NOT FOR LOVE'S SAKE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 3362, 17 January 1879, Page 4

NOT FOR LOVE'S SAKE.

BY PLOBENOE H. BIENEY. (Concluded.)

Dora soon found that eho \v«g as nothing in tho home of her huaband. Her eistci'-hi-law continued to rule, and Dora said nothing, 'l'hero was n. feeling always in her heart that she had done her husband an injustice in marrying him. She did nob feel aa if die had the right to take the supervision of his home in hor own hands and turn Selina tuto a cipher. Oh, if she had but married him for lovo's sweet aako! She felt that he was worthy of hor love, yet she had none to t'ivo him. She had wasted it at the feet of v man by whom it could not be accepted, jlt-r heart seemed barren, her life a desert. iVrltups if Bhehadrhad 9oti>'> o^uiipiUion she mi^lit have driven away the morbid feelings -which oppressed her. Woit i=» the best thing in the world to kill f 1.-^liluiM. Keep jouv miml and hands at..d,

you will forget almost entirely tie miseries which beset you. It ia only "iv tho dead and silent night," or when the hands and brain are unoccupied that the mind dwells on the past, and the heart grows sick over its memories. Dora had nothing to occupy her. She tried to read, but wearied of it; the book would fall on her lap, and her mind would wander to the Past. And yet, as far as it lay in her power, she kept from thinking of Guy Landon. She told herself that now it would be a crime to think of him, and she struggled with her poor, wayward heart. Sclina sniffed very audibly over her sister-in-law's " laziness," yet she never asked her help about the house. Dora found it dull indeed to sit day after clay in the sombre dining-room, watching the fingers of her husband's sister fly at her knitting. She relieved tho monotony by walks about the grounds in tho summer. She would lie beneath a group of pines by the hour listening to the sough of the summer wind through the branches. Her husband came down from town three times a week, spending Sunday always at his country seat. Dora always met him brightly and cheerfully, never complained, never asked a favour, thanked him for the gifts he brought her, and was dutiful and kind. Yet she did not feel her heart warm toward him.

As the summer days went by and fall came on them, she could not but notice that Andrew Ferrier's face was troubled, that when in thought, lines of care were on his brow. Had she loved him she would have been distressed and inquired the cause. As it was, she did not give it much attention, supposing that his railroad stock had fallen or some disaster occurred in his business affairs. But one January day she was roused from her apathy. Her husband wns brought home, accompanied by a doctor, and there was consternation in the household when it was told that Mr Ferrier wa3 suffering from heart disease. Dora was very tender to her husband then. She it was who watched over him when the fainting attacks came upon him ; who fanned him when lie gasped for breath. For several days ho was quite ill, then went up to town ngain to his business, which he told Dora was in a terrible state, owing to the dishonesty of soino clerks and the depreciation of real estate.

Dr Thorn told Mrs Ferrier very plainly that his patient must be taken away from business entirely. He was worrying himself daily, and killing himself by excitement. The end was that Andrew Ferrier and his wife went abroad, and the business was left in chaos. All the trying in the world would not have righted it. Andrew admitted that.

For two yeara Dora wandered in foreign lands with her husband, watching him waste away. lie never grew any better; he grew worse daily. Selina wrote occasionally to them. She still kept up the country seat; she had private means of her own which she expended. It took all Andrew Fcrrier owned to pay his travelling expenses. It is not necessary, it would take too long, to state how much Dora endured as the wife of a fretful, irritable invalid. At the end of the two years she found herself a widow, and came home to the place whore she had been brought a bride. Selina met her penniless sister-in-law very coldly. She had never forgiven her for marrying Andrew. If ho had not been married it would have been her place (Selina'a) to travel with him, to watch over him and be at his dying bed. She had loved her brother, and she had been jealous of Dora. Had Dora forgotten Qxxy Landon ? No — she loved him as dearly as ever. So long I as she had been a wife she had crushed the feeling as far as it lay in her power. Now that she was free again she indulged in dreams of him and of the future. Surely that future would bring her somo happiness. Guy had loved her—he would come to her again. Her husband had been dead seven months, and was buried in a foreign land, before Dora came to her home again. She had lived with some friends in Paris during the seven months, and had been quietly happy. Then a restless longing took possession of her ; she longed to sec her home once more; she longed to hoar tidings of Guy, and she felt as if she must be in the land his feet trod. The day after her return to the only home sho knew now was a very lonely one. It was April, four years before she had come here a bride. Now, where was Guy ? The restlessness came over her again! She could not longer endure the closeness of the diningroom, which Selina still insisted on using as a family sitting-room. She could not longer endure tho click of the spinster's bright needles, tho droning of the spinster's dull, monotonous voice. She put on a shade hat and ran out into the gardens. She wandered among the pine trees and rose bushes for awhile, then started for a walk through the woods thinking to gain vigour and get rid of the restlessness and weariness of all things which possessed her. So do wo unconsciously walk on to destiny —and into misery. She took tho road to Harrison Park. She had seen it > often before sho had gone abroad —a large, sombre-looking place kept up by two servant*since Mr Harrison's death, and Kosy's vanishing into a boarding-school. A merry laugh startled Dora just as she reached the grounds surrounding the house ; and out from a clump of trees came a young lady. Such a charming face! all roses and lilies, china blue eyes and dimples. She was beautiful us a fairy. Eut it was not at this apparition that Dora started so violently. The sight of this pretty, smiling girl, would not have driven the blood from her cheeks, the glow into her splendid, dark eyes. No, it was not tho smiling, dimpled fairy, whose appearances wrought this change, but the man who followed her. It was Guy Landon, unchanged, except for a graver look, and ho started violently as he saw Dora standing among the rose bushes, and came forward and took her hand. " Mrs Farrier," ho said. Then he glanced at her black dress, and hesitated. " My husband died in Paris some months ago," Dora said, her heart beating wildly. " I had not heard," Guy began, but a merry voice interrupted him. " Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Guy ?" Guy Landon'a face paled very porceptibly, but he took the hand of tho yellow-haired, laughing girl, and said — " Mrs Fcrrier, this was Miaa Bosy Harrison, once my ward, now my wife." " Three weeks ago tho knot was tied," laughed Rosy. Hut Dora did not hear her epeak. Two words only were ringing in her heart and braiu. "His wife." And she had dreamed of him for seven months, had hoped and prayed for happinesß now. It was all over for her now, all over. Life was not worth the living. She had trodden only on the thorns, the roses had been plucked by this laughing, bright eyed, yellow haired beauty. Sho murmured something about meeting again, and not feeling well to-day, promised to couie soon, and then walked away, a dull pain at her heart, a blurred vision, and such weariness in her whole frame. She had gone down tho road again and was almost through the woods when Guj' Landon sprang over a fence bounding the field, and camo towards her. " Dora," he eaid, " let me speak to you. I never knew you wore a widow. Rosy was so helpless, she had no friend in the world but mo. I thought you were married and it didn't matter who was any-wife after that. O, Dora, it aeems as if our livea were tangled." Sho put out her hand ub if to ward off a blow. " Spare me any words," she said. "Do your duty by her. She is very lovely." And with these words of praise for her rival, tho stricken woman went her way alone. Ah well, life is not all over at 27, in spite of what we may feel, tho anguish we may suffer. Tho bitterest disappointments may be lived down, the agony of the heart grow less as time rolls on, and memories lose something of their bitter sting. Dora Ferrier felt as though life was over for her when sho left Guy with his bride. Poor heart! it may yet be reconciled to fate, may yet beat warmly. Life to Dora Ferrier limy yot scorn a good thing.