"STAR" TALES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7292, 3 January 1902, Page 4

"STAR" TALES.

4. AN INTERRUPTED HONEYMOON. (By LILIAN QUILLER COUCH.) Author of " The Maible King," "A Spanish Maid," etc., etc^ j "And, of course, you never loved any tnam before me, Di?" ,< j Dick Hewson waited for his answer, and if a man can bave one serious eye and one flippanb eye at the same moment, be bad such then. " Of course not, dear," Diana answered placidly, even a little absently. "Nor were ever engaged to anyone before?" Diana turned her wide eyes on him with just a suspicion of surprise in them. " Why, of course, I should have told you if there had been anything of that ... BOrt." Captain Hewson was silent for a few moments. One or two little episodes, nnimportant in themselves, but still "epi- . codes," crossed! bis mind, aiid be pulled bis moustache. It occurred to him that he would' like to te9i Diana of. them; but after all, perhaps, it was rather .late— the very eve of bis wedding day—to rake up * little things of tbab sort. He looked at Diana. ._ Diana was a happy-faced! girl, looking ! ft.way at the hills, and when she spoke it Iras to augur well for -the weather of her •wedding day. "I don't think it will rain tomorrow . If that little black cloud will just slip away from the rosy ones it will be all right; fioodls of sunshine, bright and cool. That will mean happiness* and peace in the new •life we are to begin together." "Silly child!" he laughed tenderly, "you know you are thinking only of your gorgeous silks and orange blossomsj not of your life with ipe. Di, my darling—" his voice grew earnest and) psuasionate, "you are not (frightened to begin the new life with a stranger in a strange land?" "lightened? No. I should just tipst you Whatever you did, Dick ; for — I . love you so," ehe answered as earnestly and passionately as himself ; and he held her close to him as af he could never loose . her again. 'lb was typical of her nature, Captain Hewson dtecided, wben be thought the matter over that night, that she had never dreamed of asking him the questions he had asked' her. At first he was enraptured with ber trustfulness; but on second thoughts he wondered whether he would not rather have bad) her show a suspicion of interest in the Wholeness of his heart. Finally, however, be yielded her her due, acknowledging ber to be above pettiness. and feeling glad tbat it was so. He sat long over his fire tihat April night, . amoking and dwelling on the past, the present, and the future. This is not a particularly profitable employment' for. men and) women; it takes a deal of -time and / generally detracts from the personal appearance next morning; but it is considered quite appropriate on the eve before one's wedding. The past — ! Well, it had been just orJiinary. He had thought it well enough /■pent in the dky-by-day work and play of an Indian station. It bad • seemed very pleasant until he ihad come home a month or two before and bad met Diana Moore. .: Bince then all that old existence bad seem- *':,' ad vapid and worthless, and the thought of going back alone to it had seemed intolerable. Since then, too, he bad rurt .;'•* through a whole gamut Of moods — excited, irritable, hopeful, melancholy — till Diana had listened fco bis pleadings, and put an end to bis suspense witb. one great flood of requiting love which showed him- that Ihe depths of an undemonstrative nature are worth, stirring. As to the present, he was thirty-eight, and thirty-eight is just two years from forty; thirty-eight is really, young, but one does not get everyone to think the same. And Di was twenty-three. Of the future he could not think calmly. To-morrow Di would be his own. . She bad never loved another man more formidable as a rival than her grim father; his own kisses had been the very first, as they would be the very last, upon her lips— -nj-less he died! Good Heavens! How uncertain life seems when it bas become so ;' strangely valuable; the thought is almost /frightening. How unbearable to die and leave her! This thought occupied him for a long spell of fire-gazing, and by the end of that time he concluded that with an honest heart be could pray that she might die first, rather than she should bear the agony of bereavement which he knew would fall to the lob of the survivor. But these thoughts being too terrible for the happy era in bis life, he turned to the morrow's ceremony; the nerve-trying duties before him, the fuss, the festivity, the J>rice a man has to pay for marrying, the only child of a somewhat important man. Dick was proud of Diana as well as fond, and he was longing to look upon her in her bridal bravery ; but it would have been more to his present taste to have walked into some quiet country church, just he and she, and have been married without let or hindrance. When the clock struck two he rose, and, with a smile on the photograph he held in Ids hand, said quietly, "This is our wed-ding-day, darling." Then be knocked out Jiis pipe and went to bed. The wedding took place with all its at€widai;o glories. Diana* looked beautiful ; Ay gveo, Diana's father unbent a little as he got on hia feet and made a concise speech, "^testifying to the satisfaction in the past filial behaviour of her whom he emphasised as "my only child"; and Diana's timid mother, though die winced as she "heard those three words, and met her daughter's sympathetic eyes, did her best to be cheerful and brave. Even the sun behaved as a gentleman, and suppressed tbe little black cloud which had bothered him at setting the night before, determined it seemed, to encourage no silly omens or' thing* of that sort. And no one, not even the bride herself, dreamed that the letter which came by" post shortly before the " going away " contained anything but ■ the most harmless congratulations. No one thought of it as tbe instrument of fate " so well approved by novelists of a past decade, till the bridegroom, facing his bride in tbe railway carriage, noticed the square, unopened envelope lying on ber lap, and called her attention to it. "There, lying before you, Mrs Hewson, is, of course,' the frantic epistle from the scorned and desperate lover, which from time immemorial has proved the indisputable adjunct to any reasonably interesting wedding, threatening destruction to your wedded bliss." Witb a little laugh sbe opened it, and glanced down tbe sheet. But, like the true heroine of romance, the smiles died from her lips, her face flushed, then blanched, as she read ; and her husband, seeing the change, leaned forward and clasped ber empty band. "Not bad news, dear, surely? be asked, anxiously. . Diana attempted her smilesi again ; then finding them a failure, gulped, and) shook her head. But Dick's laugh bad changed to suoh real anxiety that after a moment She struggled to recover herself. "I have heard news of a — a friend — who fe ill," she explained jerkily. "Coming unexpectedly, it scared me a little. And I think— ' she really managed a ghost of a smile this time—" I am just a little overwrought with all the fuss and! excitement «f the day." She leaned her cheek against his shoulder, as if glad -of the rest and protection, and with loving car c be tried to bring J>ack tbe colour to her White face. "But she does not show me tbe letter," '**-.

he thought, as the train rusbed onwards, and a ohillness began already to hover over his heart. It was in such a case as this that his age told against him. Tie was eight-and-thirty, and a man of the world; and in that balance of fifteen years between thirty-eight and twenty- three he had learned to 'discount most things and distrust most persons. Captain Hewson's leave being near its end, the voyage back to India had, perforce, to do duty as a wedding tour, and a week after the wedding day saw them, bride and 1 bridegroom, leaning on the rail of the. Hadji, watching their luggage being hoisted on board. Those few days before starting had lulled; th c husband's doubts — those doubts whioh the letter had raised on his wedding day. He decided in his own mind that Diana* had nob given thought to bis natural interest in her concerns; -she had not known that it would have been almost etiquette to have passed the letter to bim, that he also might read what had so unnerved: her ; she was so new to her position as a wife, and her confusion and "distress had been .but natural on hearing , bad- news at such a time. This decision having been arrived at, Captain Hewson's brow was unclouded', and his heart light as he leaned on the rail,with Diana beside him, watching the crane hoisting trunks over th© ship's side. The day was bright, the 1 »sun was radiating en the. water, andi Diana, with her haJid slipped tbroug'h his arm, was smiling at the scene, though, indeed, tears were not far. from her eyes, for the parting from father and mother in that square ornate sitting-room' at the hotel was still veryrecent. Dick, with a, real ache. at his heart for her heartache, was doing bis best to cheer her, when he suddenly felt the hand on his arm tighten convulsively, then tremble, and slacken its hold. He turned his face to her quickly, but the sun. was still in his eyes, and for some seconds be saw nothing very clearly. When, however, the. yellow haze and the dancing spots faded,, and his sight returned to ..bim, *he noticed that Diana's face was white and somewhat dis-^ tressed ; but she was still looking down towards the crane swinging its burden from the land' to the hold, and she said nothing. *' Somewhat puzzled, Dick opened his lips to speak, but in another moment his questioning eyes travelled fram Diana's face and fell on that of another figure who had joined; them-r-^a man with art unpleasing expression, who also leaned on the rail, but who, instead 1 'of watching the crane, was watching Diana/ Th© man's look was distasteful to Dick ; the liberty, as he mentally designated it, enraged himj and he drew his wife away."What is wrong, Di?" he aeked, when they were put of ear-shot. '■ y ' ;. "Wrong?" she echoed faintly. "You were trembling and - distressed, 'dear;"" ■.■•'/. "It .is all so sad!" she said hurriedly. "Don't you think- this terrible parting is enough to make me a little distressed? It is such along, long good-bye." Y'.*- --" Was just what it was?" he' persisted. ; ""Nothing else? Nothing new is troubling you?"' ",That is quite -enough for me," she declared, trying - now to laugh away his gravity. " You will find that I think all my trouble very immense." ' "They won't, be so very imtnense now, Di ; not no**v wfteb'th'ey ijre to be shared. You must let me share every one, dear." ' She shuddered slightly. Dick noticed it. "You are so good to me, Dick.", " You are so soft-hearted, dear." . "I am not good enough for you, Dick. I know I am not." "Ye Gods!" muttered Dick. "You 'are too good to lose, dariing," he said aloud, "and I believe, you axe quite cold in spite of the sun; Sit bere for a while, and I'll get you a cloak." He led her to : a. sheltered corner, and went down to rummage in the cabin. When, after wrestling with the straps of a hold-all, Dick at length found a cloak, and came whistling up the stairs again, the man who had*leaned on the rail beside Diana was strolling away in another direction ; but he must have passed Diana's corner, a fact which Dick inwardly resented. It had qccurrred to him, too, that there had been a sound of voices just before he had appeared, but there was no .one with Diana, no one to be seen just there at that 'moment, except the man walking away. "I thought I heard voices as T came up,"-' he said, as ■ he placed the cloak about her shoulders.. "Voices, Dick! I think not," she said slowly, "ior perhaps I was humming to my-* self." " >' She looked very unlike humming, though, as the sun fell on her troubled face, and Dick thought so, too, as he looked at her tenderly y and he concluded that once again he must have been mistaken. "Poor darling!" he thought, -with a gush of love and pity for her. " I was ' a brute to take her away from all the people she has loved all her life. Poor little Di! But I wanted her so desperately— and she loves me, too ; and, please God, she shall never regret it." It was after they had been at sea two days that Dick Hewson's doubtings began to stir in him again. After dinner on the second evening he had gone to his cabin to fetch bis matchbox, Diana agreeing to go on deck and await- him x there. ■•.* It wag 'a starlit night, and when he reached the deck 'the figures standing and moving about on it were clearly discernible to him. Looking, as he was, for a single figure, he passed carelessly by tbe couples and groups, his eyes confidently expectant for one waiting face. Therefore it was with a* great shock at his heart that down' at theyurther end he ait length recognised Diana in her long white cloak standing beside the man whom he had distinctively detested since the moment he had first set eyes on him, the man who had leaned on- the rail beside her. v \ They were talking together, these two; not with the air of mere casual passers conversing of trifles for conversation's sake, but as people talk who have grave things to say. Diana's face Was turned towards Dick, and she saw him coming.. For. a moment or two, however, she did not stir, but finished w^iat she had to say; then leaving the man standing alone she came forward to Dick, with a welcoming smile certainly, but a pallid face and an expression very unlike that of a woman who has been interchanging formal remarkswith -a new acquaintance. These things Dick noticed, and he fumed. For some minutes be strolled on, Diana beside him, saying nothing, waiting for her to tell him of this fellow with whom she seemed so much at home. But Diana did nothing of the kind ; when she spoke it'was of Gibraltar, and the little presents she had "declared she would send, to her mother from there to show that she was safe an<_ happy. But Dick's doubts were paining him, and he passed over her remark. "Diana," he blurted out, "I did not know you knew that man." There followed a pause. "That mam you were speaking to as I came up." Still no word came from ber. "Did' you know him before?" "I knew bim a, little, *ome years ago,' she said, with quiet tenseness. "What is his name?" " Croder." "Why did you not introduce us?" "I felt-— that you would not care for it," she said: and the statement seemed unanswerable. " Did you — do you like him yourself?" . "No. Ido not like him." That at any rate seemed satisfactory ; bub Dick did not feel happy. Of course, the case, viewed: carelessly, from an outsider's point of view*, seemed simple enough; but viewed -closely by a man to whom possession or loss, of faith meant life or death of peacer-:i|||husband Who saw, or fancied be saw, .jjn-y, wife's

agitation when meeting this stranger— it was another matter. If it was the simple thing it should have been, why did not Diana come and talk to him freely of it, as she did of other things? There had been no freedom in her manner now, nor .in her answers to his questions ; and waiting, he found- she said no more. His own heart was full of the things he would, •have asked her ; but in some way her reticence froze his words; he did not know what to ask, and he could not turn and accuse her of anything — his honest-faced, trustful wife. His lips seemed sealed. He, her husband, was as a stranger to some secret an that heart beafcing so close to him. He turned to her amd looked at the beautiful faco turned upwards fco th© stars j then they came to a standstill, facing the heaving* waters, and after a long, long silence, all that he found to cay was the sad little question, "You love me, Di, don't you?" , j And slipping her arm through bis, ah© answered fervently, "I love you, I>ick» : eveiy day I love you more, dearly, I think." "That -''ought -to' ba good enough," he thought, ,as with a sigh he pushed back the pain iof doubj^ and encircled her with j his arm-. I ** In the days which followed it was no un- ! common , thing for Dick to see bis wife exchanging words with , the man Croder. j They did not *sit together, or walk about ' .together, as .even new acquaintance- might have done without comment, but they ex- j changed remarks undoubtedly, and- Dick ; was non-pliissed. j He had not said to £er, "Do not," he had not said,, "You shall not." He could not-, he felt, have a "row" about j ihe matter. He detested the thought of ) exercising any right which the world, at any rate, might consider\he possessed, in forbidding Ms wife to hold any intercourse with this man—his wife whose ' hearrt had always been as open to him as the day. It would have seemed so unreasonable, too — so suspicious— so insulting ; it would. have argued suoh a want of trust in her. ' J Diana, though she always seemed' un- ' easy when speaking to the man Crode*? in- : her husband's presence, never by any means tried to hide those interviews or rojanage that they should take place out of -has : sight. All was quite open and aboyej board as far as Dick's dreading eye could I see; all was quite natural, except the j miserable reserve and silence on the subject whioh to him was at puzzle, and which, in spite of all their efforts to keep up tbe old freedom* and gaiety of intercourse was mating itself felt as time passed 1 on. 1 Notwithstanding Diana's plans: for the I day ashore 1 on which to buy. tokens to send her mother, to assure her of her daughter's safety and happiness, the morning of the day on which they touched port found her suffering from an intense headache— indeed, .scarcely sable to lift her head from the * pillow. She was a good sailor, but \to ( Dick's anxious eyes she had grown strange- . ly pale, and subdued since they left English shores, and was a very different being from • the happy-faced girl be had married . so ' short a time' ago. She was very .eager, though, even now, to rise and try to carry I out her plans, but with a groan* she sank back again, protesting ruefully. . j j " It's no good, my dear," declared Dick, < ■ "we must give it up. After all, it doesn't I matter much; I only care because of your disappointment." ■ "But I promised-, dear. It was only m fun, of course, but I; do so want to do as I J said I would." / uc-uu.;.-I " You must post/, a lettes? to your mother instead, and explain; and we can easily get j things at the next place." . ! " That's just the sort of tbdng I can't : bear doing," she sighed. "I bate not to ! carry tlirough those little promises. I know it isn't important, but it's just those little things which make mother happier br sadder. Of course it may not be very reason- , able, but it's just her unreasonableness j which makes it such a pleasure to please her." "I'm awfully sorry, Di ; but you arent fit to get up, are you? Perhaps we couldl commission one of the others to do it for us, and practice a little harmless decep^ tion." "Oh, Dick," she said excitedly, though ber brow was contracted with pain, " I know what I would like best of all." "Well, dear, say but the word." "That you should go— without me, you know. You and I being one " she smiled faintly, "it would be all the same, and everyone would be pleased!" j But Dick* demurred. , ' . . "I should not be pleased,? he declared, , " and you would be neglected and lonely all '<%•", ■' ■" '. A . j '< " No, I would vgjvg aii jiPby time to getting ' weli— it's only a nervous headache, you know — and it "would be quite a little . excite- : ment to have you coming back wfth the news. Do it to please me, Dick." In the end Dick yielded, but against his will, and after plentifully supplying the invalid with fans, eau de Cologne and other aids to recovery, went off to carry out her wishes. - As he walked through the sunny streets he tried to picture himself a 'bachelor again, ■for the pleasure of remembering that he was no such thing ; then, the remembrance being so real a pleasure, he crystallised the fact, so to speak, by* spending lavishly for the delight of the wife left on board. j When money is ■ not stinted, shopping | may sometimes be quite a short affair; and Dick, finding his purchases made in an incredibly short time, and himself longing to be back with Diana, forsock the rest of the ship's party, and made arrangements j to be taken, back forthwith. | It -was but a short time since he had left the vessel, but he sprang on deck as an eager boy, and scanned the> one or two occupied chaira, in case Diana might be ■ there. She was not there — indeed , he' scarcely expected her to be ; and with bis gift in his hand he hurried below. " Di," he cried, as he opened the cabin doer, then he stopped short, thanking sbe might be, asleep. His care was wasted, however; her berth was empty, she was : nowhere to be seen. j Surprised, he turned back into the pas- ; sage, and -while hesitating as to wbichi way he should go, a door at the end of the | corridor opened 1 , and Diana came out. "Di," he exclaimed, hurrying towards her* Then his face blanched and stiffened, for before the door closed he had caught., sight of the main Croder inside the cabin. " Diana V'Ahe said, hoarsely, then be stood and glared as a maddened animal might glare.; and she, white and shaking, with dark, sunken eyes, looked like a bunted thing on which the brute might spring. For a full minute they stood face to -face, and the wild fear and love and misery in their hearts they alone knew. At length, goaded almost to madness by 'her silence, Dick laughed put horribly, and the cruellest words in the world were in his heart, but only the trivial things would come to his lips. "The scarf at your neck is unbecoming for an invalid. I have brought back another, for my wife." And handing her the parcel he turned and left her. Mechanically she took it, and' walked unsteadily to her cabin. " Is the cabin— that one at the end of the corridor — a public one?" Dick asked tbe Steward as nonchalantly as he could, half-an-hour later. "End cabin? No, sir. Private.^ Let me see. Party by the name of Croder." "Oh, thanks! thanks!" Dick muttered hastily, as he turned on his heel. " She tricked me!" he .thought savagely. "•Headache, gifts for home, and all; my . honest-faced wife!" j Striding into the saloon he came full upon j the detested man Croder himself. Without a word of explanation or introduction Dick barred his way and demanded, "Why was my wife in your cabin this afternoon." j The man looked back "with an insolent. J smile, enjoying the other's pain. "Ask your wife," he said, coolly, with a maddening laugh. ! But that laugh never got clear of hi* teeth, for Dick's fist hit it back into his throat, and he fell against the side of th« saloon. For a moment the men glared at ona another ; then Croder, shrinking a little be. • fore the fierce, undaunted eyes of his aggres-

sor, muttered something about a "mistake," and picking himself up, hurried away. Of all places in the world for family differences, a passenger steamer is about the most embarrassing, unless one starts as one means to go on. The days which followed were almost unendurable to Dick Hewson and his wife. Not one word of explanation was asked or given. Diana spent most of ber time below, sitting, white and still, with throbbing temples and gripped bands, while Dick strode about in raging anguish, and tried to answer civilly when people badgered him about his wife. Diana did nofc face her future ; Dick did. jfeisery blotted out all energy from her brain; it quickened his into scheming some, escape from their unbearable yoke. Half-a-dozen desperate measures presented themselves and were considered, bufc he sickened at the thought of exposure and sought for some compromise. "I shall not take you to India with me," , he said coldly at last, shortly before the vessel was due at Alexandria. "I shall leave you at Alexandria. I know of some lodgings there — good ones, with English people." ■''-.". She did not speak; -she was looking m dumb misery- across the cabin. 'Glancing at her, her heart-broken expression tore at his own heart, and be groaned aloud. " Oh, why in the name- of Heaven " he began; but the hopelessness of it all stopped him and he hurried away. At Alexandria Captain and Mrs Hewson went ashore, with maiiy others who were bent on exploring that somewhat neglected city. And the sun blazed down on all and everything alike, on the happy and the unhappy, on the picturesqueriess and the uncleahliness; and the long day, bringing its measure of misery and joy, wore to an end in due course/and Captain Hewson returned to the snip alone. Never, to his life's end, did Dick Hewson forget that good-bye in the big glaring room in the square house at the corner of tihe white raised road, when he and Diana stood 1 face to face; he knew his own ■agony, but, even in after years he felt he could only dimly guess the he made her endure. After a moment of torturing silence he wheeled round and left her standing there u alone. .No Word of love or reproach or.exculpation followed him, but the white (face, dignified yet beseeching, haunted him wherever he went. He saw it, looking up from. the glaring dust, he saw ib on the sun-baked walls, he saw it on the shining sea. "Di! Di! Di!" he moaned. "How dan we live it out?' For six months Dick Hewsonf alone in • India, tried to find the answer to that question. Fpr four months ne hoped on that Time would ease the pain, that the wound would h*al. But Tim© did nothing of the sort, aim' Instead .of healing/ the' wound ate deeper. Friends Who kn*w of the marriage wondered at the grass-wiww-erhood, and asked questions, and begged f6r descriptions of his bride. When he did his best to answer them without betraying hi* torment they thought him a cold bridegroom', and wben he chafed under i their comments they nodded together "and decided that something had gone very wrong. Dick did his work during work-time, and during play-time he shut himself up i and ate his heart out, going over and , oyer those weeks from the day he first met Diana to the day he had left her at Alexandria. And his heart cried out that she was true, and his reasoning told him that she was false; and after fighting the battle day after day for months the reason and the anger ebbed and a great wave of remorse rushed over him, sweeping . away arguments and leaving only the pain of the thing which he had done. He- remembered her words, " I should just trust you, Dick, whatever yoii did, for I love you so." And well he had repaid her love! He groaned I* amd l writhed in his anguish alone in his | quarters as he realised what had passed. j At the end of six months the faith bad triumphed, the rage was gone, and only I the love and longing remained, and, a j very skeleton of himself, he arose from his ! wrestling and said, ' " She is true. I swear I she is true., I will go to her. Oh, my God ! true or false I would go> to her— but she ia true and faithful as death. I was mad to doubt her !" [ No one looking at Captain Hewson i doubted his need of sick leave, and when he said he was going to Alexandria they thought they understood. 1 As Dick Hewson stood again outside thab corner house . by . that .dusty road in Alexandria he smiled as he realised his own instinctive and continuous faith in Diana. Me had never doubted' that she was here, as he had left her. What would have been the use of coming here if all he had feared was true ? If she were a j faithless wife was it likely she would live on in solitary misery in a strange land? I As be turned in towards the doorway he caught sight of alamiliar figure coming along the road, and with a flush on his face he stepped back towards it. Ifc was Diana. He knew her at once, and his heart beat furiously. But Diana was not alone. A man was walking beside her, and Dick set his teeth tight as, with a shock, he recognised' that the man was Croder. Here, alter all, was this man again. | " Bufc she is true. I believe she is true." I His faith wrestled with bis doubts, and as she drew near, in spite of their bitter parting, in spite of her present companion, he went forward and held his hands to ber. She started back as if struck; her lips parted in dumb amazement, and Dick saw that she was white and haggard, and that she had been weeping. Without a word Croder, whose face was also grave and white as ashes, left them together, and Dick followed his wife into her, room. j " Dick !" she said hoarsely. " Dick, is it ! you! Oh, how I have wanted you! I can tell -you now." * ' | He took her in his arms. "Darling, tell 1 me nothing. I have come because I believe in you. I; have tried, but I cannot doubt you." ' • ' With a burst bf sobs she found her rightful resting-place on his heart, and he held ber there till the storm of grief and joy lad passed. Then she raised her head. "Dick, he is my brother-in-law. He married Alice, my sister — he induced her to run away from school. Poor Alice! He is a felon who has served his time, and be has crushed tbe life out of my sister. He is a fiend ! But she is dead ; she died this morning, and I am thankful, poor darling ! And I think that even he is a little sorry now." "And this was the secret! Di, oh my darling, why didn't you tell me !" " I had vowed— l had sworn to my father that I would not. Alice must be dead to us, be said, and I must never breathe her name as long as she lived." "How you have suffered!" he groaned. " What torture I have forced on you ! The brute bled you — f or money, of course?" " Oh, that was nothing ; and I could not refuse to see Alice, we loved each other so. But the coldness in your eyes " "Ah! Not that! Don't speak of thafc, Di! Not now. Oh, my wife, if my whole life is long enough to wipe it out, you shall never have cause to remember it again." " This moment is worth it all Dick," she said ; and, being a woman, it was the truth. W-heil* Alice Croder had been laid to rest in the cemetery at Alexandria, Captain and Mrs Hewson went on to India; and whatever the people there may have thought beforehand, they soon saw that it was rot lack of love which caused the bridegroom to leave his bride alone for six 'months ih • Alexandria.