THE ‘MARY.’

New Zealand Graphic, Volume IX, Issue 9, 27 February 1892, Page 212

THE ‘MARY.’

E were all alone in the world—my mother and I. She was as frail as a delicate flower ; I, young and strong, nearly a woman grown ; and 1 loved her, my fair, young mother—oh, how I loved her 1 But one day there came another love into my life, a love that even surpassed this affection for my mother ; a love which grew and flourished,

taking full possession of my heart, anil making the whole world brighter. Richard Lyell was a sailor ; that was the only objection that my mother intervened to our mariiage ; but he was one of the ships officers —the good ship ‘ Mary ’—and his position was lucrative, and the life on shipboard just suited him. He would have made me his wife, and then I could have accompanied him on his voyages ; but how could 1 leave her, my dear mother, who loveil me so dearly, ami who would have laid her life down to secure my happiness ’: ‘ Wait a little longer, Bessie,’ she said, the day that Richard came to her and asked for her blessing upon our future. * I shall not be here long, and then you can go with him far over the seas to foreign lands, and visit strange countries, and see all the lovely sights. Do not cry because I spoke of dying, my child,’ she added, as the tears rushed to my eyes. ‘ You know that I cannot linger much longer. If I had reason to hope so, I would not do so selfish a thing as to ask you to give up your own happiness indefinitely. But wait awhile, Bessie, Richard is good and true, and he will see the situation as I do.’

And he did, though his handsome, bronzed face grew pale as death when I referred to our future. ■ Ah ! well, sweetheart, what is to be must be,’ he returned, trying to speak lightly. * But the “ Mary ’’ sails in a week’s time, and to go without you is like tearing the heart from my bosom. But it is right, and we must be patient and wait—wait for what the future will bring.’ The days flew by until the night before the ‘ Mary ’ was to leave port. With an aching heart I went down to the beach to get a glimpse of the tall, white-winged vessel rocking idly at anchor in the bay. It was a gloomy scene upon which my achingeyes gazed. The sun was setting— agieat ball of crimson fire—in the west, where great black stormclouds were piled up in a threatening mass. Off in the distance the thunder was muttering hoarsely, and once in awhile a lance of lightning shot sharply athwart the inky pall. Sad and disheartened, I wandered on down the long, white, sandy beach. I had received a note from Richard an hour before saying that he would not be able to call upon me that evening as early as usual. So, not knowing what to do with myself to while away the weary time of waiting, I strolled slowly onward. I came to a pause near a sheltered nook in the rocky beach. There was a little cove there, and as I halted I caught sight of Richaid—my Richard—and he was not alone ! At his side stood a woman—a woman in a dark diess, with a shawl about her head and shoulders. Her face was upturned, and her eyes were gazing into his face—my betrothed husband ! —with a look of eagerness which seemed almost adoration. Even as i stood there hesitating whether to go or to stay, she caught his hand in hers and kissed it passionately. I waited to see no more. With a stifled cry I turned and lied from the spot, back to my home —to my mother. Thank God, there was one true heart left in all the cold, dark world 1

I must have been insane. ‘To be wroth with one you love doth work like madness on the brain.’ It is true. Torn by mad jealousy, I sat down and wrote a note to Richard, telling him that he was free. I made no explanation ; how could I ? 1 enclosed his ring in the envelope with the hurriedly scrawled note, and sent it to him at once. So it was all over.

Later I heard his voice at the door of our cottage, begging to see me —to speak with me just for a moment. But the demon of jealousy had entered my heart and taken full possession, and I closed my ears against his pleading. It was a mad, a cruel, a senseless act. The next morning at suniise the ‘ Maty ’ sailed and I was alone with my sorrow. Days came and went, and my life went on in a dull, grey, uneventful round until the end came—the end of my sorrow and despair. A note was placed in my hand one day—a note in a strange and unfamiliar handwriting, almost illegible, as though its writer bad been in pain when it was written. 'Miss Bertrand.' it said. • I am very ill—dying, I think- and 1 want, you to call and see me before i die. I have a message to send to one who Ims been my good angel.' Anna Grey 1 remembered the name, though its owner was personally a stranger to me. I put on my hat and went at once to the humble cottage where the woman lived. I shrunk back with a strange faintness stealing over my heart as 1 recognised before me lying upon the bed, pale and wan, and evidently dying, the woman whom I had seen on the beach with Richard—the woman for whose sake I had broken my engagement with the man I loved. At sightof me the dying woman held out her hand.

‘ < >h, miss 1 I have wanted to see you so 1’ she moaned. • 1 want yon to write to Captain Lyell for me, and tell him how much I thank him for what he has done for me. But for him I would not now be the wife of Roger Grey, for Roger was going to the bad, and but for Captain Lyell he would have had no employment. Captain Lyell saw me on the beach the night lie sailed. He had aheady used his influence with Roger, and helped to lead him into the straight path again, and had given him work to do. That night I sought Captain Lyell and thanked him. Oh, miss, I could have died with gratitude, for I knew that, with the steady employment, Roger would do right, and we could be married. We were made husband and wife soon after, and my short married life lias been the happiest part of my existence. But lam dying now, and I want Captain Lyell to know how grateful 1 am. Will you write to him for me’’

With a heart swelling with shame over my unworthy jealousy and silly mistake, I seated myself and wrote the letter that she dictated. At its close I added a few lines for myself—a few pleading, agonized words begging his forgiveness. The answer came to-day. To-morrow his ship sets sail for home, and I shall soon be with him, my own true loved one, never to part again on earth. This is a true story —the story of a woman’s mad, unreasoning jealousy, and the end is better far than I deserve.