CARRIED BY STORM.

Auckland Star, Volume XXIII, Issue 297, 14 December 1892, Page 6

CARRIED BY STORM.

Sy MRS MAY AGNES FLEMING.

Author of 'Nome's Revenge,' 'Shaddecit • Lighb,' • Wedded, Yet No Wife,'»A Little Queen,' Etc.

CHAPTER IX, . HOW JOANNA PAID HER DEBT. They sib in the half-lib parlour, the lights turned low under shades and Joanna listens once more to the etory Jud Sleaford has •old. Her hand is clasped in Mra Abbott's, Leo nesbleß beside her after her usual clinging, childish fashion, and Geoffrey is the narrator. No sound disturbs him, there are tears in his mother's dark eyes, otherwise she is calm. In the startled eyes of little Leo there are wonder and fear, hub she says nothing, although whab she hears now she hears for the firsb time. For Joanna, she wta quite still, quite calm, and listens to 4118 end. Even then there is nob much said—there ia nob much thab is easy to say. Leo buries her face in Joanna's lap, and is Bobbing softly. ' 'Oh, -how could papa—how could hehow could he?' .It is nob in that tender little heart to blame any one too hardly. She is afraid to look ab her mother, at Joanna, her sister, both so deeply wronged. Her sister—how Btrange thab thought. A thrill of gladness toes through her as she clasps her closer in her arms. She has grown so famous, she bears herself so nobly—it almost compensates. And she will be a great heiress— Joanna—ib is her birthright, all thab splendour and luxury—beautiful, losb Abbobb Wood, Ah, her heart ache 3 for Abbotb Wood Often and often, her fair, stately home, down by the sea. All is Joanna's now. . Nob one spark of envy or jealous grudging ie in her—all good fortune thab can befall her Joanna deserves, has bravely earned. They were the usurpers, and held from her for yeprs whab should have been hers. Her own sister! How good, how comforting is thab;thought. She has never felb the need of a sister ; mamma and Geoffrey have always sufficed ; bub ib is a rare and sweet delight to find one ab this late day, And this is why everything had to be given up, why mamma took her former name, why papa shot himself. ''Poor papa ! he used to be so fond of his little Leo.' She sobs on, her face hidden, the sobs stifled in Joanna's lap. No one has a tear for the dead sinner bub tender-hearted little Leo. All,this time they have been talking, brokenly, disconnectedly, but Leo has nob been listening. She has only been hearken- . ing.to her own thoughts. Now Joanna gently lifts the bowed dark head. 'Crying, little Leo? Why, I wonder? purely nob because poor Joanna is your Bister? Ah, my darling, it is the one bright, bright spot in all this darkness, and sorrow, and .sin.' _:' 9 q« dear Imy dear 1' Leo says, flinging her arms aboub her, 'do you not know I feel thab ? I bhank the good God for giving me so great a gift. I love you, Joanna—no sister was ever more dear; but I cannot help thinking of —of him. He was fond of me, you know.' She drops her face again crying with all her heart. •Fond of you, my libblo one ?' Joanna says, her own eyes moist. « I wonder who would nob be fond of you ? we all love you the better for those tears. Bub you' —Joanna lays her hand on Mrs Abbott's, and looks tip with wondering eyes into her calm face-"' how you bear ib. I wonder as I look ab you. And you used to be so—' 'S.o proud, so imperious, so exacting, so haughty. Ab, say it, Joanna ! Do I nob lsnow it well ? I needed the lesson I have received—the only blow, I believe, thab coidd have humbled me. All other things -^sickness, poverty, death itself—l could have borneand kept my pride; this I could not. Pride had to fall. I bore ib badly enough at firsb —in agony, in rebellion, in despair. I would nob believe such shame, such disgrace, could touch me. I lay for weeks at death's door. I was wicked enough to wish to die. Buball thab is a memory of the pasb now ; I am happy—yes, quite happy, Joanna, with a deeper, and a truer, and more lasting happiness. Do you remember the ninth Beatitude of St. Francis de Sales—" Blessed are the hearts thab bend for they shall never break." I havo no fear of a broken hearb, now.'

Joanna stoops and touches, with loving lips, the worn, white, thin hand. •And now,' Geoffrey says, briskly, coming back to the practical, ' there is nothing for you to do but to step into the property, and take the reigns of government out of the bands pf Blaksley and Bird. They have managed the estate very well in all these years, and your income must have accumulated like a rolling golden river. Whab a rich young person you are, Joanna—quite a modern Mademoiselle Fifty Millions! And yet how quietly you sit there and take ib-11.''

Dr. Lamar says this in rather an injured tone. Joanna laughs. 1 What would you have V she says ; • that I should throw up my hat and hurrah ? We don't dp that when we come into a fortune -—the luck is something too solid and substantial, Besides, it comes to me so—well, not pleasantly. It is nob a comforbable reflection, that the best, the dearest friends ever a forlorn waif found in her need, are thrust out to make room for—l had almost 6ftid,, the viper they had nourished. It takes all the heart put of your millions, Geoffrey,'

' Oh, if you look at in that light!' says Geoffrey, coolly; 'being a woman, of course you will take the romantic and unpratical side of it first. Bub having taken it, look at the other—at the birthright usurped for years. And as our going out was inevitable, you must know whab a delight ib will be bo ms all to see you sbep in and reign at Abbott Wood instead of a stranger. You have grown such a regal-looking1 young woman, Joanna, that you will grace the position and the house. I know of no one,' says Dr. Lamar, making a courtly bow, which includes the two ladies, ' so fitted, in mind and person, to eucceed its late illustrious chatelaine.'

They .laugh, and all restraint and embarrassment fly. Time has so softened the past, so blunted the pain, that they can bear to talk of it all with hardly a pang. 4 We have kept it a secret hitherto, even from Leo/ says Geoffrey, ' because, until you, were found, nothing.could be gained by telling. Now, everything had better bo told, and tJ>e sooner you are installed at Abbott Wood the better. What are your plans, Joanna. Whatever they are, for the future remember you are to command me. I consider myself quite as much your brother as Leo is your sister.' She .stretches out her hand, ' More than, brother always, Geoffreybest and staunche.t of friends. And so I -may command you in all things? You promise .this?' «.Undoubtedly—in all things. » V-eTy well—the first command I issue is, that you will nob say one word of this to any one. To the lawyers, if you like, but make tbem the only exceptions. Isot one word, remember, to any living soul. •Bub, my dear Joanna - . 'But my dear Geoffrey, you have pledged youreelf Windly to obey, and mast abide thab rash promise. I will if) so. •And Joanna is queen regnanb now-it mnst be "as the queen wills,'" cries Leo,

sense in it. And your plans, for bhab is nob one. But p' , a ps ib is too early for you to have form?;: „_y.' * No—my plans, such aa they are, are formed and are few, and simple enongh. In bhe farsb place, I leave tho stage.' Of course,' promptly—* that goes without saying.' & 'In the second,' smiling, 'I stay here a week or two, with you all, if you will have me,

■If we will have her—oh!' says Leo, opening wide her velvety eyes. Then I starb for San Francisco, escorted by my dear old professor, who would escort me to the world's end, ab an hour's notice, and take my mother, my poor mother, out ot her prison of years.' •Good child,' says Mrs Abbotb. »You will find her well, too. Geoffrey had a letter from the doctor, only a fortnight ago, saying so, and saying she still koeps calling for you. Ah 1 Joanna, thab fatal forbune will do some good after all—ib will rescue her.' ' In Joanna's hands ib will do much good,' says Geoffrey, with decision. «Well, and after that ?' 'After thab-after thab the deluge! I hardly know. Thus far I have planned, and no farther. I do not quite realise ib all yet. My plans and wants will increase, I suppose, as I do. But oh ! through ib all, this fairy fortune—this strange, tragical story, there is one thing I do realise to my heart's core—how glad lamto be with you all again. Wlnt would ib all avail but for your goodness 1:1 the pasb ? Geoffrey, my first friend, I cannot thank you—indeed, 1 will nob try—bub you know, you know whab I feel. And Leo is my sister—my very very own sister. Ib is bebter than a score of fortunes. And you,' she puts her arms suddenly about Mrs Abbobb, 'my dearesb ! my dearesb, my more than mother, how good you were to me, in those long gone days. Your lessons of love, of patience, of gentleness, Beemed to be thrown away then, bub I hope—oh ! I hope, bhey have come back and borne fruit. Nothing good is ever losb; it all returns sooner or'later. I have found my own mother, but I can never love her better than I lovs you.' Ib is a scene, and bhese women weep together; and when an hour latter goodnights are said, it is a very happy little household thab retires to sleep. Bub Joanna does nob sleep—ab leasb for hours. She is excited, she wants to be alone to think. She has the room lately vacated by Livingston. Some relics of him yet remain—a glove on bhe table, a flower given him by Leo, dead and dry on the window-sill. Ib is of him she is thinkinghe is rarely absent long from her thoughts. j He is coming tomorrow wibh his Cousin Olga. He must nob know—nob yet, nob yet. In these dim plans of hers for the future his figure does nob appear; she tries ,to place him there bub she cannob. A week with Leo, and already bhe abrupb menbion of his name sends a flush into the i dark, mignonne face. Is ib so, bhen? And he ? She is the sweetest little blossom possible, a bender, genble, adoring little hearb, the eorb to sib ab her husband's feet, and worship and see no faulbs. No, in bhe ■ picbure of her future, Joanna cannob fancy him, try as she may. Next day he comes, and with him Olga Ventnor. Dr. Lamar is very busy in those days, and disease and deabh are very busy, too, in the city. He and they do babble by day and by nighb ; he has very little time to give them ab home. Fever is spreading and will nob be stamped oub; the weather is hot, damp, murky, oppressive—real fever weather, and in the pestilential purlieus many lie ill unto death these July days. He is indefatigable in his profession, he seems to live in his carriage, he begins to look fagged and worn, strong and robust as he is, splendid in his flawless vitality. His mother grows anxious, and begs him to spare himself, but in vain.

Coming home on this sultry evening, tired, depressed, hungry, oub of sorbs, his mind filled with grim sick-rooms, and the grim faces of poverty and disease, he sees a vision ! Standing in the parlour alone, the gas-lighb full upon her, dressed in some gauzy, silky robe, that floats like a cloud softly over the carpet, her golden braids twisted coronet-fashion around her head, a diamond star flashing at her bbroab, he sees -Olga.

It comes upon him liko a shock, a shock of rapture. He has not been thinking of her at all, and she is before him a dream of light, of loveliness. He stands quite still, quite pale, unable for a moment to advance or speak, looking at her. It is she who comes forward, blushing slightly, smiling and holding out her hand. 'Are you going to swoon ab my feet, Dr. Lamar ? Do nob, I beg—l would nob know in the least how to bring you to. Yes, it is I in the flesh—Olga ; shake hands and see. How unfiatteringly amazed you look, to be sure ' And yeb,' with bhe prettiest of pouts, ' you must have known I was coming.'

' I had forgotten,' says Dr. Lamar. The words are not flattering, but he still holds her hand, and gazes at her as though ho could never gaze enough.

' Complimentary, upon my word 1 But ib is just like you all—out of sight, out of mind. Leo and your mother had nob forgobten, sir ! Men have no memories. Will you nob come in ? The house is bhine own —or do you mean to sband staring indefinitely? You remind me of tho country swain, who sighed and looked, sighed and looked, and looked again. If you sigh and look into tho dining-room ib will be more to the purpose. Your dinner is waiting there, and your mother has been lefb lamenting over your prolonged absence, and the fowl that is spoiling while it waits.5 She runs on gayly—she sees all the surprise, the admiration in his face, and she likes it. She is a hero-worshiper, this fair, white Olga, and Geoffrey Lamar is her latest hero. She does not understand very clearly, but for honour's sake he has given up a fortune, and gone out single-handed to fight with fate. He is a hero in that to this romantic young lady, he is working himself death among the poor and suffering, heedless _of rest, or food, or comfort, he is a hero in that also. And it is a grand thing to be like that. She adores strength, bravery, unselfish deeds. And—what a distin-guished-looking man he has become; but then he always had that air noble even as a boy, which she admiros so much, and sees so seldom, v

Dr. Lamar is off duty that evening, really off duty, and enjoys his home circle with a zest, a'delight that is nob untinged with pain. To sit and look at that lovely face is a pleasure so inten?e that ho is almost afraid of it. Frank is there, near Leo, Mrs Ventnor, too, is present, talking earnestly to Mrs Abbott.

They have'much to say and hear, of the past five years, and once mntual friends. She and her daughter, with Frank, are stopping at the hotel nearby—the bandbox cottage accommodates but one guest at. a time. That one, Joanna, is at the piano, playing softly—so softly that she disturbs the talk of no one. Livingstone tries to be devoted, and turns the music, but she sends him away •I play from memory,' she says, or I improvise. Ib is my way of thinking aloud; and I like to be alone when I think. Go and talk-go and amuse little Leo, smilingly ; ' she hates to be alone. So he goes; and, thus paired oft, the evening passes delightfully. It is an evening Geoffrey, for one, never forgets. UJga is by his side ; Joanna is playing softly, softly, and a little sadly. Is she happy. Her'face tells nothing. The others arehe is, supremely so. Outside there is the summer darkness, the stars, the whispering wind. Yes, it is a picture he will recall to his dying.day. , Miss Ventnor has met Miss Wild, the

vocalist, with some surprise, and extreme curiosity. And so she is Joanna ? —really ? How stupid of her and Frank not to have recognised her ab once. Bub she has so j changed—so improved. Miss Wild will I pardon her, she trusts, for saying as much. After all, sho is privileged, being Buch a vers, old—acquaintance. May she congratulate her?—her voice is enchanbing, she envies her whenever she hears ib. How charming bhab bhey should all meeb again like this. And so on—more than civilgracious indeed—quite the manner of some fair young grand duchess, so uplifted thab she can afford bo stoop and be sweet. Joanna smiles at ib all, nob embarrassed, nob overwhelmed, and responds very quietly. Olga does nob dream—none of them do—the double secret she holds, her manner to Livingston i 3so simply bhab of a friend. Still, he feels uncomfortable and urges her to let him tell. ' Wait, wait,' is all ehe will say. It is her answer to Geoffrey, too, when he reiterates his wish to make known her real position to the Ventnors. 'Oh, wait,' she Bays, 'time enough for all that,' and they obey her. She has a strong will, this genble Joanna, and ib make 3 itself felb. She knows her own mind, and adheres to it. She forms her own plans, and abides by them. She has great faith in time, and waiting and patience, to set the most crooked things straight. A little, indeed, is revealed— she has discovered her mother, out in San Francisco, and Joanna is going there to join her nexb week. Ib is her intention to return with her and make another brief visit to the Lamars. After that—Livingston glances at her wibh a somewhab anxious face, bub she smiles back ab him with a brightness all her own. She has the brightest smile, the frankest laugh, in the world—in her presence there is a sense of comfort, of peace, of resb. Thab subtile fascination of manner has its effect on them all, and her singing charms care from every heart. Mrs Ventnor is bewitched—Olga says so laughingly ; sho i 3 ready to listen for hours, rapt, it Joanna will only sing. 'I repeat it,' Miss Ventnor says, 'you have bewitched mamma, Miss Wild. She is under the spell of a musical enchantress. What sorcery is in that voice of yours that you steal our hearts through our ears V This _is_ very gracious. Olga goes with the majority, and does real homage to her old toe. The clear, noble face, the quiet, well-bred manner, the siren charm of voice, win golden opinions from her, fastidious as she is. ' I never saw any one so changed as that —thab Joanna,' she says, half-laughingly, half-pebulantly, to Frank; 4 she is a witch, I think. Even I cannob resisb. There is a sorb of charm aboub her—l cannob define it, but perhaps you can see—that compels one's liking in spite of one's self.' •And why in spite of one's self, Mademoiselle Olga ? Why should one try to resist ?' _' Ah ! why ? We were always antagonistic, you know. And so you can sco ib? Now, really you are sharper-sighted than I book you to bo. I thought you saw nothing, bub little Leo's riante face !' ' What?' Livingston cries, consciencestricken ; ' do you know whab you are saying ? Leo ! Whab is Leo bo me ?' ' I do not know what Leo may be to you at this present moment,' says Olga, coolly ; ' bub if things go on, sho will be Mrs Livingston to you before long, Deja ! we go fast, my friend. Your hearb goes oub through your eyes, it seems. And only two months ago he proposed to me! Whab a crushing blow to my vanity ! As for little Leo '

But the door opens, and little Leo comes in with Joanna, and the cousins part — Livingston covered with confusion as with a garment, and Olga's sapphire eyes laughing with malice.

The days go by; Joanna's week has nearly merged into two. They hold her by force, it seems ; Mrs Abbott's pleading eyes, Loo's pleading lips,Geollrey's pleasure in hor prolongod stay. The Ventnors are still here ; Livingston is every day, and all day every day, almost, at the cottage. Dr. Lamar works as hard as ever, spares himself as little as ever, and begins to look really haggard and ill. His mother and Joanna watch him with anxious eyes, and what they Pear comes to pasß. Olga'a hero goes down on his battle-field, bub facing and fighting tha foe until he falls, prostrate and conquered.

And then there are tears, and panic, and terror in the bright little household, and a sudden scattering of the happy circle, And in this hour Joanna comes forward to pay her debt —to pay ib, if need bo, even with her life. She is calm and self-possessed, where all is dismay. She takes Livingston aside, and speaks to him as one having authority.

'Last nighb I spoke bo Geoffrey,' she quiebly says ; ' he felb bhis coming on, and knew he could rely upon me. He wished to be taken to the hospital, bub that I would not hear of. He wished mo to go, but thab was still more impossible. Then we decided what to do, and you must obey. You must leave at once, nnd take Miss Ventnor, and her mother, and Leo with you, to Brightbrook, if you are wise ; this city is not safe. I remain with Mrs Abbotb. A professional nurse is coming, and his friend, Dr. Morgan, will attend. To obey is the only way in which you can help us, and with the help of Heaven, Geoffrey will be restored to us soon.'

' Bub, oh, Joanna !' the young man cries, ' ib may be death tg you !'

She smiles; ib is a smile that goes to his heart.

' If heaven pleases, but I think nob. I am so strong, so well, I have never been ill in my life, and I am nob in the least afraid. Ido n_t think that for mo there is the slightest danger. Bub for your cousin and Leo, there may be much. Take them away, Frank, and do not come here any more.'

'1 will take them away,' he answers: ' but as for not coming horo any more '

He does not finish the sentence ; he turns to go. Then suddenly he comes back, and clasps her closely in his arms, and kisses her again and again.

1 God bless you, my own darling—my brave, noble, great-hearted Joanna, and make me worthy of you in the time that is to come.'

Olga Ventnor, and her mother, and Leo are taken away. Not willingly, rebelling, and under loud protests and tears on Leo's part, white, mute grief on Olga's. Her heart burns as she thinks of Joanna there in the post of danger by his side, and she here, selfishly safe and free. Bub sho says little. What is there for her to say ?" and maiden pride is very strong in Olga Ventnor. They see that she is pale, that as the days go on she grows thin as a shadow, that she wanders about like a restless spirit, that she listens breathlessly to the report Livingston brings daily, and many times a day. For they have not gone—that would have been too cruelj; and Frank hovers constantly aboub the cottage, intercepts tho doctor, waylays the nurse and tries to catch glimpses of Joanna. There are not many glimpses of Joanna to be had : she literally lives in the sick room ; she shares the nightly vigils, she snatches brief naps in her clothes, while she insists upon his mother taking her proper rest. No Sister of Mercy, no adoring wife, could have watched, nursed, cared for him more devotedly than does she. And the days p asa _. the long, sunny, summer days. Everything that medical skill can do, that tireless nursing can do are done: And they triumph. There comes a day and a night of agonised suspense and waiting and heartbreak—a night in which Olga Ventnor knows in her agony that if Geoffrey Lamar dies, ail that life holds of joy for her will die, too—a night in which Leo weeps, and Livingston roams restlessly, and Joanna watches, and waits, and prays. And as

day dawns, and the firsb glances of sunshine pierce the darkened sick-room, she come out, white as a spirit, wasted, wan, bub oh Iso bhankful^-oh !so glad—oh !so unspeakably blessed. Frank Livingsbon sbarbs up and comes forward, pale, too, and worn, and thin. He does not' speak-his eyes speak for him. 'Do not come near,' Joanna says, remembering, even in bhab supreme hour, prudence. «Go home and tell them all to bless God for us. Geoffrey will live.' He goes and tells his glad news. Mrs Ventnor and Leo cry with joy, and are full of out-spoken thanksgiving, but Olga is silent. And presently she ; rises, feeling giddy and fainb, and goes bo her room, and tails on her knees by bhe bed, and there remains, bowed, speechless, motionless, a long, long time. And whether it is for Geoffrey she is praying, or—Joanna—she can never tell,