A LONG LAUGH

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 17, Issue 59, 27 July 1906, Page 6

A LONG LAUGH

Onh ds.y, when in the study of her houses ■.tien al-rost under the sh&jlow of West* minster Abbey, Miss Harriet Martineau beard a prodigious shout of laughter on the staircase. Presently in came Thomas Car* Ivle, hiu-hing aloud. He said he had been laughing ah ihe way from Charing Gross, vhcre he had been in a printing-office. As oon as bo could he told the lady what was he cause of his prolonged laughter. He iad beer, to the office of his printers to ■rped te the production of his" Miscellanies," iis first work published in book form in .ondon. In thfc. saj» Miss Martineau, . Imost every other altered by the yithor. 'Hie manager said to the author, " Sir, ;ou are really very hard on us with your larrections ; they take a deal of time.'' CarfJ&j observed that he had been " accusJoucci this kind of thing, that be had got works printed at Edinburgh," &c., &c. " Yes, indeed, sir.” interrupted the printer, I we arc aware of that. We have a man here from Edinburgh, and when he took up a bit of your ‘ copy’ he dropped it as if it bad burned his fingers, and cried out, " Lord, have mercy on us! Have you got .hat terrible man to print for ? The Lord inly knows when you’ll get done." ■’ Carlyle said he could not reply to this for laughing, and had been laughing ever since. LOVE IN HATE. i “You had better come to me this Summer," Aoat Ryder had written to me; ' and we will talk over your plans together, f do not like you to live alone." Alone! That was the word in the letter that struck like ice upon my sore heart. I was. utterly alone! Even Aunt Ryder was my uncle's widow, not really related to me, though Elsie and I both loved her. Elsie was my step-sister, my second mother since my own died in my infancy, my teacher, friend, companion and comforter. And Elsie was dead. She was thirty-seven when she died. Wasting away slowly, I thought of no danger till it was too late. Hut I accepted Aunt Ryder’s invitation, and was preparing to visit her for the summer, when I found the key note to Elsie’s life, her diary. I read it, lam not going to quote it here, but far back upon the yellow pages I read how my sister gave her heart years before L o one Rodney Wallace; how they had ex-' changed vows and rings, and a wedding day was set, and he left her to prepare a home in the city for bis bride, and never returned. I burned the diary, because upon one o! the pages Elsie had begged I would if ever I read it. Then I finished my packing, and went to my Aunt Ryder. She was the widow of my mother’s brother, and our grandfather’s estate was divided now between herself and me. It was all mine after Elsie died. And I was an heiress in a small way, having the Income of /io.ooo at my command. Aunt Ryder took me to Brighton, and insisted on my wearing thin, light, black dresses and white lace. All my energies seemed numbed by Elsie’s death. We had been but a few days at Brighton, when Aunt Ryder, who is a handsome, sprightly woman, admired in society, met some friend she had known in Paris, where she had lived many years. She was quite excited over this meeting and insisted upon having a luncheon party at our cottage. "Do try to brighten up a little, Rhoda, for one of my pets will be here!’’ “ And who is she ?" I asked, beingaccustomed to saeiug Aunt Ryder pet everybody. " This time it is he. He came to Paris some eighteen years ago, -and your uncle was very intimate with him. They were both artists and had a mutual admiration for each other's ■Works. I have not seen him since I left Paris—nine—tea years ago," "Does he happen to have anything so' convenient as a name ?" I asked. ! " Oh, yes, Rodney Wallace. He painted that portrait of mine over the piano at home, with ’ R. W.’ in one corner!" Not an hour later, black dress, white roses, ghastly face and all, I was presented tJL tall, grave man, with iron-grey hair aSAfffc brown eyes, the very reverse of the I had pictured as the man who had “ loved and rode away." I was young, romantic, ai\d I hated this grave, sad man with all the impetuosity of my youth and romance, and yet he awed me from the first. There was a grave patience about him that reminded me of Elsie. And it was to me, to me who so hated him, that he turned for companionship all through that long summer time. And I, little by little, learned a lesson I had not dreaded when near him. How could I love when I hated ? How could my heart be won by my sister's murderer i So the dying’ days of August found me : not brightened or benefited by my sojourn at Brighton, but pale, listless, wretched, tortured by my fidelity to the dead, my love and hate for the living. One resolve I made. I would never marry Rodney Wallace. Yet when he wrote to me, a manly, straightforward letter, asking ray love, it cost me hours of wildest weeping to move my heart to refuse him. When I tried to nerve myself to send away the fatal letter I heard steps in the arawing-room, and then Aunt Ryder spoke; Roddey," she said in a tender voice, as If she were speaking to her own son, " you have made me very happy. I hoped this would happen when I introduced you to Elsie’s sister," “ Elsie's sister!" Rodney cried, harshly, as 1 had never heard him speak before. “ Hush ! Elsie was not false." “ Not false! Was she not ray betrothed, almost my bride. Did I not love her with all the strength of my heart? She broke my heart, she desolated my life! And now —now you tell me the woman I love, as I oever hops lo love again, is Elsie's sister !" My heart throbbed almost suffocatingly: my brain reeled: the room seemed to grow black and rock around me. But I heard Aunt Ryder speak. “ Rodney, in those days in Pans when 1 knew but little of your story, I never dreamed ihat it was Elsie you loved." " But the truth ?" Rodney replied, *'whaf was the truth ?" " Elsie did not write that letter. Elsie died, believing you false to her. She was Her mother’s heiress, Rodney, and her mother married a villain. Were Elsie married, and his own child still a mem baby, Ihe home must be broken up, the money held in your control and that of the trustees-, and so a forged letter was sent ta you." " Dees—she know ?" ■•No one knows but me, no one! My husband was with Elsie’s step-father when he died and heard this confession, too late to remedy the evil." " And—Rhoda ?" "Rhoda was so young she probably never heard of Elsie’s engagement, Rodney, Promise me you will never tell her. Remember that Bayard Woolston, fortune humer, forger as he was—was yet her father." T stole softly upstairs. Over my empty erate I burned my false, cruel letter, vowing m my utmost heart to be Rodney's true iomlbrter and wife. It is two years since we were manned Ml the shadows are gone from my husband’s face, and he tells me his pictures arc painted by the light oi love.