A Wonderful Woman.

Auckland Star, Volume XX, Issue 267, 9 November 1889, Page 9 (Supplement)

A Wonderful Woman.

Bi- MAY AGNES FLEMING, Author of "Guy Earie?sQ©urt's Wife," "A Terrible Secret," " *Loat for a Woman," "A Marriage,'1 etc.

CHAPTER X,—(Continued.)

\t early rising be a virtue, Miss Dangerfirfd possessed it. She might dance aU oigh*> until ' the wee sma' hours ayont the %wal,' but *he wa3 prepared fco tis& afc six next morning, as freeh as the freshest. When Sir John came out on the terrace for his morning smoke, he found his daughter pacing up *nd down slowly in the pale. Jjhfll sunlight. A scarlet bournous wrapped! (jer, and her dark face looked wan antl' (oomtoe from out its glowing told*. ' *• You here, Katherine V the bardn.?b Sa i,j as he stopped and kissed hefc.. H e was very gentle with her of fat* ; there was a sort of sad, abnormal tenderness in his face no w. It did surprise him to find her hew, so early, but, looking again at her, he saw Jiow heavy the br^t eyes were, how slow tbe elastic footfall, the shadows on the tell-tale fjace. 'What is it, Kathio?' he Masked., *Yeu I'ook as though you hadn't Blepc last night. Has anything gene Wong?' *! Wall, no, papa ; nothing exactly gone $ftftmg> perhaps; but- i feel unhappy, and "cross, and mystified. I didn't sleep last Bight, and itfs all owing to that detestable woifian. Light your cigar, papa, and I will tel'l.jW* while we walk up and down.' She Clasped both hands round his arm, and &okedup with dark, solemn eyes. ' Papa, I want you to send her away. She is a trretch-^-awicked, plotting, envious wretch I I Was liftppy last night—l don't think £ §ver VaS happier in my life. What business had Sites to come and spoil it ail ) I hate to be unhappy—l won't b© unhappy .' and, papa. I insist upon your sending the odious little kii!joy away. His bronzed face paled perceptibly ; an afegry glance came into his steel-blue eyes. 11 You mean Mrs Vavasor, I presume. "What has she done?' t 'Done !' Kafcherine repeated, with angry impatience —'she has done nothing—she is what she says, either; it's her look, her tone, her smile, thab insinuates a thousand things more than she ever utters. That Thorrid, perpetual simper of hers says, plainer than words, " I know lots of things to your disadvantage, my dear, and I'll teU 4hem, too, some day, if you don't «e<s me well." I hate people that go smirking trough life, full of evil and malice, and all tincharitableness, and who never lose their temper.' "•You seem fco have decidedly lost yours this morning, my dear. May I repeat— what has Mrs Vavasor done ?' • This, papa: she came to my room last aight, iustead of going honestly to bed like any other Christian, and began talking to me about my—mother.' Sir John Dangerh'eld took his cigar suddenly from between his lips, a dark red flash of intense anger mounting to his brow. 'Aboutyour mother!' ha repeated, in a tense sort of voice. 'What did Mrs 'Vavasor say about your mother, Kathie »' ' She said, for one thing, that my m6ther once prevented her marriage. Now, did she?1 'Not that I am aware of. Was thafe ,all?'

'Well, that was all she aCßuSed her of, but there was volumes Implied. My mother died in her arms,,she said, and she had long ago forgiven her. Papa, if ever I saw a devil in human eyes I saw one in hera . PfJW *# it- She hajigtl oiy mother ; she v hates, me.; and if '/„ i$ in her power to do me W : |ou^in.v \ l&vnii gta w iji d 0 ( b before she leaves o {j sgax aa gure iy as we both stand

, f ,. 'Katherine, for Heaven's sake—' 'She will, papa! 1 Kajherine cried, .firmly. 'All the harm she can do us she 'Villdb. But is it. in her power to really barm us? The will is there fast enough, ; but is.the way? -*My child*'he said, and there was a sob ,;lafivery Word, 'it is in her jjower to ruin •oa--to ruin yon.' .. -Catherine looked at him—very pale, very v'grave, very quiet. You could see at once how this impulsive girl, ready to cry out lustily with impatient anger over little troubles, would bear greot one?. - ...'then Heaven help us !'she said, 'if that ;, be true. I don't understand, and it seems W me you will not explain until the blow falls; Perhaps I could bear it better if I . knew beforehand what I had Co endure. Just now it seems strangely Impossible. You are a wealthy baronet and I am your , only child—how can a woman like that injure or ruin us? Papa,'suddenly, 'is there ■ any flaw in your right of succession to ; ; Scarswood—is there any heir whose claim is better than your own ?' He looked at her, a look that haunted ncr . for many a day, with eyes full of trouble. 'And if it were so. if there were a claimant whose right was better than my Own—if some day,' and very soon, Scarswood were taken from us, and we went out into the world poor, disgraced, and penni,lesß, how would it be then ? I have asked - you before. I ask you again—could you bear : poverty, Kabherino? " Could you bear to . leave Scarswood and its splendours, and go forth among the women and men who work, and be happy'?' ~ She set.her lips close. ',1 could go, pupa, I suppose, she , >answered, in a hard sort of voice. 'We cin^ endure almost anything,- and people don't break their hearts for any loss in this , nineteenth century. But — happy — that is quite another "thing. I have told you ;■ ; many times, and I repeat ib now, I would father dip than be poor.' > ■:.She stopped, and there was dead silence While they walked up and down the long : Btone terrace, Up in the v bright October „ s»y the gun rained its golden light, and , «p in the breezy turrets the great break- . feet bell began to clang ; very fair Scars- '-•- Wood park looked in the amber radiance of tho crisp early morning—the green and ■'~;; gplden depths of fern, the grand old oaks, and elms, and beeches, the climbing ivy *ot centuries' growth, the red deer racing, :, an« the . stately old mansion, with its /^eastern windows glittering like sparks of :Wev. Kabherine's eyes wandered over it : ' W—she'had learned to love every tiee, every stone in the grand old place. Papa,' she said, at last, a sort of wail in ''v«rtone» 'must we go—must we give up JU this ? Was I right after all, and is this toe secret Mra Vavasor holds ?' ' : t Supposing it were—what then, Kathie?' -.^en,' her eyes flashed, 'order her out oi the house within the hour, though we • i vil follow her fche next-' * te , "hat— and brave ruin and exposure «nen we may avert them ?' • "•,{- Ou wiH nf>t avert them. That woman 'A !n°k BPa^e y°u one Pan£ she can inflict. 4ndif we musb g O '_ 3ne threw back her ■■•'■•■■- Trt With ri Sht royal grace—'l would jwne'rwe walked out ourselves, than wait :■: to be turned out. So that I have you and ■ t! 8! , loft > PaP a» I can endure all the ho^!f moutll set itself rigidly under his :''^ ard» and the soldier-fire came into his I'l^t us go in, papa,' Katherine said, P?K[tely,i 'aiid when breakfast is over, •fit*? avaßor her conge. It is for my -p-you have been afraid of her—not for CVJwn- Well, I hate poverty, I know, l" * hate Mrs Vavasor much more. Send m&W, and let.her do her worst.' . .^■hall-goP ffi^vyou, papa. Ib was not like you £do afraid of' anybody. I will breathe she is outside of ScarsW(wt.,?hallßh e go. to-day'/ ■■• :-

&*ft, KMhfe-V wetter; and Vo h^iPS**l. who:n yo» and I and Gaston poor it ib 6 tov?efc^r. If we are to b« f ™,? noi*B«, or artist, Vt sbmetnlng free, and J -<y, Md.Bdh'emf&ty 'atuHry and remember feeaf sWobd;.a'nd »fc2 glories, only as people W lb? r ~&a«biful, impossible dreams.' ~±y dauntless little girl ! But we won't leave Scarswoocl !— no, not for all the little painted women this side of perdition; She shall go, and we witt stay* ah'd we witt let her do her worsb. While I liVe at least you are safe—af tet tlVat—' : v Bttbi pi'pa V with a sort of gasp, • that ottoer heir—'

The baronet laughed. ' There is no other heir, my dear—Scarswood is mine, and mine only—Mrs VavaSor shall go, and we will fcavt& bur wedding in peaco, and it. fti lh% future any great loss or Vrtirldly Misfortune befall you, let us hope Ga«ton Dantree's husbandly love will fiMfr.t) up for it. Yes,' he lifted his head, and spoke defiantly, as though throwing oft" an intolerable burden, ' come what. Kiay; tho woman shall goi! They found hAr In the breakfast parlour when they entered^ looking out over the Sunii't landscape, and waiting impatiently for her breakfast. Late hours did riot agree with Mrs Vavasor—it wis & Very chalky and haggard face she turned to the baronet attd his daughter in the garish morning light. Her admirers should have seen her at this hour—fche seamed and sallow skin—tho-dry, parched lips—the sunken eyes with the bi3tre circles—even the perennial smile, so radiant and fresh under the lamps, looked ghastly in the honest, wholesome sunlight; 1-Good-morning, dear Sir John—goodmorning, dearest Kathie. How well the child looks after last night's late hours —as fresh as a rosebud, while I—but alas S I am ftve-and-thirty, and she ia sweet Seventeen. Well, regret for my lost youth and good looks shall never impair my appetite ; so " queen ros« of the rosebud garderi of girls," the sooner you givS ttie a cup of cofl'ee, tho b^omc? tiiy nerves will be strung for ths battle of life that wo all poor Wretches fight every day.' In dead silence Katherine obeyed—in dead silence the baronet took his place. Her fate was sealed, her days at Scarswosd numbered. She caw it ab a glanCe; c I fdghtefied her lastnighfcj' she thought; ' and she ha 3 been laying in a complaint tb papa this morning, and papa has plucked up courage from despair, and I am to get the rout to-day. What a fool I grow ! Having waited nineteen years, I might surely hdVe waited two months more. W6ll, as I must hold in my hand thab promised cheque for ten thousand pounds before I cross this threshold, what does it signify? I shall go to London or Paris—my own dear, ever hew, ever beautiful Paris — until the last week of the old year, and enjoy niyself instead of moping fro death in fehis dull, respectable .ISriglish hott?e, among ditll, respectable English people. It is just as well aa it isi'

Mrs 'avaspr was as agreeably conversable as usual during breakfast, but as three quarters of an hour's steady talking to poople who only answer in tersely chill monosyllables is apt to be wearisome even to the sprightliest disposition, her dreary yawn ab rising was very excusable. ' I believe I shall postpone my shopping expedition to Castleford after all tliis morning, and go bfick to bed. Oh dear!' another stided yawn,y how sleepy I am. And we dine this evening, do we not, dearest Kathie, at Morecambe?'

'Mrs Vavasor,' Sir John inte rupted, with cold, curt decision, ' before you go to Castleford or to sleep, be kind enough to follow me into ray study. I have a word to say bo you,' Me led the way instantly t Mrs Vavasor paused & ortptnenb and looked over her shoulder at Katherine with that emile the girl hated goV - • I think I understand,' she said, slowly. •My time has come. •■ If I. shall nob be able to put in an appearance at the Morecambe dinner party, this evening, you will make my apologies, will you not, dearest? And give my love to that perfectly delicious Mr Dantree.1

And then she went, humming a tune, and entered the study, and stood before the grim old baronet. He shut and locked the door, took a seat, and pointed imperatively for her to take another. All the time ' her eyes followed him with a hard, cold glitter, that seemed to set' his teeth on edge. He looked her full in the face, and plunged headlong into his subject. 'Harriet Harman—Mrs Vavasor—whatever name you please, you must) leave this house at once ! You hear—at once !'

' I hear,' she laughed. •' It would be a dull intellect indeed, my dear Sir John, that could fail to comprehend your ringing military orders. I must go, and at once. Now, that is hard when I had made up my mind not to stir until after Christmas. Your house is elegant, your cook perfection, your wines unexceptional, your purse bottomless, and your friends eminently reepectable. I'm not used to respectable people, nor full purses, and I like Scarswood. Now, suppose I insist upon spending Christmas here, after all ?' She folded her arms, and looked at him exactly as she had done on the night of her arrival.

«I will suppose nothing of the sort—you must go.' 'Ah ! I must! I like people, do you know, who say a thing, and stick to it. Well, you're master here, of course, and if you insist upon it, what can a poor little helpless widow do? But, Sir John, I wotider you're not afraid.' ' Beyond a certain point fear ceases and desperation comes. I can endure your presence, your sneers, your covert threats no longer. You are no fib companion, as I told you before, for Katherine —a woman noted as the most notorious gambler of Baden and Homburg during the past ten years. The girl hates you, as you know, and you—how dared you go to her room as you did last night and talk of her mother ? How dared you do it?' His passion was rising—there was a suppressed fury in his tone and look, all the stronger for being so long restrained. The widow met it with a second scornful laugh. 'How dared I doit? You have yet to learn what I dare do, Sir John. Don't lose your temper, I beg—it's not becoming in a soldier, a gentleman, and a baronet. How dared I talk to Katherine of her mother? Now, really, Sir John, that sounds almost wicked, doesn't it? What more filial — what more sacred subject could I talk to a child upon than the subject of her sainted mother ?'

' Harriet, I thought I would never stoop to aak a favour of you again, but now I do.. Tell me—' • That will do, Sir John—l know what is coming, and I won't tell—never, never, never! It would be) poor revenge indeed if I did. .What you know now is all you ever will know, or she either. I'll leave Scarswood to-day, if you like. After all, hunvdrum respectability and 'stupid stuck-up country families are apt to pall on depraved Bohemian palates ussed to clever disreputable nobodies. Yes, I'll go Sir John. Give me that ten thousand pound cheque. Mon Dieu ! the life I meant to lead in Paris on that; delightful, respectable, orthodox—and 111 shake the dust of StJarsweod off my wandering feet— for ever !' ■ ■■-•-.. • For ever ! You swear never to trouble ua more?' ... .' , • I will swear anything you like, baronet. Oaths or words — it's all the same to Mrs Vavasor.' __ T . 1 How can I trust you ? How am 1 to tell that after I pay you the exorbitant price you ask for your secrecy, you will not go to Peter, Dangerfield and betray

Mrs Vavasor laid her hand on her heart. 1 On the honour of all the Vavasors, whose eatig-azuvQ flows in : tlvjse velrtsj I sivearib! r f Oft thusfe taika my word, baronet, and chance it. Have I not promised—am I not ready to swear—" by all the vows that ever men have broken?" What more do you want ? Give me the money, and let me bid you—"oh, friend of my brighter days !"— one long, one last farewell ! He frerti fcb ,hls writing-case, and handed her a crossed cheque for ten thousand pounds. Her eyes flashed with intense delight as she looked at. it.

4 Ten thousand pounds ! Ten thousandpounds I and I never had ten thousand pence before in all my life. Sir John, a million thanks. May you, be hap.py !—may your shadow ns-vgil ba less! May' your children'schildren (meaning the future little Dantrees) rise up, and call you blessed ! Those aged eyes of yours will never be pained by the spectacle of my faded features more. I go, Sir John—l go—and I leave my benediction behind.'

She wen ft up M her" fdflffl sirlgittg. Jfitldn w§i summoned, a chamber-maid was summoned, and Mrs Vavasor worked with right good will. Two little shabby portmanteaus had held Mrs Vavasor's wardrobe last September—now four large trunks and no end of big KoJte'Sj litfclt? b'o.^eo; and hand-bags were filled. And with the yellow radiance of the noon-day sunshine bathing park, trees, turrets, and stately mansion in its glory, Mrs Vavasor was whirled away to Ca3tleford station.

She looked back aa the light trap flew through the great gates and under the huge Noriiiati ardfi.

'A fair and iidble Inheritance)' she said : 'tOti fkif by,, fat to go to hot- mother's daughter. Your sky'is without A clond now, but when next I come, my brilliant, happy, haughty Katherine, look to yourself. This morning's work is your doing — I am not likely to forget that.'

Mrs. Va\;asor was gone; The news fel Upbn Mr Peter JUangerfield like a bldW; As suddenly and mysteriously as she had at first appeared, ehe had vanished, and where were all her vague promises and bewildering insinuations now ? Katherine was to be married, the wedding day was fixed, he had been bidden to the feast. She had insulted him, scorned iiirb ; lie must pockefc his ragfi) and live withoiibhis revenge; He was not prepared to break the law and commit a riiurder, and how else was he to pay off this insolent heiress, and her still more insolent lover ? Mrs Vavasor was gone, and all his hopss of vengeance went with her.

Something might happen, to be sure, between this and tha wedding day. Gaston Dantree might be shown up in his true colours, as the unprincipled fortunehunter he was. People die suddenly, too, occasionally. Kathorine might break her neck even in one of her mad gallops over highways and byways. While there is life there ie hope. He went to Scarswood pretty frequently now—saw the lovers together happy and handsome, made himself agreeable, always in a cousinly way, and the weeks sped on. The trousseau was ordered, all wa3 joy and gayety at the great house. Christmas week came and nothing had happened.

He sab moodily alone oneevening—Christmas Eve it chanced to be—before his solitary bachelor fire, brooding over his wrongs. Hissolitary bachelordinnerstood on thetublo —he had been invited to a brilliant dinner party atScar3wood, buthewasgrowingtired of going to Scarswood, and hoping again&t hope. Nothing ever befell this insolent pair—Katherino grew happier—brighter— more joyous every day ; and that upstart, Dantree, more invincibly good-looking. Nothing happened ; luck was dead againsc him ; nothing ever would happen. This night week was tbe wedding night—and. what a life spread before those two in the futuro. It drove him half mad to look at them at times. And he—he most go on grubbing like a worm in the clay for ever and ever Katherine and Katherine's children would inherit Scarswood, and all hope •was at an end .for him. Ho was only a rickety dwarf. ' Never while life remained would he forget or forgive those cruel words. llf I live for sixty years to come, I'll only live in the hope of paying you off, my lady,1 he muttered, clenching his teeth ; ' it's a long lane, indeed, that has no turning! Curse that Mr 3 Vavasor ! If she knew anything, why didn't she tell me?' There was a tap at the door. • Come in,' he called, sulkily ; ' it's time you came to clear away that mess.' He thought it was the servant, bub instead a lady—dressed in black and closely veiled— entered.

He arose in surprise, and stood looking at her. Who was this? She shut the door, turned the key, advanced toward him, and held out her hands to the fire. ' It is cold,' she said, ' and I have walked all the way from the station. Have you dined ? What a pity ! And lam hungry. Well, give me a glass of wine, at least.1 He knew the voice. With a suppressed exclamation he drew nearer.

' Ifc is,' he said— * surely it is—' • Mrs Vavaeor !' She flung back her veil and met his glance with the old smile, the old malicious expression. ' Yes, ib i 9 Mrs Vavasor, come all the way from Paris to see you and keep her word. A promise should be held sacred—and I promised you your revenge, did I not ? Ye?, Mr Dangerfield, I have travelled straight from Paris to you, to tell you what is to make your fortune and mine-Sir John Dangerfield's secret!'

(To be Continued on Saturday Next.)