A Country Sweetheart,

Lake County Press, Issue 2182, 15 August 1907, Page 2

A Country Sweetheart,

NOW FIRST PUBLISHED,

By uORA RUSSELL,

uthor of' The Broken Seal,' ' The Last Signal,' Tag Tjuck of The Storm, The Vicar's Govctuess,' ' Hidden in My Heart,' 'A Strange Message, ' A Fatal Past,' &c, &c., &c.)

All Rights Rkskrved

CHAPTER XV.—THE PICTURE HAT. The Squire of Woodlca's pew wns at one side of tlxe old-fashioned country church, and Mr Churchill's family occupied seats in the gallery. Therefore John Temple looking up saw the entrance of May Churchill and the two boys, and saw also the blush, the look of unmistakable joy with •which she recognised himself. Other eyes saw this, too ; a pair of handsome dark eyes that belonged to Mrs Temple, who ha.i followed her nephew-in-law's upward glance, and watched half with amusement, half with scorn, his brown face colour slightly, and a soft look steal ov. i his good-looking face. She also had seen the entrance of the three young Churchill's and drew her own conclusions from John's expression, lie had only arrived at the Hall theevi-n ing before, and had in the morning expressed n wish to attend the service at the parish church, somewhat Ic Mis Temple's surprise. ' I thought iiOiug to church would not have been in your way,' she had said at the time. ' I have never heard your father preach,' answered John, smiling. ' You will fall asleep during the sermon —1 warn you,' answered Mrs Temple, also smiling. 1 1 am a bad sleeper, so that will be delightful,' said John. The Squire was ailing, had a cold, and therefore did not go to church, so Mrs Temple and John alone occupied the Hall pew. And when she saw the look on May Churchill's face, and the look on John Temple's as their eyes met, she understood why her husband's nephew had wished to hear her father preach. That look indeed had thrilled through both their hearts. Yet as John's eyt s fell ho sighed softly, and Mrs Temple heard the sigh. But May did not sigh. He had come back ; she would see him again, and when phe did see him she would lell him she had made the decision he had asked for. She sat there between her two young brothers with li9r heart beating tumultously, beating with joy and hope. Presently Hal Churchill gave a little kick at her small foot. k I say, May,' he said in a loud wh'sper, bending his head towards his sister's ear, ' d'ye see who's in the Squire's pew?' May made no answer. She frowned, or rather pretended to frown, and Hal went on unabashed. ' I heard he'd come back last night, but forgot to tell you,' continued Hal. 'Horrid boy,' thought May, remembering some sleepless hours she had spent grieving over John Temple's absence. The service went on; the weakeyed curate, who also admired May Chuichill looked up to, the gallery occasionally, and so did Mrs Layton. This good lady repeated the responses in a loud tone, so as to let all those around her know how pious she was, yet she was not above worldly thoughts at the same time. She disapproved of May Churchill's picture hat and picture face. She was wondering what the world was coming to when tenant farmers' daughters dressed as May was dressed. She repeated ' Have mercy upon us miserable sinners,' but she did not really include hereof in that category. She prayed for 1 «r neighbours, but not for herself, and she was greatly troubled i epiric concerning May Churchill' picture hat. Presently the Vicar ascended the pulpit, and in his usual monotonous under-tone proceeded with his usual platitudes. A worthv man this, but misty, and perhaps his brain was mercifully clouded. It made his daily life more bearable, his scolding, eager wife more endurablo, and, taking all things into consideration, it was well for Hie Rev. James that, he was not a clever nor keen-eyed man. His congregation, who expected nothing new from him, each settled him or herself to their private thoughts. The men as a rule mentally did their weekly

accounts over, the women the cost of their neighbour's dress and their own proposed naw personal adornments. John Temple moved his seat to a convient corner, whispering smilingly to his aunt-in-law as ho passed her - ' lb fs.trno, I am actually going to sleep.' M s Temple smiled in return, and looked at John as ho closed his eyes, -and leaned back his head agaiust the c lrlained pew. But though he closed his eyes he did not go to sleep, ncr had the slightest inclination to do so. Through those closed lids, ho still mentally saw the lovely faco in the gallery beyond ; still saw the glad look with which tho Mayflower ha I gretted his return. Mrs Temple noticed his face flush, though ho never opened his eyes. She kept looking at him, and wondering what his life 1 al been before her o.Mi terrible loss had made him the lifir of Wbodlea. Sv had executed to dislike him, Imust to hate him, but she did not. His good looks favourably influenced her for one thing, and his pleasant., sympa'hetic manner for a lother. There is really no such lasting charm as this. But it is born with the man or woman who possesses it: It is the reflection from their hearts as it were ; the outcome of tho iiiDcr-sense that understands the feelings of others and never wounds them. John Temple possessed this gift to somo extent at least, though not in the highest sense. But at all events he never said unsuitable things, nor hit the wrong nail on the head. Some people seemingly cannot help do*ng this. AVith the best intentions they ruffle our tempers, and we are glad when they go out of our sight. So Mrs Temple kept looking at John, and speculating as to his past. ' He is good-looking ; scarcely handsome,' she thought, and then she sighed, and her memory went back to the days of her soldier lover, now lying in his Indian grave. ' i f I had married. George Hill I would have been a good woman,' she was thinking. 'Now what have I to be good for ?' She glarced contemptuously as the thought shuck her first at her poor misty father in the pulpit, and then at her eager watchful mother in the vicar's pew below. ' They sold me,' sho was reflecting' .'' and what I can give them is all they care for. Ah,.it is a weary world.' She moved, so impatiently, that John Temple opened his grey eyes. The sermon was now drawing to a close, for ono good quality tho Rev. James Layton really did possess was not to preach too loug sermons. And the moment the blessing was over Mrs Temple rose hastily, and signed to John to follow her. She wished to leave tho church before her mother had an opportunity of joining her, for Mrs Layton seldom ordered a Sunday dinner, but in general, and always if she could manage it, dined when the family at the Hall had luncheon in the middle of the day. John looked up at the gallery as he followed Mrs Temple out of the church, and half-smiled as his eyes met May's, and this smile was reflected on her rosy lips. A moment later Mrs Layl on also looked up over her clasped hands, and to her consternation when she glanced at her daughter's pew, she saw she was gone. Whon sho rose hastily from her knees, and hurried out by the vestry dooi, only to be in time to see the 1 Tall carriage disappear out of tho churchyard, with her daughter and John Temple seated in it. She ran to the churchyard gate ; she frantically waved hor umbrella, but all in vain. Mrs Temple either did not, or pretended not to see hor mother, and with a rueful hoait Mrs Layton had to turn and faco the outcoming congregation, who were greatly amused at her cliscomforture. And she had. very good cause for this feeling. She had in fact ordered no dinner for herself nor her husband at he Vicarage, having securely reckoned on lunching at the Hall. ' Rachel should be ashamed of her-

self,' sho reflected, angrily, as so i.- , tuiTcl to the vestry. Mo front her parents so, after all I hav done for her.' , ~11 , . Onlv broken her daughters heart! This was what Mrs Lay tor had dona, j and she considered her conduct meritorious. But she had no time for , further reflection. In the vestry the , Vicar was divesting hinwott ot ins limp surplice, and his We felt she must act. ' James,' she said, 'I am pist going to walk over to the dull far lunch, and you must follow.' ' Did Rachel ask us >' inquired the Vicar, weakly, for he also had been looking forward to tho good things on the Squire's table, and a glass or two of the Squire's good wine. ' Yes,' replied Mrs Liyfon, mendaciously, ' bub 1 stayed behind to tell you not to be long. I will walk on, us they always havo lunch much earlier on Sundays.' And Mrs Layton did walk on. She went at a brisk rate, for she was determined not to be cheated out of her dinner by her ungratjful daughter. She therefore arrived at the Hall somewhat heated in mir.d and body. ' The family are at. lunch, madam,' the footman who opened the door informed her, but., nothing daunted, Mrs Layton walked coolly to the dining-room, and entered unannounced. Tho groy-habol Squire who was sitting at tho table rose t > receive her, after giving one inquiring glance at his wife, who shrugged her shoulders slightly in reply. ' I wished to see you, Rachel, began Mrs Layton, who was very hot, ' bub .you hurried away from church so quickly that I had nob the opportunity, and so I followed you on here.' ' Pray be seated, Mrs Layton,' said Mr Temple court ously. 'James,' this was to the footman,' place a chair for Mrs Layton.' ' I must ay I feel rather tired,' continued Mrs' Layton, ' and shall be glad of a glass of wine. Thanks, Mr Temple, I know your good wine of old, and I hope you will excuse me when I tell you that I have taken the liberty of asking the Vicar to follow me here. I wished to see you, Rachel, on a little business that-I could not defer.' ' I dare say it would have waited,' answered Mrs Temple, coolly. Sh was annoyed at her mother's appearance, and she did not care to hide this, nor did she extend any warm welcome to hei father when ' the good Vicar came shambling in. 'Your mother said you had kindly invited us,' my dear,' explained the Vicar; 'I am sorry I am late, bub there wore soveral things I had to see about before I could leave the vestry.' 'Oh, it is all right,' said Mrs Temple. At this moment she felt sorry for her poor down-trodden father. She heaped good things on his plate, and ordered some of his favourite old port to be placed on the table. She took very little nobice of her mother ; she had in truth an immense contempt for tho scheming, untruthful, little woman who had given her birth. Mrs Layton still felt angry, but her anger did not interfere with her appetite. She ate and drank to her heart's content, and then she began talking to John Temple. ' So -you were at church this morning, Mr John ?' she said. ' Well, it's a poor place, and ncods a great deal of alteration, but all these things cost money.' The Squire turned a deaf ear to his mothei-in-law's remark, but John answered courteously. ' I thought it all seemed very nice,' he answered. ' Of course, you cannot expect everything in an oldfashioned country church. 'Yes, old-fashioned, that is tho word,' echoed Mrs Layton eagerly. ' Look at those galleries ! Did you ever see such things ? They should come down, but as I said before it all costs money, and people won't give it, and the Vicar won't rouse himself.' Tile Vicar looked mildly up from his plate at this remark, and that was all. ' And talking of the galleries, went on Mrs Layton, speaking with great rapidity, ' did you notice that absurd hat that Margaret Churchill wore this morning ? Absolutely preposterous! I suppose that is what you call a picture hat ?' she added, looking at her daughter. ' I thought itseemod a very elegant affair !' scoffed Mrs Temple. ' What did you think of it, my nephew John ?' ' Don't be shocked at my bad taste when I confess I never noticed it,' replied John Temple, smiling. ' You only saw tho face beneath ?' questioned Mrs Temple. John made a sarcastic bow. ' Now you compliment my good taste,' ho said. ,'Well people call her handsome, and sho may be good looking ; I suppose she is, says Mrs Layton, viciously, ' but I have a very poor opinion of Margaret Churchill. If you believe it, 1 am told she is now once more endeavouring to entangle young Henderson, of tho Grange, in spite of tho terrible scandal about him. J hear they invito him to the house, and that ho buys horses of the old man, and that the new Mrs Churchill is bent on the match.' John Temple i'elt a strong wave of anger rise in his heart, but ho prudently chocked it before it reached his tongue. ' Well,' he said; • risiug from tho table, ' I will leave you two ladies for tho present, if Mrs Temple will excuse me? I have some letters to write, and afterwards.l think I shall go out; it is too hue a day to spend indoors.' 4 Of course, please yourself,' answered Mrs Temple, carelessly. She did not liko John leaving her

thus, to be bored by her mother's company, but sho stood on small ceremony. ' 1 am tired ; I will Ho down and road in my own room for an hour or two, I think,'she said, 'flood-day, mother.' She just extended the tips of her slender lingers to Mrs Layton as she spoke, and then roso languidly and left the room. The Squire was thus loft alone with tli» Vicar and his mother-in-law. But ho also was tired of both. Ho retired into an easy chair, and put his hj .ndkerchief over his face to announce that he wanted a little rest. 'Ah I see, you want a little doze, SquirV cried Mrs Layton, observing this. ' Well, James,' sho continued, addressing her husband, ' I will just take another glass of port and then we must be off. Ib's well for those who can afford to take rest, but a poor parson and his wife cannot.' The Squire made no reply to this, iind Mrs Layton, having drunk her port, took her leave, remarking to hor husband as they quitted tho house together:— ' Poor man, he is evidently failing fast.' ' Thank Heavens sho is gone !' oxclaimed the Squire with energy, pulling tho handkerchief from his face as he heard their retreating footsteps. ' What a woman ! She's enough to drive anyono mad.' CHAPTER XVI.—THE LOVE THAT CANNOT CHANGE. John Tomplo went up tho starroaso towards his own room, after (putting the luncheon, saying somo very hard things indeed below his breath of Mrs Layton. She had mado him intensely angl",' about May Churchill and young Henderson. Not that he believed a word of it, but it enraged him to hear the girl's name coupled with this ruffian's, for so ho mentally designated Henderson. John indeed had always had serious doubts as to Henderson's actua guilt regarding Elsie Wray's death. That he had broken the poor girl's heart he never doubted. But there had been something in tho evidence of tho groom, Jack Reid ; something in his faco that mado John believe he was not speaking the truth. And that Henderson flare go nearMay! 'lt's that disgusting stepmother, I suppose, thought John; ' my poor littlef girl, my poor May, you will be happier with mo.' So John sat down to write to his poor little May, when he got to his own room, and then started out across the park to post his letter at the nearest posb-ollice. He walked on wibh a bent head and a thoughtful brow. Ho was dissatisfied with himself, irresolute, and yet his heart was warm with love. In his letter he had asked May to tix some place where he could see her, but he was fated to meet her earlier than ho expected. May and her brothers had walked home from church ; May feeling somowhat disappointed that she had not had an opportunity of exchanging a word with John Temple, but still she was rculy to excuse him. ' Ho could not help himself, ho was obliged to go with his uncle's wife,' she told herself. But still it made her a little sad. It marked the social difference between them as it were. If she had been his equal, and | John had meant to make her his wife, he would have assuredly have lingered to speak to her. As it was he could not help himself, but May sighed when she i nought of it. Then when they reached home, Mrs Churchill made herself purposely very unpleasant to her step-daughter. ' That's a vory absurd hat of yours, May,' she said, ' I don't know what the folks in Church would say to it.' It was in truth a charming hat, though only suited to a lovely face. It became May exceedingly, and she had been conscious of this when she had started in tho morning wibh her brother.; conscious perhaps of it when she saw John temple's grey eyes looking upwards bo bhe gallery, for she loved to think that sho shi-nld fair in his sight, and now to hear it discried! ' I think it is a very pretty hat,' she answered somewhat indignantly. ' To go on tho stage with, perhaps, but nob for a respectable farmer's daughter to appear at church in,' continued Mrs Churchill. May slightly tosstd hor pretty head, and walked indignantly out of tho room. She had no idea of leaving off wearing her new hat, which had just cost hor two pounds, on account of her stepmother's remarks. And immediately the eai-ly dinner was over she called to her two young brothers to go out for a walk wibh her, and wore tho picture hat in spito of Mrs Churchill. During their afternoon ramblo they went along the country hino where May Churchill had first motJohn Temple in tho summertime, whon she was gathering wild roses to make a wreath to placo on poor young Phil Temple's grave. It was autumn now, aud the cobweb 3 on tho grass, and tho chill in tho bree/.e, told of tho shortening days. Tho wild roses wore gone, and tho meadow-sweet scented the air no longer, but thoro was at sereno and sober boauty in the changing leaves, in tho creeping brambles growing amid tho hodgorows ..d quite suddenly tho three young people encountered John Temple in this very lane. Joun had been thinking, also, of that first meeting when lie had sat on the stile, and thought, smilingly, bhat this rural scene only wanted 'n pretty milkmaid' to complete the picture. He remembered May as ho had seen her thus, so fresh, so fair, in hor white frock and her dainty basket of roses. And now with glad surprise ho once more encountered hor. Thoy smiled and clasped eacu

other's hau.ls, but siid very i'o NV words, and then John looked at the I wo boys. ' So these two young gentl"mnn arc yon- hrollurs, 1 suppose ?' lie a-ked. " Ves,' answered May, while Willie and Hal gri.med resnonsively. ' I am an glad to have met you,' continued John, looking extremely happy to have done so, ' as I was just going- to post ' and thou he paused and looked again at tho boys Upon this Hal, who was the youngest, though the sharpest of the two, administered a sharp kick at his brother's ankle. * I say. Will,' ho said. ' I saw some awful jolly blackberries at tho other sido of tho hedge ; lot's go in for some'?' Will took tho hint, and tho two boys ran together to the stile, so as to get to the other sido of tho hedge, and John Temple and May were alone, ' I was on my way to post a letter to you, May,' John said; ' now I will give it to you—hero it is.' He drew out his letter, and put it into 'May's hand as ho spoko, but ho still held her hand fast. l lt is to ask you to meet mo, M y,' he said. 'To moot mo. and toll me what your answer to my last letter is to be.'' May's faeo Unshod, and her breath cauio sharp ; she remembered John's last letter only too well. 'We cannot talk of it to day,' continued John, ' -vo must be alone. In my letter to you to-day I asked you to lix some time and name place, on Tuesday, as I thought you would only got my letter to-morrow morning. But now sis you have got it to-day, can wo meet to-morrow ?' 'Yes,' half-whispered May; John was still holding her hand, still looking in hor face, and May's heart was beating very fast. ' 1 have heard something about you to-day, May,' presently said Jjhn, ' something that made me very angry only I did not believe it.' (To bo continued.)