A FATHER'S WILL' OR HER OWN MISTRESS.

Mount Ida Chronicle, 22 June 1900, Page 4

A FATHER'S WILL' OR HER OWN MISTRESS.

CHAPTER i. A FATAL MEETING Perfect silence reigned throughout the room. ; Mr Hartley began to look uneasy. He turned once more and faced his companion—the slight, slim girl in the window —with an apologetic expression upon his elderly, unhandsome face. 'I hope ' —hesitatingly—'that you understand me, Mvra. You are very young, of course, but surely the terms of your father's will are plain enough for you to comprehend-—-that 1 ' That I am to be put up and sold like a slave in the market!' she burst forth, passionately, ' Yes, Uncle David, even my limited intellect can grasp that 1 And now let me tell you, once and for all, that I will never consent 1 I will have nothing to do with so nefarioUs a scheme 1 Good heavens ! my father, must have been mad 1' 'Myra P 'I can't help it, Uncle David, He certainly evinced no consideration or respect for me when he left such, tyrannical instructions for my future Once more, and for the last time Uncle David, I refuse to listen to or have anything to do with it!' David Hartley cleared his throat, arid his deep-set grey eyes assumed a stern expression. ' Then you are prepared to accept the alternative ? You see, Myra. this place—your childhood's home in reality belongs to = this objectionable young man, Tristram O'Shea. Although what objection you can find to him is more than I know.' The slim little figure wheeled swiftly about. ' I know, and that is enough!' loudly. ' I never met Mr. O'Shea but once—but once,' speaking slowly, and gulping down great, angry sobs which nearly impeded her utteranee, 'and then he insulted me. He tried to kiss me, Uncle David, when he chanced to meet me in the grounds—he, a perfect stranger ! And when he found out the mistake that he* had made, he apologised by saying that he thought I was the daughter of one of the cottagers on the estate. As though a gentleman, in the true sense of the word, would insult any friendless girl, no matter how poor she might be. Uncle David, I should never change my opinion.of Tristram O'Shea though I lived to be a hundred 1' David Hartley turned aside, and a faint smile came slowly over his thin lips. The smile quickly faded away, and his face assumed a harsh coldness forbidding in the extreme. 'The old place—Ravenswood—is not much to look at,' he resumed, as calmly as though no unpleasant interruption had taken place, • for it is in the last stages of dilapidation, and it will consume a large amount of Mr Tristram O'Shea's money to build it up again. Even were you legally entitled to the property, Myra, you have no money-with which to improve it and make the old house habitable.' 'Money !' she cried, passionately, 4 Uncle Dayid, I wonder if you ever think of anything else but money ? You are like all other lawyers—you and Tristram O'SKea-—I believe the entire profession is in league with the Evil One. If I were so very foolish as to think of marriage, I would sooner be the wife of the meanest clodhopper than marry a lawyer!' David Hartley waved his.large white hand with a commanding gesture. 'That is quite enough, Myra Hartley. Your tirade against a noble profession is in execrable taste, especially as I belong to its ranks myself. But that is not the question which I have come to Ravenswood to discuss with you. I hope you comprehend.' '.I comprehend exactly ; I am an orphan, and I am reduced to one of two extremes. Either I must consent to marry Tristram O'Shea—a man at whose head I am thrown with the utmost coolness imaginable; a man. in fact, whom I detest, and therefore all question of marriage is useless—or else I must ' Bhe hesitated, and the slow, cold voice of David Hartley took up the unfinished sentence!. 'You must go out into the world and fight your own battles alone,' he supplemented, calmly. ' You have not had much luxury here, still you have a roof to shelter you, and clothing, but now you will be infinitely worse provided for. I do not know, Myra—l really do not know what will become of you !' It was cruel to torture her thus, and she felt it: her gold-brown eyes flashed ominously from under their long lashes. 'You rival Job's comforters,' she observed, dryly. .' At least I shall not long trouble you, Uncle David.' He frowned unpleasantly. 'Heaven forbid! he ejaculated. 'See here, Myra, you must use a little patience. lam planning for your good. A child like you cannot know what is best for her. If this plan had not been formed by your father long before his death you could have found a permanent home with my wife and daughter ' ' Heaven forbid!' ,She re-echoed his own expression, and a red flush stained David Hartley's cheek as he heard it: he bit his lip with savage vehemence. ' Impertinence !' he muttered, sharply. Then with a look of frigid sternness upon his face, he turned to Myra once more. ' You shall not disgrace yourself and bring reproach

AN AUSTRALIAN ROMANS

upon the name of Hartley, i insist upon your yielding obedience to your father's commands. In the case of your absolutely refusing to reconsider your rash decision, I will place you at school—a boarding-school, or a convent A ' I will behave badly, then !' she exclaimed, sharply, * and they will be glad to send me off Or I will run away at the first opportunity—just whichever you prefer, Uncle David.' He strode over to where she was standing beside the open window of the great bare dusty drawing-room in the old house which would soon be her home no longer. Outside there was all the beauty of a spring morning. Myra's eyes were wandering wistfully through the tangled glades beyond the garden wall with intense longing. To David Hartley Nature never told any enchanting story, nor sang any dreamy, delicious melody. The world to him was but a place in which he could make money. He halted at her side, and down came one large white hand upon her shoulder, but she did not wince. Her eyes met his calmly, inquiringly, and her red lips half-parted with a tantalising smile, ' You shall do as your father desired you to do !' He hissed the words forth sharply. " You shall marry Tristram O'Shea as soon as the six months are up. You know that your father allowed you six months' probation.' ' Yery kind of him, I am sure!' faltered Myra—the tears were very near the shimmering brown eyes now—- ' but. you- see, I don't want to be married at all—if I did, I prefer to select my own husband !' ' Nonsense! You must do as ypu are told. I shall write to Mr O'Shea to-night!' ' Uncle David'—she turned to him suddenly, and laid her hand upon his j coat-sleeve—' I ask this one favor of I you : if you have any pity, any consideration for me, as the only child of your dead brother, for the sake of that I pity, do not write to Mr- O'Shea I I will bear anything but that, Uncle David.' She lifted a pale little face i to his view, the expressive eyes drenched with unshed tears. ' I cannot help my nature ! I am not a hypocrite, and I would rather be poor all my life than be dependent upon the bounty of any living creature! I can work—l can work, if only you will find me work to do !' 'Hush !' His voice was hoarse with anger, and his face grew sterner and colder. ' Work, indeed ! My niece—- ! the child of Ernest Hartley—to work like a common nobody ! Myra, I forbid you to mention such a subject again in my hearing.' Then he added : ' Leave my sight, ingrate !' and Myra waited for no second bidding. The epithet he had bestowed upon her was not a flattering one, nor wa.i it at all appropriate, since within the knowledge of mortal man David Hartley had never shown his niece a single favor, or placed her under obligations to himself for any act of kindness whatever. One swift glance from he defiant eyes straight into the white, wrathful face of her kinsman, and Myra sprang through the open window at her side, and was out in the open air, free and untrammelled. A great, tangled stretch of unkept grounds lay before her, its flower-beds displaying as many weeds as blossoms; long, unpruned hedges; trees with ragged branches falling athwart her path as she ran onward, pushing all obstacles out of her way with vigorous sweeps of her strong young arms. Her face was pale; her eyes shone like stars. She was somewhat short and slim. Her small head, crowned with redgold hair, had a peculiar grace and statelmess of its own. She had strange,-gold-brown eyes, and straight, delicate features ; a mouth a trifle too large, whose parted red lips revealed the white, even teeth. On, on she flew, coming to a halt at length, flushed and out of breath, beside a silvery little brook, which rippled through the lower portion of the Ravenswood grounds. Great trees leant over and arched the way ; the air was laden with the perfume of pink and white azaleas. Upon a bank of wild violets—purple and white?—she flung herself down with a little sigh of content. ' He will never find me here!' she muttered, half-aloud. ' I declare, I detest Uncle David ! Papa was cold and stern to me always. He never loved me. Uncle David is simply unbearable ! And to think that I am left entirely to his control! And I shall not be of age for three whole years *yet—three whole years ! Ah ! I know what I will do—l'll wade in this tempting creek' Off went the little kid boots. A pair of pretty scarlet hose followed suit, and a little later two white feet were dabbling-in the cold water. It was quiet and secluded down there, where nobody ever came but Myra. The tall gum and magnolia trees made a delightfui shade; and only a thrush saw her, as it sat upon a holly limb over her head, and poured forth its gladsome little heart in a perfect rapture of song. ' How delicious!' she cried, aloud, tossing back her red-gold mane with a switt little gesture. 'lt's" lots nice t down here with the rabbits and th P birds than being shut up in the musty 'old diawing-ixivjin, Hearing Um;i e i David lay down the law. Thinks h e

will marry me off against my will, does he? I shall never marry—never — never! That is settled. At least, if I do—if—l—ever—do marry' emphasizing each word with slow deliberation 'it certainly shall not be Tristram O'Shea 1 Good gracious! what—who is that ?' She had been wading up-stream while the foregoing meditations were passing through her brain, and spoken aloud. She flitted rapidly to shore now, and sank down upon the bank of the stream. Drawing her short skirts down in order to cover her bare white feet, she crouched there with a hope—alas, a vain hope !—that the intruder would go his own way and no l- see her. But she was doomed to disappointment. A gleam of~the pink skirts had caught the eye of the newcomer, and in reality he had overheard every word of the girl's soliloquy. A moment more, and through some foliage peered a face—a handsome face, with merry, grey-brown eyes and close-cut dark hair, and a silky, brown moustache—the very handsomest man thpt Myra had ever seen. He lifted his cap with a low bow. ' I beg your pardon; but am I trespassing upon private grounds ?' The girl's eyes flashed ominously. '"Yes, you are ! You have no business here. Strangers are not permitted upon the grounds of Ravenswood. You might have se<_ . a notice to that effect posted up near the east gate.' He bowed once more, humbly, contritely. Then smilingly : ' But since I am here, may I not rest myself? I am really greatly fatigued. I have walked the entire distance from the city yonder. 'Pon my word I did,' he added, as she glqnced up swiftly, and burst into a peal of merry laughter. ' Two whole miles !' she ejaculated, struggling with a fresh paroxysm, ' You have my sympathy, I am sure 1 You ought to lie down and rest.' ' I shall be satisfied —more than satisfied—if I may be permitted to seat myself upon that lovely bank,' he said, cheerfully, pushing his way through the tangle" of sweet briars. ' Ah, delicious !' he exclaimed, giving a final wrench to the last obnoxious bramble, and sinking coolly down upon the grass, so near to Myra that she started to her feet in swift alarm. She started to her feet! She remembered them, and sank down guiltily once more. 'Go!' she commanded, authoritatively, her eyes aflame with wrath. ' How dare youT Whoever you are, you deserve to be punished. Are you going ?' she demanded, angrily. He pulled his cap down over his eyes, and appeared absorbed in contemplation of the rippling waters of the creek. ' Well, no—not just yet,' he answered, languidly. ' There's no hurry, I say—what a funny girl you are, Miss Myra Hartley. Why, of course, I know your name. You are quite.unique—so unlike the ladies of my acquaintance! If I were not already engaged to be married, I—l Good-bye!' For she had darted away swiftly. * A moment's pause. She had snatched up shoes and stockings, and was ou of sight in an instant. His eyes closed lazily, and he murmured, in a sleepy voice: ' So that is my brother Tristram's intended wife ! Well, lam sure I wish bim joy of his bargain. She is a per-, feet little wonder! But what a face ! Such eyes—and such a mass of golden, sun-kissed hair ! I would like to paint her. What a fortunate fellow Tristram always was! Here, he has wealth and this grand old place Bah ! what right have I, the impecunious younger brother, to envy him ? He can afford to marry for love, and I Heigho ! in two weeks' time I must go back to Sydney and make ready for my wedding-day.' CHAPTER 11. A BILL OF SALE. ' Myra!' David Hartley met her in the hall as she entered the house. ' Time is flying, and if you are going with me you must be packing your trunks.' She came to a halt in blank surprise, her beautiful eyes full of bewilderment. ' Going with you she repeated, slowly. ' I do not understand, Uncle David,' His face assumed a look of annoyance. • Indeed 1 Do you suppose that you will be permitted to remain here alone, with only the old housekeeper for company. You know literally nothing of the ways of the world. And have you forgotten the terms of your father's will—that you are to go to my home for a visit of six months, and then ?' An ominous pause, but the steelgrey eyes from behind the bushy, iron-grey brows finished the story. She lifted her head, with a pathetic look upon the small, white face. ' Then I am to leave Ravenswood at once I' she faltered ; ■ I must leave my childhood's home, I was born here Uncle David, and never come back any more ?' ' That is for you to decide,' he replied grimly, "' Just say the word, and you will be installed here as mistress of Ravenswood—a renovated, residence, with— —' She interrupted him vehemently. ' If Tristram o'6'hea ever changes or alters anything here I should feel so sorry ! Yet, after all, it is no conj cern of mine ; but I love the old place j dearly, and now to bid it farewell hurts I me, Uncle David. He laid his hand upon hers with unusual gentleness. ' Myra, stop and think before you turn your' back upon snch a chance as this—such an offer as you will no*, re-'.

ceiye twice in a life-time. Marry Tristram O'Shea when the six months are up, and come back to Ravenswood to live and reign sole mistress of all its splendours Myra, there will be no home like this in the whole world, when it has been heautified as you, with your taste, could beautify it, if only you had money. Reconsider your decision. Myra, and let me tell Tristram O'Shea that yon will be his wife,' ' I could not, Uncle David. I remind you once more that I have given you my answer. I will not marry Tristram O'Shea—l will not marry Tristram O'Shea ! I love him not, and a marriage without love is sinful !' ' Thank you !' Like a flash of lighting she turned about at the sound of that low, tense, wrathful voice. A tall figure stood in the doorway—framed in by its heavy oaken frame—a handsome man with dark hair and eyes. It was Tristram O'Shea ! Her uncle hastened to welcome the master of Ravenswood. O'Shea entered his own door, and walked over to were the pale-faced little exile was standing gazing upon him with moody eyes. 'I overheard your remarks just now,' he began. ' It was very ill-bred, and not at all honourable, to listen,' she responded, shortly • but he checked her with an imperative gesture, and went on at once ; ' I heard your words, and now — mark what I say—l have uot asked you to marry me, Miss Myra Hartley ; and when I do ask you, if that day ever comes—you will not, I hope, refuse me. Do you understand ?' ' I understand, sir. And I repeat my words ! You are a coward. Tristram O'Shea—a base coward. —not fit to be master of Ravenswood ! You shr 1 1 not stay here, you shall not ' She came to a sudden halt, as memory smote her a heavy blow. She had no right to dictate to O'Shea within his own walls. He was the owner of Ravenswood now —it was she who had no right there. • Uncle David —she tried to steady her voice and be very cold and firm—'lam going to pack my trunks now. When must I be ready to go away with you. Hartley consulted his watch. ' I shall start in about two he returned, coldly. 'Be ready then, please.' «I will.' Without another word she turned and went upstairs to her own room. Hartley beckoned Tristram O'Shea into the library, and closing the door behind them a long conversation ensued. The momenta glided by. One hour came and went. Half an hour followed, and then a slight figure, in a plain grey serge travelling dress, and a round hat with a grey veil, came silently downstairs, a small handbag and a pair of gloves in her hand. She deposited the bag and gloves upon the hall table, and slipped out of doors. . ' I must have one last look, a silent farewell,' she said to herself, foilornly ' but I would not let Tristram O'Shea know that I care for Ravenswood as I never expect to care for anything on earth. I was born here- I have lived here all my life, and as mamma died when I was born, I had no one but papa. He was always cold and stern with me; he never loved me. I always suspected that, and his last act convinced me that I was right. To leave me as a legacy to that man O'Shea ! Ugh ! it makes my blood run cold !' She moved very swiftly about the tangled garden as she thought these thoughts, laying her hands upon each familiar object with a mute carress She turned suddenly, and flew like a frightened bird, for she knew that her time was limited, down the narrow, overgrown walk—on, on, never halting until she had reached the creek and the blossom-starred spot where she had sat so recently, doing verbal fight with the cool bravado of the stranger who had so suddenly appeared there before her. 'I wonder who he is ?' she murmured softly, her pale cheek tinged with pink at the mere memory of those merry laughing eyes and that sunny handsome face. She turned suddenly, and there almost under her feet, half-hidden by the grass, a gleam of something bright caught her eye. She stooped and picked up a locket—a costly trinket studded with rubies, and engraved upon its lid was the inscription : ' I.V. to GO'S.' As she stood turning it; idly over and over, the lid flew open. Myra started with a faint cry. The face of the handsome stranger smiled back into her own from one side of the locket, and upon the opposite side the portrait of a woman —a handsome beautiful woman, with pale yellow hair and eyes as blue as the summer sky the thin lips wearing a kind of sterotyped smile, as if seemed to her. She put the locket into the pocket of her dress, and, with a vague resolve to endeavour to restore it to its owner —alas! who and where was he ?—turned reluclantly away. One long last look upon the old familiar spot. What changes— what changes will come into her life before her eyes rest upon it again ! And then, with an odd, gasping sob in her throat the girl went back up the long path, pausing to gather a flower of two as souvenirs, and so at length founds herself just beneath the window of the library. - Surely that was the sound of voices ! She did not dream that her uncle was closeted within with Tristram O'Shea. But something impelled her to keep quiet; and so, standing siient. out through the open window these words, in David Hartley's icil upon her ears : (Tr, Bh ConIINCTED.)