LOVE’S BOND MAID

Hawera Star, Volume XLVI, 31 July 1926, Page 7

LOVE’S BOND MAID

BY May Wynne .

Author of “For Faith and Navarre,’’ “Mistress Cynthia,’’ " “The Spendthrift Duke,’’ etc., etc.

CHAPTER 1

“The wood is private,” said Aluriel, half doubtfully, as she faced the man who had 1 opened the postern gate and canie slowly up the path towards her. Such a lug, broad-shouldered giant of a man, keen-eyed and sun tanned, a traveller in far countries, one could see at a glance, a.s he stood there looking down at the girl who knelt by a mound of earth —the last resting place of that dear, audacious tittle terrier 'which had paid the last penalty for the sin of cariosity only fast week. Poor Pixie! Muriel had been grieving for her lost pet, and resented the intrusion of the bearded stranger, who showed no signs of beating an apologetic retreat.

“You would be George’s daughter,” he .said, presently, in deep tones, “George, the .stay-at-home, who by now ” ' The girl had risen and stood with dilated eyes which questioned amazed“You —you —” she stammered, “why ” “Exactly,” he agreed, “1 am Roger Armitage —the black sheep, come home at last —as black sheep and prodigals have a knack of doing when the husks are dry. 1 am afraid George will be quite ready to play the saintly elder brother, too, but ” , • Muriel made a gesture. “Don’t,” she pleaded, “he is dead, my father is dead. Did you not know? There are only two of us left. Granny and me.” The man’s lips twitched. He would rather have mocked on, but it was impossible. “George—dead,” said he, “George dead. And the mother ”

He did not seem to see Muriel, lie went straight up the path towards the house which had once been his home, and the girl who had seen the look in his eyes remained where she was —by Pixie’s grave. It was odd how lonely she felp with the loneliness of one apart who had been suddenly become a third —almost an outsider —in a home where she had been first for so long. Instinct told her, however, not to go in. She guessed that there ought to be no onlookers at the return of a prodigal; so, instead, she slipped through the gate and’ away up the hill. She wanted to tell her news —and to whom but Rachel. She was angry because it was not friend Rachel who met her in the lane, but- just the last man she wished to see. Gentle and sweet as her nature was, Muriel told herself she almost hated John Herries. Yet his offence was one which most girls find the veryeasiest to condone—.since his rvisli was to be her lover. The lover of old Airs. Armitage’s heiress. That was what Muriel had told herself; and the hold look in the man’s eyes was to her insult instead of admiration. Yet it was intended for the latter, and Herries was confident enough a.s he stood there facing this slip of a girl. A pretty girl? Yes. he granted her so much; pretty and rich —innocent, too. A schoolgirl —little more than that; and so, sure to be in love with Love.

It was for Aiuriel. to explain that this was a very different matter from being in love with John Herries! But she explained with a fervour which left no manner of doubt! “How dare you!” she stormed, breathlessly, as the man tried to play the masterful Lothario with his arm about her waist.

He laughed. “Faint heart,” quoth he. “never won fair lady—and I love vou. child.” With that he would have kissed her just as if she had been a village Jill come purposely in search of her Jack. But Aiuriel’s small hand was capable of bestowing quite a redoubtable box on the ear whilst her anger blazed. “I hate you,” she cried. “You . . . vou horrible man. I don’t over want to see you again.” Then, without waiting to see the effect of her words, away fled poor Aiuriel down the lane. John Herries watched her out of sight. There was a very ugly look in those dark eyes of his, a look which boded no good for the girl who had so innocently shown her dislike and anger. Meantime, Aiuriel had reached the Vicarage gate just ns her friend was coming out through it. How good it was to see that sweet, good face and hear Rachel’s gentle welcome. “Why, Sunshine, what can he the matter ?” Tears brimmed in Aiuriel’s eyes. She was unnerved, incoherent, but the elder girl was tactful, wise, and, in time, the whole tale was told. Rachel looked grave. “And it really is your Uncle Roger who has come home?” she asked, “after all these years. How wonderful for your grandmother.” Aiuriel hesitated.

“He was not good,” she hinted; “he was a terrible worry to poor Grannie years ago. He almost broke her heart. I ... I don’t think she will be glad to see him again. She — Oh! it seems such* a shame that .she may he going to have more worries in her old age.”

But Rachel looked wise. “Ah, Sunshine.” she whispered, “you and I don’t understand, but . \ . but I think Roger Armitage’s mother . . . will be glad.” And Rachel was right. Muriel knew that the moment she entered the cosy sitting-room where Grannie would be sure to be seated in her own big chair. She was such a little Grannie that the big old chair had come to be quite a joke between Muriel and the old lady, and to-day, maybe. Grannie looked smaller than ever as she sat leaning forward with the big, shabby man’s arm round her.

Never would Muriel forget the- way of Grannie’s looking up as she came into the room. Such a wonderful smile lighted the tired old face, and then Grannie spoke.

“Little Sunshine,” said she, “God has granted the prayer of many years. I do not think in all His beautiful world there is a happier woman than I to-day.”

Muriel gave a cry and ran forward. She was not thinking of Uncle Roger, but of Roger’s mother. How glad . . . how glad she was for her sake that her prayer was granted . . . that the lost had been found. Tn less than two months the good people at Barlowe had forgotten how big Roger Armitage had ever been a black sheep.

At any rate, he was quite a white one now' and the most popular man in Barlowe. Everyone seemed to vie with his or her neighbours to welcome and oiler hospitality to Airs. Armitagc : loner-lost son. .Some cynics laughed up then- sleetes as they told each other that, of course, things were obvious, linger Armitage was a prize in the matrimonial market, if rumour But who can believe in rumour? Not Raechel Elliott for one, since the thought of Air. Armitage’s possible wealth never entered her mind. But she thought very often of Roger, the man. He came into her life with the glamour of that romance which appeals to so many girls, and. before she was aware of herself, he had stolen her heart away. Love! \es, it was Jove which had come to gentle Rachel, the Vicar’s da lighter—Love —for a black sheep, a returned prodigal. And Roser himself? He was in his way quite wonderful. At least Muriel would have told you so. The child Muriel whose heart was so warmly stirred at sight of her darling Grannie’s happiness. The old lady was so happy in her boy's return; so joyously she sung her Nunc Dimittis. And —ves —it was her Nunc Dimittis, for. when winter snows lay white over the terraces and lawns of the Court, Mrs. Armitage laid down her burden of life quite peacefully and. with Roger’s arms around her, her little Sunshine by her side, passed to the unknown life beyond the veil. MUriel’s grief was passionate. In her loneliness she could find comfort onlv in two —her uncle Roger and Rachel. It was the former who claimed her later for a business talk. “Your grandmother,” said lie. “has made me your sole guardian and trustee, little one. You inherit all her fortune —the Court and half of my father’s money pass to me. but this will always be your home. I trust J mav lie a faithful steward.” He kissed her tenderly on the brow as he spoke. Tenderly, reverently, as though sealing a vow. It was the beginning of a new life for Aiuriel — for”, after the days of mourning had passed. Roger Armitage was wont to ask friends to the Court. Aiuriel was not sure that she liked all these friends, some she disliked. Amongst the latter was John Herries.

Poor Aiuriel! she had never forgiven the latter the way of his wooing, whilst, though he did not allude to it, she knew she was unforgiven too. And . . . she was afraid of the man.

Roger’s \isit.s to the Vicarage were as frequent as ever, he loved Rachel passionately, but — Y’es, once again there was a —but For Roger Armitage had found himself a poor man after all. His mother had been too old to understand business, and the estate of her late husband hail shrunk woefully. It was on her own private income that she had lived. Now this belonged to Aiuriel, whose uncle found himself saddled with a property he could not dispose of, and little enough money to live on it. So lie hesitated, 'doubting his right to ask Rachel Elliott to be his wife. Later . . . yes! later he would have the right. Had not John Herries put him on a good thing? Those South American copper shares would bring a fortune if he had the money to invest. A gamble, of course, Gut

So the tempter spoke. So the tempter was listened to. It was John Herries who once again roused that terrible gambling instinct which had been the ruin of Roger Armitage in early life.

Muriel little guessed what was going on, but she instinctively dreaded the now frequent visits of the man she hated. John Herries was a bird of ill omen. After every visit the young girl noticed, a vague depression in her uncle’s manner. He was changed—worried.

llis eyes ceased to meet hers with their straight merry look, he grew irritable and uncertain.

A shadow of tragedy began to brood over the Court. Once' her uncle spoke to her.

“Aiuriel.” he asked, “you know Herries loves you. Are you not willing to marry him? I should wish it. Aly dear —it would mean ” - He broke off, looking towards her wistfully, and again dread clamoured at Al Uriel’s heart. She was hot iff her refusal, and her uncle said no moreonly was it fancy that an expression of despair shadowed his eves. Jt was that very evening Herries called late at the Court and went straight to Roger Arm it age’s study. Aiuriel heard their voices raised in loud and angry conversation, it was past midnight when the visitor left. Again a cold fear clutched the girl’s heart.

She was afraid. The next day Roger went out early, saying lie should not be home til] evening. It was towards gloaming that he returned, and. meeting Rachel in the Grove, walked back with her to the Vicarage. To Rachel there was something strange in the walk with a man whom she knew to be her lover though he had never confessed it. If only he would speak ! If only At the wicket gate they halted, and she held out her hand. “Good-night,” said she, “remember, you have promised to come to-morrow to help me with my flower gathering for the poor bairns in town.”

He looked at her —ab! with such love and sorrow in his blue eyes that her heart was wrung by an unnamed anguish. “I will come,” said he, “and if I do not come, all I dare ask is for your pity—perhaps your prayers.” Then, before she could plead for the meaning of such strange words, iio turned and was gone. '

Gone —and the shadows seemed to engulf him. With a sob Rachel turned and went .indoors.

It was carlv next morning, soon after breakfast, that the blow sbe had been half exceeding fell. Muriel, bare-head-ed. wide-eved. came running up the Vicarage drive —her pretty face wan and drawn by fear and pain. Rachel went out to meet her, and both girls clung together.

Tt was Rachel who at last framed the question.

“What has happened, Sunshine?” A long shudder shook Muriel. “He has gone,” she said, “gone. Uncle Roger. He —he left a letter. Ho had invested —all rnv money and liis own —in —in something, he called it unlimited - it means ruin, Rachel. He has not a penny left in the world —nor