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The Wingham Times, 1904-01-28, Page 711 THE WINGIIAM TIMES, JANUARY 28 19.4 • • A LAST WIFE A NOVEL„ o©o BY MRSe. IL LOVETT CAMERON, Author of et Worth Winning." Etc. • .L, • "You are not angry With me?" be 'said wistfully, after some minutes. "Will you not forgive me, Freda?" "There is nothing to forgive," I answered, drearily. "You could not help It, I suppose?" "I did not think of it when I first met you," he answered. "I have never spoken of my marriage, no ono knons it. Della would be as much .surprised as you aro; she has never bad the slightest idea of it. It all -happened so long ago, long before -she married my brother. There has never seemed any occasion for tell- ing my story to any one. I have flirted and made love to dozens of Women, but I have never done so -Iserrously until I met you. When I first saw you, I never imagined that •.our relations towards each other would have any other depth or sig- nificaliice on either side than an ordi- nary flirtation, such as I have pass- ed through unscathed and,unscathing .many a time. But after a time, when I met you again at Edlington, I found out that this was a very dif- ferent case. I leave you to judge of the misery I suffered, When I began to realize how far beyond my reach you were. And there was a time when the temptation to ignore that miserable mistake of my youth, and to let the secret of my wretched past, which no one knew but myself, remain forever buried in my own heart—to woo you and to win you, for myself boldly—was almost too strong for me. Indeed, I came to Eddington, mad with jealousy and 'despair, with no other intention. And then I thought—I thought how terrible it would be if you ever came to know the truth after, when it would be too late. And I loved you to well, darling, to do you so cruel -a wrong, andso I left You . My noble -hearted lover! how dear he seemed to me, whilst he told me -so simply the story of his love, and of his resistance of the overpowering temptation which assailed him, and to which I believe nine men out of tell would have succumbed. I had never loved hint so well as now, and yet my love was no longer a glory, but a shame. I could never more own to it, nor confess it. Henceforth it must remain forever hidden and concealed. I rose and held out my hand him. 'Thank you," I said, "I honor and respect you above all living men, I can never cease to be grate- ful to you for your unselfish good- ness. But you and I, Mark, must henceforth become strangers to each rwillask you takeme to other. I to Bella's house, and then I will say good-bye to you, and it must be for- ever," attempte IIc did not to contradict o a t _me. Ho rang the bell, paid the bill, and ordered a cab. As we came to- gether out of the door of the little hotel, a victoria was driving slowly by with a lady inside it. Captain Thistleby suddenly put out his hand .,and pulled me back into the shadow of the doorway. "It is Clara Featherstone!" said. "I hope to goodness she not see you." "I don't see why it should matter if she did," I answered, somewhat proudly. "She is the most spiteful and yen- omous-tongued woman in England," .answered Mark, as ho put mo into' the cab. "She would do you a mis- chief if she could; but I don't think •she saw us, her head did not turn towards us in the least." But Mrs. Featherstone had seen us both perfectly, as I was afterwards to discover to my cost. We reached Chester Square after a ''drive of almost absolute silence be- Itween us. No sooner had the house- maid who had been left in charge of the house, caught sight of me, than she flow back into the hall, and brought out two of those fatal col- ored telegraphic envelopes in her hand. "Oh! miss, I'm so glad you've • come," she exclaimed. "These two tallygrams has come this morning, and I didn't know whatever to do ,with theca, And I do hope as they. ain't bad news, miss," she added, ;with the encouraging delight in any - to he did CREAT PAINS IN THE CHEST Mr. John Clark, coachman, Port 'Hope, Ont., states: 11Last winter I was so bad with a cold that I could not speak above a whisper and had great pains in the chest. At last I feared it would de- velop into consumption. A friend ad. vised me to use Dr. Chase's Syrup of Linseed and Turpentine, and one 'bottle cured my cold which I believe 'would have proven very serious if I had not used this medicine." •DR. CHASE'S SYRUP LINSEED AND TURPENTINE O e 05 cents a bottle, fancily site (three drive as ' much) 60 cents, et all dealers, or Edmanson, Setts & Co., Toronto. Te protect yea against Imitations the per - trait and signature of tir, A. W Chase, the m famous receipt book author, are on every bottle, thing Like a prospect of evil which is common to her class. With trembling hands I tore open the envelope. The messages came from Aunt Selina; the first ran thus: "Your father has had a stroke. Come back at once," The second was even more alarm- ing. "Your father worse; return in- stantly; there is no time to be lost." I turned straight back into the cab, from which I had just alighted. "My father is. dying," I said, in a dull voice. Mark called out to the cabman to drive to the Paddington Station as fast as he could, and fol- lowed me. What happened When we got there I do not remember. Everything was in a whirl 'to me. I felt cold and numbed. I knew nothing that was going on around me; I only knew that my father was dying, and that he had got his death -warrant in all probability from my hands. It was my doing! My flight, and the note which I had left in the room telling him that I would not fulfil my engagement to George Curtis, had been the blow, I felt certain, which had shortened his frail old life. This one awful idea so absorbed my every thought and feeling, that I was absolutely uncon- scious of everything which was ger lug on around me. Captain Thistloby took my ticket, and thrust it into my hand, and placed me in a first-class carriage. I submitted myself to his guidance like a person in a dream; he bought me something to eat by the way, and put it on the seat in front of me, whence I never moved it. We had about a quarter of an hour to wait before the train started. Be got into the carriage with me, and I be)ioved he talked to mo; but I heard nothing of what he said; I an- swered yes and no mechanically. My lover, who was so lately everything in the world to me; my love story, and my blighted hopes of happiness, which a short time ago seemed to crush me to the earth with an in- tensity of pain, were now entirely forgotten in this new calamity which threatened me. Even when Mark wished me good- bye, and raised my hand to his lips, I think, poor fellow, that I never an- swered him, and was hardly const- Aunt Selina turned upon me in ious that this parting, so mournful ! consternation. and yet so passionless, was in all "Freda, it is impossible that you probability a final ono between us. can be such an utter fool!" she ex - I experienced no sorrow at leaving him, I only remember feeling a faint gleam of gladness when the train waSff at last. . O Oh! that miserable homeward jour- ney! shall I ever forget it? The re - memo, the self-reproach, the self - condemnation which filled me! And then the agony of suspense which every instant seemed to increase fourfold. Should I find my father alive? -- that was the question which I asked myself over and over again, in un- availing anguish. Should I be per- dignantly. mitted to see hint once more, and to "But he knows nothing about it— kneel by his side, and pray for his absolutely nothing," cried my aunt, pardon, and receive his parting throwing up her hands in despair. words of forgiveness and blessing ? "I took possession of your foolish Or was he to die before ` I could note instantly and burnt it. No one reach him, believing pre to be heart- had seen it but your poor dear Path- less, and rebellious, and I be for- or and myself—no one knows what ever unforgiven and unblest? Should made you rush off in that insane I not then be guilty of his death?— , way. One can easily make up some I, his daughter, his only child. Ohl plausible reason to tell the servants. what a horrible thought that was! ' Lot us say that it was business, Over and over again I cursed my that some friend was taken ill; any - folly anti my wickedness in leaving thing will do to put off questions home as I had done. if I had had and surmises. Mr. Curtis need never the courage to stay and to tell him know anything about it. For Heat -- bravely myself that I was unhappy en's sake, Freda, don't be such an in my engagement, surely I might idiot as to tell him! Even if you are have broken it to him gently. But not romantically in love with him, it was the shock of my disappear- • he will give you a wealthy home. ance, and the suddenness of the news and you have nothing but starvation in my hurried note, which had or hard work to look to elsewhere. brought this evil upon him. Of that Do not fly in the face of Providence, there could be no doubt. my dear. I ant sure it is bad At last, after what scented to meenough that the wedding will have to s to be the most interminably long ' be putori six months at least; it railway journey, the train stopped : tvouldn t be decent before, but you at Narborough. I could not got on r can stay with me till then, though I by rail to Slopperton, and had to ant sero this sad death is a sore takefor me," and the good lady be- take a fly from there. If the train gan whimperingly to wipe her eyes; had seemed to me to be slow, the I "and all the breakfast from Gun - didassuredly was infinitely slower, I • ter's that was to have come down did not daree to ask the tlynraif he had to bo counter -ordered and all. knew how my father was. Thee man Oh, dear—oh, dear!" and Aunt Se - was me, and I fancied that there lino. dissolved into downright sobs, f sympathy in his e was a respectful less over her brotli�r-in-law's death, mariner, as he touched his hat to me. ; I fear, than over tiro collapse of the But I would not ask hint. if he knew; wedding festivities, and the break - was afraid of his answer, I was fast from Gunter's in which she afraid to crush out the hopes which had taken so lively an interest. I could still indulge in. I felt that r,i must do what I think right," I would rather not know the worst. was my only answer, with, I fear, a So we drove on through the damp, hardening of the heart towards Inv foggy lanes,that looked unusually relative's outburst of grief. dreary, and cheerless, past many a '"you are art ungrateful, undutiful, troll-knotvit village and hamlet; past headstrong girl," gasped Aunt Se. - the woods and the high paling of ling, between her sobs; and then she. Paddington Park, where I could catch fled from the roost, slamming tate glimpses of the deer through the door behind her with some show of glades of the leafless trees; past t Slopperton. Church, where the sight of the curate and the parish clerk, in close conference in the churchyard, made me shrink back tremblingly in- to the corner of the fly, lest they should see me. Oh! ghastly thought; they might be Choosing a site for a, grave! And then up the long straight road which led for half a mile from the village -green to our There are very few cleans- ing operations in which Sunlight Soap cannot be used to advant, age. It makes the home bright and clean. 1B ,tulest and unforgiven! It was as I had feared; he had risen in the morning, and had found my note upon his dress. ing-table. Aunt Selina, whose room was next to his, had been frightened at hearing a sudden, heavy sound, as of some one falling. She had rushed in and found hint lying senseless upon the floor, and my note upon the table. It was in vain for the doctor to assure me that there had been a strong tendency to a seizure of the kind for many months past; and that he had known for long that such an attack must, in all probability, carry him off. I took these assurances as well -meant efforts on his part to con- soie and comfort me in my despair. They did not console me in the very least. In my own eyes I was guilty of my father's death, and I felt that to my dying day I should never be able to hold myself blameless of be- ing the cause of his sudden and fat- al attack. And now it was a week ago, and the first agony of my grief and re- morse had somewhat abated. It was the day after the funeral, and every- body knew that my father had sunk all his slender capital in an annuity, and that, probably, because he be- lieved mo to be fully and abundantly provided for by my marriage with Mr. Curtis; there was absolutely no- thing, beyond the old books and the shabby furniture of the cottage, loft for my support. I was penniless. Aunt Selina and I, in our new crape, were sitting somewhat dis- consolately together in the dining- had seized upoh the Incident eagerly, to do ate an evil turn with her 'bro- ther. She might have saved hers(:f the trouble of slandering me, had .she known .bow determined I was to break off my engagentent with hint. But she 'did not know it, and she was probably now gloating over the chance that had thus placed inc at -her mercy. I augured no good from her proposed visit to me, and I con- fess that I looked forward, to it with a good deal of trepidation. About three o'clock the Eddington carriage drove tip to the door, and my unwelcome guest alighted from It. Mrs. Feathe'rstoue sailed in, attir- ed, as usual, in brilliant. raiment. There was a. prevt}leuce of blue and scarlet in her dress, which reminded me forcibly of the coloring of a cock- atoo. She made me a cold bow, and sat down at some dlstnnce from toe. I saw at once by her bent brows and pinched lips that ft was to be war to the death between us. I accepted the position at once, and took the initi- ative. "To what. am I indebted for the honor of this most unexpected visit, Mrs. Featherstone? I had wished to see your brother." "Mr. Curtis has gone to town." "Anti in his absence I do not see that any one else can fill his place," I answered. "In his absence, Miss Clifford, I ring you a message from him. I nave no doubt that my visit is un- welcome, and I assure you it it a most painful one to myself; but I have never yet been known to shrink from a duty, however unpleasant—" "Pray deliver your message, Mrs. Featherstone," I Interrupted, impa- tiently, "and spare me a uescr•ipitun of your own sensations." Mrs. Featherstone bowed. "My message," she said, with a scarcely -concealed triumph of manner, "is that under the circumstances of your extraordinary visit to London, it will be quite impossible for my brother to fulfil the matrimonial en- gagement which existed previously be- tween yourself and him." "Under what circumstances, pray!" I cried, flushing up hotly and angrily —a display of weakness of which my Miss Clifford," she answered, rising, to my no small relief. "And I May also Add another wish for your bene- fit; that you may be given the grace of repentance!" And then my temper forsook me ut- terly. I turned upon her, white and trembling, and absolutely furious. "Who are you," I exclaimed, "who dare to talk to me of repentance? Co home, woman, and ask Cod, upon your knees, to forgive you. For If malice, and hatred, and evil -speak- ing, ,and slandering, and traducing your neighbor be sins, then do You most assuredly stand In need of -re- pentance and forgiveness! You that are rejoicing to yourself, because you think that you have encompass- ed the ruin of an unfortunate girl, whose only crime is that hitherto she has been successful and happy; go home and pray that you may never, in your turn, find yourself at the mercy of a bard -hearted and pitiless fellow -creature!" And then Mrs. Featherstone passed out of the room, and answered me never a word as she went. CIIAPTElt XX. It was the day before my final de- parture from Slopper•ton. My aunt had already gone home, and the fol- lowing morning I was to go up 10. her house in London, where she and Mr. Carr had offered nee a shelter until I could find something to do. "Something to do" meant in my case going out as a governess, or as a companion, or as a pupil teacher in a school—earning my living, in short, by any of the dismal and un- inviting methods in which alone it has been decreed that a lady may do so and retain her claim to the name. I had secretly determined to go out as a housemaid, or as a charwoman, sooner than live long upon the bread of charity. Mr. and Mrs. Carr were rich and childless, but it had not occurred to the worthy couple to offer inc a per- manent home, Aunt Selina was a fair-weather friend; as long as for- tune smiled upon her relatives she was filled with gushing and affection- ate interest in' them; but no sooner did the world turn its back upon them, and adversity and poverty room after breakfast, adversary was not slow to take ad- come to them, than she drew in the "It is singular that Mr. Curtis has vantage. strings of her heart and of her not yet been to see you, Freda, ub- "Pray calm yourself, Miss Clif- purse simultaneously, and wasted no served my aunt. "I should think he ford. Temper and angry denials, are more either of her substance or her is sure to come to -day." alike misplaced and useless in this feelings upon them. I thought it was singular, too, for case. The facts, unfortunately, are She had made a great favor of of - I knew he had attended my father's but too certain, and tell too strong- feeing me a temporary home, even; funeral, and I was sure that he could , ly against you." t and had I anywhere else to go, I not have known of my letter, and ' "I am at a loss to understand would not have accepted her other. of my intention of breaking off my I you," I said, falteringly, and feel- But to go to Della was now forbid - engagement. ing suddenly sick at heart; for I re- den to me. If I were to be with "Yes," I answered, "I wish he membered how Mark had said that Della, then Mark would know where would conte. I think I will send up Clara Featherstone had a venomous I was, and so knowing, might find Daniel to Eddington with a note." tongue, and would do me an injury rie out; and my one hope in life "Yes, do, my dear." if she could. I now was that I might never see nor I wrote the note merely requesting "I will explain myself, then," she hear of hint again. I was determin- him to come and speak to me to- said, glibly, and with a growing sat- • ed to heroine lost forever to him. day, rang the bell, and sent it off. isfaction in voice and manner—"I Our only safety was in absolute sup - "I want to tell him about break- will explain my meaning beyond a oration from each other. So, with ing off my engagement, aunt," I said possibility of your mistaking it. I many a pang, I tore up my dear Bel - when the servant had left the room. saw you, Miss Clifford, coming Out la's loving and kind letters, and left of a low -looking inn near the Strand, them all unanswered. Once I left at an early hour in the morning, in Slopperton, I knew that she would the company of Captain Thistleby, a never be able to find me, for she man of profligate and dissipated re- address. neither my aunt's name nor putation." I address. "Indeed? I imagined him to be a i Well, the last day at Slopperton great friend of your own, Mrs. Fee- had come; there had been a sale of and h proceeds had furniture,t o a .r thec I h rs o interrupted, uickly, t e t ne. I r v q paid off all our little bills, and de- fer, like a watchful adversary, I was not slow to take advantage of the frayed the expenses of my mourning weak points of my enemy's method and left list a few pounds to begin of attack. ! my new life with. The house was Mrs. Featherstone waved off my re- i osteo and dismantled: there were bills mark with disdain. ! up in the windows; and my solitary "There are many men, Miss Clif- ; box stood ready packed and strapped ford, with whom a lady may claim ' in the hall. acquaintance in society, but with Old Sarah went about weeping, for whom, nevertheless, she would be she too was to depart on the mor - very sorry to be seen walking about row, and begin life afresh. I had tine streets of London alone! But , dragged a kitchen -chair into the din - that has nothing to do with the ing-room, and was sitting .there point. Suffice it to say that you s miserably enough by the dying em - were alone with Captain Thistleby; I hers of the fire, pondering over the that I saw you get into a cab, and gloomy prospects of my future life, drive off—I should be sorry to say when a sharp knock at the door whore—and that I then turned hack aroused me, and, to my amazement, and made inquiries at the wretched- young Charley Flower walked sad- and inn out of which you had denly into the room. stand - come. I found that, as I had but "Mr. Flower!" I exclaimed, too much reason to suspect; you had fug up in utter bewilderment at the been closeted with a gentleman for sight of so unexpected a visitor; "what on earth brings you here?" "Oh! pray forgive me, Miss Clif- ford, I couldn't help coining. I have only just heard of your loss, and claimed, in dismay. "How so, aunt?" "You are never going to do such bin tobreak off your a mad thing as b a g en- gagement now—now that you are left utterly unprovided for?" "Is it likely, aunt, that I should have gone away to London, and written as I did to poor papa, if I had not meant to do it And you cannot suppose that I should be so base as to ignore. all that has hap- pened, and go back to himz just be- cause I am very poor?" I added, in - temper• should, however, wish you to 1'now I Was left alone, gazing disconso- that I have had no intention of mar - lately out of the window. I was too tying your brother for sonic time filled with my own many very seri- back; that on going up to London otts sorrows and anxieties to have much sympathy with my aunt's fie- somewhat suddenly, I left a letter titious and imaginary grievances. for my poor father telling hint of nay By-and-by the messenger returned intention—that I went to join 'trs. from Feldington. lie brought no note Thistleby, in Paris. and should have in answer to mine, only a verbal . been under her protection now, had message, not my father's sat} death recalled e some hours in a private sitting - room. I need not toll you how shocked and horrified may whole mor- al nature was at such a fearful rev,' - lotion of wickedness! My duty, how - home, you are turnedt out of your ever painful it night be to perform, !tonic, and all; and oh looking sud- was now plain to Inc. I took the denier away from me round the bare, evening train to Narborough, and Iarpeticss, ftrruiturrless room—"oh, laid the whole case before my un- am so sorry for you!" happy brother. I ant thankful to say 'And you came totell d this? that, under Heaven, I have been the I cried, his; "justboth nit hands heart - that, fly into his; to tell me you are sorry for me? How good of you, Mr. Flower! ho you know yours is the first disinterested sym- instrument of saving hint from cher- ishing a viper in his bosom. When, at my entreaties, he consented to make inquiries, and found that you polity in my troubles anybody has had been missing front home the given me Yet?" and the teats so lou night before the morning I had seen riven back into my heart welled up you in town, he was forced to tic - knowledge with me, that nothing was wanting in the complete chain of evidence which proved your ut ter condemnation. He has only stayed to follow your poor. father to the grave, as a mark of respect. for his long friendship and esteem for hint, suddenly into my eyes. "Well, I mustn't. let you think I am quite disinterested, either, Miss Clifford," said my visitor, somewhat hesitatingly. "The fact is, that— that, Miss Clifford—oh, Freda!"— suddenly lifting his oyes in honest ceritestneks to may face—"surely you and he left Eddington last night, must know that I love you!" and does not. mean to return to it .,Oh, I am so sorry!" I murmur'• for a long time. I think I have said quite enough upon this subject, ed''Why should you be sorry?" he Miss Clifford." cried, eagerly—having once broken "Quite enough—too much indeed, the ice, Charley apparently found no irrs, Featherstone," I answered. I difficulty in proceeding—"Why are have heard you to the end without you sorry, if I e a make you happy? interruption, and I may say that, al- I have heard that your engagement though my conduct can be perfectly with Mr. Curtis is at an end—and no well accounted for, I disdain to make rtonder, for you never loved him. I any explanations of it to you. i know—and now you are free, and you are also in trouble, and have no one belonging to you, and I ant pretty well oft, Freda, and can af- ford to give you a comfortable home. I would leave the army; and I know I could make you happy, if you Will let me try----" cottage. Mr. Curtis had left Eddington last rne, atut, aily, that I ,cot fol 6tt. CurThe flypulled up, the roan descend- night; but Mrs, Featherstone Would thatbs to -day in order to tell him ed slowlfrom t1 a box, and pulled do herself the honor of calling upon I wish to"brcalc ell my engage - meat with Mm. the bell. The bell rang out, clang- me during the course of the after- ' ing and harsh, into the stillness of noon. "That is easily said,"said my the autumn afternoon, and I was at Mrs. Featherstone! What bad she ; enemy' scoilingly. • As if any one home• to da with it I wondered Suddenly would believe all that when you are • "Yeti need notad's insult to in- ' I recollected how Captain Thistleby loft Without a penny!" CIIAI•'TCii, XIX. had seen her pass by in her victoriis as we were coming out of the hotel jury, Mrs. Featherstone.rt I s]t My father was dead, in the Strand! Of course she had gll wish you good -morning, Ito had died an bout before I canna erten titleand equally, of course, !eltr, home, leaving iris forever iiebv ... -`.'"' (To be continued) The. Sind You Have Always Bought, and 'which has been in use for over 30 years, has borne the signatnre of and has. boon made under his per. sonal supervision since its infancy. • "!'l.CCCCc!/Ti.• Allow no onetodeceive t e five yon in this. 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