A Country Sweetheart,

Lake County Press, Issue 2185, 5 September 1907, Page 2

A Country Sweetheart,

By BORA RUSSELL,

uthor of ‘The Broken Seal,’ ‘The Last Signal, 5 * Tne Traca of The Storm,’ The Yicar’s Governess,' ‘ Hidden in My Heart,’ ‘ A Strange Message,’ ‘ A Fatal Past,’ &c., &c., &c.j

All Eights Reserved.

CHAPTER XVII I.—(Continued.) * She’s the prettiest girl I ever saw,’ he said to his aunts, after ho had lit his pipe, and May had retired for the night.

4 1 wonder where he picked up the country cousin ?’ said Ralph Webster, thoughtfully. 4 Most probably at his uncle’s, the Squire of Woodlea. Where do you think we could take her to-morrow, Ralph?’

4 It’s a sweet face certainly,’ sighed Miss Eliza. ‘lt’s more than a sweet face,’ answered Ralph Webster, in his energetic way ; 4 it’s a beautiful face. What did Temple say about her M you, Aunt Margaret, when he wrote ?’ ‘He said she was his cousin, his young cousin, and would we take her in, and be kind to her for a fortnight or so, when he would come up to town to join her,’ ‘ Lucky dog!’ laughed Ralph Webster’. ‘And,’, continued Miss Webster, with a sudden blush spreading over her faded complexion, 4 he enclosed a cheque, a ridiculously large cheque, for h_r expenses, and asked us to take her out a little to see the sigh Is. as she has never been in London before. It’s a bad time of the year certainly for sights; but still perhaps you will help us a little, Ralph, to amuse her till you go on your holiday ?’

4 Wait until we see what to-morrow brings forth in the way of weather,’ answered Ralph Webster, and they settled it thus, and shortly afterwards the two sisters retired to rest, and their nephew was loft to his reflections. The next morning was fine, and when Ralph 'Webster saw May Churchill by daylight bo decided she was prettier than ever. She had rested well ; she was fresh and fair, and she carried on an animated con- \ ersation with Ralph Webster during the whole of the breakfast time.

4 1 suppose you row, play tennis, and hunt, and have all soi-ts of country occupations?’ asked Ralph.

4 1 play tennis, but I neither row nor hunt,’ answered May, smiling. ‘ What! you are not one of those manly young ladies who intend to annihilate us uoor male creatures oilthe face of the earth, or at least our occupations and professions ?’ 4 Not quite ; but I think it a very good thing that women nowadays can find occupations and professions for themselves.’

For a young woman who has never been in town there aiv alw s plenty of ‘ sights,’ as you call th - , to be seen in London. ‘ Yes, Aunt Margaret, I shall be glad to escort y r ou and Aunt Eliza, and the country cousin anywhere you like during the next few days.’ ‘ How good of you, Ralph !’ exclaimed Aunt Margaret.

‘ It’s not fair to men,’ it’s really not,’ answered Webster, smiling also. ‘ Just take my profession, for instance, which I fully expect will bo invaded by the female element in no time. Now 1 ask you what chance has a judge to* be just, to say nothing of the susceptible bosoms of the twelve good men in the jury box, when confronted with a lovely creature in silk pleading the cause of some ruffian ? She’d talk them all over. She’d paint the blackest crimes white, and it would certainly come to this, that the handsomest female barristers would get all the briefs, because it would be only too well known that no man could resist them.’

‘ So good!’ chimed Aunt Eliza. ‘ Good to myself, I should suggest,’ said Ralph Webster. And then after one or two vigorous puffs at his pipe he drew it out of his lips for a moment or two.

‘ By-the-bye,’ he said, ‘ how was it you got to know this, Mr Temple ? 1 forget.’

‘Oh, my dear,’ answered Aunt Margaret, with another sudden blush spreading over her faded skin, which was also reflected on Aunt Eliza’s gentle face; ‘it was at the time—well, when our dear father'was taken from us, and of course the pecuniary advantages of his living expired with him. IVe were thus left very badly off, and had our dear mother to con, sider. Therefore, when Mrs Mason our dear mother’s only sister, heard of our position, she proposed that we should take a house in town, and bring the furniture up, and—well, try to take in lodgers or boarders. It was, of course, a great trial to ray dear sister and myself, but we felt it was our duty, and we did it, and MiTemple, who was a much younger man then, stayed with us three years, and we have regarded him with sincere friendship ever since. He is quite a gentleman in word and deed, and it was a pleasure to have him with us, though considering poor Aunt Mason’s ample means, and that she had no family of her own, I almost wonder she liked her nieces to receive strangers under their roof; particularly when she meant to leave us independent a few years afterwards, which she did.’

‘ But I thought,’ said May, who was very much amused, ‘ that before barristers wear silk that they are not quite so young as they once were ? Suppose then an elderly female barrister, with her brow wrinkled with thought, and her sallow cheeks lined with study, were to confront the jury, do you think that she would have any more effect than a man ?’

Webster laughed. ‘ You draw an appalling picture,’ he said; ‘ for my part I can only answer I don’t think she would.’

‘ Yet you see she would be earning her living ; and what can poor women do ?’

‘ They should marry, and men should work for them.’

‘ But they can’t all marry ; hundreds of things may prevent them marrying. I often wish I had been brought up to a profession.’ ‘ Please turn your eyes away from mine ; I do not wish to be cut out.’ ‘My dear, you are sure to marry,’ said Aunt Eliza mildly. ‘Nothing is sure, Miss Webster,’ laughed May, but she blushed so charmingly at the same time that Ralph Webster felt a now strange sensation that he did not quite under - stand.

‘ So this was how you got to know Mr Temple ?’ said Ralph Webster, after listening to Miss Margaret’s long explanation. ‘ He’s a barrister, you say, but does not practise? 1 must look up his name.’ ‘ He never practised ; he was well off, but not rich, and then some months ago he came into a great windfall. A little boy, the heir the head of the family, Mr Temple, of Woodlea Hall, was accidentally killed at football, and Mr John became the heir of the property, and when he called the last time he was m town, he told us that some day, if he lived, ho would bo a very rich man : but his good fortune did not scenWo elate him, did it, Eliza ?’ indeed,’ replied Aunt Eliza, Mi Icmple is quite above anything of that kind.’ °

‘The day is lovely,’ he said, starting up from the breakfast table and going to the window. ‘ Suppose we all go down the river ?’

The expedition was soon settled after this. The river was all new to May, and its reedy, willowy shores, its shining waters, and placid flow seemed delightful to her as she sat side by side with Aunt Eliza, or dipped her little hands into the cool stream.

Ralph Webster was a good oarsman, and presently he insisted that May should try to learn to row, and began instructing her. The girl was an apt pupil, and her strong young frame was quite capable of the fatigue. She enjoyed it, and when Aunt Eliza produced her luncheon basket, and

I hey rowed in ami had lunch, May declared sho had never been so hungry before. Altogether they had a very pleasant day, and returned to Pernbridge Terraco for dinner, where Aunt Margaret awaited them with a substantial and well-rooked repast. ‘ The day is not done,’ said Ralph Webster, when dinner was over ; ‘ let ns go to ore of the theatres. id is aunts looked at him m mild surprise. ‘My dear,’ they said almost together, with a slight variation o. words, ‘ Miss Churchill will be tired. But May declared she was not tired, and her blooming face betokened the truth of her words. So to one of the theatres they wont, though Aunt Eliza was tired if May was not. And the next day they wont somewhere else, and Ralph Webster suddenly ceased to talk about going on bis holiday. But on the third day of May’s stay in Pembridg Terrace Miss Webster received a letter which caused her to look a little grave. It was from John Temple, and enclosed a letter for May. And it shuck .Miss Webster’s simple mind at once to wonder why he should not write to his ‘ young cousin'’ as be called her, direct. And something—sho knew not what—induced Miss Webster not to give this letter to May in the presence of Ralph Webster. Perhaps she felt that his keen eyes would see more in it than ' there really was. At all events she put it into May’s hand when they were alone, and she noticed the quick blush, and the glad look with which the girl received it.

May retired at once with her new letter to her own room, and when she got there she read as follows in John Temple’s handwriting. ‘ My dear one —my dear little sweetheart, I have boon thinking of you so much to-day that I must write. But I think it safer to send it under cover to dear kind Miss Webster, as one never can tell what spies there are about, and your disappearance from homo has naturally created a great sensation here. The morning after yon left your father came to Woodlea, and asked to see my uncle, and then mo. He questioned me pretty sharply, and asked when I had last seen you. I risko i it, and said at church, and that you had said nothing to me about leaving your father’s house. Then Mrs Temple attacked me on the subject, and filially yesterday I met that brute young Henderson, and I wish you had seen the desperate look he gave me as he passed me on the road. They say he drinks heavily, and is altogether going to the bad, and made a frightful scene when he hoard you were gone. So you see altogether we cannot be too careful. ± dare not in fact leave hero at present, or people —Henderson, and Mrs Temple 1 am certain —would suspect I was going to join you. 4 Therefore, my dear one, we must wait a little while yet before I can go to you. For the reasons I told you of our marriage must be a secret one for the present, though this is very hard both on you and me. But 1 hope you are happy with Miss Webster, and 1 need not tell yen that the moment I can do so with safety tlnT I will join you, and then we can be married at once. Brighter days are lam sure in store for us my Mayflower, but in the meanwhile when you write will you give your letters to Miss Webster to enclose to me, as it woul i not do for your letters to come here. Always devotedly yours, ‘ John Temple.’

CHAPTER XIX.—THE BIG LETTER. A vague sense of disappointment stole into May uhurchill’s heart as she read this letter of John Temple’s—a vague sense of disappointment and pain. He seemed so terribly afraid that people should talk about them, and then, her father—for the first time May felt remorse about her father—and began to realise that she. might have caused him great anxietyt And her own position, too, unless they were to be married soon, would be very trying. John had said that in a fortnight at latest he would join her, but now he did not seem at all certain of this. Altogether the letter disturbed her exceedingly, and she was sitting still and silent in her own room, when kind Miss Eliza rapped at the door and put in her head. ‘My dear,’ she said, ‘ our nephew Ralph wishes to know if you would like to go to one of the picture gal. leries this morning ?’ ‘ I think not, Miss Eliza,’ answered May in a constrained voice. ‘ Are you feeling tired ?’ now asked good Miss Eliza ; ‘ Ah, I was afraid you were doing too much.’ ‘ i think I do fool a little tired, but it is nothing ; only I should rather not go out this morning,’ said May gently. ‘But please thank Mr Webster for his kindness in offering to take me.’

‘ I am sure it gives him pleasure ; but I’ll go now and tell him you do not wish to go.’ After this Miss Eliza went away, and presently May heard the front door of the house shut sharply. It was Ralph Webster going out, with also a feeling of disappointment in his heart of which he was h-df-ashamed.

‘ Whatcau have tired her, I wonder ?’ ho was reflecting. ‘ She seemed as bright as possible last night.’ May in the meanwhile was thin iug of what she should do about answering John Temple’s ’ettcr. She had seen that gentle look of surprise in Miss Margaret’s mild eyes when she had placed John’s letter in her han'J, and no doubt she would be yet more surprised when she asked her to enclose her own to him. Vet John had requested her to do this, and she must, of course, do as he wished.

So after a while she sat down to write to him. Hi o had never written to him before, ami this first love letter was therefore a very serious all air. Sim began it three times. ‘ Dear John ’—no, that was too cold. * My own dearest John ’ —no that was 100 warm ! ‘ Dearest John yes, May thought that would do. Was he not her dearest John? Not only her dearest John, but the dearest to her of all on earth ?

May thought this, as she ’.vent on with her letter. She told him how good and kind Miss Webster and Miss Eliza were to her, and she told him also of all the places and amusemen .s they had taken her to sec. ‘Their nephew, Llr Ilalph Webster, has gone with us generally, also,’ she added ; ‘ but oh ! how 1 wish you were here, John. It all seems like a beautiful new world to mo, but I miss you always. Still you must run no risks for my sake. And John, de r John, do keep out of the way of that wretched Mr Henderson. Somehow I am afraid of him, though I know he can do yon no harm. But he is a passionate-tempered man, I am certain and cruel, as we know, alter the way he behaved to that poor poor girl who shot herself. I wonder it her spirit ever haunts him ? Her memory must, I am certain, for no doubt he broke her heart.’ After she had once begun her letter May found it quite easy to go on. _ It seemed almost as if she were talking to John ; telling him her thoughts as she had done in the still garden at Woodside, when no one was by to listen. Note-sheet after note-sheet she filled with this fond prattling, until she suddenly remembered with dismay that hor’s would be such a big letter for-Miss Webster to enclose to John. Still she could not part with one word. She pressed her sheets together as tightly as she couid, ana then went somewhat nervously downstairs with her letter in her hand to seek Miss Webster. Miss Eliza had gone out to change her novel at the nearest library, for Miss Eliza was a great lover of fiction, and thus May found Miss Webster alone in the dining room industriously engaged in marking some household linen. May felt that she coloured painfully when Miss Webster raised her kind eyes as she entered the room and greeted May with a smile. ‘ Well, my dear,’ she said, ‘ Eliza says you feel rather tired this morning, and I am sorry for that. Is there anything you would like ? A glass of port wine before lunch ?’ ‘ Oh! no, Miss Webster,’ answered May with a smile and a pretty blush. ‘ There is reallv nothing the matter with me—only ! had a letter to write —to Mr Temple.’ ‘To Mr Temple?’ repeated Miss Webster, looking at the fair face of her young guest. ‘ Yes, he asked me to write,’ went, on May, nervously ; ‘ and—and —Miss Webster, he ’ ‘ Well, my dear, what is it ?’ asked Miss Webster, gently, as May paused and hesitated.

‘ Ho said if you would bo so kind as to enelose my letters to him lie would like that best, 1 ’ said May, taking courage, ‘ You see he is staying with his uncle, and I believe his uncle’s wife is rather an odd woman —so he thinks it best that she should not know that we write to each other at present.’ Miss Webster did not speak for a moment or two after May had made this somewhat confused explanation. But she was thinking very seriously. So this young girl’s visit to London was evidently a secret, she was reflecting—a secret from Mr John Temple’s relations; probably from May Churchill’s own. The knowledge of this made Miss Webster somewhat nervous. She had the greatest belief and trust in Mr John Temple -had they not known him for years ?—and she was quite sure he would not do what was wrong to anyone, Still May was a young girl—and once more Miss Webster’s gentle eves rested on the young girl’s face._

‘Please do this for me, Miss Webster,’ pleaded May, in her pretty way, laying her littie white hand on Miss Webster’s thin, blush-tinted one. ‘lt must seem funny to, yon, I know, hut it won’t some day'—some day,’ she added, a little proudly, raising her head, ‘ you will know that neither John nor I are doing any wrong.’

‘ I am sure you are not,’ answered Miss Webster,, taking the little fluttering hand in hers. ‘ I have a great regard for Mr John Temple, and so has sister Eliza. Yes, my dear, I will enclose your letter. You will hud some large envelopes lying on the writing-table there.’ So the largo envelope was duly directed to John Temple, Esq., in the rather old-fashioned, shaky, handwriting of Miss Margaret Webster, and was carried to the nearest postoffice by May herself, and sped on its way, until the next morning it was lying on the breakfast table at Woodlea Hall, near the seat that John usually occupied while ho was staying there.

The Squire always opened the letterbag, and passed on the letters to their different owners, hut it chanced this morning that John Temple was not yet down when his big letter arrived, neither was Mrs Temple. Presently, however, Mrs Temple appeared, and louked at her own letters, and then at John’s large one. . i What old woman, I wonder, is writing to John Temple?' she holding up the letter to attract her husband's attentio. ‘Perhaps it contains one from a young one.’ And she laughed. < y oU should not say such things as that Rachel,’ answered the Squire, rather reprovingly.

1 Why not?’ went on Mrs Temple. At this moment John Temple opened the dining-room door, ami walked up to his place at the taide, while Mrs Temple still had his letter in her hand.

‘Good morning, Mrs Temple, good morning uncle,’ said John, pleasantly. ‘Good morning, nephew John,’ answered Mrs Temple, with just a touch of defiance in her tone. ‘Do you sec I am meddling with your property ?’ And she placed the letter in his hand. ‘ I have just been admiring the handwriting of your lady correspondent, and the size and fulness of her epistle.’ John’s brown face coloured slightly, and ho put out his hand for his letter, but that was all.

‘ Ah, he said, looking at it with affected carelessness, ‘ this is from my landlady in town, and no doubt contains all my unpaid hills.’ ‘ I thought you had no unpaid bills ?’ retorted Mr Temple, smiling. ‘ Your uncle on my suggesting that he should pay some of mine, held you up as a pattern in the matter of bills. ‘John owes nothing,’ he said; no.v it appeared to me that if that envelope contains nothing hut bills, that John must owe a great deal.’ ‘ Rachel, do not talk nonsense, interrupted the Squire, moving his newspaper restlessly. ‘ John, wbat will you take ?’ John put his letter into his pocket before he made his choice.

‘ Leb me hide my bills first, ’ he said. ‘Thanks, uncle,’ he said, ‘l’ll have some cold grouse.’ Thus the subject of John’s letter was dropped for the present, but Mrs Temple had not forgotten it. She waited until the Squire went out of the room, and then went up to John, smilingly. * Well, my nephew John,’ she said, ‘ I’ll leave you now to study your unpaid bills; or,’ she added archly, ‘to read your love letters from an old woman, and one maybe from a young one, too !’ ; I wish it were so,’ replied John, as Mrs Temple laughed and moved towards the door of the room, ‘ bub I am nob so fortunate as you think.’

(To be continued.)