CHAPTER XXVI. "TOO OLD TO LOVE, TOO YOUNG TO MARRY"

Te Aroha News, Volume III, Issue 125, 24 October 1885, Page 3

CHAPTER XXVI. " TOO OLD TO LOVE, TOO YOUNG TO MARRY"

Mas Chamberlain was a constant visitor at the brown-stone mansion, but whether Uncle Sam or Mrs Lee was the attraction was difficult to discover. " Being such near neighbours, my dear," the lady said, gushingly, to Caodice one day, "we ought to be vory friendly j" and as if only friendliness for her neighbours prompted her actions, she commenced trying to enliven them, Euchre parties were very fashionable just then, and Mrs Chamberlain persuaded Uncle Sam and Mrs Lee to attend several. Candice shrank from it, but Uncle Sam loved a quiet game and attended willingly. At last the gatherings at Mrs Chamberlain's house, which at first had consisted of several persons, dwindled down to Mrs Chamberlain's half-grown daughter, herself, Uncle Sam, and Candice. At first Candice went, thinking to please her uncle, but after awhile she commenced making excuses and staid at home, and Uncle Sam ruther unwillingly went without her. Mrs Chamberlain was a good-looking woman, just in the prime of life, well preserved, but. rather too portly to be graceful. She had been a widow over three years, and was not at all averse to marrying again Samuel Desbro was somewhat older than she desired, but rich and influential. Why should she not win him ? So by every art in her power »he tried to enslave this man " wi the lint white locks." Uncle Sam was certainly very obtuse, for he would not evon meet the widow's advances half way, and she a'most cried with vexation to see her most telling speeches utterly ignored or answered so indifferently that she was sure he did not understand them. Poor Uncle Sam I He had no more idea at first of Mr Chamberlain's designs than he had of Candice running off with the coachman, but when, at last, her conduct grew so plainly apparent his old oyea twinkled merrily. She invited them over to tea one evening, but little Mark was not feeling very well, and therefore, as quickly as politeness would permit, Candice hurried home to her boy, and Uncle Sam and the bewitching widow were left alone. Now was her time, Mrs Chamberlain thought, com1 place&tly. " I want to have a little quiet talk with you, Mr Desbro," she said, trying to look like a bashful schoolgirl. " I have no one to advise me or look after my interests since dear John died. It's a terrible thing to be a widow, Mr Desbro, don't you think BO?" "I never was a widow, Mrs Chamberlain, solcannofctellfrommy own experience^ ut if you say bo, then of course it must be ao,"

Uncle Sam answered, quietly, but with a note of mockery in hia voice. "Of coarse you cannot be expected to 1 know how a widow feels, Mr Desbro," she j said, resignedly, "but somehow women always expect to be protected by men ; they want advice and — " " Haven't you a solicitor ?" Uncle Sam interrupted, gravely j " they are always willing to advise you, provided their fees are assured I" "Oh! yes, I have a solioitor, but we women want sympathy, something else besides advice. Mr Desbro, you were never married, or you would understand what I mean, Conjugal happiness is such a sacred thing 1" " Yes, I've heard so," Uncle Sam said, dubiously ; " but as to marrying, why I consider myself too old to love, too young to marry 1 So, you see, Mrs Chamberlain, my prospects for conjugal happiness are, to Bay the least of it, rather thin 1" Mrs Chamberlain turned away in disgust, and Uncle Sam, with a merry twinkle in his eyes, watched her with an expressive shrug of the shoulders. "A fine woman," he decided, mentally, ; "but a leetle too much on the marrying I order to suit me !" Mrs Chamberlain was not yet discouraged. ! Might he not mean that he was older than ; herself ? With a little laugh meant to make her appear wholly unooncerned, she resumed the conversation : " You • too old to love, too young to marry,' Mr Desbro ! Pray, how many men as old as you are commit the folly of marrying nowadays i Love," she continued, a trifle scornfully, " is not supposed to form a part of the contract between people past the prime of life, but sometimes a great deal of happiness is derived from such unions. _ Age, it is to be hoped, gives us a little quieter view of life, and the couple that, if united when young, would quarrel i continually, might if married later in life , boast of perfect happiness !" 11 True enough, Mrs Chamberlain," Uncle Sam said, quietly, "for those that wish to marry ; but years ago I loved. It seems strange now, does it not, to hear an old white haired man talk of loving. But such was the case. I loved a fair young girl and lost her. There is a grave in my heart and over it a tombstone, the inscription upon which is always fresh in my remembrance: 'Sacred to the memory of my first love !' So you see why Ido not care to marry !" Mrs Chamberlain made no reply, but that moment she gave up all hopes of ever be« ; coming Mrs Desbro. i " Such folly J" she said, with a forced laugh, as she watched him take his departure. "He is as sentimental a 9 a young man of twenty-one I A grave in his heart, indeed I" Mrs Chamberlain tried to appear unconcerned about the matter. She always had a consciousness that Samuel Desbro had understood her purpose perfectly well, and had taken that method to check all further attempts on her part to win him in the future. Despite his unfailing courtesy whenever they met, she felt uncomfortable in his presence, and visited the brown-stone house rarely, until at last her visits ceased altogether. Candice wondered over the change, but said nothing ; on the whole she was glad of it, for the gushing widow's presence had bored her dreadfully when her heart was sore and oppressed by her ovrn sorrows. Uncle Sam visited the hotel Mark had first made his stopping-place, but was told that Mr Maynard had not been there for several weeks. "He has gone home," Uncle Sam decided mentally, and thinking it might inteiest Candice, he remarked to her that evening : '•Candice, I visited the Denison this afternoon, and Mark has not been there for several weeks. He has probably gone back to Valley Farm." Ah I full well Candice knew that he had not, but hated to tell the kind old man how bitterly Mark had deceived them all. She dreaded his just anger at this last evidence of Mark's unworthiness, and even now, in her wifely devotion, kept silent. Uncle Sam looked at her wonderingly, because Bhe did not evince greater interest in her husband's whereabouts, and then eaid, half reproachfully : " Candice, how much longer is this game of cross-purposes to continue?" "What do you mean, uncle?" The question was only a subterfuge to gain time. "I mean," the old man answered, sadly, " that even your woman's heart should bo satisfied with Mark's conduct by this time ; his whole life seeniß shattered by your I*BB. Restless and dissatisfied, he is constantly roaming from place to place, seeking happiness but never finding it. Can you not forgive him, my child ?" "Uncle, are you tired of me?" Candice asked, bitterly. "Why, bless you! no, my dear child! The old man could ill afford to lose his little ' Sister of Charity ! ' but you cannot always live with me. lam getting old ; if I should die, would it not be far better for you to have a husband's protecting care? Besides, my child, you must think of Baby Mark. It is a duty you owe your son." " Uncle Sam !" and Candice's tones were oppressed with a weight of sadness. "Kindest and best of uncles, I am afraid I must inflict my presence on you a little longer ; for, dearly as I love ray husband, much as I care for baby's future, I would wash for a living, starve on a crußt in a garret, rather than acknowledge the pseudo Mcs Lee to be Mark Maynard's wife !" "Don't get excited, my dear!" Uncle Sam said, soothingly ; " but if, as you say, you love your husband, why do you shut him out from that love?' How she longed to cry out and tell the etory of Mark's un worthiness ! But that would never do, for Uncle Sam would then seek him and her identity would be made known. No ! no! that would never do ! Besides, she must shield him, even though her heart were broken in the effort. ; "Think over it, my child," Uncle Sam! anid earnestly, "and forgive him if you ! can !" "I cannot! oh! 1 cannot 1" she answered, wildly. "Oh! Uncle Sam! always kind and good, do not ask me, for I cannot !" He did not press the subject further, but wondered what was the matter that these two, loving each other so well, should be separated by what seemed to him a woman's foolish whim. (To be Continued.)

Ho had been going to see her a long time, but never stated the object of his visits, and she w<w deBriouB of knowing something of the future. The last night he called he seemed to be quite sad, and after several well-developed «ighs he said : ** Life is full, very full of bitterness, isn't it?" "Oh, I don't know," she responded, cheerily. "I haven't much cause to complain." "Possibly not now, Mary, but the bitter oup has not been placed to your lips." " Yes, Henry, my partnts are dead. " And is there no bitterness in that, Mary? Is it not very sad to be an orphan f" "Of course it is, Henry, but you see"— and she blushed vividly — " it relieves you of the embarrassment of having to ask father." Henry's heart was touched. I