Chapter 11,

Otago Witness, Issue 1832, 31 December 1886, Page 5

Chapter 11,

A week paised away, and it was as if a settled gloom had fallen upon the two houses. Mrs Ardern refused to be comforted, and waa aa one distraught; her daughters little more hopeful. To go to New Zealand was to them scarcely different to going to the grave. In either caße, they were persuaded, the day Mark went they would have Been the last of him in this world.

Mrs Gale was sorry, for her old friend's sake, but her heart ached most for Marion's, for ahe, with a mother's instinct, penetrated — to some extent at least— the disguise of cheerfulness which had daughter so bravely had donned. Day after day did Marion go, with cheery, loving words of hope and comfort, to Mark's mother, or with a smile and a kisa seek to allay her own mother's misgivings on her own account; though at night, in the solitude of her chamber, she wept in utter abandonment of grief for the days that were coming— the aching, desolate days when Mark would be gone. For his going waa fixed, on Dr Martin's advice, for the middle of September, that he might effectually escape the English winter and have the whole benefit of the New Zealand summer, and the letter apprising his uncle of his coming had already gone._ This uncle, Jonathan Ardern, was his father's only brother. He had omigrated when Mark was yet an infant, so that ho had no recolleclection of him whatever. But judging from Jonathan Ardern's letters, first to his brother and then to hia widowed sister-in-law, he had always retained a tender spot in his heart for the nephew whom he had carried on his shoulders and who, held forward in his father's arms, had been perhaps the last bit of home and kindred he had seen as the train which was to carry him to the seaport from whence he waa to sail had left the crowded platform, now bo many years ago. And when— though he married early, and fortune had smiled upon him in hia adopted country — no son had been birn to him. In the after years he had written offering special advantages — almost guaranteeing fortune — to Mark, should he care to come and throw in his lot with him. But never until now had the idea been entertained by Mark, or any of those belonging to him, of the taking advantage of Uncle Jonathan's generous offer. Mark's people could not spare him, and Mark himself had had no desire to loave his home and the future which, if not exactly brilliant, seemed so bright, with health, happiness, and Marion. All was changed now, however. Even had he had less than a generou3 uncle and a prospect of fortune awaiting him across the seas, he might still have been glad to go, for life is very Bweet at twenty-five. But it was bitterly hard to leave what Mark Adorn had to leave, and he rebelled almost as much as his mother at the circumstance which had compelled him to euch a choice. 'If I could but take you all with me, 1 he said to Marion, aa they walked home from church the first Sunday morning after the edict had gone forth that Mark muat go ; ' nay, if only I might take one of those who make home for me, how different it would be ! But you will miss me, won't you, Marion ?'

Miss him ! He bad asked tha question a hundred different times in different ways, though ho knew so well what the answer would be. Indeed, it was dawning upon Marion that the missing of him would be more than she could bear — that somehow or other something in the whole arrangement must be changed — something done that she would not need to miss him.

It may be that Mark Ardern read this in the girl's face, for he stopped short in the little lane down which they had turned and took both both her hands in his.

' Marion, darling, if only I could take you with me — take y^u as my wife I' ' 0 hush, Mark !' she cried in startledltonea, all the moie startled, perhaps, that his words hftd only embodied her own half-formed idea. ' Wa know that is impossible.' 'Yea,' he returned gloomily, ' in my present state of health lam mad to speak of it. How could I expect, you to take a risk like that, even were I willing to allow it ? But it will be hav,d to go alone, Marion V Thore was silence for a while between them, at least euoh silonce as there cau be on a summer morning among thegrgen trees and singing birds, and then the girl raised her face, with its brave though tearful eyes, to hia. ' How glndly I would take the risk I could never tell you, Mark dear,' she said, ' but — bat it would not be right. We could not ask your uucla to take me as well as you. I should only be an additional burden to you if I went as your wife.'

Even as she spoke an idea occurred to her which frightened hor — an idea of such magnitude that she put it from her iv consternation. But only for the moment would it retire into the background. That afternoon she found herself alone in her own room, with the Standard in her band, reading again and again the advertisement which has tempted so many to leavo their homes for the ' fresh fields and pastures flew ' in the far-away colonies : 1 Free Passages offered to Single Women and Domestic Servants, and advantages unheard of in England at the other end !' Would it not be pjm ble for her, Marion Gale, to secure one of i; h ese passages ? Surely she might, in all conscience, claim one if prociency in domestic work were all that was required, for her mother — a model of a housekeeper herself — bad long since left the whole management of their little home to her, declaring it to be in better hands. Ah ! tho thought of that mother stayed her. She was willing to make any sacrifice herself for Mark's sake ; but was it right to impose auch an one as this upon the dear father and mother who had nobody but her? 'For this,

cause shall a man leave father and mother,' she repeated to herself, and why not a woman too? True, she could not go wib Mark as his wife ; but before heaven it would be just the same. And then it might not be for long. Mark's fatß would be decided one way or the other very soon in that far off land, and if he got well they could marry and come home again ; if he did not — well, she would have the satisfaction of knowing that she never left him, and — sh« could come home again then.

She knew tbat if her parents could be induced to consent to her accompanying Mark at all, they would be willing to pay her passage and send her comfortably. But they never would. And if they could ba brought to this, how could she take from them so much of their savings against old age ? No ; if Bhe went it would not be at the expense of father and mother. If ever they had to spend so muoh money on her it Bhould ba if the worst came to the worst, and she had to come back poor without Mark,

Her naiad was made up. She would follow out the instructions given in the advertisement of ' free passages,' and do her beat to obtain one before mentioning her resolve to anyone at home ; for, after all, it might be all a hoax, and it was no übb alarming her mother a moment before it was necessary. It did seem incredible that the passage for which Mark would have to pay such a lot of money should be granted to her free. At all events she would make sure of this before she mentioned her plan to anyone. Poor obild ! she knew nothing as yet of the difference there would be between Mark's passage and hera if she followed him as she proposed. With beating heart andtremblingfingers sbe sat down to compose her application to the emigration agent Bet forth in the advertisement, and then day after day she waited in fevered suspense for the answer. The main fear now wa« lest the letter should fall into the hands of her mother, and day after day Marion haunted tbe front room and garden during the time when the postman might be expected. It came at last — the answer — and was delivered safely into her own hands. But what (?as her dismay to find that, instead of tho simple tioket which she had expeoted, the large official envelope, filled with bewildering formß and schedules. Firat there was the doctor's certificate to be filled in, then the references required from the clergy and magistrate, and lastly Bhe found that she would require a surety in the form of a properly-qualified householder, Marion gazed blankly at the papers before her. How waß she to satisfy the demands of each one without her intention becoming known and made publio property ? It sh,uld be managed Bomehow Bhe said to herself, and she kept her word. She was not entirely without money. A certain amount of pocket money had been allowed her by her indulgent father for some years now, and that Bhe had not waited it was evidenced by the post-office savings bank book whioh was laid cosily away in her writing desk upstairs. The £12 10' represented there, she reflected, would be of infinite service to her now. She had enough in ready money to pay the most unknown medical man in town his fee for certifying her to be of perfect health and constitution, and tbe clergyman of the church she had attended from a child consented to give her a testimonial without inquiring what it waß for, and then there remained only the householder's security. Marion thought of a cousin lately married and settled in a small village some miles away — a girl about her own age, and > friend from childhood. She would make a confidante of her and get her to induce her husband to sign this last and most perplexing paper. She wrote that very day, and by return of post the answer came.

* My dear Marion, — Whatc««youmean? Pack up a few things at once and come and pay me your long-promised visit, bo that you may tell me all about it. Frank haß signed the paper ; though, of course, it is all only a good joke, and you would never dream of going. Go to New Zealand, indeed 1 The more I think of it tbe more satisfied I feel that you are not in earnest. Now, mind, I shall expect you at an early date, and to stay for an indefinite period. You haven't seen the baby, you know, and it will take you no end of time to do justice to its- perfections, as I shall expect you to, &o.'

a Marion despatched her packet to the emigration agent first of all, and then began to consider the invitation. It waß one of long standing, and her mother, she knew, would be willing she Bhould accept it did she so wish, for no reasonable indulgence was ever denied her; but how could she leave home, even for a day, now that in her secret heart she knew how possible it was she would Boon be leaving it, perhaps for years— nay, might it not be for ever ? For during a long sea voyage, or in an unknown country, what might not happen? Still— a sudden flush mounted the girl's cheek, a rush of tears to her eyes, and another resolution was made.

That night, after Marion had gone to bed, Mr and Mrs Gale sat up a little while longer over the still bright fire. * I don't like the child's going for a long visit, even to Mary's, the father said, shaking the ashes from his pipe. ' The house seems lonely if she leaves it for a day.' ' Yes,' the mother said ; ' but just now it Beems to me the very beßt thing shs could have thought of. Marion is sinking under the trouble of Mark's going, in spite of her cheery ways, and unless she can have a change shortly she will surely be ill. If I had my way, I would insist upon her going at once and staying until after Mark's departure. ' I fear she would not consent to that, however. I will try and manage it, though,' she added after a pause,