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The Brussels Post, 1886-11-26, Page 22 A VAGRANT WIFE. Be F. Waimea. yw� Author of "Tun EOM o$ nus Dfensn," "AT THE Woazn's 111D11WY," to, , staggered down from Miss West's door, and reeled against her Annie had ivatantly recognised her husband. He had not known her, be had scarcely seen her, for the little figure had flown past almost before he had recovered his bal. ince ; but, in the first moment of terror, Annie imagined thathe had seen, known, and was pursuing her. She walked on with Aubrey very quietly, very eileutly, her hand on his arm and his hand on hers, listening to his gentle playful scolding with a httle laugh now and then, but without speak-. ing muoh, satisfied that she was safe with him, and that she need not talk to show him that she felt so. When they came to her door, she disengaged her hand and held it out while bidding him " Good night " with a smile that made Aubrey bold. He took her hand in his and passed his other arm round her, say- ing, in a quick jerky whisper— Annieyou do—you ou will trust our- self to me, on't you ?" y There was no eloquence in his speech; but for once his light eyes spoke very plainly, his voice broke into tenderness. Annie trembled. Her eyes, as they met his, shone with a light he had never seen in them before. But before he could speak again, before he could draw her into his arms, the light had faded. She gave him one look so wildly, unutter- ably sad that he never forgot it ; then, with bent head, she slipped gently out of the grasp of his arm and turned to the door. She could not see the lock, for the tears were gathering in her egos. After a few moments, Aubrey, who had stood behind her without speaking, took the key from her shaking hand and open- ed the door for her. " Thank you, Aubrey. Good night,'" said she, in a quavering voice, without looking up. " Good night, darling 1" be whispered back, managing to dive Dae last despair- ing squeeze to the little fingers before she shut the door. He went home to his lodgings utterly bewildered, but resolved to get from her the next day some explanation of hot extraordinary treatment of his advances. She had certainly understood him. She had certainly understood him. She had atfirst repelled, then encouraged him. He had seen in her eyes the very look he bad wished to call up in them, and the next minute it had changed to an expression of plaintive misery and re. Bret which had chilled his hopes even ae they rose. But the next day, when he called upon her, he was told Miss Langtou was not well, and could not see any one. He knew very well that she was only put- ting him off, and he made up his mind that at night she should not escape him. She took care however not to be caught alone, and her share in the performance was nearly over before Aubrey, always on the watch, saw Miss Montrose, who had been standing at the side with her, go upon the scene at her cue and leave Annie by herself at last. Then she heard his voice behind her; she could not escape now, for before long she would hear her own cue, and must be on the watch for it. " Good evening, Mise Langton." " Oh, good evening, Mr. Cooke 1" She gave him her hand ; it was trembling a little, and she did -not look up into his face. " I have not bad an opportunity of speaking to you before. You will let me see you home ?" ' Not to -night ; I have promised to go to supper with Miss Norris." " You are putting me off, I see. Is it fair, Annie ? Is it right ? Aie I not worth an answer ?" " An answer to what ?" " To what I said to you last night. You can't have forgotten so soon. If I were a stranger, if I were the moat con- temptible wretch living, if you had al- ways treated me with open dislike, you could not have misunderstood or forgotten what 1 said to you last night." Annie turned and looked up at him, pale under her rouge. "I have not forgotten, nor misunder- stood—at least, I think not. I thought you too would have understood—that I tried to avoid you, because I feared, I knew my answer, if I must answer, would give you pain." ' Then you don't like me 2" A ray of vehement passion flashed from her dark eyes. "Don't torture mei You know I like you ; but I oan't-I can't do more 1 I don't know whether I have done wrong —I never meant to lead you to feel like this. How could I go on avoiding you wben I was louely and you were kind ?" " Why should you avoid me ? Why should you not love me 2" She did not answer; but there was no mistaking the misery on her face for coquetry or caprice, " Are you bound by some other en. D saom1 ent Annie nh 2" She shuddered. ed. Before be could speak again, she turned quickly to him. " Don't ask me any more ; believe what I say, that I am suffering more than you can, and it is my own fault. I am hound by en engagement in which love is out of the question, and always must be. What love is to most women ambition is to me." "Do you mean that you will marry for ambition 2 You, Annie? Wait, wait a little for me ; Iwill get on--/ can—I'm not a fool—" "Hush 1" said Annie sharply. "It is impossible; I can never marry you! You are only torturing me, and all to no Md. I cannot marry you ;1 cannot love qou 1" AISNOW1h, THE BRUSSELS POST "You could if you would, Annie. I could make you love me;'you aro al. ways happy when you are with me," His words moved her, and she stop- ped him abruptly, "Happy? Yoe, for the time. We have been good friends, that is all, Bub there is something more in life than you can give me," " What is there 7" "Fame, position, the means of getting on." "Is that what you Dare for most?" "What if it is 2" "It is not; but, if it were, I would get those for you easily enough." She laughed, bub nob merrily, "I think you overestimate your pow- ers." Aubrey's face looked ab that moment as if carved iu wood, save for the steady shining of his light eyes. IIe said quiet- ly— " Oh, I do, do I? Well, you shall secs." They were both silent for a few mo. meets, and then Annie heard her cue and went on. This conversation took place on a Thursday evening, and during the next two days Annie avoided Aubrey still, and he did nota sin sock an interview terviaw with her, but contented himself with simple greetings, and with watching her quite unobtrusively. She missed hid companionship keenly, far too keenly. She did not date to leave the house all day, fearing as mach to meet him as to meet any of the Braithwaites, yet hold. ing her breath when there was a knock at the front door, in the hope that he at least had come to ask after her. But he did not come. On Saturday night, as she was leaving the theatre, Aubrey came out followed by a boy carrying his portmanteau. For the first time for three days, he ran after her. " Good-bye, Mise Langton ; I am go- ing to town." Annie started. " What 1 You are going away ?" "Only till Monday. I am going on business. You will wish me good luck 2" " With all my heart 1" He wrung her band and run on with - oat a word. They could not trust them- selves to speak again. The next day Annie left Beckham with the rest of the compaey. On Monday night they met once more at the theatre. Aubrey was looking paler and plainer than nsnal,and gave as a reason for his altered appearance that he had not been in bed for the last two nights. " May I see you home to -night, Miss Langton 2" asked he, as soon se he found a chance of speaking to Annie. " I will not say a word that could offend you. I will not touch upon the—the forbidden topic," he whispered earnestly. Annie could not refuse ; but it was hard work for her to hide her agitation —aid her pleasure—when she once more found him waiting for her that night at the stage -door, and slipped her band falteringly within his proffered arm. She had no need to be afraid hie manner was as cool and composed as if she had been his grandmother, and piqued her into similar calmness. "I thought you would like to know how I got on in town," said he at once, in the most matter.of-faot tone. I went up about a London engaement—at the Regent's theatre—and I've got it 1" 'o I'm so glad," said Annie coolly. " Well, that is not all. I've got an offer of an engagement there for you too." " Not really 2" " I have though. I knew there was a part in the piece they are going to play which would suit you down to the ground, so I mentioned that there was a lady of remarkable promise in the company I was in, and said just what I knew would attract attention about' you ; and it happens that the manager wants someone for the part I had in my eye, and I think you are pretty sure to get it if you write." " Oh, Mr. Giooke, I don't know how to thank you 1" said Annie, inwild delight, for more than one reason. "Don't mention it, Mies Langton," said Aubrey, in his old deferential man- ner; then he turned the conversation. " I met an old favourite of yours last night—Gibson—at Mrs. Falconer's." " Oh 1 How is the beauty?" " Well, she affects great distress about one of her brothers, who is ill and not expected to live. It appears he fell down as he was getting into a dog -cart, awfully tight, last Wednesday night. But Idon't think she is as much afflicted as she would be if mourning didn't suit her complexion. And, though she men. tioned that he was quite alone, she did not suggest going to nurse him." " Did she mention the name of the brother 7" asked Annie, quite quietly. " Yes ; she called him ' poor Harry..'" Annie heard without giving one sign the,b the news moved her. For the rest of the walk she spoke little, and with an effort, At her door he was struck by the marked constraint of her manner as she bade hire good-bye, When she had unlocked the door and he had turned away, said— " d— "Whatever you hear of yme, remem- ber I am not ungrateful," When Aubrey got to the theatre on the following evening, he found that the manager's niece was to play Mies Lang - taltable duty. It was her husband wh lay ill, neglected and solitary, For on moment she triol to stifle consoieuce by saying to herself that she did not Imo where he was; but then she felt asham. ed of the (limey excuse, for sho could nob doubt that bo was at Gerstene Grange, Aubrey had said that it was on Wednesday night that the accident had ha pend to him, and it was on Wednesday night that she herself had seen and even touched him in the streets of Beckham. She must go to him, and at once, before Aubrey could guess her secret, before she herself, in an unguard. ed moment, should let him know how much this separation would cost her. She dared not trust herself bo think what a great part the faot of his being engaged at the same theatre had had in her joy at the prospeot of playing again in London; it was a dangerous subject, and she shunned it instinctively. She tried to keep her thoughts fixed on this one simple idea—she meet go to Gar - stone, nurse her husband through his illness, bear his brutal temper and thankless snubs ae best she might, and then Blip bank quietly into her free stage. life once more, taking her chance of getting a town engagement. So,on the mr i g o n n after e her talk with Aubey, she got the manager to cancel the rest of her engagement, and, having packed her trunk the night before, she left for Beckham within an hour of his releasing her. She looked restlessly and eagerly from the windows of the cab as she drove to the station "to see if any of the company were about," At last she caught sight of Aubrey Cooke going down a street, with hie back to the cab, therefore so he could not see her ; and alter that she looked out ne more, but sat with burning cheeks and her eyes fixed on the front seat of the cab, all curiosity and interest gone out of her. She gob to Beckham at three o'clock in the afternoon, and drove straight to the Grange, which she reached before the dark November day had closed. To her surprise, the man-eervant who open- ed the door recognised her at once. To her questions he replied that Dir. Harold was being nursed by the house- keeper, that Lady Braithwaite and Mr. Stephen wore abroad. Sir George was in town, Mr. Wilfred in Leicestershire, and Mr. William away somewhere—he did not know where—" stndying." Annie then asked to see the house- keeper, and learned from her that Har- ry's accident was indeed as serious as Aubrey Coke's words had implied. He bad slipped as be was getting into the dog -cart one night after supping with some friends in Beckham—Annie hap- pened to know something about those friends—and the wheel had passed over him and broken his left arm, besides in- flicting other leas serious injuries; he, had not yet quite recovered from another illness, and had been disregarding his doctor's orders. After being taken to a surgeon by the gentleman who was with him, to have his arm set, he had in- sisted on being driven back home toltho Grange at five o'clock in the morning. The housekeeper continued that he had then, contrary to the advice she had ventured to give him, insisted upon drinking brandy in the billiard -room ; that she had waited about, not daring to go in and speak to him again, until she heard a fall and a groan, and run- ning in, had found that he had fallen and again displaced his broken arm. She had got him to bed with the help of the men -servants and sent for the doc- tor ; bee no skill could prevent inflam. matiou of the wounded limb, and he was now lying in a high fever and could recognise no one. I would strongly advise you not to see him, ma'am, until he is quieter. He is very violent, and he uses dreadful language." "I dou't suppose he says anything worse than what I have heard him say when Ile was in loll possession of nis senses, Mrs. Stanley," said Annie quiet- ly. " It is not fair than all the care of nursing my husband should fall upon yon; so, if you please, I will go up to him now." Mrs. Stanley led the way to the room to which they had carried him—not his own, but larger and more convenient one. She drew the arm of the little wife through her own as they entered, for Annie had grown very white and was shakingfrom head to foot when her husband's voice, speaking disjoin- tedly to an imaginary listener, met her ear. She recovered her self -command before venturing to look at him; but, however strong her emotion might have been, it would not have affected him. He took no notice of her presence; his wide-open eyes did not even see her. Annie did not give way again; bub from that hour she took her place by bis bedside alternately with Mrs. Stan- ley, listening to idle babblings of his useless vicious life, to invectives against the carelessness of grooms, the mean. I ness of his brother George, the " airs t Sue gave herself." But there was never 1 one word of herself ; she had passed out f of his life, been forgotten, as if those few months of theirenarried life toge- 0 ther had never ver been. Only once did he refer to )tor, and that a , wast his wife, but to Miss Lane of Garstone s Vicarage. " Saw the pretty little governess going to church; felt half inclined to go oo, just to look at her," he murmured nco while she sat by his bedside listen. ng. But then he rambled off into talk Iv concerned a dog he had bought nod Susan Green, the blaoksmfth's aughter, and let fall some epithets blob, it occurred to Annie, would apply articularly well to Miss West, at whose ease he and his companions had been Aping on the Wednesday night, or ther Thursday rimming, when sho ad run against him in the Beckham root, and when he had met with an n aopident, o ; It was a hard punishment for t weakness of marrying him and the fau w of leaving him that she waa sufferin now, as she listened to his wandering talk about other women which shows his contempt for a sex be did not under. stand or think worth the trouble of trying to understand. And all the while she had to try to overcome the disgust with which ho inspired her and the longing to be again in the sooieby of one man, one brilliant, interesting companion, for whom every word she uttered had a oharm, every action of hers was right. When Mrs. Stanley took her place in the sick -room, sho' would fly like an escaped bird out of doors, and wander through the fields and the now leafless copses by herself, rejoicing in her tem- porary freedom, trying to forget the horribly fact that sho was married and the very existence of that unconscious, senseless clog upon her life that she had left in the darkened room up -stairs, These rambles brought almost as much pain as pleasure to her; they recalled to her so vividly the long marauding expeditions she had had with William, when they used to return home laden with birds' eggs and k ' due s feathers e s and moss -covered twigs, all of which Wil- liam had to carry as soon as they got near the house, for fear any of the household should think that Mrs. Har- old Braithwaite was so childish as bo care for such rubbish. Harry had been Merely an every day trial then, to be shirked as muoh as conscience per. mated • now he had become, and by her own fault, an obstacle to her own hap- piness which there was no possibility of removing. She had returned to the sick -room one afternoon, to relieve the housekeeper; and, finding that Harry was sleeping quietly—a fact which made her a little nervous, as it proved he was getting bet. ler.—she opened a book and settled her. self in an arm -chair by the fire, where she ould see any moverhent of the in. valid's by merely raising her oyes. The book was George Sand's Carmelo. Open- ing it et first carelessly, the earliest pages fixed her attention, and before long rhe bent over it, completely ab. sorbed fn the fascinating story. She Aid nob see the sick man's eyes open, fall upon her, and remain fixed, at first vacantly, then intently, upon her bent head. She did not even notice the slight sound he made as he struggled to raise himself on his elbow, nor the faint gasp at astonishment he gave when, having succeeded, he had satisfied him- self that it was his long -forgotten wife. " Annie I " he exclaimed, in a voice hoarse with weakness and with no warmer emotion than amazement. She looked up and said "Harry!" with just the same amount of tender. Nov. 26, 1886. slipped one liana under his pillow to be raise his head, " you had bettor drf k It this, and then lie still for a lite g while. You aro not very strong yet, yot; know." "I cha'n't drink it—I won't have that vile stuff poured down thy throat1"said bo, in a weak dogged whisper, " You had better take it. Oau't you feel how weak your voice is getting 2" said Annie persuasively. " I won't take that, I toll you I Tbat won't—do eue—any good I Notch me some brands/sand-soda." " No, I can't do that; it wouldn't be good for you." " Do you hear what I say ? Fetch me som0 brandy -and -soda 1" He made a feeble spasmodic effort bo knock the glass out of her hand ; but she held it out of his roach, and, layiug his obstivate head, which elle was still supporting, gently down on the pillow again, she pub the medicine down on the table. . "Don't you mean to obey nee 2 I won't drink your filthy poisons 1 If you want to get rid of me, you had better doctor some brandy for me, and then perhaps I'll take it." " The brandy by itself would be poison to you now without my doctoring," said Annie quietly. " As soon as you are well again, you can drink what yon like, you know ; and the more faithfully you follow the doctor's orders now, the sooner you will be able to drink as muoh brandy as you please," She said it in a very soft gentle voice; but she could not quite keep the corn she felt ler him out of the last words. Weak tears of impotent anger gathered in Harry's eyes. " You treat me like a dog 1 A fine make-believe your wifely duty is 1 When I'm well enough I'll turn you out of the house at au hour's notice—that I will!" She saw that he was exciting himself dangerously; and, fearing the effects of this emotion upon him in his weak state, she took the hand he was on. vulsively clenching on the bedclothes in one of hers, and putting her lips to it, said, in the most winning tone the set- tees could assume— My poor dear Harry, I would give yon what you want if I dared ; and, when the doctor comes, I will ask if you may have it. And I will go away when you like ; but you will let me stay till you aro well, won't you 2" Harry was touched by this unexpeot. ed appeal. " All right ; you may stay," he mur. mured magnanimously. " And won't you let mo give you your medicine? I'll drihk some of it first, if you like, to show you it isn't poison." ' No, that was only nonsense. P11 take it," whispered the grumpy in- valid, conquered ; and, when he had drunk it, and she laid his head gently down again, he said, " Thank you. You may kise me if you like, old girl." Annie availed herself of this permis- sion—not enthusiastically, but still not without a touch of tenderness; and she sat in the chair by the bedside until he wont quietly off to sleep again. The next few conversations she had with her husband, who got better rapidly with the careful nursing he re- ceived, were after the same pattern—a little wrangle, with taunts and sneers on his side, and careless submission on hers, followed by a sort of tame recon- ciliation, Before long she had managed, by a firm refusal to do anything wbioh she did not think good for him and a very gentle manner, to get the upper hand of the obstinate invalid; and, when Mrs. Stanley had a tussle with him on account of his unwillingness to have his wounds dressed or to take his medicine at the proper hours, she always went to Annie to get over the difficulty. Sometimes dur- ing a battle with the housekeeper he would say— " Well, send Annie then, and perhaps I'll have it done." This flattering preference was re- ceived by its object with anything but gratitude. To be called up from her sleep in the middle of the night, or to be sent for in the course of a meal, be- cause " Mr. Harold says he won't take any slope, ma'am, unless you come and see that his beef -tea isn't hot enough to scald his throat," did not fill her with any pride in this rise in her husband's esteem. At last one night, when he was fairly on the road to convalescence, she flatly refused to go when Mrs. Stanley came to say Mr, Harold would not let her dress the wound on his shoulder, but wanted his wife to do it. " Tell Mm I say you can do it much better than I, Mrs. Stanley ; and, if he won't lob you do it, ho must wait till to. morrow morning," said the undutiful wife sleepily, as she turned over and shat hor eyes again. The next morning Harry, who was to go down -stairs for the first time that day, bounced over on to his side away from her as soon as she entered his room m and camp u to the bedside, P ds r Annie wallted soft) towards the then the invalid, who had recovered muoh of thepoever of his lungs, ro Or. ed— "Stop 1 Where are yon going ?" " I am going to breakfast," said she calmly, "Without even wishing me good morning1 After refusing point-blank just to stop along the corridor in the night wben I might have been dying 1 You're a nice little wife 1" "Now look here, Barry; I don't pre- tend to do more than lust my single duty to you, and dou't for a moment sot myself up as a model wifo." "I should think not indeed 1 Every- body would laugh if you did," "Everybody would laugh, as you eay, if I pretended to show an' aff"rman,, (TQ I311 CONTINUED.) Haas. "Why are you here 2 " he asked curiously, as he fell weakly back upon his pillow. Why to nurse you of course 1" said she in a soft voice, risingat once with- out any noise or busble,lut in a quietly matter-of-fact manner. She came to the bed, arranged his pillow more comfortably, raised his head, and gave him something to drink; while he stared at her silently and re- ceived her attentions without any remark, until the quietly q t y went back again to her arm-ohair and Oonsurlo. Still he gazed at her fixedly, and, as sho opened the book at the right place, which she had been careful not to loso on hearing her husband address her for the first time after nearly four years separation, he said— ' You've gene off shookingly 1 " "Yes, I know I have," said Annie quite calmly, putting her finger on the line she had come to as she looked up. " But you had better nob -talk now," she added coaxingly ; " it is very bad when yon are still so weak." Down went her head again; but with characteristic tact, he insisted on con- tinning- " I don't think I ever saw anybody so much altered. I suppose that is why you have came back. Yon found nobody else would admire you any longer, so it was time to come and saddle yourself on. yonr husband." Instead of being stung to the quick by this reproach, which was meant to be very severe, Annie had some difficulty in repressing an impulse to laugh ; but she only said soothingly— "It is all right, Harry; I am goieg a- way again as soon as ever you are well, ell torn away so "—and she moved the chair round to face the Etre—" and then yon won't be annoyed by the sight of my ugly face." She went on reading, or pretending to read, for some minutes, until her husband's voice once more interrupted her. " A fine lot of affeotion you seem to have for me now you have come back 1 dare say you wish I was dead all he time. Never even asking me how feel What did you come at all or ?" Annie put down her book again and arae towards the bed. " I didn't think ink it wasgood for you 11 o talk just uat at first. st I thought, if T at quite quietly, you woeldlgo to sleep again." "No, you didn't; you wanted to read your book. What is it ?" "It is a French book called Con - mole." " French 1 Oh, of course—something too learned for me 1" "It is not learned at all. I'll trans. late it to you if you like; but I don't think you would caro mach about it." " Oh, no; it would be over my head, of course." His voice was growingvery feeble and husky, Annie poured some Medi. cine into a glass and brought it to him. "Now," said she coaxingly,, es s}�o ton's part, and learnt that the latter t had thrown up her engagement and had o already left the town. i CHAPTER XV. a The none of her husband's illness had w fallen like a knell on Annie's ears; for D in a moment she saw that the bright jr vision of pleasure and satisfied ambition sn winch Aubrey's words about a London ra engagement in the same theatre with h him had called up could not be indulged st in except at the sacrifice of an =mire E POST IN ITS ELMUE —AND— IMPROVED FM Is Offered to the RIND 1887 ! —FOB— $1. 0 IN ADVANCE. As will be seen we are de- voting a Column to Poetry, Temperance, Farm Notes and Varieties, respectively, and giving more than our usual amount of Local, District and General news. THE POST was never Read by so Many People before and we hope to Add Very Largely to our list this Fall and Winter. 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