JOY AND SORROW.

Evening Star, Issue 9582, 31 December 1894, Page 1 (Supplement)

JOY AND SORROW.

\ A TALE OF SELF-DENIAL.' ] [Bt F- Mobbls.) 1 ——' , . s (fiecowl Prize.—Covyfiijm.) r CHAPTER ll.— (Continued.) s fSgpSgl HEN Joy descended to brook* 3 fast the following morning her r Wsmm- father had not appeared. She 1 fflWsK& waited for him a few minutes [ then went into the , kitchen. 3 " Dorothy, father must have over- : slept himself," she said j "do you think I . had better call him V N ' ■ " Yes, my dear; it is past the breakfast I ;hour, and everything is growing cold," f the old woman replied; ' Joy went upstairs to her father's room, ; but receiving no answer to her knock * she opened the dOor softly and entered. \ The rooiu/was empty and "the bed had' ■ not been occupied dtirirlg the night. A letter addressed to herself W Oti the 'dressing table, and Joy, hurriedly opening it, made herselfmistress of its contents in a few' seconds: There was a rushing sound in her earsjs!ssobjects ifl v grew blurred and indistinct, "ana something seemed to sye way in her brain. Old Dorothy downstairs was startled by a sound, half cry, half laugh, and she ' sped upstairs faster than her rheumatic limbs had allowed her to do for many years. Joy was still standing before the dressing table, the note in her hand. She thrust it hastily into her bosom as Dorothy approached. "Oh, my dearie, what is the matter?

Where is the master?" she gasped betweei her panting. " Dorothy," said the girl in an excitec whisper, "he has gone away to hide" the*stiddenly putting her hands to hej head sH© 'stared blankly before her. " JJfhy must ho hide, dearie 2" aaid th« old woman soothingly, taking a sleridei hand between her own rough palms. " Wait a minutej,Dofry. As soon as 1 remember. It slips away from me again Ah ! now I know j but 1 canfiot tell you? She went on talking to herself in 6 rambling, incoherent manner. " Brian must know; he will help me to hunt foi him. Could never find him by myself in this great city." She paused, for someone was knocking loudly at the front door. "Go and see who it is, Dorry," she said, " but come back directly."" Dorothy did not like leaving her aJoriej but there was nothing to be done but obey, and she plodded downstairs arid opened tho door. "Can I see Mr Willough'b'4 ?" In the room above Joy's strained ea>s caught the sound of the cold .sardonic \oice. Before Dorothy could stammer out a reply the girlish figure was descending the stairs, "Ah, Miss Willoughby, this is an unexpected pleasure." Mr Crosby advanced to meet her with outstretched hand, but he stopped abruptly, and his arm fell to his side again, for Joyce had paused before reaching the last step, with one hand resting on the banister. Her eyes were sparkling, and a bright spot burnt in either cheek. " Stand back !" she cried in clear, ringing tones. " You will have to know before long, so I may as weD.toll you at once : my father is gone." The man staggered backwards as if ho had been stmck. " Tiien he has escaped me," he hoarsely* "Fool that I was not to have had him watched." He cursed his folly for having felt so confident that this girl would concede to his conditions for her father's sake. The thought had never struck him that his victim would attempt to escape while his daughter had it in her power to save him by a word. "What was the reason?" he hissed between his teeth, his face livid and the veins in his neck swelling with passion. " Did you refuse to save him ?" " Tho reason does not signify," she answered calmly. "He is gone, and Ido not think you will find him. But I am free —free," she cried, clapping her hands childishly and laughing wildly, "and I shall never marry you, never! never!! never !!!"

Crosby paled perceptibly, and drew back.

"Open the door, Dorothy," said the girl, abject scorn written in her face. " He is a coward."

Dorothy opened the door, and as the man passed out he whispered in her ear : "Send her to* tho madhouse, for she is mad, as mad as a hatter." Joy waited until he was out of the house and the door locked behind him.

"Help me to dress, Dorry," she said, with feverish haste. " I must go to Mrs Leslie at once."

" But, honey,i you have had no breakfast," said Dorothy, the tears beginning to overflow and run down her withered cheeks. "1 do not want any breakfast. Quick, Dorry ; the black cloak. That is right. Tie my veil, please. Thank you. Now I am ready." " Miss Joy, you must wait a minute. I am not going to allow you to go by yourself," said the old woman authoritatively. " Sit down and wait while I put on my bonnet." Joy submitted passively. Tt seemed ages to her before Dorothy again entered, but in reality it was but a few minutes. Before they had gone many steps down the street, Dorothy waved her umbrella at the driver of a passing cab. "You could never walk so far, dearie, your face is as white as ashes now," she said, as she helped her young mistress into the vehicle. There was "silence between them as the cab rattled over the stones, and Joy gave a sigh of relief as it drew up before the Leslies' house. Grace came running down the stairs to greet her. " Why, Joy, dearest, I am glad to see you," she exclaimed. "But something has happened. Ah! Dorothy, I am glad you did not allow her to come alone. Come into the study, Joy, and tell me all about it." But Joy grasped her old nurse'-s arm. " Don't leave me, Dorry," she whispered. " No, no my lamb, I will stay with you," said Dorothy, and then in an aside to Mrs Leslie: u She is completely unstrung, ma'am, and I am afraid will be very ill if we are not careful."

Mrs Leslie opened the door of the study. " Come in here, both of you," she said, " and shut out the prying eyes of the numerous servants."

" Now, Joy, tell mo what is the matter?" " Will you send for Brian, please Gracie," said Joy. "I have told the cabman to wait on purpose if you will send for him at once."

" Certainly, my dear," said" Mrs Leslie. " I have not seen Brian since the night before last, when you were all here together. I suppose A I had better write a few lines," and she seated herself at the writing table and wrote for a few minutes. When she had directed the letter and given it to a servant, with a brief order, she returned to the sofa, where Joy was sitting. "Do not trouble to tell me, dear, if you would rather not," she said, noticing .Toy's reluctance to reveal her' secret, « Would you like to lip down, Joy V v No,-thank you. ' When will Brian be here, Grace V

" Very soon, dear. I sent the cab %r him. Doias your head ache very badly, iJoyf , • *\ r T, Ko, n<?t exactly, why do you askf Joy replied. "You keep putting your hand to your head as if it sa\d Mrs Leslie. I "I anvonlyafrajd of forgetting,"said J Joy, dreamily. " You know I cannot re- : miorfrber things for very long. - Mrs Leslie loofcetr Thiers/) and insisted on her iakf&Jg somb. wjnfc fiitid biscuits. The time dragged slowly by,, but at last Brian arrived. Grace iftefc aM outside and* whispered a few words ifi( hiS ear before fie entered the rooffl where Joy was waiting. " May I leave you now, dearie T~. askbdaihe old nurse, and Joy answered with a little nod.

*' Brian," she pried, springing up and running across the room to him, " you will help me to find him, won't you I We will go' aw"af to America, far away from every living .soul., Oh,, toy father, my dear, dear dad! You will safe httofor me ; promise me, Brian f " Joy,mydearest," said Brian, drawing her gently .down beside liim on the sofa, "yott have not told me yet-why your father lias left you t ". ..-, , Joy WcL her face in her ihautfV "I Jimt:Ua letter "before I left i ihomflj, put Ke.saa ite! iietd qteffaeard us talking; lasl.sg% an'di he' to go away," she said; head went on earnestly: "If ,1 fell" Brian, you must promise to keep it a aead secret. Years ago, when father was a young man 1 , in Australia he killed a man. It was an accident, but it would have been impossible to prove it was not intentional. He escaped the police and changed his name. . »or ! rears he lived abroad, an exile in a foreign and." Joy was: upeaking very 'rapidly. She had risen again, and every particle of color had ebbed from her leaving them white snow". "Brian had with his feelings. she had given abrupt, hastjgg sentences th.at^^P^ } : naturally greatlyf astonished. »* Brian"," she said, bending a; little towards him, " his real name is Temple." "What!" Brian exclaimed, starting up. u My. dear child, you must be mistaken ; it is impossible.'' "It is true," Joy returned, quietly ; " the name sounds familiar—4 am sure I have heard it before."

" joy," cried Brian, a new light breaking upon his bewildered brain, "T understand it all now. Did you* father say anything in his letter concerning Crosby ? Try and think, my darling,", he said, seeing the puziSed expression stealing into her face again. " Yes," Joy answered, slowly ; "he said he was going &Way \frith.a clear conscience, as he-was qtrite sure I would settle Afr Crosby'sdebt as soon as possible. I do not understand, but some day when we are all together again he will tell us what he meant."

" I will tell you now what, he meant, my dearest," «ald Brian. • "Have you' forgotten my uncle's will ? You are. no longer Joyce Willoughby, but Joyce Temple, and I want you to change your name once more to Joyce O'Neal." The coupling of the last two names acted liko magic upon the girl. She started back frdßrhka like a frightened deer, with a look in her eyes that Brian never forgot. "What would your father say to his son—one of his proud old race and name that is without spot or blemish—being wed to the daughter of a murderer. That is what I am—a murderer's daughter, a murderer's daughter." Her voice rose shriller, and more shrill, until it ended in a wild shriek, that struck terror to the hearts of all who heard it. With that cry the slender thread was snapped, and Joy, the once happy littlo Joy, who had flitted about the gardens at Glencorrie and Glencrce as gay as the gayest bird, was taken away babbling, ever babbling, the unintelligible nonsense of one whose senses have taken flight.

CHAPTER 111. Emilia: 'Twill out, 'twill out: I hold my peace, sir? No, I will speak, as liberal as the air. Let heaven, and men, and devils—let them allAll, ail cry shame against me, yet I'll speak. / —'Othello.* It was a week later, and great gusts of wind swept down the lonely thoroughfare where a man wearing & heavy overcoat was walking slowly with bent head along the pavement. The sound of footsteps caused him to start, turn the collar of his coat up, and draw his hat down over his eyes. The man approaching was walking quickly, but his footsteps slackened, and finally stopped as ho reached the bent figure in the overcoat. Peering under the hat -into the face beneath, he burst into a harsh, grating laugh, and the light of a gas lamp near which they stood revealed the white gleaming teetih and cold cruel features of the man Crosby. " Ha, ha," he laughed jeeringly, " I have found you at last, my tine friend. You thought you had eluded me very successfully ; but let me tell you that Jasper Crosby is not the man to bo floored so easily. You had the best of me twice, George Temple. Yes, I know your name, and you may well looked astonished." For the man was staring at him stonily, his eyes fixed and glassy, and a grey tinge overspreading his face. "Good God," he gasped, reeling backward against the atone wall behind him, "it is Jake Harvey "; for something in the man's expression recalled his old friend as he had last seen him at the mouth of the terrible shaft. . ■ ' .

"Hair dye and the dentist make a wonderful difference in a man's appearance," said Crosby, with another laugh, "and other people can change their names as well as yourself. I am the genuine article, sure enough, though you seem to take me for a ghost. As I said before, you have twice had the best of me ; but I swore to be even with you, and now it is my turn." Joy's father drew back from the man who had thrust his face, livid with passion, within two inches of his own. A vision rose up before him of Joy, his darling little Joy, as the happy wife of Brian O'Neal, and of Glencorrie flourishing under the powerful influence of the Root of all Evil The picture caused him to recover his self-possession and speak in the tone of a man who can look his fellows in the face.

"I fail to understand vourmeaning, sir," he said, haughtily. "You know my lawyers; if you will call to-morrow your account shall be settled without delay. Stand aside, please, and allow me to pass." "Not so fast," said the other,, laying a rough hand on his shoulder. "Do you think me fool enough to let you know you were guiltless of murder if I had not ■known there was a greater trial in store for you? You think your daughter will inherit a huge fortune by wedding that proud you»g jackanapes f Oh, you, are greatly mistaken, George Temple; that same daughter, the child you cherish more than anything upon earth, is mad; the last time I saw her she„was almost a raving maniiic." The cruel words had scarce left.hki lips when he measured his full length upon the pavement by a welldirected blow straight from the shoulder qf

-* concluding., ftfltoift "M-i#p P prostrate, ibnn j»ith Wf *?%'' His styof ir was full and *rich, ,ynQv a' - unnustakeable,' Irish,brogue, d loughby clutched his arm, j- heavily. ««Brian,"* he gasped, **iß, #al this man says true?" •** , ;t • d , " No; sjr, Brian answered," false even j. word of it.. Here, you vilUwn,donkinsta it off vet," and he laid his hand '<&' >Qio&i e collar, "Your daughter is wy.4llKsp r Willotignbtt Your Tetter aftfijjftl & shock, tod caused Jtar to ham a-shsjrji w - atteeK of braifr feveF. , ' ■" - .'* . d "MytMdinWd^ w " I did it for the boat; but I might hayf i known the disgrace wbtdd crush her<tssK a earth. Let that fellow go/ Brian.' \ But e staya moment," atjd?he,turnaitothenian. i Crosby's usually spotless tolotbes, ■ were y covered with mud, his hat was-battprgd, ; and altogether he was a mogt dejecflSed looking object. Alwavs a cowaru at g he absolutely trembled before the young ~ giant wn*ff fed, such a firm hold efhis r collar. ~ ~ " Crosby," said the <A&mst "you have r wronged me greatly. You* Igrte ruined t nearly twenty years of mv life, aid J«tt 3 have caused my child to suffer, the cmjd ) who is the light of mine eye*< You have i driven her into brain fever and nigh 1 unto , death/ I pray God may forgive you, fori . [never can* Now go J" i i A few. minutes later the two other men . were walking in' tihe dtrectkm of the > house, "ft was tieculiaf/' said Brian,' I " that we three toetj fn'that strange manner. • Take my arm, sir," he went oh. " You do t not look well. It is late for you to be out . walking on such a night." f "To tell you the truth, Brian," his comr panion answered, "it is the only time of [ the day f have ever left the house since I » left home. I knew that Crosby, and very $ mktfa you, would be on the look out for '" 1 lived in a constant fear of , being detected; But, now tell me of Joy. i Was she%ht-headed V "Of course she was, bttt the curious part of it is that though she called for you incessantly "she has not once mentioned the contents of your letter; even in her , delirium she has seemed to remember the necessity of keeping it secret." " Poor child," said Mr Willoughby, his ; voice shaking j "poor loving little heart. How she must nave suffered. It has been an awful time for us all, ' but I think she has had the most to bear." When they arrived __ at. the

Leslies' house the doctor's "carriage : was stailding before the door. Hx Leslie has given' Brian 1 , a latchkey—since Joy's illness his ha& insisted on his looking on their house 84 his home—and ho opened the door, and entered" the hall with a very white face. The doctor Was coining slowly downstairs with Mrs Leslie.' "Is she worse, Grace V asked the young man, anxiously. "There a, change, Brian," she answered, " and 2 thought it better to send for Dr Lestrange. She has fallen into a sound sleep, but the 1 doctor says he will not answer for the results if her father cannot go to her when she awake*. Oh, if we could only find him," said the little woman, clasping her hands together. " Grace," said Brian, a smile creeping up into his grave young face, " who is this?" . He drew Joy's father from behind a large palm that was standing te the halt Mrs Leslie gave a little scream, and ran towards him with both hands outstretched. "You are just in time," she cried. " Now our darling Joy will be quite well soon. Oh, thank God, thank God, for He is very merciful." Heife the brave little woman, who had behaved like a true heroine through ell that dreadful week, broke down and oried like a child. A few hours later she stood at the window of the room where Joy lay in a deep, heavy sleep. The nurse had gone into the next room to rest, and Grace had insisted on Dorothy lying down on the' comfortable sofa. The old woman had fallen asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow, for she had scarcely closed her eyes since her young mistress was struck down. The dawn of a newly-born day had begun to break, and Grace, turning from the win-1 dow, went to t Joy's bedside, and bending down, listened intently to the quiet/ regular breathing. The room was with a shaded lamp, but in the dim light she distinctly saw a pair of blue eyes looking back into her own. She was startled for .the moment, but said quietly >? " Don't speak yet, darling," and instantly administered a few spoonsful of. nourishment. There was silence for a few seconds, and then ""Brian," she said, and the sweet voice sounded terribly weak and far away—" may I see Brian, Gracie f ' " Yes, I Will oafi him } but, Joy, you must not talk, dearest." Before Mrs Leslie left the room Dorothy awoke and flung herself down beside the bedstead of her darling. A faint smile crossed the wan face upon the pillow. "Kiss me, both of you," said Joy, and again the single word " Brian" left her lips, but the two women understood her meaning, and a few minutes later Brian was in the room. She was too weak to move, or even to speak many words, but he sat beside her and held her waxen little hand between his own strong ones, and told her gently, very gently, of how he had found her father only a few short hours before. "Grace insisted on his lying down," he finished, "but we promised to call him directly you awoke." \ " Oh, no," said Jqy, "he must not be ' disturbed." For amid all her eagerness and longing to see her. father again the old unselfish spirit rose to the surface. | " But, Brian," she whispered, "he will be caught; oh, save him, .Brian, save him!" " Hush, hush, my darling!" said Brian ;■ " you must not excite • yourself. No onej knows anything about it bmt you and me." At this point the door was opened, and Mrs Leslies face appeared. "Brian, Mr Willoughby is awake," she said, and withdrew again immediately. Then the old mau entered. There was a long silence as he bent down over his child. She was the first to speak. "Father," she said softly, "you have come back to me." "Yes, my precious; there is no more need for me to hide my head, Joy." "But, dear——" and she broke off to ask suddenly: "Is there anyone else in the room V " No, dear; only Brian, you, and me," he replied. "Then, father, what about the—{he murder ?" she whispered. "It was all a mistake, Joy. The man was not killed from his fall down the' shaft; and if I had not been in such a burrysto escape it would have been made right immediately; but I was in a terror, for they were a rough set of men, and, a* they knew Jake and I were sworn enemies, would have suspected me at once if, there had been a crime committed. But no more to-night, my darling ; you have ' heard quite" enough." He did not sn-~ lighten her as to the fact- of Crosby and i Jake Harvey being one and the jsajbe person. He was afraid it would excite : Jfrjan vj as as much, astonished as Joy, r

ii hgptb sit with; fat fer the ig, - &' KpHIiPtTOF had left the room aha j. M to on. Mr Wmoeghby's arm. began, 4l^m^ l 'haii; jaat arirn^itrom St* ># - A man has beeu *• earnest dewceto see yoa aft ■f 'the WiV wane, Mm I *~*&#qfr mfoo&rfj' 4mt e fellw seems to be, very seriously hnrti, i. and is not expected to live tnapy hoots. X i.: .wonder who he - - ';>}•* •',/.''.'' '- o*«'"- £1 cannot imagine; "but if you wiß-alkrwr I,- niel will go to Mm at once. No, indeeeV 1 iana Bot in the least tired "; the latter im - v 1 her anxious queries.. In lestt £ ihanrlialf.an hour-he was in-the wwd tit*"" ~ ■ < WtigifeL'' A nurse met-him door, led him betweea the white he% : . - &i wither fhtir* sufiering odcmpmfa<. 4>&w* V ruroier end of Ihe wand,' betnd » i pmm; lay a man, his hands mjorog *est--1 leseLy on the coverlid. AsMrWCßoßghby b. appffipoheoV they clutched • convulsiveqr &~ ) hisooatßleeve/ - * [ < J* Oh, ihank God, yon have come I* he gasped; and-his tlshor, Btartmg back, i recognised in the drawn, agonised ffeatßres. , went on the poor imteb, • ( 1 have wronged you throughout To* > won the woman I loved, and you found t , the goki I strove in vain to discover at the 1 :tiine, I found it afterwards, but ii diet ■ me no good. I have hated you for years, i and I hoped—hoped to force your child [ into marrying me, to wring your heart, r for I knew that her misery would be ' yours. Temple, after that can you forgive f me! You said yofl never could ; but can - you—will you Vhe said eagerly. For. a few moments there was silenee, > and then the elder man spoke ; 1 he said, "my child is recoverI ing, but she has suffered terribly. Her ' face is white and pinched, d&d her hair—- ' her beautiful hair—is all gone I But there is a bright future in store for her, and 1 there'is much to thank the Almighty for. With that thought, Jake, I can forgive you-rrfuily and Way, do not say a word, man; for had what you told me been tnie," and he shuddered involuntarily," I could never have forgiven you." A smile of infinite peace stole over the dying man's face. " That girl over there," . he whispered, pointing to the nurse, "she h>i some papers for you. They may help yon to prove your identity—you—will—understand." His breath was coming in ' painful gasps, but he went on with an ' iJffork "She said 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they ajiall be—as white " but the rest of the sentence was lost in silence, for George Temple and Jake Harvey had parted—to meet again before the throne of the Lamb, who shall lead them unto living fountains-of waters, and where God shall wipe away all tears from / their eyes.