Bister, "of whom she had, heard" so little, but < who was always spoken of as a fixture- at Penruth Place, a feminine edition df Mr Penruth ! ! ; "Does your brother live with yb.u V\ she asked once,' "wondering whether,"; she' was to support existence with three of the Penruth race. ' ' ;■; ■ ' " Yes ) Mark has free quarters attPens-, 1 ruth Place.,,, He is fond of horses .and,dogs,,- • and makes .better, use of my stables- than! Jldo. .But, he is n,ot always with' us, 1< He , haß a couple of rooms at the Quarries, and 1 ,we sometimes see nothing of him for' a 'week on end." : • ' "Is he like you?" 1 ■ "No," answered Vyvyan, with a grim ! smile. "He was the buck of the family. IHe favours his mother, who was a Carew; He was a handsome fellow once, but he 'has contrived to get rid of his good looks ! somehow, though he is my junior by five years." ■ Flossie enjoyed herself vastly that April afternoon at the West End drapers'. It was she who chose everjf'thing, she decided what the future Mrs jPenruth ought or ought not to have. •Barbara sat by and looked on, the , picture of indifference. Flossie thought this jarose from an innate want of taste in her 'elder Bißter. I " Some people have no taste in dreßS, no ideas," she "said to herself; "that 'kind of thing is born with one.'' I She rattled away mercilessly to Barjbara m those blank Vj intervals when .the ishopihan had - gone ' to' fetch' ! fresti' 'goods. ! "You must have one or two dinner jdresses,'' she said ; " however far off your 'neighbours may live, they must give jdinner-parties, and with plenty of horses liri your stableß you won't consider dis^ jtance. You ought to have a velvet gown. Shall it be ruby or black 1" "By all means black." " But you- have chosen two black gowns already ; surely you are not going to wear perpetual-rriourning V 1 " I like, black." , " Well, if your dinner-parties are to be few and far between, perhaps black vel!vet would, be best. It would take, you 1 ages to wear out ruby velvet, but you can wear out black -velvet by your own fireside. " How far-seeing you are, Flossie !" "In choosing a trousseau one has to study contingencies," answered Flossie sagely. It was Mr Penruth's particular desire there should be no fuss about the ! wedding. " We can't be married too quietly," he said ; " I know nobody in London, and I — I suppose you haven't many friends in the neighbourhood." j "Very few," answered Mrs Trevornock. And then she ran over the names of , I about ten people, the people with whom she had been wont to exchange small hoa-

pitalities in the way of tea and muffins, whom she would like to invite to the breakfast. "Oblige me by not inviting any of them," said Mr Penrnth ; " when a man of my age marries a pretty girl he does not care to make a spectacle of , himself. ! Let us be married as quietly as possible. \ I suppose Mr Trevornock will give away, his daughter." ..- • ■■ .■ ■ ' "I suppose so," faltered Mrs Trevornock, thinking that there might be some awkwardness in the sudden appearance of her husband in a neighbourhood, where she was popularly supposed to be a widow ; not that she had ever so declared herself ; she had only been silent as to the existence of Mr T., save to, those more intimate friends who knew the- troublous history of her married life. , „;-/., . If, the wedding' -were, strictly private no one need know of Mr Trevornock's brief appearance^ on the domestic stage. -■-So the good lady resigned hereself- to r foreg6 those carriages and pairs' of snow-white horses, artfully touched up' with whitening, for the occasion, and that elegant confectioner's breakfast which, she had planned in honour of her daughter. There was to be no breakfast 1 at all, in the festive sense of. the word. Barbara was to be marrried in her travelling-dress of dark <. silk, and. she and her husband were to drive, from the churoh to the railway station, on their way to Paris, where they were to spend their honeymoon.' Mr Trevornock /had, informed Flossie of his intention of not setting His foot, inside No, 26 South lane*. He r had no. objection to perform a father's part in gi^ingjßai^ bara away, aB she. was . making a marriage he highly approved, j But beyond, that he would not go. He , had not, forgotten how badly he had been treated ; the bad treatment consisting of his having been relieved of the burden of a wife and daughters whom he had never been able or willing to support. ' ' ,t, t , ,'" J< lt isn't' a very lively notion of a wadding," said Flossie, to the' bride-elect, " but as you are going to be enormously rich.it doesn't much matter. When I marry. l shall insist upon making a,, teatur» of my wedding-day ; but I daresay I shall espouse some wretched pauper, and that we shall have to pinch afterwards." The 20th of May arrived/ so soon, terribly soon. Barbara had watched the 1 swift days hurry by with a ( dim idea th^t something would -happen; something Ttrild and strange, to prevent that, hateful marriage: She had steeled herself to the issue. She was resoluteiy'b'ent upon -the saorifioje which 4 was to make her motor's fronVj adversity, 'ye^.^phe^had,, a^agiie fancyithat,tfiftsagnfice;w ( ouldjbepr§yfi^^^ somejh.pw. ».The: s,*fcrplw. u of .diAontfw^uJJl not descend. iGeorgeLeland? would come back from India, faithful and: fond as ( in first days of-their 4oyei powerful to savef her. - 'Wealth wpuld 'drop*d6Wil J from the skies. Some 1 relative or a unknown 1 would leavelier mother : ii fortune. ! ' '>"* 1 nightly 11 o|' spine' BtVangef an^d,su l d'd'en;release./'Sh^fe r lt:the j d^ sensei-of recovered freedom, .and aTnrqk'e to. the gnni'reaiityr ; Todays '^re. slipping. by,,,thte days, ha4, gone; thiscr pile-gray; dawn, .flushed, with .rose, on iits! eastward edge, wasiher wedding-day. .; She (awoke* 'as early as she' had j done ■• on thatnotheri i fatal morning, when George 1 Eelandsailed from Southampton. Sleep was'infpdssible. l ! There are 'doomed' wretch'es wHo c^n sleep ion the eve of J 'theif exejcutioii,'', can;' lie down and take their rest with that hide'-* ous end staring theni in ttie face. 'Bar-j bara was not,made of su'cji' atiern stuff J , She started ; frpm her, pillow at, the firsty glimmer of dawn, got up-and^put on her, dressing-gown, and went over to her little, table by the window, to make an end of: her past. • ■ ■ - ' ■ vii Her desk, a roomy old mahogany deskj I was filled with ' George Leland's 1 letters.had kept them till this' i final day; Something might happen. ISo ;.|ong\ as' that hope remained, were ,'it, ever so faint/ she had kept those dear , evidences of a dead and gone love. To . destroy .themeven now seemed a. kind, of BacrUege,al-' most a murder. . She handled the, letters gently, as-if they had been/ living. .crea* 1 'tures. She sat waiting for clearer lights .that she, might read' f them • for r the Iksf Itimei Dear letters, full of' tetidem'e.Bs!' 1 jliigh^hearted 1 h^ppy jl^tter^ jbireatfiirig" 1 jhope.'," j^, t , ', 1( , \j „ [ ) v t -f,,V\T " '-,,'n " Oh, my love, my, love,' .wlrj^did yqu, grow weary of me 1" she, cried, ifl.herdes-:; Ipair; "I know you loved me-oiice." ' >, »• The sun was high before she! had 'read, the last, of those fond protestations^ which the writer's ' after conduct had so ! strangely belied. But at last there was' no excuse,' for r lingering over those 1 lines, any longer. She lit her taper, and held one of those doomed letters ; over the flamed Only for '& moment! A .'curious fancy came into her head., . She smiled, at; her own foolishness. The church-clock chimed the half hour .after six., „ >, „_, . Vj ] "I , There will be time; for me, to do it,?'she said to herself. "No one will be. gei>. ting up till after seven. I won't burn his letters. I'll bury thenu" '-'f; ■ >'■" >"■ ' She wrapped the packet of flimsy letters' in a sheet of foolscap, sealed it in three or four places, and wrote upon it, " G.L.s Letters, May 20th, '55 ;" then she put' the sealed packet into a small tin box, and with this box in her hand she ran down to the garden, bare-headed, in her dressing-gown and slippe/s. She went to the end of the garden, to a. spot where lilies of the valley grew abun--dantly in the angle of the crumbling oldwall, under the shadow of a barren fig- 1 tree. 1 Here seven years ago she had dug' a grave for a beloved canary, 1 that* hair perished untimely, a victim to.the treachery .of a favourite cat. ,S.he remembered' the ohildwh tears that had rained upon

that innocent 'gravie. 'And now in thtf pride of her womarihdod-she came to the name spot to bury tile memorials of a dv« appointed love. J>" ! ' • • ■•• -*-' 1 ' 1 - She fetched a spade from the little sum-mer-housev where the garden-tools were Btored in a dark corner; and dug a deep hole between the lilies and the rugged old roots of the. vine. It) w& all she could, do to -find' space ' «noiigh -t6t thto grave of her hopes amidst theTitilbs i! tfcat had spread and multiplied 1 all over tita ground. When shci had dug. deep' etibugn to please her faricy^ she knelt doirii ami v ...j,,.;, , '? The Uhes.wjllfJje.aU growing orer the place, ne^ti year,'/,, she.tsaid, to herself •; V but I. shall ttever. forget tthe >spotfs and perhaps some day when lanvan old fro^ nrfari, I shalj coma^here^and 'dig up'tKosa dear letters' and'read them l igain, Woncte!& ing -at their. fooli^HlieaMfor it ieeiril'to me' thatreldeWy^jreopl^ hive^a -%wM kriab&idf forgetting- thWvbutli:""' 1 11! 1 onl ™ commp^i tjo the treacherous mpnth^p&Mayi Barbara was chiiied u tp..thp] boneH blithe) time.hepjta^iWasifiniflhedJ ; Bh6 hurried back to the house, shivering* violentltf"& the; clocks werestrikingr sevens lj;it vuaoht I "I am glad I did hbt !j bUto J tfiem. M) «Ka said-to herself.' 1 '*lt wblild Have' T WeiiF<S bad as'cutting'pff oWofViny owMoifc:* 1 '-" For^odtieW'gr^iovtf' hairpuis, i ;ike (l anew (l Me.dusa t [ , o , utuin „,# I.havft been -gathering .the .fiwtt lilie« of. the yalley sll fer, : iny. w,eddjng\'bonquetj» answered Barbara, with a hysterical hraghfi (( I BhaU always remember those lilie* r >i>n\ my wedding-day. < -• " ■ i r wl« I n »«She- dressed harself' 1 ' as 4*"*%^ dj M being married were the cemmori^stWetfttf in life, while Flossie fassed'ancLirastlei arid protested ' tsWu|ly; rt^aOet \JSffl &*eyer ; had been, s6"difficult' to 49 £{nee' >jiji g was born.'' *" * '* <v "" " ".-.^jad . "It serves me. right for -putting,! it lin hair-pins, when it has a natural waveJ' she said. ," It .was aU that Amelia^ advice.. 'Twist it ihand'orit of *n"'ai»u pin, missy'she said? 'like; l doVAtf if fthl were/a model." <;>'-■'■• *•'■-* wodV/ • There waa, a hurried 1 ; agitated^breakiMii in the garden parlotir-r-Sc^ne 61 autncwa cosytes^rin'kin'giiaf daWg r on%>C^iiS drunk feverishly* i;;Mss, TmomQQlbmM painfully .agitated, t and looked^ pale and wan in/ hen new, grayesilkigowri. « Sh« wondered ihow} Mr- .T. wouldlbeh&ve' to her. Itiwas twelve years; rfinoV BhVh&d dSen him.' >a daslio ao in. andi ss r ;m(i »b!(U in"a 'friendly J 'Wfa?' I l3S^^¥*WtfMi wiU k be:awk^aW «^ } nMVT' f'r^ "Jt itime v , „,]„ t-' v . Ki . ,jl.j.;-:d^iiiiMa tf* ijiL'(,i« I .«" Xqu Jiever.ilookedlovelierjJodarling^ said her.mother fondly.i pie suits your complexion admirably^ v.jh o^The- ' weddibg-gown%as !iW ! iM)mbr9"6r ( hue as ! 'it I cbuia vu rlßePwitliou r I BePwitliout < ;l)eih^ MbW The 1 weadi&^h'fi'ef ''wlfi^in^^W dist'in^ißhed'from'thebbmeW'olfeVeryV ! tested rMoßßie. Y, ltl^oka^unlucJgr^ ,Jiunl, Jiunl I ginned againpt, I the ! b.Qsom olitheiferidOiJl. j dress there was a single lily ofnthe^aljey*! , Her! own tremuloushandsihad iasi^niidi^ there, a token tof the spot- bendathiwhiolia • her lover's lettersiay buried, -u^i xn\mou>. i '■' Th 6 Buhriy morning had clouded *W a ilittle as they drove in ; ahired'6arria^e'tS itbe 1 church by the cariaL "-ft^wWPgiJ ilMai^ Ihad retrograded^iffittMC 1 *^ 11 o t ' w -r*' I waiting lj for 3 '%m ithe door, of the church,, in compan;^|h Mr „Trev6rnp6k,' and j; Mr\ MaulJEordi -»a.tt sight of whom r ßarbWa. drew ibaclf; with «- [shudder of absolute antipathy.-, of n.-i ,mm i ■ " What businessi has 'ie shei thought. ' he come! oh purpose' fco) reinind me of ' that 'day at* Southampton V %r ■ She ! ha'd an' unreaaonHble dislike to her; father's;articled i: aerk; ii ah ll tinrewohabla : ide'afthat W^^e&jfif." 11 "" 1 " 41 %i ,!"* ;there was an.ex^aman to, admire .the>/ iwaviness of Her hair and the perfect fit of Sher new gown, to say nothing of herbonnet, which hadbeentherstridy-of '.the lastten,' 'days."-' " ■ ■ ' ■ *'i^'"' ''■•' a •(.'■/ . Ami Mr T. greeted his wife with a carelesa j" How d?ye'ddi' Flora raftfrg^e'her'te jtips' of his;firigers,' to shakei' r ,The "settle- 111 1 ment'B.h'ad been duly;eiecutea. J!( He'feli. Himaelf 'a'-jpatteifn; fath^;;ma;t\mc^a»' could the' most'carefjaj parent d° fo ß,]9xs} ( chjld than, to get .her'suph a,^husband .as |Yyv.y,an^!9nr.u,th, or rajbher such a lettie-. taentuas * yyyyan., Flewuth ,, had ; made ? jThe man himself wasa secondary consider/ •> ation. . > I,- 1 .■. ■ .111 !■'<> .'l'l'ii 1 ! Jmbf j »It was a humdrum >weddingj J The'ser^ 'vice Was hurried over- by r a.'griay-haire'i 11 curate>' ! who had grqwri i elderl^' 11 f whae'"'he ({ Waited fora Uving thai? had been prbn^pdl' him when he was a lad a't's'chool.j.Ho.ha'd^ no idea that ,he ( was f ,marrying' > , J j|',,tijii* woman* ,to' t ,sb much money Jin, the pewon of " this man.", .The bond was sealed ir^'j the shortest possible time, and, BarbaTA^ was, Mrs Penjjuth. -. ■ .., ■•■ i , -vii ' . *.* If he were to rush into the i church ' this instant, rich, triumphant,'' eager toy: marry me, it would be no uSe^*-aho-tHought, remembering her wild'dreantf^B last night. 5 "AU is over.", - 1 '- Jl , - v '» , ni " • „. - [To be continued.— Comtijtrfceit, in Wo, l«6l)i-,r(f=>f ! ;Wheaai small boywas.drfoked'lnii.iibiid.lu»'r! west home and to]d.])ij tmothw. b«: hwl C«Mhtti( tk« "dip theory."