"A SECRET SORROW."

Thames Star, Volume XXIX, Issue 8623, 30 March 1897, Page 1

"A SECRET SORROW."

BY MRS MAY AGNES FLEMTtfG,

Author of " A Mad Marriage," " Garriedßy Storm."

CHAPTER XXVI. MORE SORROW,

A s'ifl d groan cams from the white lips of the earl, but without appearing to n tice i*, Mother Wail went on— ' I was sunned, bewildered by this new discovery. Taking Magdalen with me, I determined to learn what I could of this new mystery; and concluding tha'. the servants wrre the best to oppiy to, I met a pert looking chambermaid, and : having told her fortune, and promiedher a rich husband, by a few artfully put inquiries, I learned the history of the fate of the carl's eldest son. I was now perfectly convinced that he and Cap'aia Raymond were one and the same person. Full of the important secret I had so unexpectedly learned, I entered the drawing-room, and appeare 1 amongst the guests. What followed you know. I stood bofore Lady Danemore, She recognized me, shiieked, and fell sense'ess to the ground. The earl attempted to force me out. But I had a o'aim on him, too. I knew Ihe secret of his prisoners in the old Moor Manor, and he dared not put his threat into execution. 'I felt perfectly sure that Madoline would immediately visit me. I was not mistaken. The next night, accompanied by a little French girl, she came to me in my hut on the moor. There I learned from her her history. . ' 'Aft^r the loss of her child, she was for awhile quire delirious—for ehe thought I'd kill it; but, fiend that I was, I oou-d not do that. When she recovered, she came to England. Why she hsd done so she con!d not tell. She had no idea 1 was beie. Some secret feeling she could not resist forced her to come—perhaps the hope of meeting her lover, whom the still lovedjas passionate 1/ as ever. But she never saw him more. Shortly after her arrival, a rich, childless o'd lady—a Mrs Rochfort, —met her—was s'rucfc by her youth and singular beauty; and learning she was an orphan, poor and friendless, adopted her, with a sudden impulse of genero&i'y, as he • own child. ' Here she lived for some years; and here the Eirl of Danemore mst her, and fell deeply in lore with her at first sight. He ureed her to marry him; so did Mn

Kochfort, and Madoline consented. She told me that, at the death of Mrs Rochfort, she knew she would be left v ter;y destitute and friendless; she wanted a home—a place of rest for the remainder of her days. She did not dream then that he was the father of him whose wondrous beauty had first ensnared her girlish heart, and whom she sti 1 idolized; for Madoline is not one who can lore twice. Well, she was married; a strange bridal it must have been, wedding the father, when she shou'd hare besn the bride of the son.' • Oh, heaven have mercy!' came from the ghastly lips of the earl. •Her husband brou h' h«r home to Dirri'ole. And there she beheld that, picture. Like roe she knew it instantly; and then who can tell bow she felt whfen she knew she was the wife of the father of Lira sha so well and vainly loved? She heard his story, too - heard he had been drowned, and knew in her.heort that ho slill lived. ' That night Madoline always so cole so proud, so haughty—humbled- herself on her knees before me—me whom she had once despised in her* heart. Her husband had been the kindest of husband's to her; oho did not, coold not love him; but she felt grateful to.him, and wou'd not for worlds link his name with hers in disgrace. = * • • She imp'ored me on her krees not to let the world know her history—not for her own sake, but for his. She begged, and wept, and prayed, only as a mother can, to see her child once—only onre— but sho pleaded in vain. My heart was like steal, and I refused. I thought she would have died shat night. The agony she suffered almost touched my hearteven mine, harder than iron.' She paused a moment, and wiped the great drops of perspiration from her furrowed brow. All the events of that fatal right flashed.ike luh'ening through Kate's mind, as she sat white and speechless with piy and horror. 'I hat c but little more to tell,' went on Mother Wai', rapidly. ' You know now, my lord, ths history ol your wife. Her child and that of your son is with her in the outer room. I shall resign her to you, as I am about to quit England for ever. I made a vow to be revenged; I have kept it, and mf task is ended. I know I have done wrong. lam almost sorry for it now, but it is too late for use'ess regrets. Forgive your wife, my lord. The world knows not of her histoiy.; and if suffering and sorrow can atone for sin, hers has been forgiven long ago. The

dead and the li»in« a'iko ha?e been to blame; bu^, oh! my lord, a li;e of Badness and suffering baa been the lot o! each, anil now, ut las*, shall they not be forgiven ?' . ' You—you to speak of forgivness, yon monster in woman's form!' snid the earl hoarsely, rising and confronting ths old woman, with glaring eyes and ghastly face. ' You, who showed mercy neither iobe'ploss infancy or suffering womanhood ; you, who pursued them even to the threshold of death with unrelenting yentance } you to talk of mercy and fornnre«e«B! Oh my son, my son! Oh my wife ; my long suffering, heartbroken Madoline! Oh, wwtch! monster! tigress! leave my sight before my tongue is tempted to corse your gray hairs !' • Uncle 1 uncle! for heaven s aike ca m, yourself; remember we are in the presence of the dead; *aid Kate, throwiaß her arms round his neck, and making an drape ious sign for the woman to ro. • I obey you, my Lord. 1 deserve all youliadfiaid. InafewdayHl shall be o< cc more in my native land. I shall see •you again before then.' ' .And wrapping hereeM in her cloak, w i*,h a softer li .ht in hor eyes than bad shotfe there for many a day, she silently au tfd the old Moor Manor for ever. •My w»fe. my wife I'exclaimed the ear' wrinainsr his handi, oncemseiotts*of what he V*s doing. • Ob, Kate.fcoirthat brave, strong he&xt has suff-red watchwK and waiting all those long years for one who came not f To be parted form eatfh other in life, and only to meet thus at last 1 Oh, Madeline J Madphne! He paced the floor wildly id bis bitter sorrow. „ „ ' Shall we not go to her i said Kate, as her tears fell fast. Will you not tell her with your own lips she is forgiven t • Yea, yes! I have nothing to forgive; but let us co—my poor, poor wife! He leaned on Kate's arm, for excessive emotion had made him weak as an infant. They reached the outer room, and approached the bed of death. The child Magdalen stood at the foot, gazin? with her preat mournful black eyes on the face other dead father. . z And kneeling by the bedside, her neaii resting ou the bosom of the dead, her long black hair streaming wildly over the oillow and over his bosom, lay my lady. 1 ghe did not look up a« they approached. As immovable ai a marble *Utue ihe

annt Madoline!* said Kate tak-1 ing her cold hand. . > She mOTed not—apoke not. Kate raised, her head; «»11 waa cold and still. She looted down in the white face— the boautifo features ware fixed and rigid; the mournful, dark eyes were closed fortrer. My)»dy was deadJ

And there, on the bosom of bin ihr lovtd, her spirit bad departed. They had gone together-those two so strangely separated in lift, so strangely in death!

CHAPTER XXVII

Mtnriov, IMr lord,'said Kate, gently sad sadly, 4 she is dead.' He started like one bewildered, bat spoke not. < She needs not Tour forgiveness new; all her etrnh'y troubles are orer. She is at reit/ said Kate, earnestly, taking; big hand. ' Dead! Medoline, Walter-all doadl' . He looked bewildered. : ' 1 Not all, dear uSele; then are maay still aUve to lote you. And this ebilo —their'a—will yon not lote her fer the ■ake of the dead P Oeme here, Magdalen,' said Kate, turning towards her. She came quietly forward and stood beside them. Kate brushed back the long, black ; ring'et?, and her ejes filled as she met [ the large, sail, beseeching dark eyes—so i like, so li!ce those whose light was quenched for ever in the darkness of death. 1 Poor chih?, poor little one!' she said* kisnng fondly the fair brow. ' Oh, uncle, see how much she is like those who have gone I' He looked down in the tweet, childish face, and, Rtron; man as he was, his ■ head fell on her shonlder, and be wept. ' Don't cry. I love you,' laid Magdalen, suddenly throwing her arm round his neck with the usual impulse of childhood to comfor; all who weep. The outburst of grief re ieted bis surcharsed heart. He was able to look np and listen to Kale as she proposed that the lifeless forms should bs conveyed to Dibhole and privately interred in the

family vau't there. He silently assented. The carriage which had brought them was still in waiting, and before coon the lifeless forms lay side by side in a darkened white-draped room at Dirritole. Old Mollie and little Magdalen we c then too. The fxithful Mollie refused to leave the chamber where lay all that was morta' of her once kind master. She crouched into a shadowy corner, her arms elaiping her knees aa she rocked to and fro, etill chanting to herself her dreary dirge. Shy andsilen , Ma.da'en sat by bersef, wa ching wistfully the many fiitures that glided past her, silent and noiseless, like ghosts.

We pats oy« the astonishment and grief of the househb'd at hearing of the death of their fair young lady. Marie Nehon 'ell into hysterics at the news, and kept ereryone in the houtie generally in a irate of confusion. Pale and still at the head of the bed of. death sat the earl, gazing steadily and mournfully into the faces of the dead. They were such a contrast, <hos« two lifeless forms before aim, bourd together in life and death so strang< ly. He so fair, so calm looking—she so dark, yet beautiful, with the look of fixed sorrow she had ever worn in life yet resting on her fa^e. He sat and gaied, and gaied —as though there were nothing in the whole world besides. And to him, what was leftP Kate had written <o Lord Arnda'e im-

meriia'Rly upon th-.ir arrival, detailing with br ef yet simple pathos 'he who'e Sad story torn beginning to end. Before night be arrived, and the two brothers who had once loTed each other to well were beneath the earns roof once more. How different—how wid«lr different had been their paths through Ufa! Tears which did honour to hit manly heart fell from the youngunan's tyes'M he Raved. ■' • ■■ ■.■■■'■■■■ ' ■ ■■■•.■■•■■..;• Night again had settled down another time. In the chamber of death were assembled tk* f arl. Lord Arndale, Katr, Magdalen, and old Mo*li«, when suddenly the door was thrown open, and' Mother Wail, the Witch of the Moor, stood again before them. A right girlish, figure stood behind her. She advanced; all sprang to their feer, their hearts beating wildly; her c'oak fe 1 off, and springing forward, panting and almost senseless, Alica Desmond lay on the bowim of Lord Arnda'e. (To be Contnued.)