Our Novelettes.

Bruce Herald, Volume XXI, Issue 2176, 20 June 1890, Page 5

Our Novelettes.

A COUSIN LOVER,

Mr. Wuliace's sfaf.o is quite hopeless. Ho is not expected to live lone ; and tho longer he lives the woukor hia mind will become. Linnei does not know this; it is thought better to spare her a second shock until it can ro longrr be averted. She thinks he may get hotter and recover his reason in time; and alie assiduously watches over and nurses him with a view to that end, a-icldening and discouraging thou«h it is, day after day, to look upon thnt wreck of n fino man, stricken down in tho full vigour of life, reduced to the level of a doting old man of ninety. Everybody but Linnet krows what is going to happen, and, while people pity her, for she will then bo alone in the world, they agree that it is much bettor f<r poor Mr. Walhice to ba taken out of his troubles, and for her to be relieved of such a burden. They also say that it is a good thing Ills will is all fight — tho one that he made, before his second marn'aro, in favour of Linnet — ho t >ld the lawyer only a few days before the accident happened t.hot he would not destroy it. until the new one should be finished. Were it. otherwise, that man, Stephon Wallace, would step in und take -all from tho girl. As it ii>, Linnet's future is assured, and she will not have to go running after a rich husband to keep hor, as so many girls do nowadays That is ihe summing-up of the gossip. An experienced nurse is procured for Mr. Wallace, and then Lady Torre returns h^mo, and Linnet has Graham instead to st-iy with her for a while. The day after Lady Torres doparturo Sponser calls azain, and is ai mil ted, Linnet saying to herself that she does not see why this man should be slighted any moro than others who have shown kindness and sympathy not greater than hia. Graham ii not in the room at the moment of hi 9 entrance, and Linnet ia all alone us she rises to meet him.

The eight of her pale face and black dres» — to both of which she has already grown accustomed — seems to take the visitor aback — at any rate, hia startled face brings tho remembrance of her grief freshly to her again. Perhaps the contrast between tho presnnt and tho last time eho lo >ked upon that fuce renders it more unbearable, for at tho sight of him she suddenU breaks down a :d weeps violently. The next moment sho foels herself in a strong embrace ; her head is held anainet his breast, and his lips are pressed upon her own. •My dearest — my little Linnet — if you could know how I have been longing to comfort you ! My poor little child ! '

' Oh, Stan, Stan,' sho sobs, ' I have been wanting you all the while, but I aid not daro to s«y so ! ' 'If I had known, I would have got in, in spito of thorn all ! But I thought you did not care for ms any louger. I thought you had forgotten me ! '

' You forgot mo ! ' says Linnet, pushing him away from her to look at his faco, her eyws glistening with tears. ' No, no, dearest, never ! ' ' Then how — why ' ' How often have I wondered whnfc you thought of me — or if you thought of mo at all! But that young man Adon Kirka ' « Oh, Stan, eimly you could never think—' ' But I did ; I did not know what else to think, when you wore always dancing togother, even directly you had boon most encouraging to me, and he never Boomed to tako hi 9 eyes from your face.' « It was only because he was such a goo'l waltzor! Oh, Stan, can it have boen — juet through that ? ' ♦ Never mind, my doareft. I novor blamed you; I know you were but; joimg, and if you were going to be happy with him — which I then quite believed — that was the chief thing. I lovod you well enough to care more for your luppineßS than my own, and I mount to prove it by acting as I did— going away and pretending to forget you, that you nrght not feel bound to me by your own unthinking; promise. It wus nok until just before coming here that I found I had nindo a mistake.' * A dreadful mistake, Stan, and one that — ' She was going to speak of the trouble and illness that followed it, but some instinct of caution or of pride retains her. ' Then it was me whom you cared for P ' These words in a whisper, with the dark I irregular faoe bowed down upon her Boft curls. < Oh, yes — yee, Stan ! How cou'd you think I could behave so to you while I loved another ? ' ' I misjudged you, though I ought to havo been the last to do that. But indeed, my own, to a looker-on — especially to an interested and joalous ono like myself — it did appear — I wonder Kirke himself was not misled ! ' 'He was,' she admits, with a sudden compunction, deeper than Bho has ever felt before, for her conduct towards the lad.

«He was? ' he repeats, regarding her half accusingly, half reproachfully, with hia fino black eyes. She wonders now, looking up into them, how she haß lived all this time without their fire and tenderness.

' Yes, she says remorsefully ; ' I suppose that was how it was. It was always a puzzle to me until now how he ever thought of such a thing. How could I behave so foolishly and thoughtlessly towards both of you ? ' ' One of ub will forgive you ready enough at any rate,' he murmurs, Btroking her hair with one hand, and still holding her fast.

* And Aden got over it, long ago,' she tells him, 'and has been in love half a dozen times Binco. It is all right with him ; but, oh, Stan, if this had separated ub for lie ! ' llt vory nearly did. I took it for granted you wore married and settled, and was bearing my burden as best I could, whon I hoard a lady mention the name of Linnet Lane — my sweet bird ! So I made inquiries, and the result was that I came to Torre Towers with all speed, and found — but I fear you may be angry with me for misunderstanding you agnin.' • You coulrl not suspect Aden and me of b ing in love with each other this time ! ' sho replies, trying to smile. ' No j Kirke's present infatuation ie very apparent,' answers Spenser, with that ernilo which so few have resisted, and which quite reassures Linnet on the snbjoct of Edith Penroso. 'This time I was force Jto stand aloof on account of the protentions of that rosy-cheeked Mr. Hardy ' — laughing softly— 'to whom I was assured, by moro than 6no person, you were engaged. But for that I would not have let anyone bar my path to your feet ; that silenced me — made me powerless <o assert raysolf and my unchanged love. Of course, I could not interfere between engaged lovers.' 'But we aro not engaged,' she tells him quickly. 'Wo nevor thought af such a tiling. Theyre and I woro always great friends — like brother and sister ! '

But sho dops not, speak very eteadily, and her clear eyes are not raised to him in their usual honest glance. She and Theyre may feel towards one another in thoir hearts as brother and Butor, but she knows that all this time they have been posing as very different characters on the li'tle stage of Loudwater and its neighbourhood, aud that if they have been misunderstood, it is onlyj what they desired and intended.

' I was bo disappointed ! ' Spenser goes on, in slow, sorrowful tonos, looking away from hor out of tho window, as though he would fain spare her Ihp sight of (ho pnin which he knows his face will express in spite of a'l effortH. ' I had built, my hepe up very high ngain, though perhaps I was presumptuous. I know wo should not have much at first — I am not a rich man yet ; but I thought perhaps with lovo — true love — we might be happy oven thou-h wo woro poor.' ' And we shall be hnppy yet, I hope, she tolls him, crying softly in his arms, between joy at the reunion and tho sorrow which comes buck to her with his words. 'It won't bo just us it was then, 'or I shall have more now — much moro — nnd, oh, I wish I hadn't, if I could have thorn hero aauin, and deir unclo could be restored ! '

' I wish it too ! ' ho answers gravuly. I understnnd what you have lo?t, and that no monetary Ruin could ever m ike it up to you My rtourrst, it lias nearly beon the means of separating us for the third time. For when Mr Aden Kirkr, who was the caue>« of my first disappointment strangely enough, al--oned for it, as one might say, by telling mo th tt there wns no engagement between you and your friend Mr. Hardy, nor was there likely to be, I took heart, and began to push my own cause again — you must h>»vo perceiv >d it. ? '

'I did not,' she confesses, with a blush at hftr onn obtuseness and at the remomb-nnce of Thcyro's remarks on the subject, which ut the time she had put down to mere prejudice on his part. 'But I think other people did ; it was mentioned to me.'

' And you denied it ? ' lie questions, laughing reproachfully at her again, until she feels so ashamed of her general blindness and folly of speech nnd action, that she is ready to sink into the earth to escape that sad accusing gaze. But the next moment ho draws hor so fondly to his breast again that she is a little r. assured.

' Yes, I did,' Bbo tells him frankly, ' because I bnlieved it to be the truth. I did not think either that I carod anything about you. I had been trying to forget you, and thought I had quito succeeded — until you camo into the Dom just now and looked at mo, and I felt — I know — I knew I had only one comfort in tho world ! '

IMy poor little bird ! Suppose we had both found it out too late! For I had no intention of speaking— l had given up the idea upon hearing of the change in your prospers. I knew my conduct would bo mipconefcrued by your friends, and — pardon mo, my own — you will consider that I did not. then know the constancy of this dear heart ' — softly pressing her to his side — ' I feared my motive might be nvsunderatood — even by yourself.'

• Oh, Stan 1 '

'You will see, dearest, if you consider, that I was placed in a very suspicious position. It bo happened — or rather your conduct with Aden Kirko bad so brought it about — that I had given you up, for your own happiness as I thought, juefc as your uncle married, and the chiinco of your succeeding to his property was much diminished. Then, again, when I rcuppc^red on the scene, and Air. Hardy's monopoly of you caused me to relinquish the intentions I had entertained, your prospects of wealth were oven less, as you* uncle had children of his own. Seeing all this, when I hoard you wore so sadly restored to your forrr er position, I felt that I must resign all hope, give up nil atte mpta at winning your hourt — appearancos wore so gravely against n c.'

' And you would nob risk being misunderstood by the world for my sake, much as you lovo me ? ' sho wh'spers.

' Doarest, you forgefc that I then thought it possible that I might bo misunderstood by you among the rear, and that, I felt, I could not bear. I did not t.hihk I should injure you by not speaking ; I thought you would be sure to marry soon and be happy — for you would have plenty of ohoice with your wealth I '

' A choice I shouM not feel grateful for! '

' And so I was coming to assuro you of my sympathy in your grief, which I had not before had tin opportunity of convoying in words, and to wish you good-bye, when the sight of your sweet, pale face, this sad garment' — touching her mourning dress — 'and, moat of al), your look at me — your han^s involuntarily outstretched to me as if for help, for consolation '

'Did I put my hands out? I did not know i;,' she interrupts, wondoringly.

' I do not suppose you considered your action? in that moment— they were instinctive, therefore truthful ; then your tears — how could I resist all this ? Bocauso you had succeeded to wealth, you were not the less a poor, lonely, bcrieved, loving child ! I could not restrain my feeling?, and now — it is done ! They will all misunderstand mo! '

• And do you regret that it is done ? ' she asks him, holding his hand and looking up at aim. ' Are you not willing to bear what they may think as long as you haye — me ? T at is, if you do lovo me. You know that I Bhall never misunderstand you.'

♦ I would bear more than that for your sake,' he tells her ; ' but it will be hard to be dospised a 9 a — fortune-hunter.'

1 They shall not so look upon you ! ' she exclaims, in indignation at the word. • I shall explain it all to them. They must see it — they must believe ! ' ' I fear not ! ' — shaking his head. ' Your friends are all, more or loss, prejudiced against mo. Ido not think that even you ' — gazing upon her fondly — ' will find it easy to change their opinion. And, just beoaußO I lovo you so dearly, I would give you up even now rather than run the risk of your ever regretting having chosnn me before them.' ' I will give them all up first,' blio answers stoutly — ' all except undo, who, poor darling, can have no wishes about it now.'

' Is your love so strong ? ' ho questions, bending to look into her face. ' Then, my own dear one, I accept it, and will ever endeavour to deserve it.' Ohaptee VI. The next day, while Linnet and Graham are drinking afternoon-toa together, Thoyro Hardy comes in, as he does every day, to see how they are getting on, and to hear the latest news of Mr. Wallace. Ho looks very grave and bandsorao in his dark suit, his cheeks radiant with health, and there is an honest, look of sympathy in hie oyos as he holds Linnet's hand for a moment. He drinks a cup of tea, and then Linnet goes with him to see her unole, leaving Graham at the Id-tublo with the last number of the Graphic. Mr. Wallace is sitting up in a chair by the window; he cannot walk, but is whoeled from one room to the other. He seems childishly pleased to see Thoyre, and babbles to him of things that happened long ago. Then lie complains to him that they will not let him see Belle, and begins to cry, as much through weakness as through any grief that he is capable of feeling. Theyre gravely remarks upon this weak- | ness, as they return down tho corridor. j ' Yes, I think it is partly the unusual heat,' Linnet says anxiously. 'Ho will get better when the 000 l autumn weathor sets in — don't you think so ? ' < Would you wish him to live on, Linnet, liknthat?'

« Oh, but I moanh better altogether, in his mind as well as his body ; don't you think he will P . Oh, do say you think bo, dear

Thoyre ! ' It is hard for the young fellow to answer, with her hanging thus upon his words. 'But if ho cannot get bet'er in his mind, l/innot ? '

' Cnn't ho?' she questions pitcously 1 Did tho doctor say so ? '

' You would not wish him to live then, ? ' ho s iys very gently, taking hor hand.

But she does not, answer except by her team.

'I am sure you cannot wi-h fo* his eako,' ho go'-s on; 'and if you are thinking of yourself — if you ore foeling that his life, even as lie is now, ia some protection to your loneliness, don't let the thought of that — the fear of \bat — you shall nevor want for a protector who will give his life for you if necessary, if } ou will let me '

' Thoyro ! ' shd exclaims, recoiling from his touch.

'I know thi* is no time to speak of such things,' lie snys quickly ; ' but yet, in one sense, it is, for surely the time when a girl is loft alone and friendless on the world is the time to offi>r her protection — ancv 1 love — yet deeper than that which she has lost ! '

' But, Thoyre, what are you thinking of ? '

'Nothing n<w — to me at any rato. My acting has been real all alonw. It gave me just the opportunity that I wanted, for you and I were so like brother and sister, that I cou'd not pee how I was to — fo make you undorstand that I wanted more than that.'

' But, Theyro :

' Of courao, I couldn't have acted as I did — it wasn't in me — if I had not been in earnest all the timo. I hoped — I hoped '

' Oh, but, Theyre, you must put all that noneaense out of your head ! It is nothing but non<?sense, I an? sure, or at least ' — more gently — * it is pity for me that has made you fancy yourself in love with mo. Why, fchere never were two people more unsuited than you and I ! ' 'We have always got on first-rate,' he returns, with his face averted, so that sho cannot see it ; but she thinks his voice sounds sulky, as it is apt to do when he is crossed in anything

' Yes, as brother and s ; sfct)r ; but, as for anything else, you muet never think of it again, Tlieyre, and I am sure the time will come when you will be grateful to mo for not listening to you now.'

' That it never will, he mutters, dropping her hand, and turning away.

She pausoß for a moment, dreading his reception of the news she has to tell him, but tell him sho must, though nobody else knows yet. Thoyre is one of her best friends, perhaps her very best, and she hopes that he will remain so, in spite of this ridiculous fancy that haa overtaken him ; but she knows his prejudices, and, now that ho has taken it into his head to believe himself in love with her, it is still more difficult to spoik. She is very much disappointed in him ; she thought he w»s different from the common run of men in being really sensible, and not liabla to be carried away by hie imagination.

She goes up to him. laying her hand upon his sleeve, looking more like the old Linnet than sho haa looked for many a day past, for her dismay at Theyre's declaration has for the time almost chased the romembranco of her troubles from her mind. She tolls him right out ; it is of no use trying to break anything gently ro him, he is too impatient, too surly, she says to herself, rather ungratefully, considering how good he has been to her and h?va just lately ; but then sho is so vexed at his stupidity in bringing this disappointment upon himself. He ne«jd not have done it, for she i* quite certain that he is only funcying himself in love with her.

' Theyre,' she says, ' 1 havo seen Stan, and it was all a mistake, my thinking he was only flirting with mo, two years ago, he has been telling me.'

' What — sinceall this happened ? ' demands Thoyro, turning round upon her almost fiercely. She sees the suspicion in liia eyes, and draws herself up proudly.

' You need not speak like that. I told you he was above any morcenary thoughts. It was Aden Kirko who sent him away two years ago ; Stan thought I enred for Aden, while it waa only that I liked to waltz with him — and this timo Stan thought it was you, or he would have spoken directly. That was why ho came hero a^ain — he heard by accident that I was not married or ongaged, and he know all the timo that I hud n -thing in the world of my own but Pyecroft;, nn<l never Bhould have. If — if things are different now, ho cannot leave off caring for mo just because of that.'

' He told you all this ? ' demands Theyre again, a look of utmost scorn and abhorrence on his handsome face.

' He told me, and I know it is true, whatever you may say or think ! '

She iB the very same pugnacious, provoking Linnet, who so often contradicted him in the summer days that seem so far off, when they drank tea and ate strawberries under the trees on the lawn, and pluyod tennis. His gaze, angry though he is, softens as he loo!>s at her, perhaps recalling something of this.

* And about those other girlp, Linnet, concerning whom and this — and Spenser you used to hear stories ?

' I was his only true love.' ' That's what he told each of the other girls, no doubt ! '

' Theyre, you are very unjust and unkind, and I will not listen to another word of that sort ! '

llt is of no use saying anything, if you can't see '

Thoyre does not finish his sentonoo, but his pause is perhapa more expressive than any words could bo ; Linnet, angry and indignant, is almost ready to tell him that Spenser might say the very same thing of him, not that she thinks it for one moment, only she would like ti fling back the accusation to the quarter whence it came. But she does not do it. They re's glance and attitude, the unconscious dignity of his bearing, forbid such an imputation, even in bitter joet.

She turns away in silence, and after a moment lie follows her, putting one hand upon her shoulder.

'Linnet, you're not going to marry that man ? '

He says it so gently, almost imploringly, that she cannot resent it, but she looks straight up into his face, and answers —

* We huve not spoken of such a thing yet, ia tho midst of all this sorrow. But some day, I suppose— l could not live without him, Theyro ! '

' You said you did not care for him,' he says reproachfully.

' I did not know then ; I did not understand myaelf. But now I know what lovo is, and thut I have rever ceased to lovo him.'

Thejre tnrna away with a sigh ; but she follows him, hor heart filled to overflowing now that she hbß once begun to spouk, either forgetting his own declaration of love, or else wishing to cure him of his silly fancy by very plain speaking. ' And what has drawn me closer than ever to him now, Theyre, is that he is among the very few who roally understand and believo that what happened to Belle and the deur children is a terrible grief to me. Of courso people do not say anything, but some of them — I am not blind, and can see that some of them almost fchink 1 am to bo congratulated, because It makos me feel as if I cou.d never speak to them again ! But he sympathises with me, hejgrieves as well as I , though, of oourso, not as I do, because he knew very

little of them. But, oh, it; does comfort me so ! '

'Is this to be made known ? ' inquires Theyre shortly. ' He will 101 l you when he likes.' 1 You know I am not the only one who holds this opinion of him ? ' ' I know ; they will bo all against him, because appearanco3 are ; and this is all my fault, for getting you to act with me, and thus misleading him ; so I must take his purt the more bravely, to make up for my folly.' Folly! The word rankles in Theyre's heart as he goes down'&tiirs and out at the open hall-door into the sunshiue and the scent of flowers. Folly ! And ho would have protected her, wealthy, from all such fortune-hunters ; would have held her, poor and friendless, against all the world !

The news soon spreads, though not until Spenser has pone bick to London, which he does very shortly, and all Linnet's friends are indignant. Lady Torro cries holf the day, and worries herself to a shadow, because she is suro he is nothing but a ecamu, and it was she who set him in Linm t's way.

'Olive was engaged when I asked him, and Graham at Bchool, or I -would never have dared to ha-e him here at all,' she assures her sympathising friends from behind her handkerchief, which is wet with tears from a aincore heirt ; 'and, as for Linnet, everybody considered her as po >d as engaged to Theyre Hardy. When 1 saw bow things were, I trembled, and was relieved beyond measure when she ee?mpd to get quite over if, and she and Theyre were more inseparable than ever. I did think she was safe then, and had learnt a wholesome lesson, or I would not have allowed him to come a second time at the risk of offending all Lord Torres family ! And now, whatever happens, I eball feel it is on my shoulders ! '

None of her friends can find it in their hearts to remonstrate with the pale girl who has gone through so muah of late, and has yet more to go through, so she is spared active opoosition.

There is one who profits by the affair, however, and that is Aden Kirke. He begins to pluck up courage again, he had been what Theyre would call ' down on his luck' of late.

Ono day Linnet, who hits run over to the Towers for an hour while her uncle is asleep, hears him talking outside the open window to Tneyro, questioning him about Sponsor and Edith PenroSo. They do not know that sho ia within the room.

' It amounts to this,' replies Theyre, in the rough, curly way that he has when speaking of things displeasing to him — ' Miss Penroße has twenty thousand of her own, while Linnet is now sure of five thousand a year — there you have the gist of the whole business. If five thousand a year had been unattainable, ho would not have disdained the lump sum of twenty thousand ; it would have helped to silence some of his dune. Your Edith is well quit of him, and may she have the sense to see it ! '

Linnet's heart is filled with indignation on hearing thi*, and she can scarcely forbear stepping out and confronting the two young men, and telling Thoyre that he has been speaking falsely, and that it is wicked to slander an upright man as he is doing, but various feelings restrain her ; among them, a certain conviction that she would probably get tho worst of it, as she generally doos when Theyre is in earnest. This, and incidents of a similar nature render her vory cool to her old friend, and he resents ber behaviour p.nd acts accordingly.