JACK HAVILAND.

Hawke's Bay Herald, Volume 13, Issue 1085, 21 September 1869, Page 3

JACK HAVILAND.

I in. four ; cmMs3a.~c&v^.~m^X2i (From "Chamber* 1 Journal," June 5.) , ]/\ '.', ''' Two months had passed since theday when ; i they had first met, and Jack HavilandV protracted absence &om all the festivities of Shingle had begun to sow bitterness and wailing in the .camp. c ; The '-moat . ? : terrible suppositions had already been set afloat by the joint ingenuity of Mrs. M'Hot* ; , : scone and Miss Bohea. , The local journal : j had solemnly announced tjbe arrival ati.Shin- , , gle of Mademoiselle Gri&nejte otthe corps de ballet of the Paris Opera ; and putting .; , this fact together with the other feet of , Jack's desertion, Miss Bohea inquired ;> whether it wer( not possible, to deduct therefrom a most scandalous conclusion, But it is fair to Uy that Miss Bohea remained alone of] her opinion. The other ladies could not bring upon themselves to suspect Jack Haviland of so much blaok- „ ness. Besides, Mademoiselle Grediaette had not remained in Shingle for more than - : , two days, and she bad been escorted both on arrival and departure by the Right , Honourable the Earl , of .Wheefcylung, . a peer of the realm. Whilst queries and wonders, suggestions and, exclamations, were still running riot, Mrs. Maydew appeared one Sunday morning at St. Marigold's Church with a look of triumph on her countenance. During the whole time of service,, she cast looks of intelligence at Mrs. M'Hotscone, Mrs. CurryI combe, and Miss Bohea; and as soon as the service was ended, she hastened out, so , as to meet her friends, and tell them all about it. , , , r _ „ „ "Oh t would you believe it, my dear Mrs. M'Hotscone, after all our kindness to him, to abandon us all for a girl like that ?" . , "Who can it be?" inquired Mrs. M'Hqtscone. : "Who is it?" asked Mrs. Curry-combe. , " Who ?" gasped Miss Bohea. . " Why, none other than that little: Miss Chatfield, the child with auburn hair, who lives at Beauchamp Lodge, and has a father < too proud to call upon any one." " Mr. Chatfield the banker ?" "No ; he's a timber-merchant^ or a dry- . salter, or something of the kind. He's immensely rich, and I can't make out how he can accept such a man as Jack Haviland for Ms son-in-law. Mr. Haviland hasn't a single sixpence." " Not a penny," muttered Miss. Bohea. [ " But is it all settled, then ?" asked Mm. M'Hotscone. "I don't know, Fin sure; but I BUBpect |it must be. Mr. Haviland no longer comes to St. Marigold's on Sundays. He doesn't like to lose sight of his little waxy-flaxy miss for a single minute. I met him on parade this morning, going with a smiling; face to Mr. Jumper's tabernacle." " A dissenting chapel!", exclaimed; Mrs. Curry-combe in horror. ; " That young man has no regard for his soul," cried Miss Bohea. " I shouldn't have believed it of him," said Mrs. M'Hotscone ; and the four ladies, mortally shocked at what they had heard, wended their way all chattering together. " We must agree to cut him," began Miss Bohea, who, from being the tenderest of Jack's admirers, had become of late the bitterest of his foes. "We must scratch | him off our visiting-lists." The word i scratch was pronounced with singular vehemence ; so much so, that the other three ladies gave a start, then looked at each other, and finally smiled. "After all," said Mrs. M'Hotscone, who had a warm Scotch heart, "Jack's agude laddie, and he couldn't always remain a bachelor. He'll make a canny bridegroom, and we'd best think of wishing him a bonny wife and a fair armful of bairns." Miss Bohea felt it binding upon her to blush. "If he'd only not chosen a dissenter!" observed Mrs. Curry-combe, relenting. "Yes," sighed Mrs. Maydew; "but ! we'll get him to convert his wife : youand Mr. Curry-combe will manage that, dear, — What a delightful sermon that was the rector gave us this morning !" Mrs. Curry-combe's brow cleared up entirely. "I'm glad you liked the sermon, dear ; William and I worked at it together. —But, dear me, here he is in person !" ex-; claimed the rector's wife, glancing down the street. "Who? William?" "No, no j Jack Haviland," And so it was. Mr. Jack, making fearful gestures with his arms, and walking at a break-neck pace, was looming in the distance. He seemed to be unconscious of surrounding objects, and was frightfully pale. ...'■■_. ; '. "Why, what can have happened Scried Mrs. Maydew ; "he looked do happy this morning." " He's not himself at all now," said Mrs. M'Hotscone, terrified. "I think he's in a state of inebriation," observed Miss Bohea. "Mr. Haviland! Mr. Haviland! Why don't you speak to us?" cried out Mrs. Curry-combe, as Jack, with his eyes cast down, seemed about to rush by without stopping. Jack looked up startled, raised his hat mechanically, and stared vacantly at the group. " Good morning,. ladies," he stammered in an altered voice. "I beg your pardon ; I had not seen you." % He spoke absently, scarcely knowing what' he said. Mrs. M'Hotscone took pity on him. " The puir fellow's ailing," she whispered; and the ladies—with the ex* ception of Miss Bohea— nodded kindly, to' give Jack an excuse for going iis way. He made a sepond bow, and continued his course without looking to right or left. Something was clearly the matter with him. " I wonder what it can be P" exclaimed the four ladies together, and they parted" with every variety of conjecture and sur*. misc. " ' ' ■!, ■"' "" ■";'., "It's not very difficult; to guew," ijjaid ! Miss Bohea with an intonation of triumph ; " that little Miss Chatfield must have jilted him." ■ • '•■ '"■. ■•■ ; \r: , ;. IV .': : . : At all events, riot of ncr own accx»rdj ;; poor girl; for if Miss Bohea's suspicion waa\ right in the letter, it wasquite incorrect in the spirit. Jack had not been jatedj'He had only been told that his dwamof hapi- v ness was at an end— that was all; but j^as it not enough, and had he, not r|l^tt |i-; clasp his fists as Jei^e^^to-vp^^life^. 1--was the most mi^^;W|^;^^^tv|>^- : plan throwing Mntiejff^tff^il^l^itoi^^.';:; night as soon as ever jfte' mo^nSKbuw^tfyS^ nsen? .-. „ „- .■ t :.-v-v..:v.-i;ii > s^ This is what hid fcap]ieri& rSJ^ tis£|

morning, had, got jup, aq usual without a cloud to <iv& hil heart/ He" had breakfasted confidingly off two poached e^gs, , and had set but &r Mrl Jumper's'pldce of worship, righteously purposed to attend to that reverend man's exhortations, and to make himself a 1 cheerful' soul by looking as frequently'as; he could during service at Miss Lucy '■> Ghatfield 5 in the" pew ! opposite him. He £ had arrayed himself in his best, had stuck fa bright moss-rose bud within his button-hole, and had /drawn on the choicest pair oi 1 -dogskin glotesj quoted four shillings and sixpence in the market. ' His chin tiewreape^i his hair well brushed, and s hia whiskers trimly combed, had all created the most favourable impression upon the congregation at : the k Mr. Jumper, who had detected in him a poselyte, j eyed him approvingly, on ascending the pulpit f and Mrs. jumper, who had had him shewn into her pew, presented him with her hymn-book. Albeit,, as the service progreised; jack's brow began to lower. At a quarter past eleven, neither Lucy, nor Annie Heywood, nor Mr. Chatfield had yet appeared. Twenty minutes, twenty-five, half an hour elapsed, and yet no sign of the party; Jack's brow became overcast. The sermon commenced, and Mr. Jumper with fervid eloquence began prophesying unpleasantries to the "miserable sinners " around him. It became evident that Lucy would not appear that day. Jack felt himself oppressed with all the terrors that the human mind, when suffering from the pains t «f love, can forge. * He;jfelt himself stifling ; in the close-packed chapel. His fears grew apace, and, to the speechless scandal of the congregation, he rose in the very midst of the sermon — at the pathetic point where Mr. Jumper, with a vtew to his special conversion, was describing the joy of the black sheepi who has been washed— and bolted out.- ■;■"- ":'■' ■'"•■" ■■' .'

When once outside, however, he had' a moment's hope. Susan, one of the housemaids at Beauchamp Villa, was standing oh the ohapel steps, and as soon as he appeared, drewa letter mysteriously from her pocket, handed it to him, and without saying a word disappeared. It was not in Lucy's handwriting this letter, and Jack heard his heart throb again with all its fears as he tore open the envelope. ' This is what he read :—

Mt ? ,dbab>, Mb. Haviland,-- All has besa, discovered. Mr. Chatfield. came home last night ia dreadful anger, having been told "By somebody, ; we do not know ■whom, f that you were in the habit of going out walking 1 "with us every day. He sooldedipobr Lucy all the evening yesterday, and again this morning. He is the mor,e furious as she has held out bravely that she loves you, andwilimarry no one but you. I ; believe Mr. Chatfield will call upon you to-day, but I am afraid he will beTery harsh, tor he speaks most bitterly; and talks of sending off Lucy to France, and putting Her in a convent, if she will not promise 1 never to speak to you again. W&iggei botli' very, unhappy. Lucy has cried all the morning. I send this by Susan jiand am, my dear Mr. Haviland, very faithfully yours, . ; . Annie Heywood. -—Jack grew cold as he finished this letter, and we know the state in which he ran home, : : Fortunately, it was Sunday, and the chemists' shops were closed, or else there is no telling to what lengths he might have run, had: any, one been found to sell him, upon his own recognisances, a dose of prussic acid. He ran so fast, and was so entirely absorbed in his own reflections, thai he did not notice the frowning features of Mr. Chatfield, who was mounting guard outside his cottage, and who, as soon as he had rushed in with his head downcast, strode menacingly, after him, and banged for ten good seconds at 'the door with a furious doublerknock.; , Jack had not vet had time to/take offhis gloves. He opened his sit-ting-room door,, and heard a vibrating voice inquire: of his housekeeper if he: were: at home. t'Htfs just come in* sir," answered the terrified -Mrs. Nuffin, who. had. never heard anything like that knock before. Mr. Chatfield, without being announced, walked straight into fthe room where Jack Haviland was, and confronting him with an angry stare, began abruptly : "Do you consider yourself a gentleman, Mr. Haviland?" "I hope so," stammered poor Jack, growing very red, and feeling very guilty. "Ah, you hope so. Well, I am glad there seems to be some doubt of the fact in your mind, for I should like to know, sir, whether you consider it becoming a gentleman to make love to a young girl during her father's absence-^-to profit by the circumstance of my being in London six days of the Week, to : sing your maudlin lovesongs in a mere child's ear — and to encourage that child to open defiance and disobedience of me, I ask you, sir, do you consider that conduct becoming a gentleman?" "Ilove Miss Chatfield," faltered Jack, not finding anything else t6 say. "You love Mias Chatfield !" repeated the merchant, waxing more . indignant as he continued to speak. "And may I ask, sir, who; you are, who pretend to love Miss Chatfield? What are your means of existence ? How do you live ? What are your claims to the hand of a young lady in my /daughter's position? Are you a peer ofsnglan&?" ;; , Jack shook his head despondingly. ¥ A millionaire ?" Jack gave a sigh, ■ <( A man, of talent? A great author? 4 painter? A rising barrister?" . V|iw 'nothing," murmured Jack. .^re'ypu even an Honest man, sir ?" exclai^ed. Me.. Chatfield, raising his voice till ifcstio^k the room, and crossing his arms co^mptuously. ■$jfHt tk&e, yes," cried Jack Haviland, with a red-hot glow on his face ; " I may haye t been thoughtless, Mr. Chatfield, but I am an honest man." _ *s ,T%t's very easily said, sir," . rejoined the merchant coldly. "How much nave you, a yiar ?" , ," two, hundred pounds and this <^^e,!f,,answeice(i Jack Haviland humbly. "i3utyou#o not intend to judge of my ho.n^feby^ the. extent of my fortune, I hope ?!•■-?. „*,, ; - ■. . ;•,-.. Me. John Haviland," angwe?ed;Mr,., jObatfield with asueer, "for if y9u;^a|[ been, the, hone?t"man you pretend yq^df,^?you> wo^d^ssureiliy. have known, Z^sir^3|||^f| ! mi^i ./lays mmself open to very l '!"^^i^WP}^W^> '$$$? tyit twelve ioye ; 11:i^||^^|||jtte^W'- thoiight "of ybu*.£cHr-:

been poorer ,than L, it would have been just the same; . , Youxj^nnot thini, Mr. CH^tfield, that there waf ever; a single; mercenary wish in my ( loye ; for Miss Lucy?''/; . ; , ; "Prove it;" said the i merchant sternly. " How.?" faltered^Jacki, feeling his heart droop within him, '■ "That is a strange question, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Chatfield, pronouncing each of his words with terrible conciseness. "You tell me that you ignored the extent of my fortune. Well, I reveal it to you now : my daughter will at my. death have ten thousand pounds a year. If your views have been so disinterested as you now affirm, you cannot but be struck with the immense disproportion that exists between Miss Chatfield's position and^oura.! „'And if you wish me to hold^you../, guiltless of any unworthy motives, i of; .anjru fault, indeed, save that of thoughtlessnfcsSjiyou know very well how you must act."'" Jack became deadly pale, and drew his hand across his brow. "Yes,", he said^in broken voice, "you want me to promise that I. will not speak again to Miss Chatfield." "I wish you to swear upon your word of honour as a gentleman that you will break off all further connection of any sort with my daughter. Do you promise ?" jack hesitated a moment, and cast an imploring look, at the merchant, whose features remained impassible. l " Very well," he said sadly ; "I give you my. word. But I think it will be better if I go. away. I will leave England to-mor-row, and not return until— until— yes, until Miss Chatfield be married." The merchant nodded ; but he looked more attentively at Jack after the latter had spoken these words. There was even something like a trace of emotion on his face, and it was in a much softer voice that he said, holding out his hand : "I accept your word, Mr.. Haviland, and confess that my estimate of you was a wrong one. But you must not bear me a grudge for the way I am.acting. If you were in my place, you would understand that I have the welfare and happiness of my child to look to, and that I am bound to follow the promptings of my reason and my judgment." "If I were a father, I should no doubt act as you are doing," said Jack mournfully. " I am sorry I did not think of this before ; but I will go away to-morrow, and you must tell Miss— Lu — Miss Chatfield to forget me." r The merchant did not feel so satisfied with himself as he had done a moment or two before. He ought to have taken his leave, and yet he staid. "It will.be a great inconvenience to you to go away so suddenly," he said with hesitation: "you have probably many matters to settle ; debts to pay perhaps. Will you ; allow me to take these off your hands ? "No," said Jack, quietly ; "I have no debts whatever. I have nothing to settle either. I shall give this cottage to my housekeeper, who used to be my nurse ; and I can start the first thing to-morrow morning." " Are you in need of money ?" " No ; thank you. I had laid by a little store for a rainy day ; and the rainy day has come." He opened his desk and shewed the merchant a little heap of five-pound notes. Mr. Chatfield had become thoughtful. "You have no debts," he said pensively, "and with two hundred pounds a year only you can manage to lay by ? That speaks well for your training." "I was very idle at school," said Jack reddening, " and I know next to nothing ; but whilst my father yet lived, that is, whilst I was .«f.i!l a child, he taught me two maxims, which he said contained the .rnea^. sure of all earthly wisdom: 'Don^tell lies ; and dont get into debt.'" . " And you have observed those maxims ?" Jack's eyes beamed truthfully at the merchant. "Yes," he said simply.