Novel

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 365, 7 May 1903, Page 2

Novel

CHAPTER lll.—(Continued.) * I may be a fool,' said Gilbett, with dignity,' but I should not like to do anything that would not be done by an hoceat man.' He felt manlier and stronger for having uttered this sentiment. A glow of cocecicoa virtue made him forget the cowardly rit< nee that he had kept a little before. * I should be very sorry if yon did/ said Mrs Pollard, also virtuously; ' but I beg that you'il trust me a little, Gilbert, and allow me to speak and to ret aa I think well. If you interfere, you'll spoil everything' 'Plain dealing is always be it,' said Gilbert uneasily. * I dare say. But you have to consider who you're dealing with, and not blurt out everything all at once, like an idiot,' ■aid his mother sharply. ' Leave matters to me, my dear, and I'll arrange them for you.* Gilbert wag by no means satisfied, but for the moment he could say no more, for the maid came in with the tablecloth, and Mrs Pollard, as her manner was, assisted her to lay it. Before this operation was completed Hedworth and Eme appeared at the door, and after the short colloquy already narrated, were seen crossing the lawn towards the Bed House. * I don't want to cross him more than I can help,' aaid Mrs Pollard reflectively, *or I should not have let him take Effi i; but he ia bo out of temper that he bad better hare hia way for the present, and I can runish Eme afterwards.' t Mother, pray don't talk of doing any such thing,' said Gilbert, with evident , displeasure. ' Eme is a dear little thing * ' Tou talk nonsense, Gilbert,' said Mrs Pollard, with seterity. ' Eme is often an extremely haughty girl, but this time I've no objection to letting her off, a? yob and Hedworth are both agreed upon the subject* Gilbert thought to himsilf that if he became—practically—the head ofc" the family, aa he might do, supposing that the business was placed unreservedly in his band j, he would at once send ESe to a good echoo', where she would be out of reach of hia mother's old-fashioned methods. For the present, however, no more was said; the evening meal was served, and Mrs Pollard went upstairs to her husband. Gilbert did not daceive himself. His mother's actions oiten made Lim thoroughly miserable; but, like Pilate,' he washed hia hands of guilty complicity, and counted himself innocent. H« knew that he was not very brave. He knew that subterfuges and stratagems- came easily to him; but so long as he did not sully his lips with an untruth, he did not feel cilled upon to repudiate his mother's words or deeds. She had made him more uncomfortable than u~ual, ever since Lis fa'her had been taken ill; and he was quite resolved that her * inaccuracies,' aa he called them to himself, shcuid go no fur tier. He wculd keep a land on the reins. D fraud Hedworth ? Why, the idea was inconceivable. Of course, his father's wishes must.be loyally carried out; and he could not help it if his father chose what seemed to Gilbert himself the wiser way. Bat ho would neither urge nor influence his father in that direction j and he shut hia eyes to his own knowledge that on these points his mother had no scruples. He made scma change in his drees, and th«n walked leisurely down the road towards Fareham, tne village on tre outskirts of which the Pollards lived. He went steadily on his way until he met Doris Lane.

Doria was slightly above him, and he knew that well enough. Her father was a lai> e cloth manufacturer, from whose work a the streams of tie neighbour hoed were djred with bine; but, although a manfacturer, he took the position of a country tqcixp, having a large h-.uae in wooded grounds almost of the dimensions of a pari, and keeping on friendly terms with the gentry of the neighbourhood, lie was reputed to be wealthy, and was popular on account of his geniality and good humour. Tae chief reason why Gilbert dared to hope that he might win the hand of Doris Lane lay in the fact that she was one of a lar»e family of daughters— ten of them—whom Mr Lane would naturally desire to see settled in life. And Gilbert was in a good position for so youn? a man. He had lately been virtually, if not actually, master of his father's mill; and if this position were secured to him, he felt that there was no reason why he should not ask Mr Lane for Doris He waa tolerably sure of Doris herself.

He had wooed her in a quiet way for some time. No one but Doris and himself knew how far that wooing had gone. Since Hedworth's return from America a new ekment seemed to have been itsported into their intercourse. Gilbert could not have defined it, but Doris half suspected that it was jealousy. With many people Gilbert's grave and silent ways were against him, aLd Hedworth's frank, gay manner preferable by far. Gilbert sometiaus felt that Doris thought 80 too.

He was very much in love with her, and all the world therefore looked brighter te him when he mtt hor on the duty white country road that led from Pollard's Mill, as it waa generally caJlud, to 'he village of Fareham. Little did he ut.agix.e that his course was followed by

[PUBLIBHBD BY SPECIAL ABBANGEMENT.] THE ConsciencaofGilbertPolkrd

Br Adeline Sabgeant.

CALL BIGHTS BESEB VED.

the keen eyes of his coomb Em-, supplemented by hasty and grudging glaHces from Hedworth. He woud have been more careful about his actions if he had guessed for a moment that he could be watched from the granary in Pollard's Mill Doris was a light, graceful creature, with fair hair and large, lovely blua eyes Tne features of hor face were not perfect, and there was a touch of weakness, per haps, in the line of forehead and chin; but there was great sweetness and tenderness, and so caressing a note in her soft voice that men generally thought her beautifdL Women were more eritical, but even they had little te say against ber—only that she was too easily influenced, too sensitive, too unpractical to contend with the world's hard realities—and they usually concluded by remarking that after all she was a sweet girl, and they did not wonder that GUbert Pollard was in love with her.

* Oh, Gilbert, I am so glad to meet Aou,' she said, holding out her hand to him' There was no one in sight, and they thought themselves quite alone. *I wanted to ask about your} father. Is he any better f

•I'm afraid not,' Gilbert answered, holding ner hand, and looking down into her eyes. Even if he had not spoken formally to Mr Lane, there was very little for him to Bay that j, she had not already heard! ' * I have been wanting to see you, but I could not get away.' A little colour crept into her fair face as Bhe lifted her blue eyes to his. As for Gilbert, he flashed with pleasure when she bud her hand on his arm; and it was at that moment that he drew her close to him, and—secure in the environment of hedgerow and overhanging trees—bestowed upon her the kiss which, from a distance, Effie saw. 'Oh. Gilbert, dear, you shouldn't! And I'm late &n it is. I don't know how I shall find time to dress for dinner.' He released her at once; her words gave him a pang as he thought of the difference between the life she was used to, and the one which his mother would expect her to lead. Bat she saw that he was disturbed, and exclaimed with a bewitching smile. • I don't mind whether I am bits or not, so long as I am with yon, dear.' ■ Let me walk home with you.' ' Certainly not; why, you would be late in getting back to your father. You won't be able to come and see ua again—just yet—until your father is better, I suppose.' •I'm afraid not,' said Gilbert, dully. Then, feeling some explanation of his' depression necessary, he added, ' Mother and I are rather tied te the house. Hedworth is somewhat inconsiderate and noisy; he doesn't understand sickness. And, to tell the truth, he's devenred by an insane idea that I am to get everything aad he nothing when my father dies.' •Haw absurd! I suppose you would divide things,' said Doris, with absolute vagueness, as if she were thinking of her nursery days, ivhen the cake would not aiwayß go round, and each small person's share of an ounce of sweets was infinitesimal indeed. • Hedworth has had part of his share already; that must not be forgotten,' said Gilbert, hardening his face a little.' * I a*e,' answered Doris gravely. •I don't know why Hedworth should want to get the control of the mill into his own hands 'I don't, indeed,' said Gdbert, almost peeviahly. «He has always seemed such a lover of travel and adventure; why he should wish to eettle down in a country neighbourhood I cannot telL'

He was looking at Doris, and became suddenly aware that her face was crimson as a damask rose, and that she was trying to turn her head away. A sudden light came to the young man's mind. • Doris ! do you know why ?» And as she did not answer, he laid a compelling hand upon her arm. 'Doris! tell mo; I must know.' ■I am very sorry, Gilbert, dear. I don't know what made him take such a thing into hiß head,' said Doris, the tears welling up to her eyes. ' You mean—he has spoken f • In a waj—he would not let me answer bim; but he said I must know by this time what he felt for me—and £ did net know what to say, so I said nothing at all.' Gilbert was almost sorry. If she had spoken out, Hedworth could never, at least, have accused her—or himself— if keeping him in the dark. Here was another complication with respect to his troublesome stepbrctoer. Hedworth would be sure to think he had been deceived.

• It can't be helped,' he said at last, with a heavy sigh. «If you had been less sweet, darling—but you can't be; and wo don't grumble at roses for their sweetness, do we? Or hlieF, rather—you sweetest lily that I am going te transplant some day 1' He did not often talk loving nonsense of thiß kind, and Doris looked at him rather enquiringly ; it 6 e med to her as though he were masking some real feeling of a deeper kind. But it was time to part; so, with an affectionate grasp of tho hand—for they saw foot-passengers approaching them, and dared not venture on another k isa—-they separated, and went t'nt-ir respective ways.

Deris was not altogether without mis-

givings about her future life. She loved Gilbert, but she was afraid of old Mr Pollard, and she almost hated Mrs Pollard, while Hedworth had lately himself the object of sew fears. Hedworth's love-making had been rather crude, like himself. He had thundered out his love to her, with the conviction that it was not a thing to be hidden, but rather proclaimed to all the world; and, although there was something rather fine and manly in his disdain for conventions, something generous, too, in his deßire that she should not try to answer him until she had considered the matter- yet she shrank from his vehemence, and recalled the stories that she had heard of his wild, undisciplined boyhood, with a sensation of alarm. And she wondered also whether there would be any difficulty about money-mattars; for her father would expect a fair sum to be settled upon her on her marriage, and unless his expectations were fulfilled, she did not know whether he would consent at all. In the class of life with which Doris was, on the whole, most familiar, it was always the eldest son who got the lion's share. If Hedworth got Pollard's Mill, what would be left for Gilbert P If Hedworth proposed for her to her father, what answer could she make P After all, Htd worth was a big, handsome man—a woman naturally likes strength—and if Gilbert bad nothingIt was a mere fancy. She loved Gilbert, and meant to be true to him. But it Hedworth could have known her thoughts, he would not have given way to the despair which had seized him when he heard through Effie's lips of that stolen lover's kiss on the Fareham Ejad.

Meanwhile, Gilbert went on his way with a mind considerably disturbed by what Doris had said.

He had been making up his mind to act very fairly to H dworth, to j >in- with him, in fact, against his mother's wiles, whic ihe not unnaturally distrusted. He would see that Hedworth had their interview with his father, on which the terms of the wll would probably depend. It was quite possible that, if Hedworth spoke reasonably, Mr Pollard would make him at least a partrer in the firm, if not the head of it; and in that case, Gilbert's own position, after managing its affairs entirely for the last two yars, would be a very awkward one. Besides, he did not believe that the business wa3 large enough to support two families comfortably. And he would hive to go to the wall, while Hedworth flaunted his new power and dignity as the proprietor of Pollard's Mill. Gilbert mused over the prospect as he walked. On the other side, if he did not choose to assist Hedworth now, if he kept Hedworth away from the eld father's bedside, could he not trust his mother to ' arrange * things, so that Gilbert should have the power and position for which he craved ? The discovery that Hedworth loved Doris Lane put a new aspect oh the whole affair. It would be better to get him out of the way—to let him take a relatively large sum of money out of the businees. and squander it in foreign lands, as he had done before. It was a very little thing te do—to keep Hedworth out of the sick room; it might not even be effectual, for Hedworth had no faculty of pleading his own cause; but the, point was this, that it deprived Hedworth of his one chance. Old Mr Pollard had been vexed and angry with his eldest son; but if Hedworth came and" told him that he was ready to give up his roving ways, and would settle down at Fareham as a miller and corn- dealer for the rest of his natural life, his father would forgive him anything. He had always loved Had worth best. Gilbert knew that. !

' Bat it would be madness to put Hedworth is charge of the business: I could do it so much better,' said Gilbert to himself. 'My mother is right; matters must be arranged a little. It is foolish to leave things to chance. I'll do what is right towards Hedworth; but before he talks my father over, I'll j know the reason why.' And, put into plain words, this meant that Gilbert intended to give his brother no opportunity of asking his father's forgivtness, or promising to carry out his father's wishes. As far as his father and family were concerned, Hedworth must be left in disgrace. It wa3 a pity ! bat business is business, and has to be cor. ducted on business lines.

CHAPTERIV.—GILBERT'S PROMISE

Hedworth and Effia groped their way down a dark, wooden stair, for the sunlight had faded before he could be aroused to action, He seemed completely overcome by the discovery that he had made and Eifie, vaguely sympathising, did net for many years appreciate the cruelty of his position. As he had said, all his little wor'd had turned against bim; his fa'her had been displeased with him ever since he came back from the rasehe that had proved such a failure; his stepmother disliked him; his brother —he seldom thought of Gilbert as a stepbrother —was false to him; the he loved, fickle; so things appeared in his sight, and they looked very desperate His heart almost failed him when he thought of the future. When he had lest his rightful share in the mill, his home in the house which he had once been told would fall to his Bhare, wbat would be left for him in England P He might as well go back to the trackless wilds and virgin forests that at heart he loved better than England, and leave G Ibert to hia smug self-ccnteiit, his dull business-like habits, bis home and his wife. But what a pang it cost him to say the last word to himself i i ' It is very dark,' Effie said iH ijather a timid Utile voice when th?y reached the bottom of the stairs. 'Look, Htd worth, tbere's a light in the office! Is aiay one there ?* Hedworth looked and uttered a short exclamation of surprise. His first though t was that a burglar was making an attack upon the safe in the cilice; his second, that Gilbert had come to get some papers for his father's use.

•Wait a moment, Effie/ he said,' I'll go and put out the light.' He walked swiftly to the tffieie door, and to his relief found the room empty. The gas was burning, and had probably escaped notice when he and Effie passed upstairs, because daylight wajs then streamirg in at the uncurtained windows; but now, when dusk was falling, the yellow light became visible. ' (To be continued.)