A FATHER'S WILL OR HER OWN MISTRESS.

Golden Bay Argus, Volume VI, Issue 38, 18 February 1897, Page 3

A FATHER'S WILL OR HER OWN MISTRESS.

CHAPTER IV (continued).

'She has gone home long ago in the phaeton,' intervened David Hartley calmly, and just touching with the tips of his fingers the hand which Charlie had extended ; ' and I think, Mr O'Shea, that you are indebted to the quixotic child for more than you can ever repay. Fancy my feelings as she stepped into the witness-box ! Of course I had never dreamed of such a thing.' And then his anger almost getting the best of him, he said: 'To testify to all that stuff! Myra is exceedingly unsophisticated!' Charlie O'Shea bowed. 'Thank heaven that she is!" he cried, fervently. ' She is the noblest and truest woman in the world !' 'So Tristram thinks,' observed Hartley, dryly. Charlie started, Something struck to his heart with a swift, sudden pang. What it was he knew not. He did not pause to investigate. He was about to move aside, lifting his hat to the ladies as he did so, when Mrs. Hartley's voice, cold and clear as ice, interposed : ' What does Isabel say, Mr. O'Shea ? Of course she is very much rejoiced at you—at the happy termination of the unpleasant affair ?' Charlie started once more, and this time he turned pale, and his eyes shone with a feverish light.

'To-day was to have been your wedding-day, you know?' suggested Mrs Hartley, calmly. 'Ah, you are going, Mr O'Shea? Well, good-bye. Mind that you call and see us !' And the carriage drove off, leaving Charlie standing bare-headed upon the pavement in the glare of the February sunshine.

For the weeks had come and gone, and to-day, the first of February, was to have been his wedding-day. Charlie put on his hat, and, with a gesture of impatience, turned away. It was a fact that he had indeed forgotten that this was to have been his wedding-day with Isabel Varian, And yet it is hardly to be wondered that his thoughts were full of gratitude to the true, sweet girl who had literally saved him from a terribly false charge. He however felt it to be his duty later on in the day to decide to go and see Isabel. The house where she was living was some miles distant from St. Elmo, and just before he had given orders for a saddle-horse to be brought round for him by one of Mr Hartley's grooms, a servant put a sealed letter into *BB hand. He tore it open eagerly, recognising Isabel's handwriting on the envelope. To say he was surprised at its contents would not be strictly true ; he certainly felt hurt at the same, but at the same time his deeper feelings did not experience any serious shock. He felt that escape from one who could be capable of writing him as she had done was almost more than he had deserved, considering that, in his heart, he knew that he had never had any real, manly affection for this girl, and that she, on her part, certainly never could have loved him as a woman should who was pledged to marry, or she would never now, at this juncture, have turned from him.

Yes, Isabel Varian wrote him off. She positively declined having anything more to do with him after this terrible charge had been brought against him. It was nothing apparently to her that his trial had indeed proved his entire innocence. At the same time, immediately after she had sent off the letter, she fell sick at heart and angry with herself. She murmured to herself: 1 Alas! alas! I have now wrecked my own happiness through my own mad jealousy ! He will believe that I have cast him off because of this false charge that has been brought against him. He does not know, nor would I have him know for worlds, that I have really broken off with him because of that girl, Myra Hartley, But then how could he owe his life to her and still belong to me i No, no ; let him go!' According to a wish expressed by her uncle, Myra entered the library to have a chat with Mr Hartley. She paused on the threshold, as her eyes rested on the figure of Tristram O'Shea, who was also in the room. 'You sent for me, Uncle David.' she began, slowly. ' I will go away until you are alone.' David Hartley's face darkened with anger. ' You will do nothing of the kind. You will come in and listen to what I have to say.' She glanced in the direction of Tristram O'Shea with a look that meant much.

' But I distinctly decline to discuss my private affairs before that man!' she exclaimed, disdainfully. But her uncle marched over to where she was standing, and taking her by the hand, led her into the room. David then closed the door and turned the key in the lock. 'You are my ward,' he hissed, wrathfully, ' and under my, roof, and I tell you while you are here I intend to have obedience from you ! Now be seated, and listen to what I have to say to you.' But Myra leant calmly against the tall book-case, and her eyes swept his face and figure with supreme contempt. ' You are two to one,' she smiled, dangerously—'two men against one poor, weak girl—so I am in your power, I suppose. You can force me

A ROMANCE.

to remain in this room and listen to what you say. I warn you however, Mr Hartley, that there is a limit to your authority, and you must not go too far. Now, what have you to say to me ?' • You shall never leave this room until you have promised to marry Tristram O'Shea !'

' Very well, sir. The law will hold you accountable for my murder, for I will never consent to marry that cowardly man.' A swift crimson shot across Tristram O'Shea's face.

'Yet you associate with a murderer !' he observed, speaking for the first time. 'You constitute yourself the champion and defender of Charlie O'Shea, accused of ' 4 A crime which he, as you know, never committed! Rest assured of the fact that murder will out sooner or later, and when that times comes Charlie O'Shea will not be the man upon whom guilt will clearly fall.' Tristram O'Shea recoiled as though he had received a blow, but sank back with an air of assumed ease into the depths of an easy chair. ' Insolent!' he murmured.

She bowed mockingly. ' Uncle David !' and she confronted her uncle with outward calm, ' I demand that you dismiss that man from the room !'

David Hartley made no reply. ' Will you, Uncle David,' she pleaded, humbly, ' for pity's sake send him away.' 'No !' thundered David, furiously, ' I will not!' And then he added :

' I shall do as I please; I am master in my own house ! My wife and child obey me, so shall you. They are '

' Hypocrites !' put in Myra, warmly. ' They deceive you, dupe you, blind you, They say one thing to your face and another behind your back. Now, you must not boast of the superiority of your wife and daughter, my dear sir. Granted that they live on that growing bane of the age, Society, socalled ! Granted that the Alpha and Omega of their existence is to extract pleasure, and nothing but pleasure, socalled, out of Jife ! Granted that they dress extravagantly, that they can be outwardly polite, can smile so sweetly on their friends ! Granted that they can talk well and fluently upon trifles ! Granted all this; but it can never be granted that they possess a fraction of what is nobl* and true in nature, that they ever try to cultivate a single generous impulse. They have belittled themselves by their love for the mere trivialities of life, with never a thought for the great problem of what real life means; and as for thinking of what is to come when one dies to this life to begin that other •Enough! Silence, child; you are mad, and I command you to be silent!'

His face was livid with rage. It dawned upon him suddenly that he had no weak, thoughtless child to deal with here. But his mental make was such that, having made his decision on any matter plain to himself, his resolve ever was to see that decision bear fruit, good or evil. He had decided that this girl should marry Tristram O'Shea, and marry him she should.

He gave her a long, searching look, and he felt sure of one thing, namely, that come what might, this girl would be plucky to the last. 'This is what I have to propose, Myra,' he said, slowly, 'You will marry Tristram O'Shea at once ; marry him, and get out of my sight for ever! Or'—he lifted his hands with a threatening gesture, and his blood-shot eyes seemed to go through her —' or you shall go to the Pines. You have heard of that deserted, awful place? The house belonged to your father once, it belongs to me now. It is many miles distant from any human habitation; a deserted old place, standing alone amidst the weird pine barrens ; a God-forsaken spot, shunned by all human creatures, and currently reported to be haunted. There you shall remain alone, do you hear me ? Alone, until you have come to your senses. Come, come ! make up your mind, Myra; which shall it be ? I will give you until midnight to decide upon your verdict' ' I can answer you now!' she replied wrathfully,' ancf my answer will be just the same when the clock strikes twelve. I will not marry Tristram O'Shea! I will not marry Tristram O'Shea! I will not marry Tristram O'Shea. How many million times must I repeat to you that one very plain truth ? I have made up my mind. It is useless to imprison me. You might as well attempt to imprison the wind as to coerce my decision in this matter. A woman's will is stronger than that, and once set out in a certain road —as long as lam convinced that lam right—l will walk it to the bitter end.'

David smiled grimly and shrugged his shoulders. ' A woman's will is the wind's will; but, all the same, Miss Myra, you will yield to me. If it were only a matter of slight import, I would not be so fi rra —so determined; but it is of vital importance to me. Do you imagine for a moment that I would see my wife .and daughter in want just to gratify a whim of yours ? You must be mad! And there is no other way in which the debt can be paid but by you j consenting to marry Tristram O'Shea.'

David rose slowly to his feet. Time was passing. ' Well, Myra, confronting her grimly, 'when will the wedding take place ? Have you decided ?'

1 Yes, sir.' Her eyes met his with calm decision.

' I have repeatedly told you that I will never marry that man O'Shea. I tell you now for the last time that I refuse to sacrifice my life in such a way. I am ready to go into exile, Uncle David, lam ready to start for the Pines whenever you wish.'

David turned about and confronted Tristram O'Shea with a significant gesture. O'Shea's face was ghastly white; he nodded his head slightly, and said:

'Very well, Myra'—David's voice was low and stern —' you have made your decision; vou must abide the consequences. You are my prisoner now. I hope you comprehend ?'

' No, sir, Ido not. You have no right to tyrannise over me in this way, and I will not endure it! Even my own father would not dare '

' Hush ! What do I care for your father or what he might have dared ? He dared to get into debt and make a muddle of his affairs, and leave you to suffer for his folly. Don't preach to me upon Ernest Hartley's virtues. Come, you must go with me, Myra.' ' Where ?' with a swift upward flash of the gold-brown eyes. 'Up to your own room. I intend to secure you there.' ' Lock me up —make a prisoner of me, Uncle David ? No, I don't think you will. Besides, how can I be worth twenty thousand pounds, which was the amount of the debt?'

For answer he seized the girl's small wrist in an iron clutch, and unlocking the study-door, flung it open, and led Myra forth. Up the stairs he went, and with him, against her wish, his prisoner. It was useless for her to writhe or struggle in his strong grasp ; she was powerless. She succumbed at length, and so David conducted her to her chamber-door. ' There! Go to bed at once !' he commanded, harshly. ' I shall call you at daybreak to start upon your journey to the Pines.' The room was dimly lighted by the gas in the hall without He led her to a chair and pushed her into it; then, before Myra could utter a word, the door slammed to and the key was turned in the lock. She was alone with her own bitter thoughts—and they were bitter as gall. She rose at last, and going over to the table, groped in the dark for matches, and so lighted the gas. She went straight to her little writing-desk, and seating herself, took out a sheet of note-paper. 'Dear me, what a sharp pen ! I hate to write; but I must! I cannot go away without letting Mr O'Shea—Mr Charlie O'Shea—know what they are going to do with me. Not that it is any of his business, either —and I suppose he has forgotten me already—but somehow I haven't a friend in the world if Charlie O'Shea is not, and so I feel compelled to write him a line. It is very improper for me to do so, I wonder ? I mean no harm ; and I am all alone in the world and at a loss what to do, so I will write to Charlie O'Shea. I hate to think that he is a relative of that other man, and I also hate to tell him that I am going to the Pines. What a picnic I shall have there all alone, to be sure! And I don't know where the place is situated either, or at which point of the compass it lies. Well, I will write the note and go to bed, for I am now too tired for anything.' The pen began to move slowly over the spotless page, and so at last the letter was done. The look of content, absorbed interest upon the small, pale face had grown deeper as she proceeded.

• I wonder if he will think it very awfully unconventional in me?' she murmured as she signed her name in a plain, large hand, and then slowly and critically perused the letter before her.

Following is the contents of the letter:

'Mr Charlie O'Shea, I am going away, though most unwillingly. I have not a friend in the world, and it has occurred to me to let you know of my destination. Uncle David is my guardian, you know, and he is going to send me away to the Pines in the morning—a lonesome place, many miles distant from any human habitation—and there I am to remain for the present. If I never return, perhaps you will feel sorry when you remember the little country girl whom you first met down at Ravenswood. I am going away against my own will, and I shall never see you again, but I shall never forget you and the kind words that you spoke to mt when I was all alone and needed kindness. And when you are married to Miss Varian, I want you to keep a little place in your memory for Myra Plartley.'

' Now,' disapprovingly, ' why did I say anything about Miss Varian ? Ah, Well, it is said, and I will not unsay it. What is written is written.'

She addressed the letter, sealed it carefully, and placed it in her desk, after which she went straight to bed, and soon, her healthy young body overcome by fatigue and excitement of the day, she was fast asleep. She awoke with a little start. It did not seem a moment since she closed her eyes; but surely someone was rapping at the door, and David's voice called through the keyhole; ' Myra ! Get up at once! We are to start in an hour !'

' Very well, sir. You will have to unlock the door, however, before I can get out.' ' I will attend to that,' he said in a grim voice; 'are you making any haste?'

Having dressed herself, Myra put a few garments and necessary toilet articles in a large valise, not forgetting writing materials. Then she tried the door, and to her joy found it unlocked. Evidently David had no fear of her taking her departure without permission. She had the letter for Charlie O'Shea, all stamped and ready for posting, safe in her pocket as she went downstairs in the chill grey ot tne early dawn. Nobody was visible save a half-awake, languid-looking servant. Myra paused in the entrance-hall for a moment, and just then her eyes fell upon a card lying upon the hall-table. She picked it up involuntarily, and a low cry of delight passed her lips. It was a visiting-card, and bore the name of Charlie O'Shea.

A servant was crossing the hall. Myra beckoned him to approach. ' When did this card come ?' she asked.

The man glanced from the bit of pasteboard into the pale young face of Myra. 'lt came last night, miss, if you please. The gentleman called, and he inquired for you.' ' For me ? Are you sure ? Was it not for Miss Blanche ?' The man shook his head.

' No, miss. He asked for Miss Myra Hartley, and when I told him that you was not at home —master told me if anyone called to say that,' the man went on swiftly as Myra flashed him an indignant glance—' I told him that Miss Blanche was disengaged; but he said that he wished to see Miss Myra, and he said that I was to tell you that he would call to-day.' Myra's face flushed. ' Should the gentleman call, you will be good enough to tell him that I have gone to the Pines, and if he wishes to know where that place is, Mr David Hartley can enlighten him,' she said, in a low tone.

She moved away like a young queen, Charlie O'Shea's card grasped in her hand, and went into the break-fast-room where David was sitting, eagerly devouring a hasty breakfast. He motioned her to a seat at the table, and Myra partook of a cup of strong coffee and a light repast, after which Mr Hartley rose up and told her that the carriage was waiting and the baggage brought down. One swift glance tound the silent house which she might not see again for many a long day, and she followed her uncle out into the chill morning air. Almost in front of the entrance-gate stood a pillar-post. Myra darted down the drive to the box and slipped her letter into it, and then returned, '.What do you mean? demanded her uncle, angrily. But she only laughed. 'To whom have you been writing ?' he hissed, grasping her arm. Her big, brown eyes met his with fearless contempt. 'lt is none of your business,' she retorted. 'Don't go too far, Uncle David, You" are having your own sweet will with me now, but you cannot rule me body and soul. The letter is beyond your reach.' It was true, too true. The postal authorities had that little, girlish missive safe in their strong grasp, and they would never let it fall into David Hartley's hands. But the look of baffled rage upon his face spoke volumes, as he bundled Myra into the vehicle and took his seat at her side ; and in the grey of early morning they drove away. They drove on miles and miles. The day grew apace, and the road was gloomy. A dense, pine wood loomed up before them, and they entered its shadowy aisles and drove rapidly onward. They halted at last before a tall, brown, weather-stained old house in the last stages of decay. It stood in the dense forest of pines with its old broken windows staring like skeleton eyes upon the new arrival. ' Welcome to the Pines,' croaked David Hartley, as he sprang from the vehicle, and assisted Myra to alight. ' You will remain here, my lady, until you are ready to many Tristram O'Shea, I fancy that you will be preparing for your wedding before many days have rolled by. You will be sending for me to dance at your wedding, my dear. You will be married in less than a fortnight.' 'I would rather die first!' she panted, angrily. David Hartley smiled, bu that smile cut to her heart as no harsh words would have done—it was such a meaning smile.

To be Continued.