TWO DAUGHTERS.

Mataura Ensign, Volume 10, Issue 678, 17 June 1887, Page 7

TWO DAUGHTERS.

Chapter I. , ?'-Yes, it certainly is dull," says G-eorgie, ■ aßaenting to my outcry. i " Dull," I repeat, with fretful impatience — '. " dull isn't the word to describe it I Did ever two girls have euch a life before P Here we ) are, shut up in this dreary old castle ; not a newspaper, not a novel, not a letter with i which to relieve our weariness j no oairiage, i no society, And why? All because father

wanted to go and marry a young wife, and take her all over Europe. He might hart let as go to aunt Mary's. I wonder what it the use of allowing us three hundred a yeai for our dress and so on, if we are beyonci reach of any shops to • spend it in P Not thai dress -would be of much .use here," I adc gloomily, "for there is no-one to dress for." " Suppose we wright and ask if we may go tc aunt Mary's ?" suggests Q-eorgie. v " And - where 6hall we send a letter to,' I, demand with more emphasis than elegance, "It is nearly three weeks since we heard from them, and then the two turtle-doveß didn't know whether they were going to Tyrol or for a cruise amongst the Greek Islands." "We might' send it to the bankers," says my sister gently. "They are sure to have the latest addresa,. M; "I wonder," I remark, with withering satire, " whether it is father or the bride who cannot make up his or her mind ?— perhaps both of them. Still, I remember father/was always very well able to decide where to go and what to do when we travelled with him." "•,".-■■. "Ah, bufc consider, Clare," answers fteorgie reproachfully, ** she. is still a bride, at least only three months married, and of course everything is very different now ! " " I know that," I aay, with a groan. " Well, I don't care what they do; they might as well go to the Cape and do the Colonies whilst they are. about it. Only I wish they woufd remember that we are cooped, up in this detestable wilderness and would infinitely prefer aunt JMary's coay town-house. Oh, life is too hideous, here ! Qne might as well be in the backwoods' of j America as in these Scotch wilds. We are like the sißters in Bluebeard, only, we haven't .even the distraction of the old gentleman's jealous fancies ; and it's of no use looking out of the turret-windows, for no gay young knight would pass by, and if one did there's no one to introduce him to us." Georgie laughs softly. I look at her and wonder if, in all her. eighteen years, she has never felt impatient or cross. Certainly I never saw any signs of either emotion,", " Georgie/' I ery' fretfully, '• don't sit there looking so cool and. pleased!- I ehouldnh leel the awful- dulness half so much if y.ou were not so contented with it." • "Poor old sister," she, says soothingly; '• what a perfect, volcano of feelings and longings you are! Why. should I fret and fume, when neither will do any good, and only make matters ttn times worse ? Of course Ailsa is dull, I admit it ; but fretting won't make it any brighter." . . (..?-i t( What a wife you'll make for somebody some day," I cry admiringly ; '{ only he'll never*fhake his appearance at Ailsa.". ' • " If he is to come,' he Will come, whether at Ailsa or elsewhere, 1 ' answers Georgie , smiling j " and, if he doesn't; come at all, I am not- going to worry myself about him." •• Well, I am going out," I announce, " Come with me, there's a good girl." . " I will join you presently i" she replies. " I suppose you are going to the' Glen ?" "Yea" I set off alone, too much vexed to admire the beauties which meet my eye's at every step ; too tired of Ailsa and all belongings to it to appreciate the fresh pine air and the smell of the heather which covers the moor. I am younger by a year than Georgie, and have been most of my life at a boarding-Bphool in Paris. I liked that well enough. I liked the gay young French girls, the bright holidays, when father either came and stayed in Paris, and we lived at his hotel, doing anything and" everything we liked, -or, if Paris "did not please him, and it seldom did during the summer vacation, we went to aome other large city or travelled in the loveliest part of Europe. Once we were a month in London, and that I enjoyed most of all. Just before my seventeenth birthday Madame Rene died, and our school -was broken up. Georgie and I were sorry ; so, was (father, who expressed his" annoyance in the plainest terms. *• I can't fiud *you another sehooi now," he said; "indeed you are "both old ei^pugh to leave school. You must go to Ailsa." " Are you going too ?" I asked. " No, child, no ; in fact I am going to be married." " What a funny idea ! " I say bluntly. I was alwayß more distinguished for plain speaking than for tact, fathers might have been annoyed at such a speech, but miue was not; he only laughed, and pinched hie ear.- ■" ■"-•. :' "• *• . ""■" *■" -*— -• ---•••~ seems to me. that yousare light," he answered. " There's [a proverb which says taat there's no fool like an old fool, isn't there ?" " You are not old ! " 1 cried. " I am twenty-three . years older than you 7 , my ,child," he, Baidj calmly ; •• that inskes mp: thirty-iiihe. Quite^ofd enough to know better, Clare ! " " Then why are you getting married at all ?" — never was I so puzzled. " When you have seen Mrs Douglas you will understand better," he answered comic-, ally. ■ '.•'"'"■'"' " I hope she is nice," says Georgie. " And not old," I put in. ' l - : ' ' " She is twenty-one, my children, and better looking than either of you," he returned candidly j " and,, as we are going to be married next week, you must just go to Ailsa by yourselves." So to Ailsa we came, and at Ailsa we have remained; and I have, after a three months' residence therein, quite made up my mind that, if once I get away, I shall not care it I never see Ailsa again. As father -remarked, we are quite safe; we could not -be %ifer if : we were locked up in a box, and he had the key in his pocket, for there is no houße within miles of lus/and/. if either of; usifallsill, I do not know what we should do for a uoctor. Perhaps old Elsie or Alan knows how to procure one if necessary. I should like to tall ill, if only for the pleasurable* excitement of speaking to a person of whom. l am not utterly tired. But Ailsa is such a healthy place, that, except I purposely fall downstairs, I cannot get up an illneas, even of the most trivial description. To one thing I have made up my mind, eince we came to Ailsa — that is, that, if ever L enter the holy ; state, 1 will maka my tour only where men do congregate and gather •. together. I will have none of jour shady groves and silent glena. I hate them ! ft o, L will keep to bricks and mortar and the faces of my fellow-creatures. In my present frame of mind, I cannot imagine anything nioi'e r dreadful than' a life whicH is a continual edition ojE another person.- 1 ;.! love Georgie much -more than most sisters love each other ; but i mußt confess that lam tired of Georgie. Not that I love her Ibbs, but I long for a change ; and what aggravates me the more is that she is perfectly content, for it is very seldom indeed that she owns to feeling " rather aull." The glen of Ailsa is a thickly wooded plantation cf firs; as enter its g'-atefiil. shade, I do not feel quite so angry and fretful, as I am fain to own i that it is pretty ; the bright turbulent little stream which rushes through its midst is always changing ; that alone has an immense attraction for me. Just where the shades are deepest and the ferns grow the thickest are three huge stones, on which Georgie and I are wont to reat ourselves, she working and I fidgeting restlessly about in my usual condition of idleness. This morning I Bit down and watch the stream bubbling and dashing madly over the pebbly bed, frantic in its efforts to waste not a moment in reaching the sea ; it strikes me that this little streamlet is not such a bad example of human life ; we are always hurrying on to some end in tlie far-off distance. Well, Georgie's and ond mine must be a Jong way off, for we are travelling towards it very slowly. Whilst I am thus philosophising, I hear a sound among the shrubs behind. " Georgie has soon followed me," I think ; but it.is not Georgia ; it is a dog. No I have beßn brought up chiefly in Franoe, and I do not welcome every animal of the canine tribe with open arms, as is the manner of moat of my countrywomen. More particularly have I a horror of Scotch collies, and this do g is a collie. ■ {Tq be continued*