Ethel Mildmay's Follies

Auckland Star, Volume XX, Issue 15, 18 January 1889, Page 3

Ethel Mildmay's Follies

By the Author of ' Petifce'a Romance.'

CHAPTER XXIX.

That evening ! — apparently so like the many pleasant happy evenings that had gone before, and yet with such a strange, sad difference, with such a inysterious f cold shadow hanging over it. For long, long afterward, Ethel used to look back ifc with a thrill of pain at her heart, which was like a discordant chord of music to a sensitive ear—a secret, wringing, aching pain, which was born that night, and was her companion, waking or sleeping 5 for some time to come. Dr. O'Toole dined ab Mount Druid. It was fortunate he did ; for the cheery old man's company helped to conceal the sudden depression which seemed to have stolen over at least two of the little party ; and if Mr O'Neil was unwontedly grave, and Ethel unusually silent, t% old doctor's loquacious tongue and never-failing hilarity made up for all deficiencies. It is odd how a cloud, a really dark cloud, may steal in ;and settle down between two people, and yet remain for a while almost imperceptible, not only to their neighbours but also to themselves. A cloud had stolen in between Ethel and her guardian—a fragment, as it were, of the great, dreary, hopeless mass of clouds which had, at the first start of their acquaintanceship, so apparently irrevocably estranged them. And yet the estrangement had not been irrevocable. The clouds had lightened, and been wafted away by friendly breezes. Time and patience, and sympathy and kindliness, and a gentle yet resolute determination, were their names ; and beneath their warm touch one by one the clouds had melted, leaving a clear, serene, bright sky behind. But now they were coming back again. Ethel knew it and felt io. Despairingly did ehe feel the old weary sickening sensation of deception and concealment creeping upon her once more. Oh, how she hated it 1 How she hated the memory of the cruel fashion in which deception and concealment had to her embittered and poisoned the last days of her father's life ! And now she envied, piteously, hopelessly envied those who, unlike herself, could look back to the last days of those they loved without self-reproach or self-accusation. Oh, how this, evening she hated the consciousness that there was 'something , to conceal, a ' something' not to mention, a ' something' which prevented her looking frankly and bravely into the eyes of those around her, untortured by the stabbing recollection that she was deceiving them ! Yet how could she help it ? How could she disregard Count O'Neil's caution? How" could she be so utterly false and faithless to her old friends as, in such a trifle as this, not to keep silence, and betray a secret which she believed she had hardly the right to consider her own ?

And so she was silent; so grave and silent and pale, that Dr. O'Toole noticed it at last, and grew curious; and when M 3 inquiries were put off by the never-failing convenient plea, * a headache,' gave one of his slyest, broadest, most awful winks, and nudged his old friend.

' What have you been doing with that young spark Redfern, Mrs O'Neil ?' he inquired. ' Queer things are said in the country, I can tell you. He's bolted, you know—gone like a shot. And as to her ladyship' (Dr. O'Toole always called Mrs Redfern her ladyship), ' I thought she'd eat me up alive to-day when I just dropped her a hint that perhaps he had been shot through the heart.' And the old man guffawed over the stale little joke with the keenest enjoyment. Mrs O'Neil reddened and groaned. 'Don't speak of it, doctor; don't speak of it. It makes me ill.'

And she gave Ethel a terrible glance—apunishment which, however, thab young lady received with the most complete composure. ' He's gone to the Highlands, I believe,' pursued the doctor. 'A fine place for mending broken bones and other injured parts. Her ladyship gave me a list a yard long of all the ' nobs' ' Charlie my darling' is meeting—Lady Adelgiza this and Lady Belinda t'other. All the grand names took my breath away ;so they did. And I hear thab ' Charlie my darling' is very much admired,' he added, wisely malicious.

c Is he indeed ?. Do you hear thab, child ?'

'By my word, yes. Lady Belinda is setting her cap at him like mad, and her ladyship is strutting about like a peacock already. Coming events, you know, throw their shadows before them.'

'I don't believe it,' Mrs O'Neil said, drawing herself up, and sniffing the air. ' Let's have our game of draughts, doctor. These two people here are in the blues, and there's no good to be got out of them.'

Out came the draught-board; and the doctor and Mrs O'Neil at least were happy. What a countless number of games those white heads had bobbed over ! Of what amicable wrangles, and mimic battles, and comic disputes, had that draught-board been the theatre between the faithful old friends! And, oh what a sweet, pretty, tender thing, true and faithful friendship is ! watering, as it does, the arid, barren plains of life with a magical water, laying the dust, levelling the rocks, making the hard, weary roads easy, and dropping everywhere the seeds of beafltiful fragrant flowers, which death itself cannot kill.

When the doctor and Mrs O'Neil played draughts, it not seldom happened thab Mr O'Neil and Ethel played chess. Half expectantly the girl stood this evening waiting for the accustomed invitation. It did come, however. Hardly had Mr O'Neil addressed a single word to her all through it ; and now he had taken up a book, and did not even look at her. It is one thing to feel penitent and contrite for having behaved badly when one knows one is forgiven and liked as well as before, and quite another to submit humbly to the just consequences of one's misbehaviour. Straightway Miss Mildmay felt huffed and aggrieved, and marched off to the piano to play her ill-humour and her sadness, and her perplexity and her troubles, into tune again. It would not do, however. Nothing bub sad airs would come into her head j nothing bub funeral-marches, and dreary minor chords, and snatches and odds and ends of melancholy little pieces.

* God bless me !' Mrs O'Neil said at last, looking up from her game. 'What on earth are you at, child ? That's the fourth funeral-march you have played since you began.' • She is thinking of a wedding,' observed the doctor, solemnly. ' Those things always go by contraries. How many magpies did you see to-day, Miss Ethel V ' One, doctor.' And she closed the piano with one of her quick, impetuous movements, and came over to the table to watch the game.

• Nonsense ! said the doctor. • You- saw three, as sure as my name is John O'Toole.'

'You did not really 3ee one magpie, child ?' Mrs O'Neil inquired, peering at her anxiously; for Mrs O'Neil was superstitious, and firmly believed in omens.

' One for sorrow, two for joy,' began Ethel, laughing.

' Three for a wedding,' put in the doctor slyly; ' eb, Miss Ethel! We're getting impatient, I can tell you. You're keeping us waiting too long.' Ethel laughed saucily. • You don't deal in husbands in this part of the world, doctor; and weddings withoub husbands are, you see, matters of difficulty.' 'A smart girl like you knows how to piok up a husband wherever she goes, Miss Ethel. By the way, talking of weddings puts me in mind of funerals,' proceeded the

doctor.; 'Poor Dan Moore, old Martha's nss ' m," 1 -?, bad wa y> do you know, Mrs 0 Neil ? They'll be burying him to-morrow or after.

. Jlsit possible? That fine young fellow jusjicome home ! Whab is the matter with aim, doctor V dea!^4^ heisdead ' Oras Soodas ttever?' cried the'old lady* horrorstricken. 'Fever, did you say? Doctor, w «a* sort of fever ? Iβ it infectious ?' W yphus " , Bad kind to °- Yes » i* is in. tecbioas; ..and I wanted to warn you not to Dβ allowing the servants about the place, lnere are two or three bad cases in the pains q, /

one -? ? 'Bless my soul! , cried Mra o Neil ; for the dread of infection was one of her mosb favourite hobbies. Bab the doctor reassured her. 'Never fear, never fear, , he said. ' Old peoole like you and me are safe enough; it's only the young people that— , * J 'Young people! Do you hear that, child? And you who are always poking your nosa into those poor wretches , filthy cabins! Mhel, I positively forbid you to put your foot inside—Loud bless me !to go near any ofth,ose poor people's hovels again until Dr. OToole gives you leave, , she commanded with great severity. 'Promise me, child. Won t you promise me V Ethel glanced at her guardian > but; his eyes were fixed on his book.

' ?ut,' she began hesitatingly. 'Of course she promises,' said the doctor decidedly. 'Nobody in his senses would think-of such a thing. There is Arthur, there, who is born to catch fevers, as I am always telling him. Do yoa hfJar, O'Neil? Look sharp, and don't go out of your way to catch one—if you can help it, that is. Some people have a peculiar knack for that sort of thing. Poohy pooh!' laughing at his old friend's miserable face. ' There's nothing in the world to be afraid of. Drop a hint to the servants, that is all. Lord bless me, how late jt is! Good-night, good-night.' And with a bolt andabound Dr. O'Toole haddeparted.

And departed, too, was poor Mrs O'Neil'e peace of mind. The vaguest, faintest rumour of the vicinity of an infectious illness'was enough to upset her for a month. ' W-e had better leave the place at once,* she decided. 'To-morrow, the day after, at the latest. Arthur, don'b you think so?' ~ .

'Indeed I do not, mother. What is ifc all about ?'•

'Sow tiresome you are! There is fever, malignant typhus fever, in the parish. Whatjdo you think of that ?' she demanded. ' Poor wretches!' Mr O'Neil said compassionately. ' I know it, mother, but Tihere are only a few cases.' 'Ijewormany, lam miserable, thoroughly miserable, , the old lady asserted. 'And here's this child here, that won't even promise me not to keep away from the cabins,' eheswent on plaintively. 'I shall die of fright, I know I shall.'

'That is foolish of Miss Mildmay,' Mr O'Neil said, returning to his book. M did notrefuse to promise, Mrs O'Neil. J— y«#> I do promise,' Efchel said with sudden eagerness. The oldlady was somewhat appeased and quieted. «Good child, good child !' she said. ' And I'll make a rule that every servant found within half-a-mile of a cabin will have to pay a fine,' she exclaimed, delighted at the sudden idea. ' We'll be tolerably safe then, I think; and the money will go to the poor siak people. Is not: that a good notion, Arthur? -I will consult with Flaherty about it this very evening.' Jftibr Mrs O'Neil! On that night, at all events, she went to bed happy—at least, tolerably happy with the assistance of neFfaithfiir'Flaherty, laid down a complete plan of campaign against the approaches of the much-dreadecT enemy, little suspecting—;poor old lady!—that campaigning against a phantom foe. Too late ! too late ! The real foe had already stolen treacherously in, was indesd sitting by her side in the very midst of her brighft, secure home. Nobody saw it as yet; but, invisible as it was, its grjm, cold shadow was there.

(To be, Continued.)