TEMPTATION.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 3176, 23 March 1911, Page 3

TEMPTATION.

CHARTER, XXIII

- By EFx-IE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS,

Published by special arrangement —All rights reserved by the “Times ”

Spring adivanced. A week slipped away, and each day the news from Sir George Vera c : y's sick-room was an-ore encouraging. Just by way of surprise to the- doctors he showed) an amazing amount of vigor in throwing off the effects of his serious accident, and .the illness which had hollowed.

Lady Susan began to be quite merry again, and 1 the glory of the world, bathed in the Spring sunshine, put a. kind of forbidden joy into the heart of Mary Verney. /The knowledge that he was coming back slowly toi life, again, that that awful shadow had been lifted from their hearts, lifted! also- the girl’s spirit, weighed as it was- with that never shifting burden of remorse and wrong. Happily she was kept very busy. Though Sir George had two trained nurses, he wanted his wife with him nearly all the time; and it was so- very natural for’Mary ’to fall into the routine of a, sick-room. There was scarcely an hour that passed now when, she did not remember those- old days when site had tended her father.

Sometimes the luxury that surrounded her, the knowledge that if life could he bought she liad the money to buy it ; seemed to mock her, and'she would recall with a sob the misery she had endured of seeing her dear one fade slowly but surely away from her, when skill or even ordinary comforts might have kept him longer on earth. Once, indeed, she broke down, and, when she was sitting alone she wept bitterly, Lady Susan found her and took her in her arms

“Come, my dealest,” she said, “yi/ii have been so brave all this time. You are mot going to grieve now.” “I was thinking of my father,” Mary answered, with white trembling lips, and Lady Susan only held her a little closer to her heart.

Her tenderness, her loving sympathy, were very, very beautiful to Mary, and vet, in a, sense, they hurt her terribly. They seemed to put her sin more plainly before her eyes. Ah! if she jiad only been able to speak in that hour when she had- braced herself up to do so; if only fate had been kind to her, and she could have knelt- at George Verney’s feet and have made her confession to him —what * difference there would have been. Now, how could she speak? How tell Lady Susan what she really was? _She had no knowledge of what lay in the immediate future; she- could only stumble on, clinging to her love pourin|r cut all her love and gratitude in such service as was possible, praying hoping, that the truth might be kept back from her husband bv some- means or other.

Another thing that tried Mary very mulch was itiie. fact that she saw Tom Carter daily, and the- passed as strangers. The mam’s loyalty cut her to- the quick. Only once had he ventured to speak to her, then- it was to whisper that his aunt had gone from the town,’ gone hack to London. Mary tried to thank him. but tears choked her voice and she turned away. And so the days went- on.

Carina Forrest ed l had been gone from the rectory quite a fortnight. People said too, that the artist, Paul Lester, had suddenly left the neighborhood, and that no one knew whether he was coming back to .the old house which lie had taken. Only Lady Somerton remained . at Yelvei'ton, driving over each day in the splendid Verney carriage to make personal inquiry for Sir George. Lady Susan always avoided seeing her if possible, but Isobel Somerton never asked for her; she merely came to inquire. At last the day arrived when the doctors said that George. Verney could be wheeled on his couch from the room to the garden. It was a great day, and every one was wildly excited. When the journey had been safely accomplished 1 and the couch had been drawn up on the sunny lawn, the young husband and wife wei’e left alone together for a few minutes. Mary stood looking across the expanse of gardens with their flower beds gay with Spring flowers; she had drifted into one of those spells of thought in which nothing Was very conscious or definite ,and yet all was so sad. George Verney awoke her from this kind of dream. He had caught her hand in his and was kissing it. “My wife!” he said. “Ah Mary! Sometimes I cannot realise the wonderful gilt ithat has been given to me. When I seemed to be slipping away, hoverin':” on the borders of a n either world, it wtas really your love that called me back, Mary, your love that claimed me fiom death’s grip; your little haiidsi that seemed to cling to my' spirit and draw it gradually back, even from the edge of the grave!” Mary trembled, and sitting down suddenly, she buried her face, fox - a moment on the) shawls that covered him. “Oh, don’t love me so much,” she said, “I—l am not worth it! Only let me love von!”. He laid his weak hand on her head caressingly. He felt that she was overwrought. But he was prepared for this reaction after Such days of anxiety and fatigue, v “Look up'!” he whispered. “Look up and see the sunshine, Mary ! Is. not Hie beautiful All, bow exquisite it is to realise that I' still live! To be out again—ito see the. sky—to feel the air. I shall be quite strong in a little while now, and then we*shall begin to make ouy plans, eh, Mary? Do you know, I want" you to consent to something,” lie ■added, after a little pause. “I want you to let me take the duties which I had ini tended to take up liefore my accident. I want to work. Mary. I don’t know that I shall be fit for much for some time,'but still I can always try, and there is am- amount of business attached to Lady Susan’s property which i think I could manage. You see,” lie said, “we cannot expect the world to understand the story of our hearts. The world has very little sympathy for a romance such as ours. "We must he prepared Ito hear our marriage judged quite prosaically.” “Oil! if we need not think about, the world,” levied Mary, “if we might only lie together and moor! Yes, I wish that we were poor! Money s frightens mo—and vet,” she added the next nniomemt, half bitterly, “money can be so.bea.-uti-

fui! Thin'k if we> bad been poor—if this illness bad come when we—we should not have known which way to turn for a peirnyl' '1 hat was what it was with my father.” She chocked herself as she saw the look of pain on her husband’s face. “Forgive me, she said. _ 1 aow we are not going to talk about anything sad; we are going (to sit ancl make ourplans. The doctors say that you may perhaps go away in a nother fortnight or three weeks’ ’time.” . “I don’t want to go away” said George Verney. “I want to go back to Yelverton with vcu. 1 want to be alone in the dear old house with my wiie And .that reminds me, dearest. Did I not hear Lady Susan say yesterday that Lady Scmerton had been calling in tile afternoon ! J Is she still at Yelverton?” "Yes,” said Mary. Very gently she drew her hand away from his, and sat with her face averted. ".She—she offered to stay, thinking perhaps she might be dfi some use,” she murmured. “Oil, it is very kind of her, of course,” George Verney answered. Though he looked so white and wasted, there was something of his old vigor in his voice. ‘‘But I don’t want her to he there, Mary, when we go back. Perhaps she will have sufficient tact to withdraw on her own account. If not somebody will have to give her a hint.”

Mary sighed: very quickly. “The house is so large," she said in a strained kind of way, “half a dozen people •might stay in it and yet need never meet one another.” “That is not the point,” said George Vernev, and he frowned faintly ; -then he explained. “The fact is, mv .darling, I don’t cave about Lady Somerton I did like,her at first, but she was so odd about that follow Lester, and seemed to order you about—seemed iu .fact, to forgett that you were mistress of Yelverton, and not her companion. So for many reasons 1 think T would prefer that she did not stay,” “I—l will arrange something,” said Marv in a low voice—and it was with keen relief she saw, Lady Susan com* ing towards (them. . '“Not,so much talking, if you please, cried Lady Susan briskly. “George lias simply to lie.here and grow stronger every moment. Mary, dear, the groom is just over from Yelverton ; there are heaps of letters for you to attend' to. Leave your patient in my hand—l promise you I will take care of him.” Sir George and Lady Susan watched Mary walk’lnwards the house for a moment in silence; then Lady Susan spoke. ■' „ “As soon as ever you can, George, • she said, “I want you to take Mary right away.” “We lvad just settled to go hack to Yelverton,” said the young anan. “Tit is not a good plan,” said Lady Susan, decidedly; “you ought to go abroad—be away for some months. It is mot only the last few weeks which have made such ravages with the girl’s mind, and heart, it is the past that you., have to try and make her forget. I don’t sav that you will succeed in this

al! at cnee, for Alary is not of a forgetting nature: still change of scene and happiness will do a great deal for her.” And after that Lady Susan refused to let the invalid talk any more. She read aloud to him, and after awhile she saw that his eyes had closed, and that he was-sleeping that natural beneficent sleep which was just what he most needed. (To be continued to-morrow.)