LOVE’S BOND MAID

Hawera Star, Volume XLVI, 29 September 1926, Page 3

LOVE’S BOND MAID

CHAPTER XVIII. The Villa Violetta proved; to lie a small, dilapidated little dwelling lying about half a mile out of .Cannes itself. A- tangled, neglected garden added to its appearance of decay and depression, an atmosphere which struck Muriel forcibly as she entered the hall where an astute and smiling official, who had come down to see her off, had deposited her box. John Henries had promised that his friends should be ready to receive her, but there was no' one visible except an untidy little French servant, who stared wonderingly at her as she requested Mamzelle to await Madame or Mam’zelle Cecile in the diningroom. Standing there, with the morning sun pouring in through the uncurtained window upon dusty chairs and tables, Muriel felt the loneliness which had overwhelmed her la-st night, returning in full force. How events had crowded into her life since the day before yesterday! Yes, impossible though it seemed, it was only the day /. before yesterday that she had read that short paragraph in the newsV paper, which had shattered the fair, V half-forme-d dreams bom of the glamour of a month’s short stay in an old Scottish Castle. She dared not look back now for fear of the pain as she pictured a tall, straight form, with close-cropped curly head bending forward so that a pair of hazel eyes might look deeply into hers. “You must be here when I return, for I have a question, to ask you.” 'And she knew that she had been waiting ever since for a kindly Fate to whisper that question in her ears. With an effort she put such thoughts from her, remembering Effie Alliston’s honest, ruddy face and kindly ways. Yet it was hard to travel back through the fields of memory and to that cruel date, the day before yesterday.

Herries’ story, her own determination to- sacrifice herself for the sake of Rachel and her uncle Roger, the unconquerable aversion she felt for the man whose wife she had promised to be, the fear as she thought of how speedily her fate was to overtake her, mingled with a frantic desire to run away.

Ah! it had been cruel of old Peter Hitherton to. press his unwished for attentions on her, and still more cruel of Mrs. Gresham-Browne to bast her adrift so unwarrantably. Even if she had failed really to like so capricious a. mistress, she had not been unhappy with her, and she had vaguely hoped, even if she- yielded to Herries’ wishes and had engaged herself to him, that she would have been allowed to extend that engagement for an indefinite period. , 4 But Fate and a jealous woman had forced her hand, and being hut a novice at the great game of life, she • had found herself hurried on from event to event till she stood, in the dusty dining-room of the Villa Violetta, with nothing before her but a marriage within a fortnight to a man whom she feared and disliked. And a short year ago she had been the petted “Sunshine” of Barlowe Court with a cloudless sky_ above her! A door opening noisily overhead and the -sound of hurrying footsteps brought her back to the present. “I’m so sorry we were late after all,” said a shrill, girlish voice in the doorway. “But we overslept ourselves.” The speaker was a tall, angular girl of about twenty-one, untidy in dress, and rough of looks, though there was a certain irregular' beauty in the features somewhat spoilt by the overhanging brows and deep setting of her eyes. Muriel blushed crimson as she shook hands. “I don’t know what you must think,” she said shyly. The girl laughed—not very merrily. “Oh we don’t trouble to think,” she replied, “life’s too short, you know. Mr* Herries routed us up about midnight last night to tell us to expect you, and of course, I meant to he clown —hut I wasn’t you see. I’m an awful sleepy head.” Something in her off-hand I tones rang true, and Muriel felt less lonely than she had done before in' spite of a sense of not being particularly welcome. “You are travelling to England by the afternoon train, aren’t yon?” she asked. “I dp hope I shall not inconvenience you.” “Inconvenience us? . Why should you? Of course, we are only too delighted -,to do anything for Mr. Her-

BY May Wynne . Author of “For Faith and Navarre,” “Mistress Cynthia,” “The Spendthrift Duke,” etc., etc.

ries. You are going to marry him, aren’t you?” The bitterness of the tone was not lost on Muriel. . “Yes,” she replied, “I am going to marry him.” The words' sounded like her own death Knell. The girl looked at her shrewdly, with renewed interest, then suddenly smiled —a real smile this time—that lighted up her whole face, making it almost, beautiful. “You are so different to what I expected,” she said impulsively. “Absolutely —but there, I never had many manners and I’m forgetting the few I did once possess. Won’t you sit down? Breakfast won’t he long, or will you come upstairs and take your hat off.” “Thank you very much, but I have had my breakfast.” “Already?” . ... “I —I was supposed to be going by the 9.50 train from Cannes, so I had breakfast early. Did Mr. Herries explain?” “He said nothing, hut that a young friend of his, in fact his fianoee, was anxious to have our escort on her way to England, and that sh« would turn up here about half-pase nine. He also said that you had no friends at all, and I believe made arrangements for Mums to keep you till he came to London, when he said he was going to marry you.” - “You must have thought I was a a verv strange person.” “Oh, as I toTd you, we don’t think when Mr. Herries lays his commands on us.” The tone was even more bitter “I am very, very sorry. I think he should have explained more clearly. He promised he would —may I tell you ust~how it was?” . *■ - “If you like.” i ■ Muriel explained, as well at she could, and with heightened colour, leaving many gaps in the story, which doubtless her hearer was able to fill m to. her own satisfaction. At any rate, she was looking across at her strange visitor with a new sympathy and friendliness when she had finished. • “You poor little thing,” she cried. “And what a brute of a woman: I hope she gets well paid out for it —she will in the long run, you’ll see, and serve her right, too —it was real mean.” . .. ~ “My dear Cicely !” there was gentle rebuke in the voice from the-..staircase. “Whv, Mums, how quick you’ve been. I thought you would be ages longer dressing. This is Miss ” she paused, and both girls laughed merrily. ‘ ‘Mjy name is Muriel Armitaige, said Muriel, as she shook hands with the geirtle-faced widow lady who entered. “I feel I ought to be apologising all the time. “Please don’t,” said Cicely Stevens warmly. “For once Mr. Herries has really done us a good turn in .sending you. I’m sure we -shall be friends. “Cicely, Cicely.” “Yes, Mums darling?” Mrs. Stevens flushed a faded pink. “I don’t think you should speak quite like that of Mr. Herries, my dear. “Like wnat? Oh! I see. Please don’t mind, Miss Armitage—l won t transgress again—and it really was a sort of compliment.” But though Muriel smiled, she was wondering what lay behind the girl s bitter words when she spoke* of John Herries, for she remembered how he had told her that these people would do anything for him— absolutely anything. Yet she was convinced already that Cicely liked the man as little as she did herself. The entrance of Jeanne and the breakfast tray, however, checked thoughts and words concerning Mr. Herries.

“I hope you won’t mind watching us eat,” said Cicely, with a quaint grimace, “but the other sitting-room is absolutely denuded and locked up. I’m so sort-v,' but we didn’t expect visitors.” “Won’t you change your mind and have a little omelette,” said Mrs. Stevens, seeing how Muriel coloured at the last words, “or at least a cup of coffee. Jeanne is famous for her coffee, and you look pale, my dear.” Ancl something in the motherly tones brought the tears stinging to Muriel’s eyes. “Thank you,” she replied gratefully, and Mrs. Stevens understood, for perhaps there had been a time in her girlhood when she was lonely, too, like this poor child who had found life so difficult and cold. (To be continued.).