CHAPTER XVIII.—THE SPELL IS BROKEN.

Otago Witness, Issue 2399, 22 February 1900, Page 54

CHAPTER XVIII.— THE SPELL IS BROKEN.

It was true, then. The .sea bad yielded up its dead ; what Annie nv>vt dreaded and hated had come to pass! At the very momeijo when Heaven had seemed to open, and when all the world had seemed full of the music and joy of Fairyland, the solid earth had yielded beneath her /eet, revealing £ii]fs oi utter shame and daikne^. Tel her hc-ul had not broken; all she seemed tj feel was a horrid fascination and stupefaction. She breathed, she moved, she still existed, but everything had changed. She was no longer a lady, happy and beloved, Kho was again the waif from the sea, conscious only of utter loneliness and desolation.

As she looked at the man, her horror grew. How diiierenl he -«as to the Jo\er of her girlish fancy ! Coarse, savage, hideous even, repellent in every look and gesture, yet showing in every look and gesture the strangest devotion and admii ation. She would have loathed him less, indeed, if he had been less gentle. The wistful tenderness in his face, the gentle, almost pitiful respect that lay behind his roughest words sickened her. 'it was clear that he felt, in some dim fashion, that she had withdrawn herself partially out of his sphere — that she was a ladj- indeed, and he only a rough common man.

And after all he was her benefactor. He had saved her from the sea — he had sacrificed himself year after year to secure her happiness, and even when he had lain under the veiy shadow of Death his only thought had baen of her. It was wrong and wicked, therefore, to hate him so much ; but she could not help it. He seemed to her like some fabulous monster, slimy and dreadful and foul. His coarse, rough speech, the horrid tattoo marks on his hands, his breath, his manner of rolling the tobacco between his cheeks and spitting on the ground, were all horrible to her. She felt for him now what she remembered to ha\e always felt, even when she was a child — a sickening phj-sical repulsion. And to think that the man loved her, and was actually, in the eyes of the law, her husband !

She had thought herself a "lady"; all her instincts, indeed, had been, ever since she could remember, towards what was refined and elegant and gentle. She had always hated " common people," had never felt much sympathy for even virtue, when it was coarse and vulgar. Somerset himself had first fascinated her because he wah a gentleman, refined and cultivated to the ringer tips. She loved his white hands, liis honeyed breath, his dudish airs and graces, the refinement and elegance of the very cloihes he wore. She remembered how, at Canvey, she had found a pocket handkerchief of his, sTiken and scented, and how she had held in to her nostrils for hours in secret, inhaling the perfume as if it were his breath.

Then the time had come when all her dreams could be realised, and she, too, would be elegant and refined, and meet with people who were educated and softspoken, and wear beautiful raiment, and forget that she had ever been coarse and common. How she had loved to clothe herself in softness, and to have dainty underclothing, and to feel the shimmer rf silk and satin around her, and to go among the lights and the music like a " lady " indeed ! That was the only Jife she had cared for, and to crown all shl was to have shai'ed that life with her Prince Charming, in the Fairyland of soft speech and gentle breeding. And now, to think of it ! The good fortune which came to her out of the clouds, the money s.he possessed, the very clothes she wore, were not her own' at all — they were his, the savage man's who had arisen before her like a monster from the sea ! She possessed nothing of her own. not even a name ! She was Matt Watson's wife, the Avife of a man who was as coarse and common and horrible as some unclean creature crawling among the ooze of the seashore. What was most horrible about it all was that the man cared for her so deeply, and opposed to her own physical repulsion, moreover, a silent and overmastering passion. Every look be cast at her, every smile of the mouth and eyes, betokened this. He was tamed and subdued, as animals are so often, by the sexual attraction. Had it been otherwise she might have felt less helpless She might even have appealed to him and persuaded him to go his way, break the bond between them, and leave her in peace. She felt already, with a woman's ', instinct, that this was precisely what he j would never consent to do. They walked along side by side on the margin of the lake. Gradually her strength was coming back to her, and she began a&king herself how she could temporise until she had decided how to act. From time to time she glanced a# her companion, and noticed that his face looked almost happy. He appeared quite content to accompany her silently, soothed bj r the mere physical fact of her presence. " Matt," she said at last. His eyes brightened as she named him. "Well, my dear?" he answered gently. " Don't mind what I said to you just now. I was startled and frightened ; you came upon me so suddenly. I'm glad, very glad, to see you, for you've always been good to me. as good to me as if you'd been my own father ! " He nodded a little doubtfully, and watched her thoughtfully as she Avalked on. After a little time she. spoke again. " You've seen no one since you came to London? I mean you've told no one about — about me?"' " is' o, Anniedromedy," was the reply. "There was no one I oould. tell even if I

w.nilod. Job and the mK,:s ore the only folk 1 know m England."' j " Where are you living? "' "I'd a berth la<-l night in a coffee house off Tottenham Court Road. I lea my traps in Whipping. I've heap* of things for you, mj- gel, and the unVis i~- taking charge of ?oms of them ! " What do you mean io do?" " That's for you to settle,"' the rain replied. "1 know you're enjoying of yourself, and I don't want to interrupt. Ili bide your time, my dear. As soon as you're ready we can settle down n>mewhere comfortable, but there ain't no hurry."' It Wcis clear ho took it Tor gi anted that she would join him, and thai they would live together ! The black line of hpr eyebrows darkened, as with iacc averted &ke answered : ''I want you to do me a lavrau 1 , Matt." "Ay, ay!" " Don t tell anyone yci about me ! Wail a few d^ys, and don't come to the house where I'm living. The}' "re strange people, and very proud. ' "I c -ec," said Matt, with a scowl. "Well, just as you plea.se, 'only remember, my gel, I haven't seen ye all these long years*." "I'll meet you again in the j^une place tomorrow," returned Annie, quickly. " I want to go home now and to think it over. ii T ou see it all seems so strange ! I never thought you'd come back." '"Are ye sorry I come/" he asked huskily, spitting on the ground. " No, of course I'm not sorry, only it makes everything so different. Everyone wilL Lave to know in time, but not yet. In a day or two perhaps — but there, we'll see ! " "All right,'" said the .sailor. "I ain't quite strong yet, and I shan't be rightly better till I'm berthed comfortable, with my little wife bc«ide me. Look heie, Anniedromedy! My luck's been wonderful out yonder, and the monej 7 's all yourn. You'll have a splendid time, if money can buy it for you ; it's all yourn to spend, as I told ye — all yourn to spend."' They crossed the open Park together and reached the central avenue. There Annie paused and held out her hand. " Please don't come any farther,'' she said. " I'll meet you at the baine time tomorrow." " Down yonder by the water? " " Yes."' " Let me take one more look at you beiore you go," cried Matt, holding her hand. "My beauty ! My lady ! " " Don't ! You'll be seen ! " she cried, as he drew her towards him. He laughed. ".Well, if they do — a man's a right to kiss his own v\ ife, hasn't he?" And he threw his strong arms round her and kissed her in spite of her resistance. Pale as death, she shook herself free, then, looking back at him, said in a low voice : " To-morrow ! "' He laughed and nodded, as she flew rather than walked do»vn the avenue, while he stood and watched her. Only for a moment, however, did he jmuse ; in another minute he had overtaken her. He cried as she paused, trembling. " Just another Avorcl, my dear, afore you go ! Answer me fair and square. Theie's nothing, is there, atween you and that young chap I see you to yesterday? Come, out with it, honest ! " "Of course there is nothing," she answered, almost angrily. " Why should you think so? " " I don't think so, Anniedromedy,"' he replied, showing his white teeth and feeling for the sailor's knife in his belt. " God help him if I did, for I'd have his life ! " The next moment she had escaped, speeding down the avenue like a lapwing, and never once looking behind her. ile watched her quietly with a grim smile of admiration till she disappeared. Out from the Park and through the busy streets she made her weary way, her eyes fixed on vacancy, her soul in a tumult, and ever as she went she seemed to hear the sound of his footsteps behind her. Terror and despair kept her strong, or she would have fainted in the open street. All her thought now, however, was to reach the house where she lodged, and to hide herself away from everybody, and to think it all over. At last, panting and trembling, she reached the hotel, knocked and was admitted, and ran swiftly to the little sitting room upstairs. Bess was seated by the window, sewing. As Annie entered she looked up eagerly. ''Why, Annie, wherever have you been?" she cried. " I was growing quite frightened — I was afraid '" She paused, for Annie stood looking at her wildly with dilated eyes, her cheeks streaming with tears. "What's the matter, Annie dear? Are you ill?" Annie made no reply, but gave a low, hysterical sob, between a laugh and a cry ; then, clutching at the air, fell back upon the carpet in a dead swoon. (To be continued.)