THE STORY TELLER.

Waikato Times, Volume XIII, Issue 1022, 11 January 1879, Page 2

THE STORY TELLER.

WIFE IN^AME ONLY. By the author of " Doha Thokne," "On Hbe Wedding Mobn," "REDEEMED BY LOVE," "A WOMAN'S War," &c. &n. (Continued from Tuesday's issue). CHAFi'ER XXXVIII. She paused .for. some few minutes, her who'e frame shaken with sobs. - The Earl, bending down, spoke kindly # to her. •lam quite sure,' he said, 'that if you have erred it has been through love for my child. Tell me all— have no fear,' ' ' I was m the House, sir,' she continued, 'when the poor JDoctor was carried home dead—in the sittiugroom with my— with little. Madaliue, and, when I saw the confusion that followed upon his death, I thought of the papers m the oaken box, aud without saying a word to anyone, I took it and hid it under 'ray shawl.' * i*ut tell me.' said the Earl, kindly, ' why did you do that ?' . [ ' I can hardly remember now,' she replied^ ,' it i a so long since. I think my chief motive was dread lest my darling should be iaken from me. X thought that if strangers opened the box, and found out. who she was. they wculd take her away from me, and 1 should .never see her again. I kuew that the box held all the papers relating to her, so I took it deliberately.' 'Then, of course^' said the Earl, • you know her, history ?' ' 'No,' she replied, quickly, ' I have never opened tho box.' ,'Npver opened it!' ho exclaimed, wonderingly. ' .No, sir, I have never even touched it ; it is wrapped m my old shawl now just as I brought it away.' ' J3ut why have you never opened it? he asked, still wondering. 'Because, sir, I did not wish to know who the little child really was, l^st, m discovering that, I should discover something also which would compel me to give her up.' Lord Mountdean looked at her m astonishment. How womanlike she wasj How full of contradictions! What strength and weakness, what honor aad dishonor, and what love and selfishness did her conduct reveal ! ' Then,' continued Margirot Bornham. ' when the Doctor died, people frightened me. They said that the child must go to the workhouse. My husband soon afterwards got into dreadful trouble, and I determined to leave the village. I tell the truth, sir. I was afraid, too, that you would return and claim the child, so I took her away with me to London. My husband was quite indifferent — I could do as I liked* he said. I took her, and left no trace behind. A.fter we reached London, my husband got into trouble again, but I always did my best for the darling child, and she had the training nf a lady.' 'But,' put m Lord Mountdean, 'did you never read my advertisements r' ' No; sir,' she replied, ' I have not been m the habit of reading newspapers.' ' It was strange that you should remain hidden iv London while people were looking for you,' he said. ' What Avas your husband's trouble, Mrs \ >oruham r' ' He committed burglary, sir ; and, us iio hud been convicted before, his sentence was a very lrjuvy duo. 1 . ' Aud m<- daughter, you say, is livin«but uot well:- Wh-u-e is she r' ° ' I Avill take you to hor, .shy W as the reply, 'at once,. if you will go.' ' I will not lo.se a minute,' said the Ear], hastily. 'It is time, Mrs Dornlmm, that you knew my name and my.dauirJiter\s, • also. lam the Earl of iVloiiutdealu, and " she is Lady Madnline Charhvood.' Oa hearing this, Margaret Dornliam was more frightened than ever. She rose from her knees and stood before him. llf I have- done wrong, my lord,' she said, ' I beg of you to pardon me ; it was all, as I thought, for tho beat. ' 80 tliu child whom I loved and cherished -was a, grand lady, after all V' ' Do not lot us lose a moment,' he said • ' where is my daughter ?' ' .'.She lives not far from hare, but wo cannot walk— the distance is too <>reat ' replied Margaret. ° ' 'We 1. we are near to tho towu of Lyton— it is not twenty minutes' walk • we will go to an hotel, and got a carriage. I— l can hardly endure the suspense.' He never thought to ask her bow ahn had come thither; it never occurred to him. His whole soul was wrapped m the one idea that he was to see his child again— Madaline's child— the little bibo he- had held m his arms, whose little fw he had bedewed with tears — his own child— the daughter he had lost for lonyears, and had tried se hard to find. He never noticed tho summer woods through which he was passing ; ho never heard the wild birds' song ; of sunshine or shade he took no note. The heart within Lira was on. tiro, for he was going to see his only cldld— the daughter whose voice ho had never heard. ■Tell me,' he sad, stopping abruptly, and looking at Margaret ;• y Oa saw my poor wife when she lay dead— is my child like her?' Margaret answered, quickly — 'She is like her ; but to my miud Bue is v thousand timra fairer.' They reached the Principal hotel at Lynton, and Lord Mounrdeati called lastaly for a carriage. Not a moment was 0 be lost — time pressed. •You know the way,' he 3a id to I^craret; ; will you diroot tho driver * He <Ud not think to ask where his daughter live-J if she was married or single, what she was doing, or auytbine *laa ; his one thought was that he had found her-found her, never to lose her again. cr He sat with, his face shaded by his hand during the who'e of the drive thankioS [eaveu that ho had f-mnd MadaKne* hild. He never notwed tho woods the he high-road bordered with trees the -.he carnage drive wit h itß aaven ue ' c ° ..hestou s ; he did n«t even recognise the .icturesqae. quaint old Dower House thafc before. He saw a large matron, bat ifc n«ver oooarreci to htm to ask whether h a W ia||waßQ rßwmt .^

knew that the carriage had stopped, and that very shortly ho Bhould see bu chi d. Presently h« found hitoaelt iv a large hail boy with ll.ift-8-s nnd covered with Indian "mat'liiiKi «"» (1 Margaret Dornham was trembling before him. , « My lord,' sho said» \your daughter is ill. and I am afraid the agitation may prove too rauoh for her. Tell me, what shall I do?' " a . . 4 He collcoted hie scattered thoughts.. •Do you mean to tell me,' be asked, •that she has been kept m complete ignoranoe of her history all these. years 2 ■'••'« She has been brought up m the belief that aho is my daughter,' said Margawt — 4 Hbe knows nothing else.' A dark frown came ober the Earl's face. 'It Wftf 1 waokedly unjust,' he said — •cruw >KJn|t« l^et me go to her at onse»*^/>- ' . -.:. *'•''■" ,'i , Pale, trembling, an£ Margate* led the way. ... It BeemedJto the Earl tha^his heStfehad stopped beating, that »••! ihick^miiit^as spread before his eyes, that the purging of a deeo Bea filled his ears. He. staggered like a, drunken j manY-V Oh, Heaven, could it be that after ! all these years tie was really going to see Madeline's child, bi3 own lost daughter ? Very soon he found himself looking on a fair f^co framed m golden hair, with dark blue eyes; fill of paeteion,.' poetry, and sorrow, sweet crimson lip£, sensitive andi delicate, : a face so lovely that it's puVe, saintlike expression almostfrightened him. Wo looked at ifr iii a I'assion of wonder and grief, of loye and longing j and. then he saw a shadow ofc grief gradually darken the. beautiful eyes. .: ' Madalne,' he said, gently ; and she looked at him m wonder. ' Madaline, he repeited. " ' «I- I— do nob know you,' she replied, surprised. She was ljing, when he entered the room, on a little couch drawn close to 'the window, the sunlighc, which fell upon her, lighting up- the golden hair and refined face with unearthly beauty. When he uttered her name, she stood up, and so like ncr mother did she appear that it was with difficulty ho could refrain from j clasping her m bis a^ms.. .Bat ho must not startle her, he reflected— he Baw how fragile she was. ' , ' You call me Madalane,' she said again . — • but Ido not know you.' " . J?efdre anstvering her, Lord Mountdean ] turned to Margaret — • W)ll you leave us alone?' he requested ; but Lady Arleigh stretched out her hand. •That is my mother,' she said—' she must not bo sent- away from me.'---- --' I will not bo long £tway, Madaline. You must listen to what this gentleman Bays, and, my deaf, do not let it upeet you.' •■• "' • '" ■■' .. l' ' ■/ '. ...' ., Mrs Bornham retired,'' closincr the dbor oiirefully behind her, and liady Arleigh uiid the Earl stood looking at each,' other. ' You call me Madaline,' she Said';' and you send my mother from me.' What can j you have to say ?■ *A sudden thought occurred to her. *' Has Lord Arleigh 'sent yoti to me ':'■ she asked. ' Lord Arleigh'!' he repeated, m yonder. •No, he has nothing to do with what I have to say. Sit down— you do not look strong — and I will tell you. why I am here.' : ' It never occurred to him 'to task why she hud named Lord Arleigh. Ho saw liur sink, half exhausted, 1 half frightened, upon the couoh, and he sat down by her side. : ." 2o be Continued..