MIGHT VERSUS RIGHT.

Cromwell Argus, Volume XXVII, Issue 1373, 20 August 1895, Page 7

MIGHT VERSUS RIGHT.

[COPYRIGHT.}

[two instalments appear in this day’s issue. ] +•••■* BY JULIA MACK, Author of “ Th’ Boggart o’ th’ Mill,” “ GlenGordon ,” #c. CHAPTER Xll.—(Continued.) /" The quarrel did not weigh upon Frank’s mind. He had other and more serious cares. Even his disappointment, bitter as it was, troubled him less than his anxiety about Elsie. Every time he met her, she seemed to have grown thinner and paler. Her soft brown eyes looked sad and appealing, and her saucy gaiety bad given place to a staid sobriety strangely at variance with her character. In one short month she seemed to have grown ten years older! One evening Nettie arrived, uninvited. She was used to run in and out at her pleasure, and evidently expected to be asked to stay for tea , Mrs. Armitage was not cordial. “I fear they will be expecting thee at the Vicarage,” she observed, rather coldly. “ Oh, no,” replied Nettie, composedly; “ Elsie said I might stay. I warned her to come,’too, but she said she was tired. She’s always tired now.” “ Is she ill ? ’ asked Frank, anxiously. Nettie shook her curls, and looked mysterious. “Nettie, dear,” said Frank, eagerly, “tell me the truth—why does Elsie look eo ill?” “Frank! Frank! Thou hast no right,” said his mother, reprovingly. “ I know, motbei’,” he replied; “ but I must find out —I will find out the truth ! ” It seemed as if his eyes compelled the child to speak. “ She has been poorly ever since that, man came ; the man who made Hetty icry.” L “ Who was that P ” demanded Frank. L “I don’t know,” replied Nettie. “He [smoked a horrid black pipe, and made ! Betty fetch beer for him—and then Betty [cried, and when Elsie came home from jthe picnic her cheeks were quite white, and they’ve been white ever since ” j Frank and his mother exchanged a i glance of dismay. j ■i; “ And after a time the man went away, 1 ,j[ suppose?” said Frank, suggestively. j j “Not until Mi-. Sam came,” said the : child, shaking her curls again. “Mr. Sam said, ‘ I’ll put it all right; ’ and he went into the kitchen and spoke very sharp to the bad man, and wrote something upon a narrow bit of paper —I saw him—and lie gave it to the man, and he went away.” There was a pause. Frank’s face was as pale as death, and his eyes blazed. “ And they were all very much obliged to Mr. Sam, 1 suppose,” he said presently, in a low, constrained voice. “Mary and Bertie and Mr. Yere were.’ replied Nettie. “They were very glad, .but Elsie did not look glad. She looked frightened. I don’t know why she should •be afraid when the bad man was gone.’ V Frank clenched his fist and drew in his .breath sharply, as though in pain. His .mother made an effort to change the con. versation. “ How is Bertie ? ” she asked. t “Oh! he’s very well; and he’s very .happy too, because ho is going to school after Christmas.” a “To school! ”, cried Mrs. Armitage ; f* that is good news, Nettie.” ji “ Yes,” replied the little gossip, “he is going, and be says he owes it all to Mr. lam. He thinks nobody ever was as kind as Mr. Sam; but I don’t like him, and Elsie doesn’t like him either.” i “Oh hush, Nettie,” said Mrs. Armitage, jnuch shocked. “Thou art surely mistaken. She is going to be married to him, (thou knowst.” J “Do people always cry when they are going to be married ?” asked Nettie. f‘ Elsie does, and that’s what makes her jlook so pale.” • “ Thou’rt talking too fast, Nettie,” said Mrs. Armitage in a tone of reproof; “ Elsie would not be pleased to hear thee. How canst thou tell the reason for her j “ But I know he makes her cry,” per. sisted Nettie, eagerly. “To-day he looked at her quite fierce, and whenlie was gone, she cried. Betty knows it too.” I Frank arose abruptly and left the room; (his heart bursting with a tumult of con.flicting feelings ; grief, rage, and yet joy ; ;for was not Elsie’s heart still free ? The •whole infamous plot was now revealed to him, but what availed his knowledge? How was it possible to save his darling ? ti When he returned to his mother, she iwas alone. A cheerful fire blazed upon ithe hearth, and she sat beside it, the embodiment of peace; yet there was a Shadow in her quiet eyes this evening, and As her son entered the room, the smile ■with which she greeted him was a troubled one. , . , . ... s He threw himself into his chair with a ;iheavy sigh. ~ „ , [ “ What a fool I. have been, mother, he .said. “ How blind not to see through the .mystery long ago! ” , !' His mother laid down her knitting, and looked at him anxiously. . “My dear, I think thou’rt giving undue weight to Nettie’s chatter.” •I I think not, mother. See how all that )hath puzzled us is explained. In the 'first place, Sam gains a powerful influence over Bertie by feeding his vanity and indulging hia ambition; then he lays the (Vicar under a heavy money obligation, and so draws a net around our poor Elsie, i Surely thou must see how it is. She [hath been forced into an engagement, contrary to her inclinations, and - ■- ! “ Ho, Frank I ” interupted Mrs. Armi-.tao-e,- “ I cannot foelieve.;that. Of all men in the-world, the Yicar js the least likely to be mercenary.” , V i \ “The Vicar!” exclaimed Frank,, impatiently. “Extremes meet. Indiffer.ence to money may be as fatal as cupidity, •By. this time he has forgotten his debt to iSam, but Elsie will not have forgotten. I [tell thee, mother, she hath sacrificed [herself for the sake of hey father and 'brother.” I “ She hath done very wrong then/ said Mrs. Armitage, gravely. “To marry for money is a sin—no matter what the ! motive may be—and one sin leads to ,many. Think what a life of deception she must be leading, for I am very sure that neither Mary nor Mr Yere would .consent to such wrong-doing.” Frank sprang to his feet, and paced the room with a frowning brow. For the (first time in his life he felt angry with bis mother. “ How hard women are upon each other,” he thought, indignantly; “ even the best of women,” A “ Deception is a bard word to use in ithisicase/’ he said, coldly. “ Surely it is within the reach of possibility that a motherless gi H way have been misled by Iconflicting duties. To know right from .wrong is not always easy. * A pang shot through the heart of the little Quakeress ; her face paled and her lips trembled. Was it possible that h»i boy could speak thus to her r r “I ask thy excuse, Frank, she said, tremulously. “Verily. I w .charity. .Doubtless the dear ehM hath striven to do well.” (. a toft answer truly! Franks wrath melted like snow in sunshine. „ j “ Sweet mother, forgive me, he ciied, jgta^gtojciss tor dwelt. .‘‘Wo&tM .

my poor Elsie had thee tor guide and counsellor! What can we do to help her?” “My dear! ” responded Mrs. Armitage, timidly, “I see not how we can interfere, especially now that they have withdrawn their friendship.” , . , •< What matters that, mother ? Elsie 9 welfare is the one consideration. Sam shall not marry her; that I vow.” , “ What canst thou do, my son P inquired Mrs. Armitage, anxiously. “I will go to the Yicar, and lay the case before him ; and I will tell him that I love her. Love gives me the right to interfere.” }} “ Pray do nothing rash, my son, » pleaded the anxious little Quakeress. “ I say it not for thy sake only, but for Elsie., Wait awhile. I have confidence in Betty’ she hath no lack of good sense, and her love for Elsie none can doubt.” “ Yes, Betty is a host in herself,” said Frank with a short laugh; “ I have more faith in her than she has in me.” Content to have won a tacit consent from her son, Mrs. Armitage took up her knitting again, and Frank fell into a gloomy train of thought It was quite true; Bertie Yere was not the only one who had lost confidence in young I Armitage. During the last few weeks, many who had been bis friends, treated him coldly, and even kind-hearted Mr. Dodd looked at him with a mingled expression of pity and doubt. He read distrust in Mary Vere’s soft brown eyes, and Betty’s looks of stern disapproval were not to be mistaken. Hia natural impulse was, as he said, to go boldly tc the Vicar and declare his love for Elsie; but bow could he hope for a favourable hearing from people who no longei regarded him as a friend ? The cause of this change was nc mystery. An enemy had slandered him, and against groundless charges who can defend himself? Frank was too proud to try. He would ask no questions, though he saw that Mr, Dodd would gladly have given him opportunity. He only held his head higher, and went through his duties with a certain defiance of face and manner which was not conciliatory. He very well knew who had dealt him this blow in the dark. It was Sam’s revenge. Well, he would show him that he was above the reach of such petty malice. Bat “ don’t care ” is a sorry comforter. In spite of his lofty airs of indifference. Frank’s heart was sore within him. He had always been popular, and not until now did he realise how dear to him was the good opimon of those around him. A modern author writes: “To live amidst general regard, though it he but the regard of working people, is like sitting in sunshine, calm and sweet.” Frank Armitage was under a cloud. For him there would be no more “ sunshine calm and.sweef’for many a long day

Chapter xm. "Who thinks to stryve against the streme, And for to sayle without a maste? Hia travell ys forlorne and waste; And so in enre of all his paine. His travel! ys his chelfest giino. —From an old MS. entitled, “ Divers Things OJ Henry VIXI.’s Time.” HAD Elsie counted the cost ? Hardly; for she was too young to foresee all that her decision would involve, and too inexperienced to understand her own nature. She was prepared —or thought herself prepared—for the misery of a loveless marriage; but that her engagement would prove a trial too heavy to bear she never expected. At first she was buoyed up by the joy of self-sacrifice. It was enough that her father was happy, Mary light-hearted, and Bertie full of delight and hope. For this she had sacrificed ber own happiness, and she was content. As the days went on, she was not shaken in her resolution, nor less convinced that she was acting for the best; yet the part she was forced to play grew very hard—just because it was a part. She, who had never before told a lie, was now continually saying and seeming what was untrue. It was terrible to Elsie. Her spirits sank, and she found it increasingly difficult to bear Sam’s famili arity in company and his outbursts of jealous temper when they were alone. But even this was less trying to Elsie than her father’s conduct. For years nothing had so aroused him out of his book-world, and his satisfaction took the form of good-humoured raillery. Elsie’s silence, ber loss of appetite, her pale, pensive looks, were all so many subjects for merry jesting. The girl parried these playful attacks as skilfully as might be, but the strain was great, and often she would rush away to her own room, and there weep floods of despairing tears. • After these outbursts, she dared not show herself downstairs, so she was driven to plead headache; which was generally no falge excuse. Mary was easily satisfied, “ What odd ways people have when they are engaged ! ” she said And Bertie agreed. Nettie having no misleading theories about lovers, knew all about it; but in her little mind, tears and naughtiness were closely connected, and fidelity to her beloved Elsie kept her silent, until she found herself under the influence gi Frank’s truth-compelling eyes. Neither was Betty deceived, but she had what she considered excellent reason? for silence. Betty had no sentiment, She held highly practical views on the subject of matrimony, and looked with favour upon a suitor who had so many golden virtues to recommend him. To picture her darling the lady of Brookvale Hall, driving in her carriage, and nestling in silks and satins, delighted Betty's simple heart, but this magnificence might be too dearly purchased. The good old servant watched her young mistress with gradually increasing uneasiness. She noted her depression, ber s of colour and strength, and the dark shadows beneath the eyes, which betrayed many a sleepless night, and gradually her hearjt got the better of her head. When her master was quizzing popr Elsie, Bertie laughing, and Mary looking on with quiet amusement, Betty’s keen eyes would glanto fvorg the merry, mischievous, unconscious faces f,p th® one lovely expressive countenance which so strangely contradicted itself. Now wearing a gay smile, negatived by sorrowful eyes; now uttering a merry retort with quivering lips. Betty’s sharp eyes grew dim as she looked, and she would have much to say to herself afterwards, going through her kitchen work with fierce energy, shaking her head all the while, and pursing up her lips with a stem&h’ f)i disapproval. “The w&pfpr’s terrible blind, she soliloquised; »lmvm’ se,e siclj work; and BettyA to jine hands agin the p,W lamb,” with a glance at the cracked tear pot which did duty as Bank, “ A likelr tale! Betty’ll be a match for ’em all if they dunnot look out.” Elsie’s engagement had lasted some weeks, when the old servant made up her mind to that mysterious ordeal, called in her phraseology “making ’em face it.” There is an awful vagueness about this which adds not a little to its power; bj}t although Betty’s stern glances might warned Mr. Yere that aa .avenging 6wqu4 9390 kangff

over his head, he lived in happy unconsciousness of the fact, until the evening when the storm burst upon his defenceless pate. That afternoon, Elsie was overwhelmed by one of her passionate outbursts of tears. Safely locked up in her own room, she thought herself unobserved by any one; but Betty had a shrewd suspicion of what was going on, and her pots and pans suffered accordingly. The vicious manner in which she swept her kitchen and scrubbed her saucepans warned Mary that she was in an explosive humour, and must not be rashly disturbed; so Betty was left to herself, and her wrath waxed hot. At tea-time no Elsie appeared. “ Where’s Miss Elsie ?” she demanded, in so stern a manner that Mary felt quite alarmed. “ She has a headache, Betty, and would rather not come down; but don’t you trouble,” she added, deprecatingly, “ I will take her some tea.” “ Youll do nothing of the sort, Miss Mary,” said Betty, authoritatively. “ Since when has it been a trouble to me to'wait upon any of you? 11l tend to Miss Elsie,” and Betty departed, with her head in the air. “Dear me, how very cross Betty is to-day,” sighed Mary, plaintively; 'she really has been going on so in the kitchen! and whatever one says offends her.” “ Oh! leave her alone,” said Bertie, lazily; “she’s a good sort, with all her tantrums. She’ll come round in time.” Betty, meanwhile, busied herself in preparing a little tea-tray for Elsie; a cup of tea brewed in her own especial pot. and a slice of carefully browned toast and butter. This she soon carried up to the girl’s room. She found her seated upon the sofa, her eyes shaded with her hand. j “ Oh, thank you, Betty dear,” she said, with forced cheerfulness; “ this is kind of you; and to make me toast too, you spoil me.” 1 “Is your head no better then, Miss Elsie ? ” inquired Betty, looking at her with great concern. j “It will be better when I have had some tea,” replied Elsie, evasively. “Mr. Sam was just coming through t’ gate as I come upstairs,” said Betty, watching her keenly as she spoke. Elsie gave a quick, involuntary movement, which nearly upset her tea. “Need I, Betty?’’she murmured, in a stifled voice. “My head is so bad.” I “Need you go down to see him?” j responded Betty, drawing her brows together, threateningly. “ Certainly not. | I’ll settle him, my dearie; dunnot you worrit yoursen.” “ But I ought to —I must,” said Elsie, nervously, making an effort to rise; but Betty’s large hand was on her shoulder, and she fell back. “ Bide where you are, child; take your tea, and put a bit o’ colour into them cheeks,” said Betty, stroking the girl's silky brown hair. The hand was rough and toil-worn, and the words commonplace enough, but both touch and (one were full of the tendercst motherliness. Elsie could bear to be misunderstood, but sympathy was too much for the full heart. Her self-control gave way suddenly, and she burst into a wild passion of tears. Betty’s arms enfolded the quivering form of the weeping girl, and her eyes were wet with unaccustomed tears as she soothed her with quaint little disjointed phrases and caressing gestures, such as she had been wont to use in the longugo days when bruised knees and cut fingers were the worst of earthly ills. When the violence of this hysterical tempest had spent itself, Betty insisted upon putting her charge to bed, and Elsie had not the energy to resist. “I am sorry to have been so silly, Betty,” she said, apologetically. “It is odd that my headache should make me inclined to cry.” “ Yery odd,” remarked Betty, dryly. “ Come now, no talking; you jist get to bed as quick as you can, and I’ll fetch you some fresh tea.” On this errand Betty departed; her heart full of anxious thoughts, and a determination to put an end to the present state of things without delay. She did not feel satisfied with the condition of Elsie’s health; her hands were too hot and her eyes too brilliant, while a bright colour flushed her thin cheek. Betty’s anxiety deepened, and her indignation grew hot, as she listened to the laughter in the dining-room. “ They’ll happen change their tune when they’ve harried the poor lass into her grave. But wait a bit!” This was another of the vague threats Betty was in the habit of hurling at a naughty world; and it generally betokened a bad quarter of an hour foi someone. In this case the victim was Mr. Yere. The good man was seated in unsuspecting security before his beloved microscope, when Betty made her appearance with the cleanest of caps and aprons, as befitted the gravity of the occasion. She was perfectly aware that her master was blind to all such details, but that made no difference to her ; spotless raiment had a curiously strengthening and elevating effect upon Betty. She was never lacking in self - respect; but she could certainly speak with greater force and dignity, and deliver her soul of its weight of righteous displeasure, with far more felling effect, when her “puter woman” was irreproachable. I’ve come to speak to you, sir, about Miss Elsie,” began Betty, “ About Miss Elsie —eh ? ” replied Mr. Yere, without looking up. He had an irritating habit of repeating what people said when he was not attending. Betty understood him well, and bestowed an antagonistic look upon the microscope as she proceeded. “ Miss Elsie is not well, sir, and I wish to tell you that I am afraid she is very unhappy.” “ Yery unhappy? Oh, nonsense, Betty,” said her master, with an easy smile. “ Unhappy indeed ! It’s Mr. Sam’s business to put that right, if she is,” and he laughed softly, and reached for some more object-glasses. “ Sir,” said Betty, in a solemn, vibrating voice, leaning one hand upon his table, “if I were to come and tell you that any one of your flock was ill and in trouble, wogld you tell me it was all nonsense? Why, a'fprg the worc|s was well out of my mouth, ypu’d be up and looking for your hat; and is it to your own flesh and blood you deny help and comfort, and turn to I your bits of glass! ” j She had aroused the Yicar at last. The 1 bits of glass slipped out of his fingers unheeded as he turned to face his accuser; the thought oddly flashing across his mind that she looked like some old picture of Deborah, the “mother in Israel.” (to bf continued] ■ ’