STELLA'S FORTUNE; OR, LOVE, THE CONQUEROR

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVII, Issue 73, 26 March 1906, Page 6

STELLA'S FORTUNE; OR, LOVE, THE CONQUEROR

By CHARLES GARVICE, Anther of " Woven on Fate's Loom," " Claire," " Elaine," " A Woman's Soul," "A Wasted Love," etc.

CHAPTER XXin. IN BUDDING SPRINGTIME. He buys- an empty casket from ■which The jewels rare are rifled.. who takes A woman's baud without her heart. The snow had gone. Winter had given place to spring. In place of hoar frost and east winds soft dews spangled mc fields with diamonds and gentle breezes wared the buds and blossoms. Town was full; the country was deserted. Down at Heavithorne both the Hut and the Vale were shut up and silent, land the deer rambled fearlessly around I each, and couched upon the paths which Louis Felton and his love Stella, who had driven him from her presence, had walked side by side and heart to heart. That same Stella —the same, and yet not the same if internal change 'counts for anything —was in London, a.uriu the belle of society, and again pledged to marry the wealthy and powerful Sir xiichard Wildfang , ! Changed indeed was Stella! Those who had in tne previous season deemed her proud now declared that her hauteur was unbearable, and Mrs. Newton, the wily mother who had succeeded in selling her daughter to the best ad- ! vantage, was not exceptecl from the j quiet, unexpressed scorn with which the beautiful girl seemed to regard men and women alike. With serupuious consistency Stella went through her round of duty, neglecting nothing and pleading no ■weariness. Balls, concerts, picture galleries, she was present at all, always under the guardianship and in the possession of Sir Richard Wildfang. So little was her face the...dcx of her feelings that Sir Richard himself, as acute a reader of faces as any on the habitable globe, was puzzled and perplexed by it. Had she forgotten that moonlight j night when he had thwarted the foolish I idiot of a sculptor? —for so Sir Richard j always designated Louis Felton in his J thoughts—or did she still remember and cherish a secret , regret and remorse? If Sir Richard couid not decipher the calm, self-possessed face of his brideelect all the rest of the world must of ) necessity fail. As for Sir Richard himself, he was calmer, more placidly self-satisfied than ever. Around him, in the commercial world, well-known firms and houses once of high repute tottered and fell, but the house of Wildfang and Co. stood unshaken, looking down like a colossus ov a sphinx at the crumbling ruins of fair fame and high names which were strewn at its feet. The world looked on and bowed down to his wisdom and sagacity with more admiring suppleness than ever, and new companies foiled, schemed, and diplomatized to obtain his name upon their prospectuses. Perhaps Mr. Dewlap, the confidential manager, could have undeceived the world, and stripped the feathers from J the golden owl, but Mr. Dewlap was the j discreetest of his class and looked on with closed lips and meditative eyes. while he watched the world fall down at the feet of his master and worship. There were some keen-sighted men who said that the immense weight of business which Sir Richard's shoulders supported was telling upon him: that his face had at times a slightly weary and over-watchful expression, and that the smile, which, ever as of old, sat upon his face was as a sunbeam upon ice on a cold January morning, was a trifle. a trifle only, overstrained. ''But what wonder if it should be so?" they exclaimed in chorus, and the little signs of thought only added to his popularity. No man is a hero to his valet, and perhaps Sir Richard'? could, like Dewlap, have played the. part of iconoclast. He might have told of sleepless nights, of measured pacings across the luxurious bedchamber, of startings from sleep and mutterings of a woman's name—Lucy! — of the violent groans with which his master—half asleep—greeted his appearance one morning, and the wild words: "Take the child away!" But the valet was as discreet as Mr. Dewlap, took his wages, dressed his master to perfection, and—most valuable service of all—held his tongue. And Louis Felton—where was he? Ask it of the wilds of Corsica, the plains of Nevada, of any of the out of the way places of the uncivilised globe, and they could answer better thaji the fashionable world of London, which knew him not when he was in its midst, and knew not whither he had gone now. that he had departed. The man Stephen Hargrave had also disappeared. There was a report in Heavithorne that a face and form like his had been seen passing through the village on a cold, sleety night; but the report was only partially credited, and the majority of the good, simple folks firmly believed that he had delivered himself up to the malignant power to whom, in pursuance of a longstanding treat}", he was due: and they would have let him slip from their memory even more quickly had his name not been useful in scaring disobedient children. To tell the. wilful child in Heavithorne that Stephen Hargrave was corning to eat him if he did not reform, produced I a marked improvement in his behaviour. So the spring wore on to summer, and one morning Mrs. Newton, entering the breakfast-room, which was flooded with the June sunlight, sighed mentally, and, glancing at Stella, who sat toying with a scrap of toast too small to satisfy the hunger of a London sparrow, said: "The heat is unendurable, already; what will it be in another month's time? I really think we'd better go down to the Vale."' Stella looked up, and across her face there flashed a sharp spasm of pain, just such a fleeting look as touches the iface of a man who endured a blow upon an unheeled wound. j 'To the Vale?" she said, listlessly re- ! lapsing into her old attitude of meditation. "Yes: have you any objections to urge? You generally have; or, if you haven't, you look as if you had/ "I have no objection. I do not wish to go, but that is not an objection tangible enough £o .prevent bb," aud Stella,

in calmly measured tones of the most profound indifference. "Exactly," retorted Mrs. Newton, with greater irritation, and infusion of complaint in her tone. "That is what I complain of. You appear to care for nothing. You go here and you go there as if you had no life in you, no choice in the matter. When Richard " j Mrs. Newton always spoke of Sir as "Richard," familiarly and proudly. ! Stella, scarcely ever mentioned his name, but if she did she always gave his title. ' "When Sir Richard proposed that we should go to Normandy, and actually promised to join us for a little while if he conld, yon appeared as insensible of his kindness as if h e had not suggested the movement." "I am very sorry," said Stella. "I did not , object to go to Normandy." "No, but you looked so indifferent that Richard imiwdiately recommended us to remain in town. I am sure you might show some irtcrest in—in—matters when ho is jo extremely —so ridiculously —kind." '•Sir Richard is very kind,"' said Stella. (coldly, "and I am always rcadyfto ac--1 cede to any request of his or yours, I mamma. If you wish mc to -go down J to the Vale r will go—willingly.' , i "And cheerfully , .' , added Mrs Newton, ! with an ironical toss of her head. I •"Stella. I do not know what has Vome j to you. I think it is wicked when one j has been so fortunate —so wonderfully j fortunate, I may say —as you have been, to go about as if you were repining at your lot. You have beeu fortunate, too. r It is my great consolation to think that I have so managed to secure your happiness, and you ought to be grateful. It was all my management.' , "Not altogether," said Steila, with a smile at once strange and bitter. "Well, I don t know howmuch you conduced to the result,' , said Mrs Newton. "If it had not been for mc, a sensible, affectionate parent, you might"—-and she shuddered with ineffable contempt and horror —"have been married or engaged to some poverty-stricken young man, or one of these new men that one meets in society, artists and authors and that sort of people, dreadfully ill brrd and fearfully poor. Why, look at that sculptor man—that Louis Felton It was the first time Louis' name had been mentioned in Stella's hearing since that never-to-be-forgotten night. She arose, calm still, hut fearfully pale, and moved toward the door, saying, without looking around: "I will get ready to go with you to Madam Cerise, mamma." And so left the room before the cruel, contemptuous sentence could be finished. As she. re-entered, dressed for the drive, a footman announced Sir Richard. Mrs Newton advanced, all smiles and gushing welcome. "My dear Richard!" she exclaimed, extending her hand with empressement, "how good of you to look in upon us so early, and you so busy too! Stella will bp delighted; she lias gone upstairs to get ready for a drive. Oh, here she is!" slip continued, as Stella, looking anything but "so delighted," came forward. Sir Richard bent over her extended hand, and pressed his lips to it—the warmest caress he had ever dared to bestow. "I shall not keep you, , ' he said. "You are quite right in getting out early before the heat of noon. I came to ask you if I could do anything for you at Heavithorne." •■'Are you going down there?" asked Mrs Newton. Stella had not spoken. "Yes," he said. "I am going down to the Box to-morrow for some papers 1 left there, and shall remain all night; so that if I can be of any service " "No—o, thank you, dear Richard," said Mrs Newton. "I don't think there is anything you can do for us. is there Stella?" "Nothing for me, - ' said Stella, quietly. She had taken her seat at a little distance, and was sitting, looking out of the window, lost in thought. "Then I will go," said Sir Richard. And he went toward the window with his hand outstretched. Mrs Newton turned to go out of the room, not to be in the way. as she would have expressed it, but their parting was no more affectionate than their meeting; indeed, it was not their last word, for Sir Richard, as he shook hands with Mrs Newton, said, suddenly, and as if he had barely remembered "it: "By the -way, I have come—like a tax collector—for a short call on business. I want your signature to a small document, my dear madam."' Mrs Newton smiled to express her willingness to sign anything in obedience to Sir Richard's mandate. "What is it, my dear Richard?" "A memorandum—a mere form—authorises Lord Mansion to make a transfer of money to me—a matter of business—dear Stella's. I am afraid you would not understand it if I endeavoured to explain it. I may say, though, that Stella's income will be increased some eight hundred a year by it." And he smiled benevolently and affectionately over at Stella, who had relapsed into her cold impassibility. "How very kind of you!" exclaimed Mrs Newton. I "Dear Richard, you are always so thoughtful. Stella, do you hear what Richard has done for you?" "'No," said Stella, rising, and advancing to the table. Sir Richard explained ] —if the broken statement could be called an explanation —over again, and Stella smiled wearily. She hated the moneyi everj- doit of it. Had it not tempted a once noble heart—for she could not believe it to have been always vile — to dishonour? "Indeed," she said, "it is very kind of you, but I am afraid you have taken more trouble than the results will repay. I have more money than I want. 1 do not see the use of eight hundred a year more." Sir Richard smiled, a 9 much as to say: "Noble, high-minded girl!" But smiled at Mrs Newton more wisely. "Eight hundred is worth having, though, and I shall save this to you by taking charge of the money. I have so many ways of investing it. But I must not keep 7011* I am quite anxiott for

you- to get into the air; so, will you sign?" And he spread out a paper on the table. Mrs Newton took up the pen, and, absolutely without glancing at the matter under which she was about to put her name, was commencing to write when Sir Richard stopped her. "My dear madam," he said, shaking his head with a grave, reproachful smile: "Xever sign a paper without knowing what you attest! Read it, please." Mrs Newton pouted.. "How ridiculous—as if it mattered. Well, I have read it. and I am none the wiser. There!" and she wrote her name. Sir Richard carefully blotted the line, folded the paper, and replaced it in his poeketbook, then, as the ladies were quite ready and the carriage waiting, he placed them in their seats, and waited on the pavement with his hat raised until they had been driven oil. Then he turned, and made, with his quick, firm step, for his own house. Though it was very hot outside, it was deliciously cool'in Sir Richard's private countinghouse, with its green jalousies and improved patent ventilators, and it was with quite a feeling of relief that tho great man seated himself at his table. It was with an expression which signified a more intense satisfaction that !io look fhe paper Mis Xewton had signed from his pocket and spread it out before him; and the expression lastp'd some minutes, indeed, until a knock at the door announced a visitor. It was Mr Dewlap, grave, sedate, and as respectfully solemn as ever. Without a word beyond the respectful "Oood-moniing, >'ir Kiichard/' he laid a paper upon the U\bl«. " Sir liiriiard took it up, considered with calm record for a few minutes, and looked up. with a smile, which Mr. Dewlap so little expected that he started. "It is as bad as that. Dewlap, is it?" he said. "Well, we have done our best, have we not? You have, I am sure, and so have I. It is a great pity, a great nity! We shall drnp' a great many down with us, for we have won confidence during the. panic, and a lot of maney is in our hands. A grent pity! But it is inevitable, and a mere question of time. How long shall we say?" '"A month, two —it all depends. Sir Richard." replied the managing man, with resigned sorrow. It all depends, as you say," said Sir Richard, with a strange smile. "Well, I can depend upon you; you will keep quiet ?" "As the grave,"' said Mr. Dewlap. ''Thank you. , " paid Sir Richard, and— wonderful condescension! —he held out his fine, white hand. Mr. Dewlap, justly sensible of such amiability, grasped it respectfully, and. as Sir Richard gave him a friendly but perfectly calm "good-morning/ , took hi? departure. Scarcely had he gone than a servant 1 announced Lord Mnrmion. '".My dear /el/ow! how do you do?' , exclaimed the young man. "Here I am agnin. on business too, hut for the last time, 1 hope. I have come to wind up the matter, and have brought the cash. You wanted it in good metal and paper, yon know!" And he laughed a trusting, light-hearted laugh in which Sir Richard joined with open-hearted mirth. '"Here is the paper." he said, taking up the memorandum which Mrs. Newton had signed. "It was scarcely necessary, but still with such a large amount every form shou'id be used."' '"Air right,"* said Lord Marmion. "My man is outside —shall I call him?" And without waiting for an answer, he called to someone who was waiting outside the door. A clerk—either a banker's or. a lawyer's—entered and placed a. bag \:pon the table. Sir Richard orTomd him a glass, which he drank with great respect, and then was ushered out. "There's the money, ,, said Lord Marmion; "a great sura, Wildfang!' , '"It is. and a great trust!' , "Yes. but not too great for a. future husband, you know," said his lordship, laughing. And again Sir Richard joined in. Then he seated himself at a table and wrote out an acknowledgment. "Another form," he said, handing it to Lord Marmion. "Take care of it." "I will,"" said his Jordsiiop, "I feel quite, like a business nan. Now give mc a. glass of wine, sinrl I'll trot off. I'm sroing to Richmond —will you come? A little water party." "No, thanks," replied Sir Richard, toying as lie spoke with Uip paper which Mr. Dewlap had left. "I am going down to Heavithorne to-morrow, and 1 must be busy to-night." "Oh, you business men! You are wonderful people," said his lordship, as he drank his sherry. "Well, good-bye. How much do you think Stella will get a year by this transaction?" "About eight hundred pounds—more or less," said Sir Richard, as he shook hand ,l . Then, with another geniafl, hearty good-bye, the young lord also departed, and Sir Richard was left alone. He locked the door, and returning to the table, looked clown at the bag with a smile deep and profound. Then hi? took up the bag. and opening it turned out a mass of bank notes and coin. With the samp smile he set tn work and counted out the whole—to the last sovereign—then replaced it in the bag and walked with it to a safe at the end of the room. He unlocked the safe, carefully deposited the bag in a remote corner, and looked at it with the same smile of satisfaction. "A nest egg!" he said at last. Then he closed the safe slowly, and as slowly locked it. The nest egg was , Stella's fortune! (To be continued daily.)'