BERYL'S HUSBAND.

Auckland Star, Volume XXII, Issue 95, 25 April 1891, Page 1 (Supplement)

BERYL'S HUSBAND.

By MRS. HARRIET LEWIS.

CHAPTER XXX. LORD HAWKHURST FAVOURS OCTAVIA's PLANS The events in the preceding chapter oc'_. curred upon the day following the evening in which Lord Hawkhursb affixed bis signa ture to his will and consequently upon the day following Mr Sherwald's acquaintance with Ocbavia in her dishonourable character of eavesdropper. Octavia had gone down to the library at a late hour upon thab evening of her unmasking by the lawyer, had found Lord Hawkhurst still in the library, and had told her story with such effect as to convince the earl that she was the most scrupulously honourable, the most sensitive of wonaen. She kindled his anger against Sherwald for having dared to suspect her of such baseness as eavesdropping, and after certain artful allusions to her dear father and her dear father's affection for the earl, she returned to her own rooms well satisfied that she had completely forestalled and neutralised any story the solicitor might impart to his noble employer. On re-entering the boudoir she found Conyere and Mr Callender in close converi sabion, and with countenances whose singular expression gave her some uneasiness, she not being abla to fathom them. They broke off their private conaulbation at her entrance, and her uncle soon after took his leave. And on the next morning, while the stormy interview was occurring between Conyers and Octavia, which ended in the retreat of the former to his own private dressing-room in high anger, Mr Sherwald long-lived. It it were not that I really respect the earl and like him, I'd never forgive him for this scene of to-day. I hope he'll discover thab woman's real character before harm is done I , The earl sank back in his chair after the depaiture of Sherwald. Quiok to wrath, fiery of soul, with a wicked temper, his anger was yet quickly spent. Hβ was already regretful for his violence. 'The idiot doubtless meant well,' he thought, with pangs of very uncomfortable eelf-reproach. * I was too hasty. Sherwald's a gentleman, and I treated him like

arrived ab Hawkhursb House, was duly announced, and ushered as usual into tho great handsome library.

Lord Hawkhursb sat ab a richly-carved desk at a little distance from the great baywindow, the dull light of the February day streaming; over his shoulders upon the paper before him. As Sherwald entered, he looked up with a frown which disappeared as he recognised the intruder, and he arose with his never-failing courtesy and greeted his visitor, with a stiffness, however, and a lack of cordiality he had never before displayed to his eolicitor. ' I thought I should be sure to find you afc home at this hour, my Lord,' said Mr Sherwald. 'We neglected to arrange that matter of Mr Conyenv' annuity, or allowance, last evening, and I wish more fully to underetand your id.eas in regard to it. If you can give me. a half-hour or so now, I shall be glad to receive your instructions. Or, if you Trill appoint a time more convenient to you, I will call again.' 'It in o,s well to understand the matter now,' said Lord Hawkhursb, coldly. 'I do nob purpose settling any annuity upon ConTers in legal fashion—to bind myself absolutely to the payment of any fixed annual sum. Conyors is to be my heir ; that is settled. I shall never marry again. My wiH is made in hia favour. I shall treat hi.m as if he were my eon—give him a thousand a year out of my own purse. With •what he already has of hie own, he will thus be independent of his wife's fortune. Bub as to legal documents and binding snyaelf by legal form to contribute to hia support, Ido not care to doit. My werd is as good as my bond.' Mr Sherwald had taken a seat near the earl's, who had resumed hie. The lawyer was grave and troubled. He hardly knew how to enter upon a statement which he conceived it his duty to make. The earl's countenance did not invite his confidence, bub was cold and unusually haughty. To gain time, and to establish, if possible, the usual pleasanter relations between himself and patron, Mr Shorwald brought up a subject to which circumstances had given prominence in his mind during the pasb few hours. ' By the way, my Lord, we were speaking yesterday of our young kinsman Desmond, who bears your own family name, and with it many of the lion-like characteristics of your house. You made a provision for him in your will. Hβ seems to be a very noble young fellow, quiet and pentle. manly, with a will as strong and resolute even as your own. I am greatly impressed. with him. I think you told me that he hae an income of only two hundred pounds a year. Am I mistaken ?'

'That is all,' said the earl, 'although he told me that he has lived on half his income for some years, and has a matter of five hundred pounds clear and in the bank. .

• He'll need it now, , said Mr Sherwald. ' I was in the office of a friend of mine, a rising young barrister, yesterday. While we were in conversation, in came Desmond. I retired into an inner room, from which I could see him, but I did not know who he was. Later my friend told me of Desmond's business with him. It seems he and Desmond are very good friends, and that he owne a pretty little villa at Fulham, which some godmother left.him, and which is now empty. Desmond desires to hire it or lease it for a number of years, and the arrangements are to be completed after Desmond's return frotn Brighton, whither he goes today to remain a week.' The earl arched his shaggy red brows. • A villa at Fulham!' he ejaculated. 'What does Desmond want of a villa at Fulham ?' ' He told his friend, who ie my friend,' said Mr Sberwald, 'that he expected to be married to-day. , 'Married? He? The sly dog! He pretended to me at Hawks' Cliff that he had never loved any woman, and I actually believed him !' cried the earl, reddening angrily. ' I ail positive that he had never «een this lady when he visited you in October,' said Mr Sherwald. 'My friend—his friend also, you will remember—told me that they had not been three months acquainted, and that the lady is a widow, who has lived all her life out of England, bub who is English born. Without doubt they were married this morning. , 'Humph !' said the earl. 'Well, it's nothing to me. Iβ she well-born ?' ' I don'b know. My friend doesn't know either, I think. But she is, doubtless. A man like Desmond would naturally marry a refined and well-born lady. : ' I am not Bure,' said the earl, doubtfully. 'Hβ told me once that he'd marry any woman, no matter if ehe were a cobbler's daughter, if be loved her, and I believe he would. Bub she has money, probably ?' • I think nob. Hβ did nob say much about her, bub there were no marriage settlements. He insured his life for her benefit yesterday for a sum of five thousand pounds. I rather think ehe must be poor. What little he said about her was spoken with as much pride as if she were a princess of our own royal family. , ' I should like to know more about Desmond's marriage, , said the earl. ' I was greatly taken with him until he set up his will against mine. Hβ is a roan of sterling principle, and commanded my respecb. If ho could have won Miss Windsor's love and married her, I should have made him my heir in preference to Conyers.' ' And Conyers won the heiress, said Sherwald, finding an opening ab last for his intended communication. 'Do you think Mrs Conyers very beaubiful, my Lord ?'

4 Well, no, nob beautiful after any vory lofty type, but she's pretty and showy. She has good blood in hor, Sberwald. Her father was tbe soul of honour.'

' It is a pity that he did nob transmit his noble qualities to his daughter,' eaid Mr Sherwald, gravely. ' Pardon me, my Lord, bub this young, lady ii not worthy your hieh regard.'•"''"Uβ then told his story. The earl's steel blue eyes flashed fire. •Be careful, Sherwald !' he said, haughtily, and wifch an anger thab convulsed all his rough-hewn massive features. 'Ib is nob the part of a gentleman to traduce a lady.' flawkhurst then told his counterstory, concluding with : ' You basely and grossly insulted the mistress of my house— the future Countess of Hawkhurst—the daughter of my dear old friend !'

• Bufc, my Lord, I assure you—' • I want no assurances,' interrupted the earl, roughly. ' Yon may apologise to Mrs Conyers, but I will nob hear another word on the subject, except words of regret for your insulting conduct. . The earl's wrath flamed up like a devastating fire. Sherwald stood up aud bore his anger in calmness. Lord Hawkhurst grew more and more fierce with every instant, his voice ringing through the house in a passionate frenzy, and he finally ended by ordering Sherwald out of his bouse.

The solicitor bowed, still calmly, and quietly walked out of the room. Aβ he paused outside to close the door, he saw that a few servants were gathered in groups in the hall, at the head of the area stairs, and were pale and frightened. They had all learned to fear the carl in his tornado-like bursts of passion. Sherwald raised his eyes, and beheld on the upper landing, leaning lightly on the balustrade, Octavia Conyers. Her hard black eyes were gleaming, her face wore a mocking smile. He bowed to her, but in the steely gleam that crossed his visage, and the strange smile on his lips she might have read a warning. She had made this man her deadly enemy, but jusb then she only thoughb of her triumph and his humiliation. He took up his hat and left the house. As he walked down Park Lane toward Piccadilly, he thought, in his own heart: •That woman* triumph won'fc be very

a dog. A friend of thirty years' standing treated with contumely, because he expressed his honest convictions! Of course, he believed what he said, the thick-skulled idiot!'

He drew a long, sobbing sigh, and resting his head on his hand, was very silent for a long time. There came a knock upon his door, which opened, and with the rustling of silken drapery Octavia Conyers came sweeping in. The earl roused himself wearily and looked toward her. .She wore still her carriage costume of mauve velvet, which swept the floor, and was trimmed profusely with bands of silver fox fur. Her bodice was cut open in heart-shape, and outlined with a band of fur, inside which was an upright frill of yellow old point lace. She wore in her ears, on her neck and upon her arms the rubies she had purchased that morning oub of her Cragbhorpo income—consequently, oub of her uncle's money—and her ostensible object now was to exhibit them to Lord Hawkhurst for his approval and admiration.

' Can you spare me a few tpoments, my Lord?' she asked, sweetly, approaching him. 'Do nob rise, I beg of you. Let me come in without ceremony, just as if I were your own daughter, you know. I wish I were jour daughter, Lord Hawkhurst. The love I should have given my own papa, if he had lived, I have given to you. . Lord Hawkhureb had arisen, ia spite of her protestation. Ho smiled faintly at her words, and made some remark expressive of his appreciation of her high regard. ' I've been oub shopping this morning, , continued Octavia, in girlish volubility, •and I bought these rubies. I want your opinion concerning them. Are they nob lovely ? 1 gave a thousand pounds for them. Should you think them worth the money ?' She drew herself up to her utmost height thab Lord Hawkhursb might see the jewels more distinctly. The had deemed ib advisable to secure the trinkets ab bhe expense of the true owner of Cragthorpe, confident that he would never compel her to yield them up after she should declare to him that she had not known that he still lived. ' They are rery fine,' said the earl, rather indifferently. ' They are becoming to you, Octavia.' ' Yes, , she answered, moving her head so that the red jewels swung to and fro like living coals. ' Rubies always become brunette*. Rollyn has told me bhab you have superb family jewels, rubies and diamonds, of immense value and great beauty. Will you show them to me somo day, dear Lord Hawkhursb? I adore jewele.' ' They are locked up in bank,' said the earl. ' They have not been worn since my wife, who was Lady Portia Marly, wore them. Possibly some day I may withdraw them from the bank and have them reset ; but nob this season, I think.'

'I wish I might wear them,' said Octavia, with pretended impulsiveness. ' Oh, what have I said ? What mu»t you think of me ? Bub it seems so hard that those priceless gems should be locked up in a bank rault instead of flashing their beauty in the gaslight and becoming the envy of every fashionable woman in town. I'm such a child, my lord, I say whatever I think. You must treat me as if I were really your daughter, and scold me when I deserve it, and deny me whatever you think I ought not to have.' She assumed an expression of childlike sweetness and submission thab was meant to be very effective, but which looked out of place upon her dark features. Lord Hawkhursb was conscious of nob liking her so well in this new role. His manner stiffened a little. He disliked affectation of every sort, and it was beginning to dawn upon his mind that his favourite was full of affectation.

'By the by,' said Octavia, 'while we were out this "morning we made a morning call or two, and went to Oxford street by a new route. In passing a church we saw-a bridal-parby, and I recognised in the bridegroom Mr Noble Desmond. It is odd, is it nob, thab we were not inyibed to the wedding ? I did not even , know that he was going to be married. , ' It is singular thab you happened to see him come oub of church, my dear. I did not know until within an hour or so thab Desmond was oven thinking of marriage. Ho hasn'b troubled himself bo inform me of his plans,' said the earl. ' How did the lady look ? She is a widow, I hear ?' ' She is a widow ! Why, she's a mere chib of sixteen or seventeen, with a fair, baby face and red hair — actually red hair, cub off short to her head, and curling in little close rings. Her hair ia the colour of that red bronze behind yoH, my Lord. ,

' I'd like to see Desmond's red-haired widow. I think, my dear, that we'll invite them to dine with us. I presume the woman is a soap-boiler's daughter and a waterman's widow—Desmond is so odd in his ideas—but she's a Desmond now, and I propose that we receive her into the family and treat her with respect. If we don't like her, we needn't keep up her acquaintance.' ' I was about to make the same proposition, my Lord, , cried Octavia, eagerly. ' We will invite Desmond and his bride to dinner. I want to see her ; her appearance interested me greatly.'

• They leave for Brighton to-day to remain a week. You can invite a dinnerparty to meet them on any day they may appoint. It ia true lam not friendly with Desmond, but he's not a man to bear malice. I'll write a note and send it to his office, and it will be forwarded to them. You can issue your general invitations after receiving Desmond's reply to my letter.' Octavia acquiesced to the decision with scarcely concealed joy. ' I'll bring that red-headed woman and Roilyn Conyers face to face,' she thought, exultantly. ' They shall meet in my presence, and then I shall learn the secret between them !'

CHAPTER XXXI, WHAT BERYL DID.

Fob. a moment it seemed to Noble Desmond that his bride was dead. He shouted to the coachman to drive faster—to drive for life ! The carriage drove up at last before the door of Mrs Margie's lodgings. A housemaid, in a fresh white cap with pink ribbons, opened the door, all smiles and welcome. Desmond alighted, gathered up his bride in his arms, and carried her into the house and laid her upon the drawingroom sofa. The coachman hurried in quest of a physician, while Desmond and the housemaid worked for Beryl's recovery. Just as the remaining carriages came hurrying up, Beryl gave a quick gasping, sigh and opened her eyes.

* My darling !' whispered Desmond, with yearning tenderness, putting his armaround her. ' Lie down. You were very ill for a few moments, but you'll be better directly. .

He pressed her back gently upon the pillow. She closed her eyes wearily to avoid being questioned, but her face was strangely drawn and convulsed with an agony whose cause none there could guess. Desmond explained to Mrs Margie and the rest that his bride had fainted on entering the carriage at the church. Hβ believed the cause to be physical, some weakness of the heart, perhaps—the doctor would soon tell them.

The lodgers stood about in anxious groups. The carriages were all Bent away. Mrs Margie watched afc the door for the doctor, ■while Desmond hung over hie bride, his face strangely set and stern in its awful anxiety.

The physician presently appeared, and was conducted into the drawing-room. Desmond briefly told what had occurred so far as he knew it. Beryl opened her eyes, answered a few questions, but gave no cine to the cause of her illness.

' She fainted from over emotion,' announced the doctor, a little puzzled. ' She seems to me as if she had received some

sudden and terrible shock, bub that;, ondef the circumstances, is impossible. She fainted simply, bub seems quits weak and? prostrated. I shall give her a quieting powder, and I advise thab she be put in her own bed and left to rest for an hoar oc two. She will awaken quite herself again. Ab present she aeems a little dazed and frightened.' ' It's a bad omen to be taken ill like that at her very wedding, as one migho say,' said Mrs Margie. 'Poor dear, aha was expecting to start for Brighton at five o'clock on her wedding-tower.' ' She'll be well enough to go, , said the. doctor. 'Better take her as you had' planned, Mr Desmond. The change ia; what sho requires. I should say that ehej is weakened from overwork aud the want! of proper nourishing food, although in the' last lam probably mistaken. A little cars 1 and a fow days at Brighton will quite srt her up again.' The doctor took his leave, and Desmond carried his bride up to her own old room and laid her upon her bed. One of her boxes stood packed and strapped, ready for removal. The other was open, ready to receive her wedding-gown. Desmond went out, leaving the curate's wife and Mrs Margie to disrobe Beryl and put her between the sheets. They gave her the composing powder, and went out softly, leaving her to herself. The lodgera and Mrs Margie went down to the drawing-; room, but Desmond sat outside Beryl's door, watching, listening and anxious. ; The powder which the doctor had left for Beryl had been unusually powerful, as wae required in her state of suppressed yeb terrible excitement. It had taken effect now, and Beryl lay in a dreamless sleep, | very like to death, so white, bo still, so marble-like, save for the dark circles around her eyes. Desmond hushed his breath as he looked upon her. ' She looks like a lily that has been beaten down by the storm,' he thought. ' Whafc ia; this trouble that has come to her ? One moment happy, the next stricken down into a seeming of death. What ia this mystery that has come between us? Has sho discovered that she does not love me 1 I will not believe it. What, thep, is the mystery ?' He could not penetrate it. He stood there a long time, watching her death-like sleep or trance, as it mighb have been termed, his very eoul yearning over her. ' She will tell me all when she awakens, , , he thought. ' My poor, overworked, starved' little wife!' ' ; He bent over and kissed her. Then, fear-! ing lest he should disturb her, he crepfr softly out again to his post in the hall. The afternoon grew late. The halls and! stairs grew full of shadows. Mrs Margie came stealing up at last to light the gas, looking very anxious and troubled. • Mr Desmond, you'll get your death Bitting there in the draughts,' she said, in a shrill, exasperating sort of whisper. ' Andi you've not had a blessed morsel of food to eat since breakfast. Come down and have a cup of tea in the drawing-room. The lodgers are all there, and all feel for yoix : in this strange dispensation. The house ia like a tomb. The wedding breakfast hasn'b been touched. It's almost fire o'clock. You won't be able to go to Brighton to-day. , • ' No, , said Desmond, quietly. 'We shall have to wait until morning now. Mrs Desmond is asleep and may not wake for hours. , I think she will waken quite herself. , 'Of course she will, sir. A fainting fit is nothinguncommon. Most girls dofainb]whea they are married, leastway it's a very com- 1 mon thing for them to do,' affirmed Mra Margie. ' It's a sign of feeling, you know,, sir. And Miss Star—that is, Mrs Desmond : —she's been overworked lately, as the doctor' said, and she has hardly eaten meat once since she came into my house. The excite* , raent in her weakened state was too much for her, that's all. , ..." [ 'Do you think tliafc was sllj Mra Margie?" ' Law, sir, what else could there be V There was nothing to frighten her. Com* down, Mr Desmond, while she sleeps. , ! But Desmond declined. Mrs Margie lit the gas and went below. Presently, the' curate came up and urged Desmond to descend, and was so earnest in hU entreaties that the young man reluctantly gave in to him, and accompanied him to the drawing" room for a cup of tea. Ho had eaten nothing since morning, and the slight refreshment now offered him was not unrequired. He was absent from his post not quite half an hour ; yeb during tnat brief space of ' time, events occurred which changed, the whole current of his own and Beryl's life. • . ;

In the first place, he had hardly deecended the stairs when Beryl awakened. There was no start, no yawn, no slow re-: turn to a realisation of the events of waking; existence, but a keen, sudden, and sharp resumption of life as she had left it on dropping into her enforced slumber. The same desolate look that had been in her eyes when she closed them was in them! when she wakened. She looked up at the ceiling , , around her ab the empty room, and slowly gathered up her slight figure and sat upon the edge of the bed. And now one might have detected that) the edge of her suffering seemed somewhat blunted. A stony calm seemed to bold! her in thrall, the calmness of a horrified despair. She passed, her hand: above her forehead wearily, as if brushing away something that disturbed her. She arose mechanically, and began to dress herself with hands that seemed too stiff to perform their office.

' Poor Noble,' she whispered, softly. 'It trill ccme hard upon him. If they knew they would send me to prison, I suppose. And in any case I am not Noble's wife. I know lam not. lam the wife of Dane Conyers, and Dane Conyere is alive. Is Noble bound to me if lam pot to him ? Will there be a scandal? "That would gall him terribly. Oh ! if , Jt might sink out of his life as a stone sinks Into the river, leaving no trace behind. He would mourn for me, but no shadow of disgrace would darken his life. To die now ! To die now !'

She set her white lips together in a straight, thin line, and hastened with her dressing. The garments she had worn that day she resumed, one by one, except her bridal-dress. Her travelling costume of navy-blue serge was spread upon a chair ready to put on—her purse, her handkerchief, her gloves, in the pocket, ready for use. She put its on, jacket and all; Her hat, enshrouded in a grey veil, was on her table. She put that on also. These articles of attire had been made ready before her going forth that morning, for the journey of the evening—the bridal journey. But what journey was this upon which she was bound ? She felt feverish and cold by tarns, and put her hand again and again to her fore-, head in that dazed kind of way. She was all dressed. A strange excitement began to burn in her veins. She shuddered and looked over her shoulder with peering, frightened eyes. Half delirious, with the terrors of her situation pressing frightfully upon her, weak and worn from toil and a starvation diet, hor perceptions were bewildered. She Only knew that she wanted to die. She opened her door softly and glided like a ghost down the stairs, flight after flight. The drawing-room door was slightly ajar. She could hear the sound of subdued voices, hushed as if death were in the house. The door of the rear parlour was open, also, and Beryl could see the wedding breakfast set out, with withered flowers. It had nob been touched. She listened a momenb in hope of hearing Desmond's voice, and then she opened the street-door and slipped out, half maddened, into the winter night, and hurried instinctively in the direction of the river. (To be Continued.)