CHAPTER XXXIX.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LIII, Issue 12862, 22 May 1905, Page 6

CHAPTER XXXIX.

.\JjARY FINDS AN OLD FRIKND.

When Mary had iirst reached London ; when onre again she had loiind herself back in the old dingy jsad surroundings, she ha*l done | nothing tor a- few days. She was | .so exhausted by the long, .fierce struggle ol the past months, and ihe overwhelming misery that the lonlession of the trinh had siguiucd, that ■ she felt bruised , and beaten. Yet she never rebelled against her husbaiKl's anger ; she found his reproaches- only just. If at times she was tempted to make a comparison between the tender I kindness of Bay Convert, and the passionate repudiation of her by her husband, she always found an I explanation of George Vemey's anger. "1 was his wile, and he thought me so good, so pure, so honest — would not any man have done what he did." She tried to put George Verney land Veherton, and everything I connected with th it life, out of her mind. Now she was utterly separated from all that had been so beautiful ; all that was' so beloved. But, brave as she was, Mary was only human, and she could not I change "her nature. She might [grow calm, resigned, philosophical, [but she would never be able to I forget. I Sometimes she v»ot'ld ask herself 'with ti< r htb- clinched li.mds, what | George Verney would do? Would lie separate himself from her ab1 solutely ? 1 Mary 4 wa^ ignorant of the law. j She did not know whether such an 'offence as hers would legally en- \ title her husband to cut her out of ' hi-; life forever, leaving him free to | take another woman for his wife. But the very thought of this was enough to shake her heart to its roots. That he would have no public scandal, that he would take no proceedings either against Isobel Somcrton or herself, Mary ielt was very sure ; but she was equally sure that, for her, he was as dead as though he lay in the grave. When the mental and bodily prostration had partly passed, the girl rose and began to look about her for some means of working ; of filling her efnpty life ; of earning her bread. She had turned, when she reached ' London, to one of those homes of working women to which she had given so largely when she was dispensing charity. Had she known of such institutions in the old, days she might have been spared the suffering that urged her almost to 1 seek her own death. For 1 a, few shillings she was housed and protected, and, no one sought to know her story. She had left all her jewels and rich clothes behind her, and had travelled to London in a serge skirt and a cotton waist. The only thing she retained was her wedding ring, but this she took from her finger and hung about her) neck, where she coukl touch it, and sometimes take it out and kiss it. When the need came upon her to lose the agony of her thought in work, she went to the matron of thq/ home and asked for advice. It happened that some lady had written, asking for some one to be recommended to her as a> help in her charitable undertakings. She needed above all, , one who would understand a t little sick nursing and the care of young children. ''Let me go where there arc children," Mary begged. And so she was sent to interview this lady, who at lirst shook her head when she saw how delicate Mary looked, and heard that the girl had had no training as a nurse ; but afterward something in the 'pathetic and lovely face appealed to her. ll You have suffered yourself." she said, "therefore you will have pity for those who suffer. 1 will let }on try, at least." And so, through those long hot d&ys, when Tom Carter was searching in all the streets that might have drawn Mary back to therft ; while George Verney was eating his heart in restless and despairing hope, making Lady Susan very anxious about him, Mary was busy from morning to night, doing "a multitude of' different things. She loved best to be with the children. A porii>n of her work was to stay in the "nursery" with the little creatures who were left there during the day to enable j their mothers to go to work ; and as she sat crooninir one baby to sleep, feeding another, or walking to and fro with a fretful one, she felt almost happy. Sometimes dreams would come to her. She would see herself looking into a pair of dreamy blue eyes ; she would hear a voice say, so tenderly, "My w jf e —my beloved wife !" And then she would wake, and look about her like one dazed, till the cry of a little child would call her back from visions to realities. Again, at times she would wonder what was passing with Isobel Somerton ; she even prepared herself for some form of vengeance di- punishment ; and slu thought of ten about Tom Carter. A word from her would bring this faithinl creature io her, and then she . otiU cpieslion, and she would icar all those tilings she longed to

hear, but bhe al\va\ s resisted the temptation.

It was only nature) 1 that JMary hould go over and o\ or a^ain in ■ iicr mind the details of the strange story that had been written in her lite during the past \ears, and that ■she shoiuld be struck gradually with the strangi; J iU t that there \\as a marked resemblance between flic life lived I) 3' her father and heisJf, and the life said, to have been lived by the late Hugo Verncy. And from this thought it was easy for her to wonder where the real Mary Verne}'- could be. What would happen if this real claimant to Yelverton! madq her appoarance ? It was not herself, or of what would come to her, that JMiary thought so nervously. She only yearned to be sure that her husband's proud name would suffer no shame tlirough her. Sometimes | when she was; helping to nurse some of the sick people, she would; see/ newspapers, and she would open these with fear at her heart, dreading to read something about her disappearance ; something about Yelverton, or the man she loved. Only once she was, rewarded, and that was by the bare announcement that Sir George Verney had recovered suiffieicntly from his bad accident to be permitted to travel to town, and was staying at a eeitaiu fashionable hotel. There was no sign of public interest in the case that was such a tragedy to herself. The first free evening Mary had she put on her straw sailorf hat, tied a thick veil over her face, and went in an omnibus to that part of the town where the richj live. She had to ask her way to the hotel, and when she was near it, she trembled like one who waz ill- j The days were so hot, and the confinement to the house 'had robbed her of her energy. But it was a joy to stand ami look at the place where her husband was. She wished she could have [ known which room he occupied. She wondered, with a sick pain at her heart, if he< were really well enough to come away ; she wondered if he ever thought of her. She could not stand too long, but it was terribly hard to turn away, and tears blinded her eyes as she did so at last. A- newspaper boy who , was shouting the news, pushed a paper into her hand : " 'Ere ye are, miss," he said ; "latest news of the strange hotel a flairs — condition of Leopold iVeraeyi — only a halfpenny, miss." i\tary trembled, found her purse, and bought a paper. Then she made her wav towa; d the corner where she (oukl get an omnibus back to her hiding :■! no. 'When she was in the omnibus she opened the paper, and read hurricdlv tTie account of \\ hat had | pp.ssed the previous night in one j of the most popular hotels. The reporter seemed rather vague as to details, but the one? fact that !\lrs Leopold Verncy had been io" lowed to her rooms in the hotel, anid attacked by some woman unknown was set down clearlj- enough. "The theory is," said the paper, "•hat Mrs Vcrney's jewels caught the attention of some thieves, and this woirian was an accomplice. However, nothing seems to have been missing, and Mrs Veruey must have fainted from fright, she is too ill to give a coherent ae- ' ount of what occurred." (To by ooni inuc<s.)