EDMUND CARRINGTON.

Evening Star, Issue 13002, 22 December 1906, Page 3

EDMUND CARRINGTON.

By Mbs Frank Cutmiuro:

chapter XX. Two weeks inter Fannie lay tn -: find fro on her bed, suffi-ring from an

attack of brain fever. Vera gathered tioni her unconscious wanderings some idea of what her young sister had gone through since the estrangement with Arthur. Dr Statcman. whom they had called in n preference to Dr Dacre. owing to Fans antipathy to tier Latter, gave them vety little hope of her recovery. ’Vera and tlnT old servant Mary acted as nurses. .‘it Goldie wan so g r i»-f-i-tricken that he was quite incapable of attending to his business Harold spent most of Ido lime running up and down stairs to inquire how the patient was progressing. " How is Fannie?" asked Mrs Buek.atul, who was arranging flowers in tho dining room. She was" extremely annoyed at having to postpione her society engagements owing to her niece’s illness. “About tho same. aunt. There |o i» ™- TiroveiiK-iL to report. ’ replied Vei-l. sa \. She paused a moment, and then continued, with an effort: "1 leave como to beg a favor of vou—a vyrv great fa\or. aim . Mrs Buck land looked, up in surprise'-. “Dr State-man has expressed a wish to consult with Sir John Philip, who. vou may remember, only arrived in Dunedin last week. His specialty is brain fever, but his charges for one- visit are yo enormous that I eiraplv cannot- cafl bim in unless you will kindly lend roe the money. You knowfather is not in a position to moot a heavy doctor's bill, and 1 cannot bring myself to borrow from a stranger.” “ What security can yon give mo? ’ Was her aunt a female tshylock? "Vera began to think sho must be. The matter of security had not crossed her nnud in connection with a loan from her aunt. “I can only give you my promise to repay when it is in my power to do so,” she answered, gravely. “It is against my principles to lend where there is not sound security,” announced Mrs Buckland with asperity. “As I have told, you over and over again, you have only yourself to blame if vou are scrimped for money. Had you - v advice vou would have been osettled long ago, and you would D 'f- / able to relieve your father of HX— , . .. rassmects. I can promise yon one thing, Vera, and Hut is that tho money you ask for will be yours absolutely the moment you accept Dr Dacre, should ho propose to

vou again." “And in the meantime Fan would have to suffer! Thanks for your generosity, mnt." Vera glided from tho room, shutting the door quietly after her. She returned with a heaw heart to the bedside of her sister, who lay tossing and muttering incoherently. - You should have called me before, Mary. You may go now; I shall ring if I want you.” . ** She hajs oniv beenra to ravo, miss. Again md agtiin had Vera, told Mary she must go, as they could not afford to pay her wages, but tho girl declared, wages or no wages, she would remain with her Miss Goldie. Vera dreaded lost anycave but tho faithful Mary and herself should bear her sister’s wanderings. These showed plainly the previous state of her troubled mind, and there was no need now for Vera to ask what had caused the brain fever. The revelation of how Fan had jealously concealed from them her sufferings came as a severe shock to Vera.

Raising her voice, Fan called to Arthur b endearing tocos, and begged him pite»uslv to love her.

“Onlv his sister,” she muttered, throwing her* head backwards and forwards, and clutching the counterpane with frenzied band. “ My brother Arthur Then an unearthly laugh filled the room, causing Vera to shudder. “ One, two, three months -—his wife—l shall die, die ! Save me ! Arthur! Arthur! Save me!” She held out her arms, as though entreating him to come to her. “Come quickly! 1 am going—going! Oh. saw me!” With a heart-rend-ing cry of pain she sank back, ex ha listed on to the pillows. In a few minutes it all b gan again. “ Arthur, come tome ! There ia Dr Dacre. I see him. Take him away! Oh, save mo! A carriage! I hate a carriage! I won’t see Robert! Pity me! Oh, my head! It bums, it bumsT During this last outburst Dr Stateman Lrd stolen quietly up to Vera's side. “What can we do. doctor?” she asked, in a whi per. “You see how it is with her.” “ Yes,” tho doctor said. “ I have thought for some time that she must have had a secret grief, but of course tho difficulty has been to discover what it was. Poor child ! Her troubles have begun early. Who is this Arthur to whom she calls?” “A very dear friend of ours—Mrs Sumpter's brother.” “Ahem! Anything like bis sifters?” “ No.” At anv other time Vera would have smiled at the ahem of disapproval. “Does he love Fannie?’’ the doctor asked. “ I am afraid he docs,” “Why afraid?” “Can you ask when you know that Fan is engaged to Mr Grahamc?” “ I’m an old bachelor, and perhaps I don’t understand much about these things; but all the same, when these two young jieople love each other, I don't see why Grahame cannot be sent to the right-about. Why did she engage herself to him if she did not love Ldm?” “ I have ail along been under the impression that she did love him, but my eyes have been opened by her ravings to the true state of affairs. She evidently engaged herself to him because ho is wealthy, and as'his wife she would bo able to help ua all.” * “ Well, Miss Goldie, as far as I can see you and f must take this matter into our own hands and explain, the state of affairs to Grahame. Then we must send for Arthur, who is our only hope at present—that is, if we cannot get Sir John.” “ Do you think Mr Grahame will set her free!” “ Yes, if he is a man at all- Where is he to be found? I’ll soon settle him.” Later in the day the doctor bad an interview with Graliame, with the remit that the young man, agreed to rclf-ase Fannie from her engagement. Towards e ght o'clock that evening Dr Dacre called to inquire after Fan. “ Ls that you, Vera?” asked Mr Goldie as the doctor entered his study. “No, sir, it is I.” answered Dacre, advancing. • “Ah! is k you. doctor? Have you come to cheer up an old man in his loneliness and despondency? .Sit down, sit down.” “How is she. .■dr?” “No better, Dacre, no better. My troubles are fast overwhelming mo. My little one ill unto death, and my money all gone. Here is a letter I received this morning offering me a partnership in a good paying concern on condition that I put a thousand pounds into it. 1 couid find about is many shillings, so I shall have to see my last chance of getting my head above water go by without being able to make an effort to seize it. it is sad that it should he so.” “Allow me the privilege of a.ding you in this matter, sir. Let me be your banker?” ” Thank you, Dacre. Many thanks, my dear fellow, but 1 have always held to the golden rule of never borrowing from a friend, and I shall not depart from it now. If it were in Vera's power to deal with Carrington’s money I should ask her to advance me a couple of thousand, but, as you know, I dare say, the Spinsters’ Home will claim it if she does not- marry before she is thirty.” “ Then the only way to save the money is for Miss Goldie to marry? Is that correct ?” “Yes, bat there is about as much chance of that as there is of Carrington turning up.” “Would you object, sir, to mv endeavoring to win her?” Dacre quietly asked. Mr Goldie was not altogether surprised ai the question, because his sister had informed him of the doctor’s supposed infatuation for Vera. “No, Dacre. I should not object.” “Thank you, sir- .Some time ago I priced her to be my wife, but she refused

” Ihj ' :'j : -.:ive a different answer I hit dme. M.y I expLrn to I'.er how she iVelj. y ' with a "."in?” " v *: Lit. do •<> v<■ .her aai - t li-■>' ii-.clir. jto-t<. I tv ii in. hive a daughter of mine in.nrv , vi .'pt will'll' her love is he-ilov/i-ti. Vini muil l.ivi- good umcc for be-Ih-iiiK si:-’ v. 11l accept you when you are v filing to k i:ev a third time, t, I’vrvpr, i,a Mt' a good f ( Hint, Duele. and deserve In !v Miceewful in your suit.” ■' It is the strength of my love for her that causes’me to be persistent.” A very proper reason thought I era a father. “ I wish rou hiek. then. Do not plead rnv cause to strengthen your own." ■- Not 1. I shall go to her now. 1 may find her alone. When I come back I trust 1 shall have good news for you.” As ho hoped, lie found Vera alone. He came to the jiomt at once by asking her to tie his wife, and he took good care to impress on her that, by accent ing him -she would lie able to help hrr father to retrieve hi.s position. -• Tiiink well before you answer me. Vera.” he said. ” Remember how much depends upon your answer—your fathers happiness and comfort in hi-' declining vears." "You forget that Fan is dangerously ill. "Forget; No, I do not foiget. 1 would not have spoken now only I know. V era, that yotir poor father is deeply involvedIt was brought home to me more forcibly than ever to-night how pitiably ill and forlorn looking. If lie were my father I would be willing to sacrifice myself completely in order that hei might have that ease to which old age is entitled. ’ "Have you seen aunt to-day?’ asked Tera. "Xo. 1 have not. Do not try to evade the question. Vera. I tusk you again, will vou be niv wife?” " Does father, wish me to accept you ?” she asked. "Yes: he wished me Talk as I was leaving him.” "I most go to him. Wait here.” Before he could remonstrate she had left the room.' Mr Goldie had not moved from his chair after the doctor had left. Vera stole up quietly behind, and throwing her arms around her father’s neck fondly prfvscd her cheek against his bald head. " Dr Dacre has asked me to be his wife, father,” she said. " Would you like mo to accept him?” This little demonstration of affection on Vein's pan deceived her father, as it might ve deceived any man. He imagined she .ad come to plead her cause with him. and he was under the impression that si c h’d her face purposely to prevent him ft cm seeing its happy express.on. He put in. Ills hands, and closed them tenderly nvr-i nets. “Only it it will make you lump;.. deni.” he said. “And lam i.u;c it will, fur Dane is a thoroughly good telln-v. 1 tuM turn I intended to borrow two timn-ami jMiund.s from you when you we:c married. It will be a. safe investment, my clear. Dacre must love you very much to ask you again. I should not like either of my girls to mtdtc a loveless match. Between ouisclvos, Vera, I admire your choice more than our poor Fan’s, although Grahame irs not a bid fellow, mind you.” Poor father! If he only knew how every word he uttered cut Vera to the quick. He could not hide his pleasure—pleasure in the prospect that at last his affairs were about to brighten. “If you had not accepted the doctor, Vera, I should have been compelled to go through the Bankruptcy Court next month. There would have been absolutely no alternative.”

“Dacre will be waiting for you,” ho said. “You has i my consent, dearest, and may God grant that your future will be a happy one." “ Thank you, father,” she said. Her last cable had snapped. “Kiss me, clear.”

She pressed her lips to his, and then hastened from the room murmuring, “ For father’s sake, for father's sake.”

Up tho stairs she ran to the room where Dr Dacre impatiently awaited her.

“ I will he your wife,” she said, holding cut her hand to him, “ but please do not deceive yourself: 1 do not love you. I shall give you wifely duty, respect, and consideration : more I cannot promise.” “ Thank you,” he said tenderly, pressing her small tapering fingers. “The love will come. In the meantime I am happy -in having won you.” “Yes, perhaps the love will ccme,” she answered wearily. “ One changes as tho seasons change. If any <mo had told mo yesterday that I was going to marry you I should have laughed at the bare notion.”

“I shall try my utmost to make you h.v>o V ,” said Ur Uacre, as he studied th© nondesoriot pattern of the carpet. He had observed th© stag-at-bay expression of her deep violet eyes, and did not care to see it again. “ 1 too shall endeavor to make you haonv,” sho said softly. He had asked her to be his wife in order to save her father, therefor© she must not judge him harshly. If Edmund were dead, as sho would now like to make herself believe, he would know she was still faithful, that her inner self was still his. “ We shall jog along quite comfortably I have no doubt, but I must not conceal from yon the fact that it is hard, very hard that I should be forced into a false [Position. We mast begin our new life devoid of false impressions in any shape or form.” “ It is better so. Vera; still, T think wo know each other thoroughly." "As well as the majority of couples who decide to step out on life's road together, I suppose. We only recognise the virtues before marriage; it. is in the. after days that, our eyes are opened to the faults and failings, so aunt says.” “ You will lie a great help to me in my profession. Vera,” ho said, just for the sake of saying sornelhingI hop© so. Yours is a busy life. Mine has been an imevent fn! one during the List seven years, but it has not been devoid of work. Sometimes I com© to th© conclusion that my life serves no useful purpose." “You will never regret the step Von have just taken, Vera." “ I hope jVit, nor you cither. I must leave you ikw and go to Fan." “What docs Stateman think about her ?” “ I am afraid he is feeling very anxious. Ho is here now to meet Sir John Philip at nine o’clock. Ah. 1 shall never forget Ur Stateman's kindness. He has don© more for me than aunt has ever done or ever would do.” “May I sec Fannie?” “ I do not think it would be at all advisable in her present condition. Good night.” “ Call me Fred. Vera. I shall then feci as though yen were mine." “Good night. Fred." For a second time she held out her hand to him. Ho took it. advanced a step, hesitated, then said : II May 1 come to-morrow?” “ Certainly.” “Thanks: good night.” Releasing her hand he left the room, went downstairs and let himself out by (hi? front door. He whistled softly to himself as he walked down the avenue. Then he muttered : “By Jove! was there over a man engaged to a girl and afraid to kiss her. I thought I had plenty of pluck, but, confound it, I was actually afraid of her. We twain never kissed a kiss nor vowed a vow. Sounds rather like what one would read in a novel, but all the same its a deuced uncomfortable feeling—wants the whole forty-five thousand to make up for it. Some fool says a man should look ud to bis wife. That’s all very fine in theory, but, by thunder, ■not in reality. I feel as though I should never bo able to shako off the weight of her superiority. Never mind, Fred, my boy, one has often to use a sprat to catch a mackerel. My love is some sainted dame! Fhe was a little sarcastic when she quoted her aunt. I wish she would quote her a little oftener. Wait until you are mv wife, madam Vera, and then I’ll soon bring you down from your lofty pedestal. I suppose I’ve done better in winning a saint in petticoats with fortyfive thousand than a penniless spit-flue like Fan. I wonder why she changed her mind and accepted Grahame. If there is anything noble in my composition, Fan is the one woman who would have been able to bring it forth. However, as I’ve lost her, I may as well go to the devil as hard

as 1 can. I’ve got the best of yon this time, Carrington, my boy. As soon as the knot is tied won’t 1 make your money fly and astonish the natives.” CHAPTER XXI. Tho death angel hovered near. It was a peaceful evening, full of bird notes and murmurous sounds. The twilight filled Fan’s room, making quaint shadows about tho figures grouped around her bed. A window, half-open, let in a faint breeze on which was borne tho low strains of distant music-—melodics from * -Mur it ana ’ plavcd on harp and violin by wandering minstrels. Above all the varied sounds were heard Hal’s convulsive sobs and Mrs Rockland's bitter weeping. Old Mr Goldie knelt by tho bedside, his face buried in the coverlet, praying to God to spare his V.eloved one'to him. Arthur watched with dry eyes the face lie know and loved so well. * X’o one questioned bis right to be there. Dr Statcman, watch in hand, held Fan’s wrist, feeling the pulse beats grow fainter and fainter as the light of fife flickered and threatened extinction. The look of intense agony her face had previouslv worn had given place to one of calm happiness. Her dark brown eyes were wide open, but there was now no brilliancy nor light of recognition in them. Her lips were slightly apart. showing her pretty, even, white teeth. There was a transparent, delicate pink color in her cheeks. She moved slightly, and nestled her head closer in to the pillow as a tired child might, and a faint sigh escaped her. Dr Stateman bent his head to listen to her breathing—it had ceased. “ God take her ; God bless her,” he murmured, placing his hand over the lovely eyes and closing them. The minstrels had drawn nearer, and tho sad cadence of ‘ Scenes that are brightest’ floated in through the window. The music recalled to Hal’s memory one sunny afternoon years agone, when he had heard his young sister sing that self-same air as ho had never head it sung before. His heart felt fit to burst. He hastily kissed the cold, still face and rushed from the room. Vera led her stricken father gently away, and in broken accents tried to comfort him. Neither Arthur nor Dr Stateman made any attempt to hide the tears that coursed down their checks.

“ Weep not for her ! There is no cause of

woe; . But rattier nerve the spirit that it walk Unshrinking o’er the stormy path below ; And from earth’s low defilement keep thee back, So when a few fleet, swerving years have

flown, She’ll meet thee at Heaven’s gate and lead

thee in. Weep not for her.” # , The room was decked with flowers. Fan 1,-iy dressed for her burial. The bed was covered with a mass of pure white blossoms mixed with tender sprays of green placed tliere by sorrowing friends. A garland of violets encircled her head —a fancy of Arthur’s. Ho had watched over her as one fascinated. His was not an outward show of grief, nor was it of that violent, passionate order that quickly wears itself out by its very intensity. He had seen to all the necessary arrangements for the funeral, and with infinite care and tenderness had helped Vera and her father to hear their trouble with more fortitude than they had deemed was possible. Harold had shut himself up in his room, whilst -Mrs Bticklnnd had set herself the task of superintending the mourning arrangements. It was the day before the funeral. Hr Dacre had not seen Fan yet; ho had been afraid of himself. “ She looks so ]>oaceful and pretty,” said Vera as she led him into the room. Vera could look at her sister now without weeping. When she saw the doctor's deep emotion she felt nearer to loving her betrothed than she had ever been before. _ She saw that his bands were clasped tightly together, and that bis eyes wore a strained look. _ “ I c;.nnot stay Ijm'o. ’ lie gasped; us killing me. Come. Vera.” Thrice lie kissed thft flower-docked brow, and then hastilv left the room. The black hearse, with its white plumes nodding in the gentle breeze, stood at the entrance gates, while a long line of carriages extended away to the rear. The black mutes, looking' like spectres heralding woe, stood at either side of the gatcwav and watched, without interfering, the school children as they threw their offerings of bright flowers on to the hearse until it was a perfect mass of bloom, the white plumes seeming as if tliey sprang from them. Slowly the pall-bearcrs—her father, Harold. Arthur, and Dr Statemaii—carried the coffin down the long avenue where as a child Fan had romped and sung, and placed their black burden carefully under the canopy of flowers. As the hearse door closed, Vera, who had sat watching from the window, threw herself on her bed in a paroxysm of grief.- The hearse moved slowly away, and following immediately behind came Arthur, lending Kantaka, saddled with Fan’s saddle. It was a whim of Arthur’s; he knew how she had loved the animal. Then came the mourning coach, containing Mr Goldie, Harold, Dr Stateman, and Dr Ducrc. Next trooped \ era s Sunday school class, and dozens of children to whom Fan had been a ministering angel. Behind them again was a long train of vehicles, horsemen, and pedestrians. The children’s sweet voices fvere raised in the hymn ‘ Ho corneth to judge the earth.’ Out of the Leith Valley the cortege wound, enlarging as it went along King street. As they neared the gates of the Northern Cemetery Kantaka threw up his head and gave a peculiar whimpering neigh—a horse's erv — and rubbed bis nose against Arthur’s shoulder. They carried the coffin to the open grave, around which the throng talked in hushed whispers of the young girl cut off in the flower of her life. Arthur t/yik lus stand close to the coffin. He paid little attention, to the service. His eyes were riveted on the silver plate.on the side of the coffin, with the inscription “Frances Goldie, aged nineteen and ten months." The clergyman’s intoned words were heard distinctly in the stallnefis. Kantaka s pitiful whinnies camo up from the gate below, and were echoed and re-echoed among tlie bush-clad hills opposite. “In the midst of life we are in death. Of whom may we seek for succor but of t-bce, 0 Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased.” The ropes round the coffin were taken bold of, and in a few momenta more Fan would be lost to them for ayo and aye. The children sang the aong for tho burial of the dead : When our heads are bowed with woe, ■ Wien our bitter tears o’erflow, When we mouni tho lost, the dear, Jesu, son of Mary, hear. Kantaka gave a still more shrill whinny. Arthur, taking a step nearer to the coffin, bent his head and gazed wistfully at the white form under tho glass lid, then, with a smothered exclamation, ho pulled a screwdriver from bis pocket and began with feverish baste to looaan tho screws. No one attempted to interfere with him, for those nearest had seen the dosed eyes open and shut again, and a movement to and fro of the hands. Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn, Thou our mortal griefs hast borne. Thou hast shed the human tear, Jesu, son of Mary, hear, still louder sang the children. The lid was oil, and the white figure, crowned with its violet wreath, rose, looked vacantly around, then quie-tly swooned away. Dr Stateman was by her side immediately. “ Brandy!” he cried, as he lifted her out of the coffin. “ Got me a few drops of brandy as quickly as possible.” Arthur quietly drew a flask from his pocket and handed it to the doctor, who hastily unscrewed the top and poured a little of the spirit down her throat. Tenderly they carried Fan to the mourning coach, the crowd eagerly following. As quickly as the doctor would allow, they drove her back to the home they thought she had left for ever. Vera heard the carriage wbee's crunching over the gravel, and the thought crossed her mind that they had returned very quickly, but she did not move, for she’knew that Arthur would come to her. When he did she was surprised at the look of ecstatic joy on his face. Sitting down beside her, he put his arm around her, whereat Vera’s tears broke forth afresh. “Don’t grieve, Vera,” he wintered. “I haw good news for you.” ,

“Ah, Arthur, don’t mock mol Whitt news could be good when our darling has just gone from us for ever.” » “ Our darling has been given back to tis. She is not dead, Vera.” 1 It was some time before he could make her understand the scene at tho grave. " I was afraid of it from the first,” £0 explained, “but I did not wish to frighten you. The night before I received your telegram telling mo that Pari was so ill;I dreamt 1 saw her as I saw her to-day, Vera—in her oofiin, but alive and be buried. That dream left a deep impression on me —so deep that I hardly over left her side, as you know. You remember how I begged for four days to elapse between her supposed death and the funeral. You remember, also, how I persuaded you to have a glass lid to tho coffin in place of the orthodox woodon one, and -unknown to anyone I bored air-holes in tho side. I was not in the least surprised when 1 saw her eyes open and iter hands move, although delayed until tho very last moment.”

“ Oh, Arthur, can wo ever thank God enough for His mercy to us?” " Ho has been very good to ns, Vera, and I fed very hurnblo.” - ’ “I must go to her now, Arthur.” " Stateman is hopeful, and if any doctor could pull .her through he will.” “ I may teem unkind, Arthur,” said Vera, as they walked up and down the garden in preference to resting, “ but 1 do not think it would be wise for you to remain here. She must bo kept from excitement of any sort for some time to com-e.”

“I fail to see that my presence will upset her, Venn Still, if you with it, I will go away for a time.” “I have to tell her, Arthur, that Mr Grahame has set her free. She is not aware of tliat fact yet, nor does she-know that you love her. If site were to too you constantly it would only worry her, and the effort of endeavoring to hide her own love would be a severe tax on her strength, and would necessarily retard her recovery. Wo cannot expect to keep from her for Jong tho dreadful knowledge that sire was nearly—oh! I shudder whenever I think of it. However, Dr Stateman says she will have no recollection of what took place, and for that we must be devoutly thankful.” “ I quite understand the position you take up, Vera, and I am inclined to agree with you. When site is strong enough I shall ask her to bo my wife. I cannot imagine how Grahamo could ever have summoned sufficient resolution to give her up.”

“ He saw it was the only course an honorable man could pursue. He was not at- .tho funeral?” “ No. Hal told me he heard he had sailed for England.” “Poor fellow! I hope in time he will forget her. Mary told mo of Kant aka’s strange behaviour at the cemetery gates, and said that after you bad lifted Fan into the mourning coach he snapped the bridlewith which you had fastened him to the post and followed the carriage tins whole way liome as delighted as possible.” “His instinct told him something was amiss. No one could help noticing his restless manner and strange whimpers. I fancy they even disturbed the clergyman. . . May I ask, Vera, as an old friend, if there is anything between yon and Dacre?” A shade of pink stole over Vera’s pale cheeks.

“ Don’t tell me if you prefer not to ; but it scomc-d to mo that he took many lover’s privileges with you, and I heard you call him Fred.”

“ Yes, Arthur,” said Vora, in a low tone ; “we aro engaged. I have promised to marry him before I reach my thirtieth birthday, in order to sav© Edmund’s money. It will'bo such a pleasure to help father with it.” Only she herself know what it had cost her to school herself to speak joyously of her betrothal.

" I wish yon happiness,” said Arthur, briefly.

“ Thank yon. It will bo. delightful living near father, Hal, and Fan. Dr\r Fan! I hope she will bo sufficiently teco .'end to he my bridesmaid. I liavo only tliroe weeks left now in which to prepare for my wedding. Fred has been very kind to me.” Arthur had grown strangely silent, and Vera, unable longer to bear the restraint tliat had arisen between them, bade him good-byo and furred indoors. She coitjid and would not let. even Artlmr know that site was sacrificing herself for her father's sake. (To bo continued.)