Gladys' Wedding Day

Auckland Star, Volume XXXIII, Issue 16, 20 January 1902, Page 6

Gladys' Wedding Day

By BERTHA M. CLAY, AutHOT of "True to Her First Love," "A Bitter Atonement," "Thrown on the W&rid," "The Lost liady of Haddon," etc, etc.

CHAPTER IX.

HQW THE REVENGE KEPT.

Braington was a pretty village in the Midlands, and it was very proud of its surroundings. The scenery was beautiful; indeed, nothing for many miles around could be found equal to it. Lovely, undulating fields, separated by trim hedges, babbling brooks, patches of woodlands, white cottages here and there, and standing on commanding- heights, the three show places of the neighbourhood —the Cedars, occupied by Sir Simon Letheridge; Dashwood Lodge, the property of Major Dorman; and Brkirwood Grange, residence of Lord Featherstone were in that neighbourhood. All three were handsome places, the ideal of those homes which have been handed down from father to son since the Conquest.

But Briarwood Grange was exceptionally lovely. It was perched on the summit of a hill, the slopes of which were, for a hundred yards or more on every side, smooth and undulating lawn, unbroken save by a few beds of flowers. Then came some delightful shrubberies, and a lovely lake whereon sailed stately swans, swimming now in the brilliant sunlight, and now beneath the shade of some stately oaks. Four years had passed since the day when Lawrence Weyville had visited the solicitors, Edwin & Mortimer, and had sworn he would have his revenge. Despite the advertisement whicn Lawrence Weyville and others had seen in the "Times," nothing more Jiad been heard of Colin Ramsey, and in the Featherstone household it had never been heard of. On the night on which we introduce Briarwood Grange to our readers two ladies were dressing for the county ball. The one was Gladys, the other Mrs. Howard Amberworth, sister of Athol, Lord Featherstone.

The years which had passed had in no way detracted from the beauty of Gladys. She had developed from a lovely girl into a splendid woman, ripened, matured both in form and in grace, her bright eyes glowing with a dovelike, wistful light, though there was a sadness atnd a depression in her manner which made people wonder. They had only reached England two days before,, just in time for the county ball. ; , In four days Gladys would be twen-ty-one —and then? "It seems so strange to be here again, in dear old England," she said, as she gave a finishing touch to the roses in her bosom. "The past appears a dream—at least, that part of it which I have spent abroad."

"Let us hope, dear," said Mrs. Amberworth, a good-nat Tired, 'fussy little woman of about fo-rty, "that the past will always remain a dream in your mind. When I think of that horrid Lawrence Weyville, I thank heaven you escaped him by trusting to Atho'l. I am sure you will never regret it." Gladys sighed so deeply that the roses in her bosom trembled ly"No, I do not suppose I shall ever regret that," she said, "though life has for me many other regrets. Heighho! She must be a happy girl who has none!" Mrs. Amberworth smiled. "You are very sentimental to-night, Gladys," she said. "I only hope that at the ball you will cast aside all vain memories, and give your brightest glances to dear Athol! Poor old patient boy! lam sure he deserves them!" "Yes, he deserves them; he has been very good to me," said Gladys. "He shall have no reason to complain of me!" When Gladys and her chaperon, Mrs. Amberworth, entered the brilliant assembly room at Braington a buzz of admiration arose from the co-ipany. There was little doubt in the minds of anyone there as to who would be the belle of the ball. Who had such dove-like eyes? Who had such a perfect figure? Who had such lithe grace and such a sweet smile? And yet—who had such a weary, aching heart under so fair and exquisite a bosom? She had scarcely reached her seat near the entrance to the big- controversy, from which came the scent of many and delicious flowers, when a tall and stately figure approached her.

Athol, Lord Featherstone. The four years since that eventful night before the wedding had passed lightly over his brow, so much so, indeed, that he looked younger even than on that day when he had spoken of liis hopeless love at tlie g-ate of Heathcotf; Lodge. "Gladys!" he said, as he held out his hand to press her shyly-given one; and then he paused, for all the gladness of his. heart seemed to have expressed itself in the one word. Her eyes raised to his appeared dewy with unshed tears, her lips were parted, yet gave no sound; the roses on her breast fluttered.

He sat down beside her, almost forgetting where they were. "Have you no word of welcome for me, darling—darling?" he murmured. "Oh, Gladys, in four days to be my wife! Do not let me think you regret it, after all!" In four days! What did it mean? Were they not married, then? She looked at him bravely—trustfully. "No, Athol." she said, "I regret nothing I do for you. You have been

too noble, too kind, to permit of that." Kind words, truly! But' he recognised the ring of pain in the voice. "And yet, Gladys, one word of real love would be more worth to me than all else, and that I never have," he said. "Oh, darling, when shall I win your heart?" She smiled with . well-assumed g-aiety. "Athol," she said, "your sister Harriette told me to-night that I was getting quite sentimental; don't you be the same! Ah, they are playing that darling waltz I love so much! Come, you are my partner now, you know!"

"For life —forever, I hope!" he murmured, as he passed his arm.around her waist. And the downcast eyes and blushing- cheeks seemed to give promise that his heart's greatest wish would be realised. The dance over, he led her into the conservatory, and sat down by her side, his eyes glowing with admiration. "You have grown more beautiful than ever, darling!" he cried, in a voice trembling with its fondness. "I can scarcely believe that you are to be mine, all mine, in four days!" A deep blush suffused the cheeks of the young girl. But she did not raise her eyes or speak. "Are you sorry, dear?" he said, with a tinge of disappointment in his Toice. She roused herself by an effort. Her thoughts were far away in the past. She was thinking of that other wedding five years ago when she had pledged her faith to Colin Ramsey. She was then hut a girl, a child of sixteen, yet her brief joy lingered fresh in her mind. And with it mingled another feeling; a sad regret that circumstances ha°d compelled her to part with her boy, her Gabriel, now a bright-eyed lad of four. She knew he was well. She had contrived never to be a month without news of him. Her mother had seen him and been loud in his praises. His future was assured by the kindness of Norris and Sir George Amwell, to whom the secret had been imparted. But this had been little more than cold comfort for her.. She longed to clasp him in her arms, to smother him with kisses, to listen to his infant prattle, and gaze into the eyes which they said were so like Colin's. In vain were these regrets. She knew the stern resolve of her future husband. Never, he had sworn, for all the love in the world, would he marry a widow! And the die was cast irrevocably now. He would never forgive four long years of deceit. "Sorry?" she answered, raising her eyes to his; "how can I be sorry when you have been so noble, so kind?" He took her hand. "And you have not yet, four days before our wedding day," he said, "learned a little of the lesson of love?" Love! S.he knew that that was over for her. Gone, buried fathoms deep beneath .the cruel waves that had robbed her of her Colin. "Athol," she said, "I respect and esteem you. There is no other man in the whole world I would have trusted or given myself to. But I have never deceived you. My love seems lost. I fear it can never be revived." He looked at her passionately. She was indeed an imaige of beauty: her rounded cheeks tinged with slight blushes, her eyes large, wistful, limpid, her ruby lips full and tempting, her bright hair kissing her dimpled, creamy shoulders. Oh! what would he have given for the power to animate this lifeless statue, to rouse the lovelight in those pansy eyes, to set that heart beating wildly to love's own sweet music!

"I shall rouse that love again," he said, in a tremulous whisper; "it shall be the task and duty of m;* life. Oh, heavens! what Is the matter? My darling, my own, what is it?" For Gladys had suddenly risen, her eyes distended, her bosom heaving, her form seeming to dilate, and her gaze seeming to be fixed upon something far beyond the present. Only for a moment had she stood thus, her parted lips paling; then, with a dull cry of pain, she had swayed and fallen into her lover's arms in a dead faint. A waiter was passing swiftly as this happened, and Lord Featherstone eagerly called him, bidding him bring some wine, and then find Mrs Howard Amberworth. But it was not the waiter who returned with the restoratives. It w ras one whom —even after all these years—the earl knew well, despite the havoc which dissipation and evil passion had wrought upon his features. (To be continued.)