HER MARTYRDOM

Auckland Star, Volume XXVIII, Issue 226, 29 September 1897, Page 6

HER MARTYRDOM

[:. BY BERTHA M. CLAY.

atrthor of "Beyond Pardon," "The Duke's Secret," "A True Magdalen," "Dora Thome," etc., etc.

■*'' CHAPTER XLV. Brantome Hall was neither ancient nor even altogether modern; it was simply a large, pleasant, old-fash-ioned, rambling house, with great, well lighted, lofty rooms. A broad river wound its way close by, and in the distance was the long* line of the sea. By the banks of the Rinn at Brantome was Angela's favourite walk. She had been three weeks at the Hall, and day after day she had scanned the "Times," but Die longed-for advertisement had not appeared. It had been agreed between Jane Felspar and Angela that they should not write to each other unless there was some great need. Jane, not wishing to alarm the young girl,did not inform her of Lady Laura's illness, which was tedious but not dangerous; and Angela wondered much whether they had gone up to town, and, if so, why her mother had not sent for the lawyer. It seemed to her so all-important that the will should be destroyed that she could not .understand an hour's delay. Tbe three weeks had not been unpleasant ones. There was the sense of freedom from a terrible danger, from an intolerable fear, from the hideous daily contact with a man whose soul was steeped in wickedness, from the hourly pain of seeing her mother's sufferings. Until she was at Brantome and iv perfect safety, she did not fully realise how much she had suffered or how much she had feared. In the long hours that passed she had time to think and reflect, to remember with a shudder how near she had been to death, to remember with horror how for months past the dark shadow* of danger had followed her. She was so young* and so innocent, so completely inexperienced in the ways of the world, so unversed in its iniquities and crimes, that the horror of what she knew never left her. "When she slept, it was to dream that she was falling through the treacherous ice, or that she was in the boat on the lake, and the water risingfast around her. At other times she saw the deadly poison dropped, very slowly into the glass and afterwards the captain's terrified face turned toward her. After al'ew days of rest, these dreams and fancies faded in some degree; but the change of scene did not entirely eradicate them. Angela had been most kindly received by the housekeeper, Mrs Bowen, as a friend of her cousin's who required rest and wished to be alone as much as possible. Mrs Bowen's practiced eye detected the fact that Angela was a lady, and, although she marsvelled just a little how such a one could be tbe friend of Jane Felspar, she was a sensible woman, and did not allow her curiosity to interfere with her desire to please her cousin Jane. She saw there was some mystery, but as it did not concern her in any way she was well content to leave it alone. Her mistress bad given her permission to have a friend to stay with her when she wished, and she was but taking advantage of her offer. The old housekeeper set apart for Angela's use a charming little room overlooking the greensward that led down to the river—a room in which the shadows of green boughs made a rich tracery on the floor and walls, a room filled'with fiowers,and the hangings of which were pale sea-green and gold. A few pictures in gilt frames, some books, a piano, a couple of easy chairs, two large windows that opened on the grass, helped to make the apartment, if not luxurious, at least most comfortable. "This room, Miss Charles, is called the green room," the housekeeper explained. "Even when the family are at home it is seldom used, and I thought you would be more comfortable here than in the larger rooms. You can use it just as you will, and your sleeping room is the one above it. My cousin informed me that you wished to be alone as much as possible." "You are very good to me, said 'Angela, gratefully. Angela took possession of the green room and made herself as happy as possible. At her will she wandered over the great rooms of the house; but she took especial delight in the library, which contained many rare books'. .But for the books her life would have been a lonely one. The servants never intruded upon her. Mrs Bowen came at rare intervals, but never remained long*. Angela had therefore had plenty of time in which to think ot all that had happened and conjecture what the future whs likely to bring*. She had decided upon one thing: .Nothing should ever induce her, even if a new will were made to live under the same * roof with the captain. "Nor shall my msther either," she paid to herself." But as to how she could manage this she could form no idea. "I am alone in the darkness," She said, "but light will come." She little dreamed how or in what way. One morning Mrs Bowen broke in upon her solitude. "Miss Charles," said she, "I am goip".* through the picture gallery this, morning. Would you like to see it? There are some very fine pictures in it; but most of the collection is modern. There are few works of the old masters. *T should like very much to inspect it," replied Angela. •'Then come with me now, please." " What a fine, gallery ! " exclaimed Angela, as she and Mrs Bowen reached the long, lofty, well-lighted room. "This was the late Lord Arleigh," said the housekeeper, drawing near to a large portrait, and Angela found herself looking* at a kindly, gentle fa<--e. not handsome, but with a touch of melancholy in its expression. "I like that face," remarked Angela. "It is a good one." "Yes, "but melancholy," said Mrs Bower- "The shadow* of an early depth was always on the earl's face. Tbii is Lady- Arleigh," added the ■ housekeeper, pointing to the portrait \ of v. lady. "My lady is not beautiful," observed Mrs Bowen, "but she is ,very distinguished looking." "It is certainly a striking face,"

agreed Angela, and then they passed on. The housekeeper had examined the hangings of the windows, and while she did so she left Angela to wander at will. All the best modern artists were well represeted—Millais and Otiless, Alma Tadema, Leighton, Prinseps and others. Presently her attention was attracted by a large painting- hanging in an alcove, and she stood before it, looking at it in silence. It was the portrait of a handsome jroung man ; and why it impressed her so much was because the face resembled that of her own father. The proud, princely head was covered with clusters of golden hair, and the slight moustache, hiding a mouth that was beautiful as a woman's, was of a dark hue. Angela stood looking at the picture with delight. "Mrs Bowen," she asked at last, "whose portrait is that.* The housekeeper came up to her with a smile on he** live, as though she were wo!l pleased to answer the question. "That is the present earl; he is away with my lady in Italy." "The present earl," echoed Angela. She was about to remark that he resembled her father very much, but she refrained. "What is his name?" she asked. "Glenaryon Arleigh," was the reply "but my lady and Lady Maud always call him Glen." "I like the name," she said, slowly. "And he is in Italy, Mrs Bowen?" "Yes, miss, they are all there; and I am afraid they will stay for some time longer yet." Angela thought to herself that it was not at all a misfortune; for if the family had been at home, she could not have sought refuge at Brantome Hall. After that morning she went often to the picture gallery. The great attraction of the place was the portrait in which she saw some slight resemblance to her father. She liked to stand before it, to gaze at it and recall the beloved face. The resemblance was great in the laughing blue eyes and the contour of the browShe never thought of the original; the picture had a fascination for her because it reminded her of her father None the less, the. face of Glenarvon, Lord Arleigh, stole into Angela's heart and made part of her dreams, though without any reference to the young lord himself. (To be continued.)