CLARENCE'S RIVALRY.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 3106, 11 June 1881, Page 5 (Supplement)

CLARENCE'S RIVALRY.

BY JENNY WREN.

down the rule than to follow it. He forgot indeed, the purpose for which he came, as the days merged into weeks, and found him still a guest at Maywood. Sometimes he would break away from the spell by taking his gun and spending long, solitary days in the woods, though often his game-bag boasted no single occupant, as he would tramp through the country, endless miles, leaving pheasant and partridge unmolested. But, again, a temptation not to be resisted would entice him into the library or draw-ing-room—wherever happened to be t&e slight, graceful figure of his uncle's ward. Often he noticed his uncle's eyes fixed eagerly, even intently, upon them, when he would spring up and suddenly leave the room, as though overcoming some temptation. He never stopped to put this feeling into words, or to find from whence it sprung, until one day he wakened from his dream. It had been one of his restless moods The glory of Indian summer was spread abroad, and, as the sun was sinking in a golden haze to its kingly rest, he approached the house. The library door stood open He stopped a moment to look in. In a large easy-chair sat his uncle, and at his feet, on a cushion, one arm resting on his knee, the sweet, girlish face upturned to his, was his young ward. ' She means to marry him ?' His mother's words seemed spoken aloud in his ear, but they shot with a new, keen pang into his heart. His uncle's voice broke the silence : ' It is an old man's dearest wish, my dear. I would not force your heart, but I should dare hope then to keep my sunbeam for Maywood and Maywood s master.' Clarence had not meant to turn eaves* dropper. He caught a glimpse of the blue eyes, swimming in unshed tears; the rosy flush oa the pure, pale cheek. Yet she seemed no unwilling listener, and stifling a groan which threatened to escape him, he turned and fled. He knew his secret now—knew that his uncle's marriage entailed on him a greater loss than that of Maywood and its broad acres—the loss of the one woman whom he loved. Ah, how mean and pitiful his former action looked ! He had come here to f ruw t.rate the designs of a designing woman. He had found a rose so fair, so swe6t, that any man might long to pluck and treasure its fragrance for his own. Honor left open for him one path. Resolutely he turned his face toward it. 'Going away, my boy?' questioned li'f ■ uicle, a troubled expression gathering on his face, as he sought him, the next morning, m his study. ' I hud hoped Maywood mighthave for you an added charm, now that it can boast a young mistress. Is not your determination a very sudden one ?' ' I have been here some time,' he answered, hesitatingly. 'And is it necessary for me to tell you now that you can never wear out your welcome ?' ' No,' he replied ; ' I have always felt that; and, sir, you will let me wish you all hsppiness!' ' Wish me happiness ? What do you mean, Clarence ?' ' Only in so far as Maywood's future mistress is concerned: I ought to tell you, sir. 1 think I should feel wortl_7_at-the_ love with which you have always ;T honored me did I make fraijk confession. But before 1 came here I had heard it rumored that you were about to tako n, young wife, and then it seemed to me unnatural. I was jealous of my place in your heart, also pitifully jealous of the good things of the future which would ihus elude me. I have learned to be heartily ashamed of both, and I think now I may dare say again, I wish you happiness !' In utter incredulity, the old man had listened ; but, when his nephew had finished, he warmly wrung hiß hand. 'And 60 you would go away,' he said, 'and leave your old uncle to his young sweetheart, lest you should be tempted to break the tenth commandment. Suppose you stay, and let us reverse it, leaving tho temptation to me? No, no, Clarence! It is all a mistake, mj boy. You will find •Sylvia in the next room. If I did not misinterpret her blushes, when, yesterday afternoon, I disclosed to her the wish nearest to my heart, it awakened an echo within my own. It is for you now to put it to the crowning test. Win her, it may be, for your wife. 1 only ask that Maywood, which will be yours at your death, may be your home during mj life.' An hour later, with radiant eyes, Clarence ,-igain entered the study of the man who had jiven him his last best gift; but, as he crossed the threshold, Sylvia slipped her band from where he held it imprisoned beneath Lis arm, as Bhe ran forward to hide her blusher on the breast of her guardiaa and friend. ' Only think of it, guardy, that all this time you and he were rivals.' ' And so we are, my dear,' the old man answered, solemnly; ' but our rivalship dates from to-day, in the earnest wish and endeavor to make happy Maywood's future young and honored mistress.'

' She is going to marry your uncle, my dear. She is a designing girl. As you value your hold upon the estate, go down at once. You are always Bure of a welcome at Maywood, and perhaps your presence may waken his senses to the injustice he is about to perpetrate upon one whom he has always promised should be bis future heir.' Maywood had always been to Clarence Corning a second home. Here he had spent his vacations as a schoolboy—his summer terms during his college life. His uncle had never let him know the want of the father who had died during his infancy ; but when, on a bright October morning, he stepped into the handsome dogcart, and gathered up the reins over the backs of the chestnut horses, Sent to meet him in answer to his telegram announcing his coming, he for the first time felt an uncomfortable sensation in the region of the heart, above which, carefully iolded away, lay the letter, closing with the momentous words which had induced his journey. Who was the ' she' referred to ? Ah, his uncle had not failed to sound Sylvia Moore's praises. He wrote : ' She is the sunlight of my home. I only tremble that the day may come and leave me to the darkness of a desolate old age.' ' Of course he intends to marry her' had been Mrs Coming's sagacious decision, ' and of course she had led him into such a frame of mind. Such rapsodhies from a man at his time of life can lead to but one result. Artful, designing girl! Clarence must go down at once to Maywood.' And now Clarence wus speeding over the smooth country roads, feeling very much like a traitor, inasmuch as he was entering the hospiituble old walls with n secret motive hidden away in his breast. 'Welcome, Mr Clarence!' cried the old lodgekeeper as he threw open the gates U the young man, whose childish, tottering steps he had often upheld, carrying him in his strong arms when he was weary. 'Hello, Donald!' he shouted in return, flinging a gold-piece down at the old man's feet. ' Bless the lad!' murmured the recipient of the gift, as he stooped to gather it up. The chestnuts were half-way to the house, speeding up the carefully graveled road, when they gave a sudden shy, a leap aside, which for tbe moment took all the young driver's skill and strength to overcome. A slight, girlish figure, dressed in white, though the air was already chill with impending frosts, and carrying in her hand a basket filled with late flowers which she had been gathering as she stepped into the road from behind a rosebush, had been the cause of their terror. The young man muttered some words beneath his breath it was as well were not audible; but at that instant the house appeared in view, and on the steps, waiting to welcome him, was the figure of a man, the sight of whom quickly dissipated his illhumor—the love of whom made him for the moment forget even his purpose. He had been accustomed to regard his uncle as an old man. Now he recognised that though his hair was silvered with Time's frost, and the lines only age imprints had marked his handsome face, the straight, stalwart form was still unbowed, and the light of a youthful spirit sparkled in his eyes. Clarence wondered at his former blindness. He was still in the prime of his manhood, spite of his fifty-and-five years. Whj had it never crossed his mind before that he might mai'ry ? He was a man of whom any woman might be proud. The twilight shadows were gathering when, after a visit to many of his old baunt.Clarence entered the drawing-room, to see and tell his uncle the result of the day. Among the familiar scenes, receiving his welcome from the old familiar faces, and finding so much unchanged, he had forgotten the change within doors, and started when a slight young figure sprang up at his entrance. The evenings were growing cool, and a wood fire blazed on the hearth, beside which she had been kneeling. The warm red fire of the flame now lit up the lovely face. The blue eyes looked black in the fitful light; the rich auburn hah*, whose masses seemed too heavy for the small, gracefully-poised head, seemed to have imprisoned the very glow of the fire. ' This is my ward. Clarence—Miss Sylvia Moore. She has heard me speak too often of my boy not to know him before meeting him.' A small white hand was timidly outstretched. Clarence took it, murmuring a few courteous words of greeting, but feeling now a traitor double-dyed. ' I am afraid Mr Corning will not feel inclined to give me a very warm greeting,' she said, halt-playfully, in low, sweet tones. ' inasmuch as I was nearly the cause, this morning, of an unexpected catastrophe. I lnuird the sound of wheels, and stepping forward to get out of the way before you dis covere:> me, frightened the horses by im suMm": appearance. I presume they imagined !. a.' r-prung from the ground.' ';f so, i am very happy the ground did not swallow you up again,' he retorted, wit a meaning glance. His uncle looked up quickly. Was In jealous already? Clarence wondered. W ui.s' )• oid this girl, so tbat Micro m _ ' ,t w,:e, however, au easier (WhTlm.,