"MY QUEEN."

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 1515, 15 January 1886, Page 4

"MY QUEEN."

Our home was an old gabled farm-house that nestled in its embowering orcha r ds on the side of one of the Clee Hills in Shropshire.

The distant landscape I have heard my father comptre 'o the fabled land of Beulah in Bunyjn's quaint old allegory, which whs Ins favouri'e work ; and often, when I si on his knee when a child, I wondered if the winged messengers who came to Christian would ever flatt. rover the hill-tops that encircled our beautiful home. Those angels I alwiys fancied mint hive resembled my moth"r, for she was my childish ilea 1 of all that was gentle and lovely in mind and person.

I was her only child, a shy, s'range, elfinlike sprite, mid. from being such, I had acquired an old-fashioned precocious manner wl.i, h made me stand aloof fr >m eompani ins of my own age. I played my so'i'ary games under the old apple-trees in the orchard, knowing each of their gnarled grey trunks by hea r t, ns it were, and loving them aa friends. A rippling stream was my mirror, and therein for honrs. shoeless and stoeki .gless, I would pa Idle about in the warm eu nmer weather. I often caught a glimpse of my strange little face reflected in the sparkling water, but the only thing about it I can distinctly remember were a pair of dirk gray eyes and a " shock" of brown hair.

The latticed window of my little room looked out on to the apple-trees ; and often in the spring-time I would nettle on the broad ledge and gaze down on the jsweet pink and white profusion of bloom that decked my old favouri'os.

I ncer closed my eyes in happy slumber at nightVithout agentlejkiss from my motl er's dear lips upon my brow, tor si e alwavs et< le quietly o my room to see that her only child whs safe an i warm in her nest, ;i< hippy and ire.' from cue us any bird in the orchard-trees without.

One light, when I was about twelve vrars old, she did not come as usuil; but my father came to me, and >&id that she wa-t not able to see roe th it night, but ihi.t I shoul 1 go to her in the morning. He paid no m ire, for he was a gave and un lemonstrative man, and, though I love 1 him dearly, he was not one to invite the confidence of a child, even if his own; so 1 kiesed him without another word, and turned to sleep. But I wns uneas\ about my imther, and I woke often at the unusual sound of footsteps moving about the li .use, and subdued whispering voices. At the first streak of dawn 1 rose and dressed and went to the door of my mother's room, tapping for admittance. A str.mge woman with a kind face met me, an 1 led me to the ride of my mother's b-'d, whereon she lay wait ■asa sn jw-flake. Bv her side w .s a sleeping infant.

" Come here, May," she whispered faintly. •' My child, Heaven has sent you a lit le sister ; and you must m ike me a promise, May, to take care ot her as long us yu an 1 she Jive, and never let any one hurt her if you can he.d it."

I answere \ as earnestly tlmt I would do 91, and with all the fervour of a new affection kiss, dmy new-born sis'er. The nuise barished me from the room, and I saw my m Jther only once again. That I was rou ed from .-leep bv my father, who, with a pule and a.'oivsed face, toM me my mother wished to see me, for she was very ill und the docior had said she could nor live till morning. Stunned and bewildered, I followed him to her bed-side, where her last fond kiss was given; and before the morning ilawnedon our home my littl» sister and 1 were motherless.

Alter the li■ st agony of childish grief had pas.-ed, I turned eagerly to my baby-sister Lily, us she whs named —for, although DIT father's si-ter was her nummal g lardian and uuree, I was her oust devo ed attendant, and IU her my hungry and destitute l.t■ le heait centered its warmest uffections. No idol had ever a more d-voted wurshipp> r, an i at her baby shrine wa- offered the s.icritice of a love which grew and strengthened with lur growth.

My mother's last words were never forgotten, and I treasured them as a sacred c large, never to be neglected. When Lily grew beyond infancy, she shared my room and m\ couch, and to nur-e an I tend her was the most exquisite pleasure of my hie. I apt nt hours with her in my favouriie orchard, and crowned her baby curls wuh the brightest d iwers I could find ; and, wi.en her innocent prattle could win a smiie from my father's sad lace, i felt happy indeed. "My Queen" I always died her, and no sovereign exercised more absolute authority than she. I earnea her downstairs every morning, for, although she was four years old, I feared her little teet might siip on the polished oak staircjse. One luck.ess morning 1 was coming downstairs with my darling in my arms, "when my foot slipped and I fell, clasping Lily tightiy to my breast. For some m jments I wa* unconscious, but when, as 1 recovered, and found my father bending over me, I attempted to rise, 1 found 1 could not do so, for my ankle was broken. I was a prisoner for some weeks, but when iit mst 1 was allowed to walk I louud I wis slightly lame ; But Lily was safe —sj 1 was content tiiat it should be so. 1 often saw my father's fill with tears as they followed my halting steps; but when 1 held " my Queen" to him she never failed to recall the smile to his lips. Our aunt (inzel sta\ed on, and she taught Lily all she knew, for she was a *ell-eductted woman lor one in her class of life, and the little one would bring her tasks and con them over, and, with her coaxing, winning Wbys, she would make me explain them to her, and teach her all i knew myself.

As site grew towards womanhood she became more dainty and precise in her attire, and would ask me to make her many little adornments of dresa. For her I crimped delicate frill of lace to encircle throat, knotted bows of ribbon for her white straw bonnei, and netted long silk mittens to cover her delicate hands —and through the network her pure skin would gleam line polished ivory.

Our*pew in the o!d village church was next to the Squire's, and I often followed tno dmctiou of the young Squire's glances as they Wandered U> m> sister's Iwveiy laje, surrounded by its wealth of sunny cur;s, which would rebel and escape in golden profusion beyond her bonnet's rigorous limits.

Lily was now about twenty years old. She was the acknowledged belle of the village, and, though she was perfectly conscious oi this supremacy, it did not in the least detract from her unaffected grace aud charm of face and manner.

Squire Morton's family hid lived in the old Manor House for generations, and my father's ancestors had tented the Manor Farm tor almost as long a per.od; to that between the t*o famines a strong bond of almost feudal relationship existed. Whenever i great feitivsl wis held at the Minor Home, w« hid

we bad alwiys been invited, and Mrs Morton vi-ited ray dear mother now and then, when a scnso of honour done to the house was marked by a hospitable display of cike and cowslip wine. After my mother's death Mrs. Morton continued to visit us, and I fancied she always took a warm interest in the motherlees cbildren of her old friend.

It was a sunny Sunday morning in May, and we were lingering in thechurchyarl waiting for our father, who liked to speak a few words with the Rector, when, as we are slowly sauntering towards the gate, the young Squire pa.-sed us, with his sister on hi* arm.

" Good morning, Miss Lilv," he snid. " i hope you have nt forgot my birthday this week We shall look for y< ur bright, presence to grace the fete ; and you must promise me you will dmce the first minuet with my friend Campbell. T am sure even Miss Miy would not disapprove of him fo>your pat er," he added, l-iughinnly a', laming at me, for h■• k>>ew I kept a careful watch '.ver mv beautiful sister.

" You must forgive him, Miss Lily," said hi* sister, mischievously, " that he does not offer tou his own hand for the first dance ; but vou will soon see the reason for yourself," and .-he no Idel and laughed as her brother col >ur< d slightly, an 1 wi«h a bow passed on to overtake her father and mother, who were in advance.

On the following week Frank Morton would c me of age, and the event was to be ma ked by a dinner to the tenantry and a bill in the (evening at the Hall; the dance was to be in the long o ik room which ran the whole length of the house, and many a fair die- k flushed with pleas ire at the anticipated ! appiness of the eventful day.

It dawned at last "as bright and beautiful as hope could wish ; and as I dressed my sister for the festival I thought in my fond heart that no one could vie with her in loveliness.

>he wore a skirt of white Indian muslin, and over it a dre>s which had once been my mother's but which I had altered into a more modern form. It was of pale blue rnffeta, open in front to display the richly-worked petticoat ; the sleeves were tight to the el ow and fiom them hung ruffles of old lace, the ceamy f-Ids of which half hid the delici'ely wide arms benea'h, the sane lace shading the snowy neck. At her bosom and on her arms were knots of pink libbon and a blush ros-* was the only ormment of the clustering curls which ehadtd her beautiful face.

Her image rises before mo as she looked then in all her lres ; i beauty, before a shadow of care had er-seed her brow, as, with a happy arch smile, ohe turned to see the eff ct her appeal ance would reflect from my tc i-tale eyes. Ah me, memory is cruel sometimes—an 1 her accuracy gives intensity to the pain of the wouiids which she forbids even the physician time to heal!

Tne old oak-parlour at Morton Hall had never looked so well as it did whet the heir of the house was the cynosure of all eyes ou his birth-night, and its dark walls were ablaz<with wax tapers and garUnds of fragrant tl .wers. The hero ot t e day stood iu the doorway to receive his guests, who then pasaid on to his father and mother and were soon lost in the gay crowd. He smded with peasure as >e advanced, am, as his eyes fell ou Lily, he beckoned a young aud handso ue man to approach. '• ili-s Lily, permit me to introduce you to my friend, Major Campbell, wiih whom you Kiudh promistd to dauoe the fiiat minuet,' he said, *uh a smile. Tne young otficr boweel profoundly, expreyed himself as honoured by tier prom se, and, offering her his arm, they passed on. My fa-her led m<to a nook of a bay-win-dow, w.iere I cou.d see all that passed, for my lameness prevented my dancing. soon the music struct, up a minuet, which wis to opeu the bull. The young Squire's partner wasVmkuown to me, till my neighbour, a good-natured gossiping matron whispered—

44 That is the young Squire's wife that is to be, Miss Djrui.T ; sue is a sweet pretty crea hire, biu she can't compare to your sifter. She his just come troui France, where she bus been brought up in a convent. I can't thina why the Squire ould n >t content himself with an English wife. But there's no accounting for men's tastes," she said, with a half sigh, in which there may have been some bitterness, for her own sou had married one of his mother's milkmaids, and the subject was a sore one to the poor woman.

When I looked at the object of my neighbour's remarks. I could not wonder at Frank Morton's choice. Mademoiselle de la Ferromere was a perfect type of French beauty, tall and of graceful figure, sleudeily formed, her small head surmounted by a crown of jet-black hair j her ova! face w»s lifted by a pair of magnificent black eyes that now languished i-ottly, and anon flashed like liquid ijems; her man ler was full of the mo.»t bewitching minauderie, an unintentional C'-quettishne-s—it one could call it so—and, us she handed her delicate jewelled fan in the maze.-of the dance, sue formed a striking and charming ioiitra-t to Lily, whose ctyle of beauty gained rather than loat by the piquant comparison as a wild fljwer might wneu placed by a gorgeous exotic. She her* self s. emed struck by Lily's beauty, and with a Frenchwoinon's intuitive perception discerned at a glance the advantageous con* trast.

Before the evening was over she hid won my father's htart with her pretty lisping English, and by the charm of her manner. He invited her to come next day to the larin and see rheep-shearing, a sight unwitnessed by her hitherto. Lily mi an while danced frequently with her hands me partner, who was. he told her, payiug a long visit to the Hall, whither he had brought his cousin, Mademoiselle de la Ferrouiere, the orphan child of Mrs Morton's oniy sister, who had married a Fiench noble, and at whose death, a year after her husband's, the young orphaned Henriette had passed into the care of her annt, Mrs Morton.

fcVauk Morton bad long loved his beautiful cousin, but Le hid only lately uiide an avowal of his attachment, and a year was to e;apse before they were to be united. What was it that sent the hot blood to my cheeks, and then, departing left them cold as ice ? Jnly a Lok of iove into the face ol my sister Liiy, whose gentle glance drooped be* neath the searching gaze. ihey sut next to me at tin. Lug and bountifully spread tabic w hut eon supper was served 5 but t-e dainties heaped on my plate «eie as Dead Sea apples. 1 sat as in a trince overwneimed by this new and uulooked lor possibility. Had it never occuired to my mind that Lily would oue day have another heart than mine to turn to, or tuat another could call a brighter snile to her lips than 1 could ever hope to win, and own perhaps a like allegiance to '' my Queen' P The jealous rankling in mv heart I strove to put from me, us unworthy of a totally unselfish love, but 1 coulJ not quite free lrom this ne# and unexpected fedmg.

( To be continued,)