A WILFUL MAID.

Auckland Star, Volume XLII, Issue 216, 11 September 1911, Page 10

A WILFUL MAID.

Ny CHARLES GARFIGB, •• AUTHOR Off "Claire," "Elaine," "Her Kunsom," "M,y Lady .Pride," "A Woman's Soul," etc.

CHAPTER XVIII.— (Continued.) But Carrie, -to whom all this makes such an impression, glances at Lord Cecil's face, and sees that it makes 110 impression upon him; he takes it quite coolly, as indeed is natural, seeing that the homage and' attention are matter of comman usance to him. The footman shuts the door, and then joins his fellow behind the carriage, and they start. Lord Cecil feels a: timid hand steal out towards him, and he takes it in his and presses it lovingly. "We shall soon be home,ny darling!" he murmurs. fthe glances at him with a little quivering smile and sinks 'back nto her corner —into the satin-lined cushions that yield so softly to her pressure, and keeps 'her eyes fixed on the window. , As 'she does so she tees t'iiat the signs ,'of respect which attended them at the station are extended, along the road. Every man they meet doll';, his hat to the grand chariot, every woman and child drops a curtsey. They pass a village inn, and she sees that it ibears ,011 its swinging signboard the Fitz-Har-wood arms. Every now and again, as they pass the railings of a vast park on their left, they come upon a pair of massive gates, bearZing the same coat of arms, and' upoD quaintly ornamental lodges', from which women and children emerge to curtsey and bow. "Does this all belong to the Castle?" Carrie asks, with a faint smile. >' Lord Cecil nods in a niattei-ofrfact fashion. " "Yes, we are skirting the park now. It is rather pretty just he-re; we will walk over and see it to-morrow.'' Presently they enter another village, with its thatched roofs clustering under the shelter of a pair of gates more inns,'Sive and imposing than any other they have passed, and standing in tl.ie wide semi-circular grave*. roadway. There is a logo almost as big as Ho wells, at the side, and a man comes out, and, with a touch, noiselessly throws up the huge masses of iron of which the gates are composed'. The chariot rolls up a drive almost as smooth as marble, and running under an avenue of tgigantic elms, and suddenly at a bend in the road, a vast pile of white stone looms before Carrie's eyes, and Lord Cecil, with a smile, says:— , "Here we are; this is the castle."

It is so vast, so stupendous, so over-t-helming, that Carrie®can on y stare ai ii. Never for a moment does t: ( .e thought flash upon her—"Some day j you —you, Carrie Harrington—will be mistress here!" If it did it would have seemed too improbable for reception or 'belief. . The chariot rolls swiftly round the curve, and the 'hov.-es pull up, champing .sMid chafling, 111 front of a magnificent doorway of pure white stone, without a s.irgle carving to relieve—or spoil—its IJ>£.jestic dimensions; the footmen open tho carriage door; Yates, who has proceeded them in a swift dog-tart, oomes forward to help them to alight, and Carrie, as Lord Cecil takes her hand and! whispers some loving word, sees the vant' doors of the hall swing. Aback, and two footmen stand 011 either side, like 1 hi' sentinels in some fairy story. 7or a moment the silence, the grandeur, tho quietude of tb" reception, •which is nothing out of tb 1 ordinary, an i -would await any guest, I like her 'by jiir.-prise, and she falters; hut Lord Cecil ts by her side, and his voico reassures vier.

, 'Jove!" he sap. "I am quite stiff. Yates, is the luggage here? See that it sis sent in at once."

iSimple words, yet spoken in his calm, 'musical voice, they do more to encourage Mil help her than any direct attention could do.

Ail his simplest manner possible he draws her hand upon his arm, and leads her up the 'broad steps, and they enter thus hall.

Carrie is conscious of having entered a vast apartment that is like a church, with its dark-oak rafters and 1 paneled wills, and ite windows of stained glass; the-i from the dimness, which is rather confusing after the broad glare of 'the sunlight, she sees a tall, sta&sly figure, dra'sed ina piain dress of Mack merino, relieved by a plain linen collar, gliding toivard her.

She has only time to see that the lady hats eyes and hair like Lord Cecil, whan he says: "My mother." And taki'.rrg Carrie's hard, he approaches the countess, and say 3: "Mother, here is Carrie and her sisn.er Philippa." The lady takes Carrie's hand, lodks her in the fate with a smile wonderfully lib; Lord Cecil's, and then leans forward ami 'kisses her.

' [ a-m very glad to see you, my dear,'' she says, "and you, Misa Harrington." That is all! The next moment a lady's maid, who has been waiting in the ba«kfjrciund, comes noiselessly toward them, and whispers: '■" This way, miss, if you please," and, is df in a dream, they follow .':ier up tho broad carved staircase. It is Carrie's first entrance to Fitziflortvo'od Oastle, and often in the comint' time she will think of it, recalling it with an aching heart and a vain longing 6c f irget it. CILAPTEB, XIX. "To sum it all up in a phrase," says Fal ppa, "you are 'a complete succasra,' tn )■' dear Carrie." And it is the simple truth.. A week Bum :>assod since Carrie made her appearance at Harwood Castle as Liud Cecil's •fvuire bride, and the seven d-jya have been seven days full of satisfat tion and tiluinph. Carrie has come out through tl;3 rather trying ideal not only un-s'-athed, but with flying colours. Though tli-3 Castle has been full of guests, acioigst t'hem belles of the laat season and debutantes of the present, all clad in costly garments and with the polish of town and ton, Carrie Harrington, the farmer's daughter, has ' 3 not suffered wl'jue. Her sweet, fair young face has iilnwn to advantage amongst them all; and '.'yen her simple dTesses seem to have possessed a touch of freshness; and simplicity which has made them welcome and pleasant to the eye. That she has found favour in the sight of U e all-powerful countess is soon. made apparent; at the stately meals her ladyship has caused Carrie's chair to be pi iced next her own; and it is with Carrie, as her companion that she takes her slow and gentle promenades along the terraces and about the exquisitely arranged flower beds. Even the j earl eurrcnd< rs to the "little country maid," as ho ct.lls her, and when he has ! a minute to spare— is not often —will come Rlid seat himself ibggide iher, j or bend

over lier chair, a pleasant smile on his intellectual face, as he talks of her ■father and the old days when they were at school together. As for Lord Cecil, he is in the heyday of his happiness. That Carrie would prove irresistible, he of course was quite assured; but he could' scarcely have hoped for a greater success than she has made; and not once, but a hundred times he tells her, in their walks and drives, how proud and happy her popularity makes him; and notwithstanding that for the past few days he has to play the part of vice-host, 'he manages to snatch many a half hour for "sweet lonverse" with his darling. And strange to say, it is "sweet converse"; Carrie's "temper," -which Phili:ppa knows so well, seems to have changed, and. like the lion in the fable, turned to dove; so much so, that Philippa is both amazed and amused.

"Really," she says, with her goodnatured cynicism, "it would appear that if young couples wish to agree, the best thing they can do is to prelude their engagement with a good quarrel. New, any one would have felt quite secure in prophesying a stormy time for poor Cecil, whereas you have (behaved yourself in a manner as extraordinary as it is exemplary."

retorts Carrie, "it is because I am so palpably on my good behaviour ! But who could be anything else than good in such a place?" she adds, with a little sigh. "Look at it," and she waves her sunshade towards the house; they are seated on one of the velvety slopes of the Italian garden, the air perfumed by the flowers, the white walls of the Castle stretching before their eyes. "The place fascinates me. A kind of spell fell upon me when I entered the house a Aveek ago, and it has not risen or vanished yet." "It is a wonderful place," says Philippa. "Yes," goes on Carrie, dreamily, "wonderful. I think I could have borne it if it had been gorgeous and magnificent; but its exquisite simplicity and age overmaster me. Do you know, I never enter the doors but I fancy that I can hear an organ wailing out softly in the distance; and never glance trp at the pictures in the gallery but I expect the stately figures to come down and descend the staircase. One reads and hears so much of 'tone,' that one grows sick and' tired of it, but I know what it means now. Not all the wealth of a millionaire could purchase the tone of liarwood Oastle." "And it will be yours one day, tone and all," says Philippa. Carrie starts. "Yes. Do you think I do not think of that? I awake in tho night sometimes, Flippa, with that thought suddenly flashing on me, and then I feel—you cannot tell how acutely—my insignificance. I remember the countess, and how she walks and speaks like a countess, or a duchess, and I wonder whether I shall ever acquire that grand'e air; whether I shall ever learn to speak and smile, the slow, gentle, yet queenly smile; or acquire that walk of hers, so stately and yet so unpretending. Look where she is walking there on the terrace; see how that gray satin dress trails behind her, not snatching and draggling as other women's would, but just sweeping and falling into every movement of her Ibody! When I look at her, I feel in despair of ever becoming in the very least like her." "It will come in time," says Philippa, philosophically. "In time, if one lives, I shall see you with the same grande tone, the same smile." "You think so?" with anxious doulbt. "Yes; but anyway, don't make yourself unhappy about it." "Unhappy!" echoes Carrie; and a smile of pleasant confidence fills her eyes. "Philippa, I am so happy that at times I feel afraid. I have told you so 'before, but I feel it more keenly now. You know what it is to feel like] that—as if you were happier than you deserved? —as if something must happen | to knock one's castle down, and prove it •but one of cards? I feel like that!"

"What nonsense!" gays practical Plulippa. "What can happen? You arc as certain—death excepted —to he the Viscountess Neville as if you and Lord Cecil were already married." "Yes, death excepted," says Carrie, slowly; "and I don't feel like dying."

"And he doesn't look it," said Philippa, with a smile. "My dear, you are an extremely lucky young person, I'll admit; but I don't think the gods are yet envious enough to seek your de struction."

"I hope not," says Carrie —"I hope th£y"ty itet me 'run my little course uninterruptedly." "Here comes her ladyship," says Philippa. "For goodness' sake, chase that air of melancholy from your faceraise those dark eyebrows of yours!" As she speaks Lord Cecil, the countess, and one or two others corno down the steps and approach them. Carrie, with instinctive good manners, rises; but the countess puts her hand upon the fair round arm, and gently forces her into her seat, and 'then seats herself beside her. Lord Cecil goes behind them, and leans over Carrie, that, unseen by 'the others, he may touch her hand.

"We thought we should find you here, my dear," says the countess. "We have come on a special embassy." And she smiles at Carrie, graciously, affectionately. "Yes," says Lord Cecil, "we come, so to speak, to place our destiny in your hands."

"In mine?" says Carrie, with a smile of curiosity. "What has happened?" "Nothing. It is what is to happen," he says, and he looks at her with a smile on his handsome face. "My mother has received an invitation from an old friend who lives near. I don't know whether I have mentioned her? Lady Fcrndale." "No," says Carrie. "She lives at Femdale, a dozen miles from here, and she is going to give a fancy ball before she leaves for town, and she has sent begging us to go to it." Carrie's eyes glisten. "A fancy ball," she says: "I have never been to one!" Then she sighs with heart-felt content. "And I am not so very anxious to go. I am so happy as it is!" The countess smiles at the artless admission. "That was very nicely said, my dear," she says, patting Carrie's hand. "But Cecil ought to have said that Lady Ferndale is a very old and dear friend of ours, and that we ought to accept her invitation if we can." "Special pleading, mother!" says Lord Cecil, holding up his finger with a smile. "We agreed that no arguments should be used!" Carrie flushes and looks round shyly. "But—but it does not rest with me!" she says half nervously. The countess smiles. "My dear, the invitation is for you and myself, principally, and it does rest with you, very properly, whether we go or stay." "Say you'll go," says Lord Cecil. The rest look at Carrie as if she were a des-

,pot upon whose will their happiness and fate depend, and the ever-ready carmine rushes to Carrie's face. "I shouHi like to go," she murmurs, after crlaneing round at the expectant faces. "But—a fancy ball, you said, Lady Fitz-Harwood? —I haven't anything to go in!" Lord Cecil laughs. "Oh, as to that, all you want m addition to an evening dress is a domino." "What is that?" asks Carrie, innocently. "A large cloak, my dear, which will conceal the whole of your finger." "And a mask, Cecil; you forget that." "A mask, certainly!" says Lord Cecil. "Nothing is easier. And if you prefer a fancy costume, why, nothing is easier still' than to order one from London. There is a week to get it in." "Pray, say youH go, Miss Harrington!" pleads a young attache, fervently. Carrie nods. "1 should like to go," she says, "if ' and she glances a't the countess, dutifully. The countess inclines her head. "Yes, go, my dear. If you haven't been .to one. before, this will amuse you, and I am sure Lady Ferndale will be very disappointed if you refuse. She is an old friend of mine, and a most dear and charming person. You will like Lord Ferndale, too. As to the dress " "I would prefer the domino," says Carrie, quickly reflecting that a fancy-ball dress will make a heavy demand upon her father's already strained purse-strings.^ "That is settled," says Lord Cecil. "This day week; short notice, as Lady Ferndale'says, but she is a creature of impulse, and unlike most creatures of impulse her efforts arc always successful. It is sure to be a) splendid ball. Now, Kenworth" —to the. young attache —"you can wire for your most fetching_costume. Kenworth never shines so brilliantly as in a fancy ball." (Continued daily.)