AS PURE AS THE DRIVEN SNOW.

Bush Advocate, Volume I, Issue 40, 7 August 1888, Page 4

AS PURE AS THE DRIVEN SNOW.

: ♦— ■■ •^hAp_er_. I Certainly Qhri_tmas was thei dullest time of all the year at fche'; Xnn,y . Yarreston, vYou; see people like to be within their.; owndoors> at/this • time ; even the v poOrset labourer on Squire Eskell's estate; has a good dinner at home on Christmas ■ '■ Day, and chance traveller's fight shy, of s y.i|,lage.inns when; they can. '. And soj.as I said beforeChristmas was a dull time for us. It is so long ago since my father died- that I can scarcely remember him at all. Often I have stood be-; fore his* portrait and tried to tracesome resemblance between my own features and his j 'but people say I am* like my mother, only I shall never be so pretty as she was. Her picture hangs beside ray father's, and the dear old-fashioned dress and stiff '.collar only make the bright face more ar^h and piquant. I can see that I am like her, only not one half so pretty. Long years back, when my father brought his young wife to the White Hait, ~;iV was a place of life and bustlej and constant change of faces. That was when the coaches ran to and from Chelmsford, and Yarreston was one of the villages where the M Lightning " or the " Defiance" stopped- to change horses. And where should traveller fiud accommodation better than at that famous posting housej the White Hart 1 But the railway runs now through what was. then a wide meadow^ belonging to the inn • and the great 'Uedrboins, where lords and ladies haVe slept- stand empty, save for an occasional bag-man ora stray tourist lingering for a night or two in oui nrettv village; ; ■ ;

But the story I, have to tell is of a Chrisimas-tide made- memorable to * us Jby many .strange events, in which ,wS! t my mother and I, were implicated .^^ the beginning of it -all 'wag. nTrtfes iwM.i' In*the August of that year" t haa promised Alick Vale that I would marry him so soon as he should have a home ready for me, but when his father heard of Aliok's intention he flatly forbade the marriage, because he had expoctod his son to choose someone with; money, and I, alas ! had none. So then mother (who is every bit as proud as Farmer Vale) Said 1 that I inustgiveup Alick, and for thefirst : ■ time in my lifo I disobeyed her,, because I loved him so that to give him upßeemed worse than death. But, because we could not meet in . our b'igr old-fashioned parlour at home, noi at Vale Farm, we used to appoint Ridge well Wood as our trysting* place, and often when mother thought me in some friend's JujuseH wasisittinj-Zwith Alick under a great oak, and listening to tender words spoken, by. the dearest voice in all the world to mo. J One day in October— oh ! what a glorious day it was— we stood together in the wood, . which, by reason of our' frequent^ meetings, had become quite familiar to us. The village people .avoided its dark soli- • tudes, because 1 there was an -old story of secret murder, .connected . wi>h it;but;'A_licic;and I were not afraiaVahd almost grew to love it as the time went on; Well, we stood there, and Alick's arm was about my. waist, and his dear eyes were looking jrttb mine, when through the* brush wood; and briars we heard, someone "coiiiin'g tdwards.us, and inLstinctively'l freed myself from my lovers 'eto brace/ '■ : THen a great Newfoundland dog jumped tut against us, niaking me litter w startled Very, and tiie next * ihonteht'there stood before iis the sweetest young lady in 'all the county youngest daughter ]bmfsfcnotti '- •'..* ;J3he"lifted'her jjretty eyebrows as %m »aW who was toy companion, and then,, in that sweet low voice of hers, whicn always! sounded to me like the- chiming; of distant bells, she Bftiri, JaU^hiiigly«---11 Phillis, Tha Ye lost hiy Way. Don' and I thought we eoald get through the wood, and so be home z Bocmer, and lam quite sure we have been wandering round and round for the last hour, Can you help me 5 to find the right path'lMy father will be so vexed if I am late for luncheon;" Then Alick stepped forward and lif tod his hat, Tand I could not help feeling proud of him, because he looked so tall and manly. " Let mo show yon, Miss Eskell," he said, md she gave him a smile of thanks as bright as if he were a duke instead of a farmer. Then she turned to me. •'tome Phillis," and together, or rather one after the other, we ' walked along the narrow track whicij led through the wood. Theie was no other word spoken until we were clear of the trees though Miss Lenore turned once, with a smile to show me how the brambles had torn her dress ; but when wo. stood once more in the clear sunshine she * put her hand upon my arm, and Ipoked down into my eyes. ' Phillis, dear," she said "if you can* come up to the Park this evening." Then she looked-at Alick, and I knew by the curve of her lips that she was pleased with him and liked him. "Mr Vale," she said, " I am extremely obliged to you. If ever you are lost in the wood, and I happen to know its intricacies, I hope 1 shall be there to help you out of it," and then she stretched out her little white hand for him to take as freely as ''if he was a gentleman of rank and Jineagc, for it was Miss Leuore's way

always to make. people feel at home with her, Just as.it was her sister's, way to remind them always of the difference between their station and hers.. . We watched her, Alick and I, until the slope of the hill hid her from our sight, and then we said: . "Good-bye," though he chafed sorely at having to leave me so far from home. But it was best to do so, because if we. had met any of the village people they might have cairied tales to Vale Farm or to the White Hart, and the conesquencea could only have been unpleasant ■ whatever form they took. In the evening I went up to the Park (we could see the house from our bedroom windows), and made i ray way round to the servant's en- < trance, because one never knew how the squire would take a thing, and sometimes he bullied Miss Lenore on account of her goodness to the ; village people. 1 found that she had given orders about my coming. I was to be shown at once up to her room, and so I followed Ninon (Miss Lenore's own maid) up to her mis- . tress's pretty boudior, where she was - sitting before the fire looking thoughtfully into its bright depths. She lifted her head as I entered,. a_d a smile came into har eyes. '•Take this chair, Phillis," she said, and pointed to a low, cushioned one close to her own. " And low, ! my. dear, tell me all about Alick Vale." She had always been so good to . rae since first I went to Sunday $ -School, and Miss Eskell used to J drill, me into fear arid obedience, i while her younger sister looked on - with sympathetic and compassionate I b ,' eyes, that now it was easy to cons': fide my simple story to her. I could i not see her expression because she t, held a screen between her fair face r and the fire, but as I went on I saw the one white hand which lay upon

her lap close and unclose nervously, and when I had ended the look she bent upon me was bright with tears. •..-•... " You poor little soul !" she said. "What a shame it. is that Fate should bs so cruel to you 1" And then she fell, into a silence which I did not dare to break. I looked round the pretty room, so dainty in all its appointments, so delicately refined in every detail, and then- my eyes wandered again to the beautiful face bent so thoughtfully 5 to the braids of the dark brown hair, coiled low upon a neck as. white and soft as the swan's-down on het velvet dress. I suppose I must have been staring quite rudely, for presently she lifted her eyes slowly, and met my gaze with a faint smile curving her lovely lips. " Well, .Phillis, ''' she said, " what is it ? * I blushed furionfly, and stammered an apology ; but she only laughed softly, and laid her hmd on mm 3 — ' Tell me, Phillis, of what you were thinking ?" " I was thinking of you, Miss T » ■ Leuore. "You foolish child," she said.. " Of course I know that ,* butt what was it made you look so suddenly graye ? Your pretty brown, eyes weru'quite shadowed." (To be Continued.)