Chapter XIII.

Otago Witness, Issue 1499, 7 August 1880, Page 25

Chapter XIII.

; 'My lost love, and my own, own lovo. HILE Reginald and hia sister talked, and walked up and down in the garden of their father's house at South Melbourne, Edith Halford — nearly two hundred miles away, hitter against the man she loved, herself, and circumstances round her— lay wide awake, trying to solve one of the cruel problems of life : trying to think why, just when life was becoming so very sweet and • dear to her, and she was beginning to think that even if she were poor, it did not matter, so long as she had youth, and strength, and intellect — why all should suddenly become colder, harder to bear, and more bitter than it had been before in all her life, because Reginald Hearn was to be out of that life, and she might hope in vain to hear his voice and see his face. She told herself that everything would be the same as it had been before he went, but her heart sank, and the tears came to her eyes, with a hopeless blank despair whioh she could not banish. Her head ached with a dull, heavy, throbbing pain, which no tears could ease. ' Oh, Reginald, if you only knew how I love you ! and I must hide it, for you do not care for me. It is supposed to be a shameful thing for a woman to love the man who does not want her love, and has never asked for it. Oh, Ido love you, my own, own darling ! and I will love you, or my life will be more wretched than I can bear. I did think you loved me, even if it were a little ; but no, of course you cared for Miss Olive and her money. And why should I blame you ? Until I saw you I thought that there was no harm in everyone trying to make her fall in love with them ', but she cared for no one until you came. I wish I could die ! ' sobbed Edith, whilst the scalding tears ran down her face. The window was open, and the warm summer air and moonlight came through a thick green leafy screen of rosebushes and woodbine. Hardly a breath of wind stirred the leaves as Edith lay thinking over her trouble 3 and wearying heart and hrain with the perplexing and painful thought that the man she loved so truly had never cared for her, but for another more beautiful and accomplished than herself, and, as if that were not enough, a girl who had money. In her mind grew a bitter feeling of envious dislike to Brenda Olive. ' I don't see why she should have everything, and I should have nothing attractive. Papa is so hatefully, detestably poor, and he will always be bo bei

cause he is too clever at books to be anything but a dupe in business matters. What a horrid house we live in — everything in and around it going to ruin, because there is no money to put it into order and keep it nice. And of course their house is nice, and they have plenty of money to keep it so ; and Mr Hearn would rather marry a girl who has always been accustomed to live in a nice house, and have • .everything nice about her, than one whose father is too poor even to have lier or her sisters properly taught. Ido not see why things should be bo cruel and wrong, and why Mr Clive, who is not nearly bo well born, clever, or honourable a gentleman as my father, should have money to do what he likes with— to keep horses and servants, a large house, and ever so much valuable land, which he bought for next to nothing. They can give parties and balls, and I cannot even go to one for once in my life, because the plainest dress and gloves and boots to go in would cost ever so much more than papa can afford to give. I suppose fatalfats would tell me, "what is, is best." But Ido not think it is. It is very easy for those who have plenty of everything they want, and who can even be loved by the man they love, to say and think that "whatever is, is best," and perhaps if I were in their places I could and should nay the same. Of course, it is most natural that we should believe circumstances pleasant to ourselves are right and proper, , and ought to so continue. But I do not believe that anyone can really mean it otherwise. Perhaps if I said what I thought, it would be, " whatever is, is worst," but then people would say it is because I am. discontented, and cannot have exactly what I would like. I don't want bo much now as I used to long for. I think I could give up all thought of everything else— be poor even, and be contented and happier than I have ever been— if only Reginald Hearn loved me a quarter as much as I love him.' How truly, passionately, and purely Edith loved Hearn none but a good woman can imagine. For him she would have given up anything which to her Beemed moat precious in life. Yes, I dare say, my friends, you think she was very mercenary, that money should to her seem so precious, and that her love was not very great, after all. But unless you know the trials of poverty such as her father's, the bitter slights and humiliations innumerable to which one in her position is subjected — unless indeed you have tried it, and been utterly unable by any exertion of your own to do more than help to keep expenses down a little more here and there — then, I say, unless you helve tried it, and been yourself in the same position as she was, and had been ever since she could remember, you are not a competent judge. . Of course, I admit it is sad that such things should be, and girls should determine that, come what may, they will not continue in poverty" after marriage, but perhaps it is more excusable than people generally think. If there were more avocations in life open to poor, well-born women, such ideas need not exist in any right-minded girl's brain ; but, as it is, unless they can teach, write, or paint, there is little else they may do. Teaching is horrible drudgery to most ; and for writing and painting, something more than mere mediocre power is needed, at least' to enable one to earn a living at either. Even to those possessed of rare genius in the two latter, and unknown, or without at least some strong vantage ground besides their own talents, it is hard, bitter, uphill work, and whilst working for fame they may starve. Or they may, and perhaps will, turn aside from working out their high ideal, and pander to some popular taste of the day. Or, as they cannot get their work accepted and appreciated so as to enable them to live by it, they often marry, in the language of the world — well ; because they marry some one who seems to care for them, and who has the means to keep them, but it is only for them refuge from the cruel mercies of the world. Edith had always thought she would marry because she could do nothing else, and that, if it had to be, she would most certainly marry a man who was above poverty. When she determined this, although not fancy free, still her heart was free, and had never learned to love truly. But now, alas ! Bhe was doomed to love where, as she imagined, her love was not returned ; and for Reginald Hearn's sake anything— even poverty — could be borne with gladness and cheerfulness. And now that he had gone, without a word of love having passed his lips, Edith's heart was heavy with bitter, despairing feelings. When the day came, she could not even have the poor solace of keeping her secret, for Lucy, while dressing, began talking of Hearn; the strangely sudden manner of his departure ; how she Bhould miss him ; and finished a long lamentation over hiß leaving them by asking Edith : ' Don't you like Mr Hearn now, Edith, that you don't Bay a single word about his taking himself off like this ? ' She did not answer immediately, but began hastily to uncoil her soft brown hair, which she had only a moment before twisted up ; her lips quivered slightly, and tears came into her deep, dark eyes. Lucy was watching her sister with keenly inquisitive eyes. ' Why are you taking your hair down again V she asked, rather brusquely.' 1 Oh, I forgot I had done it. I wish you would not bother me so. You keep on talking until I forget what I am

doing,' was the half -petulant, half-sor-rowful answer ; and Edith's voice ended in a choking sob of woe. 1 Don't cry, Edith, dear. I did not mean to tease you. I didn't think you really cared bo much.' Lucy threw her shapely white arms round her sister's neck, and laid her face against Edith's until her burst of grief was past. ' I won't tell anyone, dear. But, Edith, if I were you I should not trouble my head about him, as the chances are he never troubles his about you. I know he liked you very much, but he was # in love with some one else. He was talking one day, and he said something about a girl who was very pretty ; when I wanted him to tell me about her, he said, quite seriously, " When she is my wife, Lucy, you will see her, and love her, for I believe her to be the most loveable girl in the world." I believe she lives in Melbourne, but he would not say anything more about her.' Every sentence of Lucy's was sharply painful to Edith, to whom the likelihood of such a state of affairs Beemed only too natural and probable. She thought, of course, that accounted for his not being engaged to Brenda Olive, and the most natural of all reasons why he should not have cared for her own poor self. And still she loved him. Most likely this girl he Joyed was very, very beautiful and accomplished. Well, he was gone from her, and though she would not and could not put him from her mind, Edith felt that there was no longer suspense to be borne. It was a certainty that he never cared for her, and yet her whole heart and soul were full of the cruel pain, not indignation with herself that she should ever have 1 seen and loved Keginald Hearn, but pain that he should not have loved her, when she loved him so fondly. 1 She had not much womanly pride/ I imagine I hear one Bay. And I answer, No, truly, not much pride in her own heart. If she had cared less for him, and more for herself, what is called ' womanly pride ' might have oome to her rescue, and shown her how to leave off loving -might even have persuaded her that she never had loved Hearn. But, as it was, all she could do was to take this trouble of her own making, have it for her own, to be ever present with her, and bear it as best she might. Very foolish and very unheroic, no doubt; but what, in her place, would anyone else have done 1 No better, and perhaps worse. ' I can't help his being in love with some one else, Lucy, even if he is engaged to her ; but I know that I care for him now, and wish he had not gone away.' Lucy was very angry at her sister's answer ; but Edith would not say any more about Hearn or his doings, so she was soon obliged to cool down, and treat Edith's infatuation with the contempt which she assured her that it deserved. And so Edith came to the bitter conclusion that life was hard for her, and could not be otherwise, unless — unless — it was only a dim, unformed idea, but still the shadow of the idea was in her mind— unless in the future things might be as she wished they now were. To be continued— Commenced in No. 1494 )