A WOMAN'S HEART

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 159, 7 July 1899, Page 6

A WOMAN'S HEART

By MRS EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS.

CHAPTER XI

Somehow the exquisite sense of peace, of rest, of safety, that had made itself manifest to Justina ever since she had come to Croome Hall, forming unconsciously a kind of happiness in the midst of her great unhappiness, slipped away from her a little after her first meeting with Learn (Creatorex.

She felt assured, even in those few short moments that they had been together, that Miss Greatores did not approve of her presence under Sir Basil's roof. Always of a most delicate and highly sensitive nature, Justina had grown more alive than ever to the power of outside influences since Rupert's terrible dishonour and her own not less terrible illness had fallen upon her. Molly and her brother had done all that love and intensest sympathy could do to shield the girl from the harsh contact of thoughts and ideas that sprang from her own pride, without putting their care into definite words. They had both acted in a way to reinstate, if possible, the poor young creature in the place that, through pain and poverty and sorest sorrow, she had held so beautifully, and for a time their efforts had been successful.

Shielded at every turn by this most srentle affection, wrapped about in a mantle of earnest sympathy, Justina's proud angmish had been lulled, not into oblivion, but into a state of semi-resignation and calmness. At the first contact, however, with the outer world—the world that lay so close beyond her new protection — this calmness was broken.

All the miserable mental sufferingwas revived, the torture of ahamed pride, the desolation of heart, the bitterness of humiliation. Learn's cold hauteur and most indifferent bearing toward Mrs Seaton had bee a the means of undoing nearly all that Molly Fothergill and her brother had worked so hard to do.

When she was alone in her room after that first meeting with Miss Greatorex, Justina shivered to herself: it was as though the casement had been opened suddenly and a blast of icy, winter wind had entered suddenly into the soft, warm, tender atmosphere within. Justina's thoughts had not beenj very clear or strongly defined since her" illness. She knew that work and duty lay close to her hand, so soon i as she was able to start them, but j she had been not only content, but j eager, as has before been stated, to j give herself every chance to husband j her feeble strength to the utmost be-j fore starting out again on the hard: road of labour, before commencing j the herculean task, which was her one keenest motive for desiring to; live on in the world that had treated j her so harshly. [ Now, although the desire for her! strength was no less keen, the girl felt a sudden eagerness spring up j within her to put an end to this' time of rest and reliance on others, to put an end to the hours of peace-: ful convalescence, and to begin her long, hard journey without losing another week, another day. In Learn's cold, unsympathetic manner. .Justina read the message that the world would have to give to one placed as she was placed. Though the fault was none of hers, she would have to be judged, nevertheless, by the humiliation "and sorrow of her husband's dishonour; she had no right to dwell among those happier beings to whom such bitter words as shame and dishonour were absolutely unknown. Her place was not with them; she must, be satisfied to dwell for ever in the shadow land that belonged to the tribe of false, worthless souls—a land peopled by those whose qualifications were their crimes. More especially (or so at least did it seem to ; Justina's agitated mind) had she no right to come into such a small, peaceful place as this was, dragging the cloud of her miserable position over the happy innocent sunshine, and spoiling the picture by the mere fact of her presence in it. She sat crouched on the hearthrug before the fire in the dainty, cozyroom that Molly had had prepared for her. In another half - hour the dinner-gong would sound, and she would have to descend the stairs to join Sir Basil and his sister in the big, old hall. Justina felt a longing not to leave her room to-night; she knew she could very easily make the excuse of fatigue or weakness, if she chose; but she knew also that by so doing she would give her two good friends a realiy troubled moment, and to spare them all further trouble, and repay them, if possible, ' a little of the goodness they had i lavished on her, being the girl's fervent and ever-present prayer, she 1 naturally refused to allow herself to accept this means of absenting herself from dinner.

Yet Justina had much need of solitude and self-communion. Her determination was speedily fixed; without an hour's delay, if possible, she must sever herself from her new - found yet dearly cherished friends and start out anew on her road of seli-sacrifice and toil. It was the method of bringing this about that was distressing her. Whatever might come to herself she must not let any action of hers hurt or vex Basil and his sister.

Their goodness to her was so indescribable, no matter at what a cost to her pride, she must study them before she studied herself.

Opposition in its strongest shape would be forthcoming1, she knew right ■well. Molly had already given out divers hints of the bent on which her mind was set where Justina was concerned. Whatever might happen beyond in - the more remote future, it was more than evident to our heroine that Miss Fothergill intended to keep her at Croome Hall for many months to come; therefore to take any step against the fulfilment of such a wish would be, Justina felt assured, nothing- less than a bitter disappointment to her sweet-hearted friend and hostess.

'It will be very hard,' Justina said to herself, with a sigh that came from j the truest foundation of her heart, j 'hard to have to hurt or vex you, Mol-; ly dear, hard to give a moment's pain , to you and your brother, but oh! howmuch harder for myself!'—she clasped her two thin hands together, and gazed slowly about her, great tears welling up into her splendid blue eyes— 'to go away from all this care and love, all this tenderness of thought, this most exquisite sympathy. I don't know how I shall do it. It will seem like tearing out my very heart of hearts, and yet there is. no help. There is no other way. My place is not here. The debt of Basil Fothergill's goodness to me is already far, far too deep. I must not let it grow . greater. 1 must go and go soon.' The door behind her opened briskly i after an abrupt and gay little knock . on the panel. 'Justina, you must make yourself very smart, we have a visitor. Basil has just come home and told me he met Lord Dunchester in the village, and at once invited him to come and dine with us. So like my darling j Basil," Molly said, reflectively, as she ; approached the fireside and the pretty j young figure crouched up on the hearthrug: 'he always does things in a hurry and never gives a thought to ■ the eommisariat. However, fortunate-; ly, my dear old cookie is up to all his ■ ways, and she has promised to do the j best she can for us in an emergency, i What is the matter ?' queried Miss ] Fothergill quickly, as she noticed that Justina gave a little . shiver as she rose from the hearthrug; 'not taken cold, Justina, I hope'?' 'No, no, dear. It was nothing. I did not know what I was doing. I sat there so long I fell into a sort of day dream, and my limbs were cramped, that is all. Must I be very smart, Molly? You know my most magnificent wardrobe. Wha-t shall I wear?' 'That pretty white cloth gown that you embroidered yourself so beautifully. I have an enormous admiration for that frock, Justina, and more still for you when you are in it. I can- j not think how on earth you found time > to work so much with your needle I when you had such a quantity of writ- | ing all the time. Basil has made me j positively shudder when he has told ! me the amount of literary work you j managed to get through in one year!' j While Molly was chattering away \ she had opened a splendid old 'armorie' j and brought out the gown in question, j Justina's modest belongings had all j been brought away from the little j lodging-house in Bayswater. Molly j had packed everything with her own j hands, marvelling at the scrupulous! neatness, and the prettiness of the t girl's possessions. j "It is positively charming!' she declared, now. 'Justina, where did you j get this stuff? I have never seen any- | thing exactly like it; it has a foreign ! air.? 'It was a present years ago from my I Aunt Margaret,' Justina answered. I She was trying and had succeeded in j conquering the trouble and agitation i that oppressed her so heavily a few | moments before. The only present, jin fact, I have ever received from her, i although she is my g-odmother as well ;03 my aunt. I believe this stuff is i som-e Eastern fabric. It is so finjs and ! yet so heavy. It was a lovely material I for working- upon. ■ I am very fond of embroidery, it always helps me in my thoughts, and wag a rest at the same ! time. I never can think out anything1 ' well when I am idle—and what a long j time I have been, idle now, Molly dear! I tremble when I think of it.' "Rubbish!' was Miss FothergilTs energetic reply. 'You are not to think of j anything like this. You are just to grow strong and fat, and be a credit to my nursing and my cook's beef-tea. Now I am going to help you; I know you would rather have me than my maid. Oh! never mind about me, I shall dress in a couple of jiffies. You are much more important; sit down at once and let me do your hair in my own favourite fashion. What splendid hair it is, to be sure, and what a fight I had to save it from the scissors when you were ill!—you don't know what you owe me, my dear Mrs Seaion!' Justina's eyes filled suddenly with tears. She turned and laid her lips on Molly's hand. 'Ah, I do not, indeed. I do not, indeed,' she said, with passionate earnestness. Molly rapped her softly with the hair brash she had taken up. 'Now, Justina, you are disobeying orders,' she cried, though her own eyes were suddenly dimmed with tears ' and her voice was not quite steady. 'Please sit perfectly still -while I do your hair, unless you prefer to go down all askew- and too ugly for anything. Thank goodness dinner is put off for half an hour, so we have plenty of time to make ourselves beautiful.' 'Tell me something- about Lord Dunehester, Molly.' 'There is really nothing to tell.' Molly's voice and manner were abstracted. She was intent on coiling the luxuriant hair into a large and picturesque knob at the back of Justina's lovely head. ! 'Oh, but there must be something, I Molly. Is he nice or nasty, young or old, tall or short, thin or fat, nandsome or ugly?' 'He is—Oh, Justina, keep your head quite still. This is going- to be absolutely heavenly.' Justina bent her head obediently and for the space of two minutes | there was no sound, while Molly planted hairpins dexterously and carefully into the luxuriant mass. * She gave a little jump of delight! when the last pin was fixed. [ 'You are a dream, Justina. There is j no one to compare to you. Just take' the hand-glass and look at yourself and then tell me if you don't think you are the most beautiful creature in ! the whole wide world.' At this Justina had to langh as well as blush. 'I am a truthful person/ she made answer, gladly accepting- Molly's gaymanner for the moment, and postpon- i j ing the duty which she knew would bring a definite g-loom upon that gaiety; therefore, as I am truthful I j won't look at myself in case I should |be obliged to contradict you. Now, I ! you must run away Molly. Look! | There is scarcely twenty min- | utes left and you have to dress your-! ! self. You have told me nothing about j LoTd Dunchester, so I suppose I shall « have to make facts for myself.' Molly paused to give a final pat here and there to her handiwork. Her mo- '• j bile face was in the shadow, so that I Justina could not read its expression j very well.

'Oh, he is .iust an ordinary man to look at—neither handsome nor ugly, short nor tall, thin nor fat. As to being- nice—well, I suppose he is nice in some ways, but I am afraid his main quality consists in beingr nasty, not to other people, but to himself. In other words, Justina, he is a foolish

young man, and he has demonstrated most successfully that a fool and his money are soon put apart. Basil is rather fond of him, however, and I must confess I don't dislike him either. He is so simple and has such a good heart. Now, au revcir, my beautiful friend. We will meet anon in a quarter of an hour.' Justina's smile lingered a little after Molly had scampered away. She put on the white cloth gown that, in common with all her other dresses, had been cut and fashioned altogether by her own slender fingers, and she hung round her throat the old heart-shaped locket and other quaint charms attatehed to the thick cabled chain that had been wont to decorate her dead father's waistcoat at all times and seasons. This was her solitary ornament, her one and only possession, and this would not have remained to her so long" had it happened to find favour in Eupert Seaton's eyes; bus being- old-fashioned dnd of no value whatsoever Justina had been able to keep it in her own hands, and very dearly did she prize it —this remembrance of one who was all the world to her. Sir Basil was standing alone by the big fire in the hall when Justina came slowly down the broad staircase. The man's pulse thrilled unconsciously as he looked at her most sweet, most lovely form. It was a joy not to be put into words to see this fair young creature, so beautiful, yet so desolate, safely sheltered and housed under his roof. Molly's love for Justina was another source of joy to him, not but that he had ever doubted but that this love would spring up quickly and strongiy between the two. Still it was in itself a link to bind Justina to them, a link that might stand out before all the world, be acknowledged by every living soul, a link that could never have been had his love, and his alone, stood beside Justina at this crisis. His eyes eagerly noticed the slight improvement in the slender weakened frame. In those past days when Justina had lain trembling on the very brink of eternity, Basil Fothergill had passed through a time of such suffering as he had not known before it would or could have been possible for him to suffer. There were many grey hairs streaked among the brown on his head that had their origin in the anguish and dread of those moments. He had scarcely allowed himself to breathe freely or hopefully until the very last danger had been passed and the girl had been carried away from that small humble lodging safe in Molly's care, and growing slowly but surely stronger each day. Like his sister, Basil had sketched out a future for Justina, to be spent, for a long- time a£ least, beneath his roof. Yet Basil had never allowed his hope to fix itself into a certainty, for he knew the girl well, and he was convinced that though so gentle and so acquiescent now to all that was done to her and for her, the moment would come, and that not far distant, when she would turn again to the path she had trodden so valiantly in the past, and take up the burden of her life as it was before her illness. The name of Rupert Seaton had never been mentioned between them since that bygone morning- when, ill and oppressed beyond all measure by shame and misery, the girl hart sought his help, anct spoke of her husband's dishonour. :■■■•■ All that Basil knew definitely was that the cheque had been met at his bank, and a thousand pounds had been paid out from his account into the unscrupulous hands of Eupert Seaton. What had followed after he had left Justina at her poor home that mornj ing, Basil had no direct clue to; when, in answer to that urgent telegram Molly had sent, he appeared at the lodgings at Bayswater, it was to find Justina stricken down by illness, and Seaton- gone, no one could exactly tell him where, except the landlady, who had some incoherent story about a departure to America. Sir Basil had taken no steps to follow up the track of Rupert Seaton; it was only too evident to him. "that the man had deserted his wife deliberately, and probably with every determination to remain away for the rest of his life. So far as the question of a separation between the girl and the scoundrel she had so unfortunately married was concerned, Basil co ■ not but rejoice that it had come to pass, especially since he felt assured that duty alone, and not affection, would have held Justina to remain by her hus- ! band's aide; but he was not blind to the fact that, however much relief might come from Eupert Seaton's absence, the burden of the shame that had fallen on the young wife's shoulders would grow heavier and weightier with the additional load of ingratitude and desertion added to the other humiliation she had to bear. He advanced to meet her now with a smile. Dntil Justina spoke the word that should break the long silence that had rested between them touching on her real position, he would not advance the subject by so much as a | hint or a glance. He was only too content to know that for the present at least she allowed him the happiness of helping to aid her and guard her from the rough elements of the life that stretched beyond and about her outside the precincts of his home. (To be Continued.)