A WRONGED WOMAN.

Western Star, Issue 2220, 8 July 1898, Page 6

A WRONGED WOMAN.

When Eusiace and Edith, Vernon were married all their friends were delighted. Everything promised exceptional happiness—love, social standing, ampli- means. Yet these friends kuew what the bride—and the bride oD ly—did not, that the bridegroom was expeeted to " turn over a new leaf.'' Of course, at lirst it appeared he was doing so ; at the end of two years it was kuown that he never hid really done so, for she went to live alone in the country, and he exchanged into a regiment ordered on foreign service, and altogether vanished. They had " separated " politely, raid the world ; as a matter of fact, coldness, disagreements, many forgivenesses from the wite, many repentances from the husband, had had a much more disastrous end than polite separation. The man had made up his mind lie would never return, and the woman did not know whether he was dead or alive. If any of her pifsiomte love for him still remained it is probable she cherished some hope, however faint ; but then sirs was a womau. Ten to oce he had forgotten her—perhaps never had loved her as she imagined he had.

However, she lived on her hope. She said the cord that bound him and her could only be stntcbed—not broken—and one day it would <lraw him back to her. She made no inquiries ttbout him—she had been too deeply injured, and was too proud. She would not seek him—ebe Minply waited till he sought her. Three years passed. Then there arose the need for one of those numerous punitive expeditions against a troublesome tribe on the Indian bortier. Its particulars wi re not of sufficient inijportance to be detailed in the English papers ; <t few telegrams announcing the fact were all that was considered necessary.

' Thn expedition being such an everyday affair ~-a brush with the enemy, the burning of a few Villages, and a march back—it seemed a little t)dd to one of the officers engaged in it that a In-other i flictr should be so down before the exjxcted brush. '" What's up, Vernon ?" he asked. Hipped ? not well ?"

" I've an odd presentiment about this affair to-morrow," said the other, with a faint smile. " Why, you've been in a dozen worse. I dareSay we shall all come out scathleas. Turn in >you look as if you'd not rested enough," *aid Major Yonge, cheerfully. The men had been tschoolniates, and knew all about each other. *' What do you think will happen ?" ■" I don't know.'' »' Oh, nonsense ! Turn in." Captaiu Vernon took the advice, but for the Sirst time in bis life, before an expected fight, tcoulJn't sleep. His memory was as relentlessly Ulear as that of a drowning man. Scene after (scene in a wasted youth, the most dreadful tsceues of all in a dreadful and unfaithful manhood, passed in pitiless succession before his tyes. The intangible tragedy of bis married life Ibeeame, iu moments of half consciousness, a palpable and overwhelming reality, which Seemid to approach close to his spell-bound Siody, threatening to crush it. Alter each of •these nightmares be would toss and tumble in ids brd, cursing the tardy dayl male. The vision*. Seft him at such times, but the memory of the fcvents which had caused tbeni burnt like a Sever iu his brain. He began in a shamefaced way to think of Kdith os bis wife again. He bad in his nostiils the delicate scent of her «iress ; a thousand forgotten little grace-, shynesses, pleadings, all the unconscious and sative arts with which her womanhood was pdorned, stood out in clear relief among the 3 3icf.ires which haunted his weary ev<s. Tie light came off next day—a short, sharp, brilliant encounter. The enemy left numbers on j,he held, and the remnant were puisued for imiles. The expedition had a few killed and «nore wounded, but on the whole came off not wery tar from Major Yonge's prediction. When Rhe roll was filled Captain KusUce Vernon did ,iot respond. Later the doctor reported him amongst the wounded. Major Yonge felt a Jittle staggered-till be went to see his od school friend, for YYiin-n did not look as bad as , (some of the others, and there were no outward signs of injury. "You'll soon pull through," said the Major ; " you see you were wrong, old chap " •But Vernon only turned .side. " Captain Vernon will pull through, 1 hone,' (said the doctor as he stood aside with the Major, " but I very much doubt if he'll < v< r be fit for service again. The injuries are internal." " Oh, impassible !" said the Major, shocked. They sent the wounded to the hospital at the base. There Eustace Vernon had his light with death-a more bitter fight than any fought with sword and rifle ; he had his weeks of agony, his wild wanderings, his appeals to someone to forgive ; and he came out of it all juto utter weakness and one unconquerable Jonginf. They told bim the truth, and he said nothing at all-turned bis fact, to the wall and We the surpassing bitterntss as btst he might.

"You see I was right, Frank," he said to the Major, who came continually to see him. " I mustn't complain—ln tter men than I have heard the same verdict—but I did hopesometimes—that last night, too-to wipe out •' He could not finish the words ; his trembling fingeis passed tenderly over the gword lying beside him.

•' There are more ways thau one of wiping out wtoiig," said the Major, gently " Not for hit:—forgiveness '' Again ho could not finish. " Ah ! women don't look at things like that.'' They said little more to each other. Vernon was ordered home, the Major hack to his regime ut. But, whatever the man's fears and misgivings, som< thing he could not resist drew his steps irresistibly to the place where Edith lived. He fouud the address easily from mutual friends—the difficulty was not there. But. difficult or no, he had uo choice about going ; he might, he did, waver, hesitate ; but found himself in the end waiting one day in her own house lor the woman he hail wronged. Then he wished he hadn't come ; then he thought what fresh wrong it was to ask even for pardon. And when a stately, soft-eyed woman came slowly in, he stood dumb, and dared not even kneel at her feet—till she stretched out h:r bands to him, and the words that had ben in his heart since tiny were uttered rushed across him : " Women don't look at tilings like that." He cank to his knees, with the woman's hands held fast in his, that felt her tears. Then he rose slowly, loosed her hands that tried to cling to him, and turned away. He had what he had longed for, lying helpless on that ho*pital bed ; he had but to go out of her life again, and be thankful ior pardon. 15ut the woman fullilled Major Yongo's words—sue didn't look at it as the man did—and when he turned from her she said, with a sort of eiy in her voice ■ " But, Eustace, what is it P Don't you urn.ci stand r 1 I Lave forgiven 1" as if she would have ,-aid, " That covers all, and our parting is over." " You are not going i "—she sprang to him, half frantic—" now, when I have waited for you so long ! •• Waited-for me ? —you remembered r 1 " he said, hoarsely, and opened bis arms ; she threw herself into them. Waited for—hoptd for-loved ! all the happy earlii r days remembered, blotting out and cancelling lie bitter after-time—the. feverish houts he hal called happy, but were not worth one uiiraili of this. He could not take it nil in, and, when they were calmer, knelt at her side and trie ! hi understand,

" How could you love me through everything ?" he said wistfully. " That I must love you is easy to see, though there was a time when I thought I did not." " Vet love brought you back to me, as I knew it would."

" Yes, but still I thought it was done with. I could not have sought it—it was forgiveness 1 hoped for ; then 1 could begin again."

" Alone, Eustace 'i " "It would be better for you—an eternal memory of wrong." " No, no ! the wrong is wiped out I " He looked up at her. " A useless, broken life, Edith—you should have let me go." " Useless ! —broken !—well, then, so much the more your need of me ! " " My darling ! I might have known a woman would answer that ! But I have to (jive up something—l mu:-t have punishment, I suppose; it is just, I know, and eisier to bear now I have you." And then he told her what had happened to him, and how in his mental ar.d bodily misery he had turned back in heart to h'-r. .She gave all manner of loving sympathy, but when he said, a little sadly : " So I'm not much better than a semi-invalid," she answered proudly : " It's an honourable invalidism ; and, Euslace, you have lost nothing." " How, dearest ? "

" What you hare told me, about hoping to atone with your sword you have atoned, but in another way. Oh ! the cord between us could not be broken—l always said it '.—and it brought you back to me ! " And Vernon, folding her to his heart, recalled what his old comrade had said—that there were more ways than one of wiping out wrong ; and Edith said he had found that way. Perhaps, then, what he had called a just punishment was only love leading bim hack to love.