A HAUNTED LIFE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XVI, Issue 5628, 29 November 1879, Page 3

A HAUNTED LIFE.

BY BERTHA. M. CLAY. Author of " A Mad Love," " A Bitter Atonement, ,, " Thrown on the World," &c.

CHAPTER VII. A MODEL MAN

As he was riding home, hardly conscious of what had happened to him, finding that the earth and sty seemed to meet aud whirl around him, iinding that the ripple of the leaves had neither beginning nor end, that he could not clear his seuses or collect his thoughts, he came suddenly upon the earl. " Von do not find much wrong with Lady Vera, I hope, doctor ?" be said ; and Dudley Ryder was compelled to call his wandering thoughts and imagination home. He drew his reins and would have dismounted, but the earl said, courteously : " Never rnind—do not disturb yourself ; I am only anxious to know what you think of her. Nothing very wrong, I hope ?" '' Xo thing more than the heat," he replied ; "a kind of summer, languid fever. She will be quite well in a few days."

" You feel sure of that, doctor ?" said the Then'tSe l he " You had better come every day for ~|he next ten days," he said. " There is nothing like taking anything in time—prevention is better than cure. Come every day until you think ahe is quite restored." The doctor bowed, the earl passed on, both unconscious that they had begun the first act of a tragedy. The doctor reached home, and tried to reason with himself. Why should he feel this strauge exultation of spirits 1 What had happened that his heart should beat so quickly, his pulse thrill, his whole body tremble with emotion? He had seen tha loveliest face on earth, and he had touched a white, soft wrist. "Trifles," he said to himself. "What nonsenae ! There are other beautiful faces in the world, and other ha:ads as soft and white." He tried to study. He sat down in hu pretty little parlour and opened a great, ponderous volume, a treaties on disease of tho lungs. He tried in vain to understand it the words all swam in a misty black sea before him. On the pages he saw only a pure, proud face, lovely as that of Alphro dite. Then he took that universal consoler of his own sex—a cigar. That must cure him, he thought; but with the tiny rings of blue smoke there rose also a lovely face, with dark, haunting eyes, and the doctor said to himself, slowly : " Now is it fair, I wonder, that a poor country doctor, without even a house of his own. should be called in to see an earl's daugl ter, and then find himself so haunted by her face that he can do nothing ?" An earl's daughter—a dainty, delicate darling, whose loveliness had been admired bv princes—a beautiful lady, whom an}' peer in lingland might be proud to win. If tho Duke of Carthrope could win her, even hie sumptuous palace would be no fitting sbrine for her. He laid down the heavy book, and went out with his cigar into the garden. The eun had set, and the wind stirred the dark branches. The bells in Xiug's Barford Church were ringing, and the sound seemed to float over the trees and die in the great branches. " An earl's daughter," ho said to himself, as he walked up and down tho pretty little path, bordered by carnations. "An earl's daughter ! Ah, well, some day there would come to her, as there came to all her class, a princely woer, who would bear her away ; an'l he would read in the papers how she was beautiful above tho daughters of love, feted, caressed, tUe queen of society ; and sometimes, in the glory of her matronly beauty, she would come down to Alton Prioi'3, perhaps even with little children round her ; he might see her as her carriage passed him on the high-road." Gracious Heaven ! what was this? He bent his head over thu pretty oldfashioned sun-dial, and hot tears were burning his face. Ho who had never shed a tear since he had stood, a trembling child, a.t hh mother's grave. Ho rose impatiently ; he stamped his foot: he raised his haud'oine head and proud face to tho darkling summer skieg. "What has come over mo?" he cried

"I will not bo weak and foolish, no woman's face shall hauufc me so. Can I not sec a fair face without wanting it for my own ?" And yet, should this dream of his come true—should sho, in tho years to come, return as he had pictured her—he knew that ho should look back on this time with a pain sharp as that of any sword; but he knew also he would rather have aetn her for those few minutes, and suffer all the rest of hi;; life, than have never seen her at all. It bad been like a rovelatioQ to him, this sight ot a beautiful, high-born woman. As he stood there, with the soft shadows of the night falling around him, he went over and over a<_;ain each detail; ho could re-nieinbc-r tho'sott, white lace rcuud her white, iirm throat--tho white iaco that seemed to shade her delicato wrist and the white l::<r.d on which shining juwets gleamed ; the geld and wliite shawl over her beautiful shoal Jura; tVo perfumo that seemed to come from tho folds of her dress; the faint pe.fur.io that hung over the clusters of soft, dmiky lir.ir ; he remembered even the little stand by her side, with tho jewelled fan aiul the choice flowers. Then ho laughed a wild laugh that was painful to hear. "What am I doing ?" he said to himself. "I might as well, and far better, spend iny timejin dreaming offtthosejgolden stars, and

seek to woo one. I will rot be so weik—l will forget her ; hrt T m'-.st go to-morr >iv." And then b- i'od .1 . ui:iis-lf vou.l-iing »In; kind of day this innno.r would l>o— would the suu sh-u as ic hs-i shone to-diy ? — would it be i.l! iuht, «-.r:n'li, sml frag aico, as to-day liad liten ? tie must rise early and go his rounds—he must dress aud start soon after no.in . Again he stamped his foot, and utterefi an impatient word. • " I hare hated weak men all my life," ho said, "and I will nit be a weak man now. I will drink a bottle of opium, if less d»es not make me forget it; but be haunted in this fash-on by any woman's face I.will not." He raged against himself; that a man should have no command, over his thoughts was new to him. "Iβ love like wine? -, he asked. "If I had drank all the champagne that ever came out of France I could not feel more mad—more unlike myself." He hnd meant to sleep siundiy ; ho had said t> himself that h-; would be master of his own thoughts, aud he had laid his head on his pillow with a fervent hope that he might sleep. Wheu he did sleep there was the pure, proud face smiling into his, and he had mad dreams of kissing the white hand, and of hiding his flushed face in the soft, fragraut folds of t'ae gold and white shawl. He found him3elf waiting for the sun to rise —he whose oae great trouble in life had always been that he could not rise eariy. He ro3e with the dawu ; he would not lork his thoughts in the faae ; he said to himself that he was busy that day ; ho bad more patieut3 than usual to see ; he had a great deal of extra work to get through ; he would not think; all that noosenso of the niglit before was a fitful fever, passed now with the cool, sweet dawn. If there was any fever left in his brain he would soon cool it.

He dipped his hansdoine hpad into the cold, clear water, and shook ihe bonuie cluster of curls that reminded oue of the clustered hair of a Greek god. He went out in tho awcet, clear dawn, and walked among the roses, trying to make himself believe that he was thinking of nothing but the flowers. Yet, neither the cold water, nor tho xresb, pure air had quite cooled the fever of his brain, for during that half-hour's walk he had taken out his watch more than three times to see how nuny hours mint elapse before it wss time to go. He had spoken truthfully whe:i he said his whole heart was iu his profession. There are some men who become doctors as "a means to live," others because they wish to devote their Jives to a noble cause. lie was one of the latter, oue of the men who pray d with earnest heart while the crisis of danger piss:d —one who wa3 never ashamed to quote Divine words to comfort those on whom the shadow of sickness or death fell. They told many a touching story of him in the country-side—how he would visit the poor, an-1 from his scanty means send them relief, instead of taking fees from them. Many a poor woman, whose husband lay siok unto death, utterd the doctor's name with tears in her eyes ; it was the doctor's bright, handsome, kiud f ice aud brave words thrt cheered bee ; it vas the doctor's kindly help that kept her and her little ones from the work-house, that gave them a roof overhead and food to eat, autil the bread-wiener was strong again. If yo-l wanted to hear one hutn-.n being praise auother, you should have heard that woman jmd her husband bpeak of Dudley Kyder. That great, noble heart of his went out to everj human being that no matter to him about rank or position. Two messages came to him at once in his surgery; old Colonel Dempster, the richest man and greatest roue in tbe neighbourhood, was taken suddenly ill aud wanted bim ; the second was that Mrs. ltaikes, the curate's wife, was taken ill—would he go at once ?

Some young nieo, with a position to make in the world, and a fortune to win, would :have let the poor curate's wife go, aud have hastened to the rich colonel. Not so Dudley Ryder. " The curate's wife has six children," he said to himself; " and her life his worth fifty of that old prodigal's." '' You must fiud. another doctor for tho colonel," he said to the messenger. "I am goiDg to Mrs. Kaikes." The good he did—the generous, noble actions that were traced to him—could never bs told. But time came when all the people in the country-tide recounted them. Now, as he stood in the full glow of the summer noon, ready to mount his horse anil ride off, the sun did not shine on a nobler, finer man. The chief impression he gave was one of po.ver. He looked like a man who was all power—power of intellect, of will, of imagination, of thought, of. action. He was a tall, handsome (Englishman, with a broad brow, deep-blue eyes, hair of a dark, sunny brown, his upper lip covered with 3 golden rwT£E"a~b~ftHTrßrii7-it&^emt > y£-J~«»o^-»i»~»^»^J««— A man whom all women and children loved, whom all men reverenced. So he rode forth on this bright summer's day to his doom. CHAPTER VIII. A GENTLEMAN IS ALWAYS A GENTLEMAN.

This time Lady Hylton Beaufort was uot in her boudoir. An unexpected call had made the young doctor late. She was in the white drawing-room, where long afterward her bridemaids had stood discussing her flight and home. She had been receiving risitors, and the last had just left her. A few friends were staying at Alton Piiora —Lord and Lady Cheshire, the Misses Estmore, aud an officer from the Guards —no one for whom Lady Vera cared much. Many visitors had calltd, for there had spread some little rumour of her indisposition, a fact urgent enough to bring half the country side to see her. She had received all callers, not that ehe felt so wonderfully better, but thai there was a certain unrest about her that she could not understand—a certain current of thought. She owned to herself that she had never been so impressed with the power and individuality of any maa as with the young doctor. She had seen handsomer men in abundance —indeed, it was feared that Lady Hylton Beaufort had just a shade of contempt for very handsome men ; they were, as a rule, wanting in brains. It was not the manly, noble beauty of his face, or the deep, rich sound of his voice, that had struck her. She liked an enthusiast, and he wa3 one ; ehe liked earnest people, and he was magnificently earnest; she liked brave men with tender hearts, he was a brave and gallant man with a tender heart; she liked people 'who had id them the germs of great self-sacrifice, and he had them. He had felt at though he could give his life for another, so that her short interview with him had stirred her as with new life. She said to herself that he had a mind and disposition very much like her own. He was quite different to the white-handed, fashionable men sue was accustomed to meot; he had impressed her with a strong character of her own. She had bem delighted with his interest in the poor; he was the first who had seemed to share her sentiments in that matter, liven Lord Dornton, indulgent as he was to her in ovory respect, rather laughed at hsr notions. "My dear one," he would say to her, "believe me, r.luro is nothing like properly organized charity." Lady Vera would raise her proud head. " Properly organized charity cannot comfort a mother whose child lies dead, or a widow whoso husband is buried, nor orphans who are simply ineumbrauces to the world at i large." '• i'ou are Quixotic, my dear," he would say with a smile. "You are cjld-he.irted," she would retort, and he vexed her still more when he told her that she would know better in time. Lord Oaburu, who would have embraced any doctrine on earth to please her, gave away a great denl of money ; but there had been something in the young doctor's face when he spoku of the poor thcic toli her, she I. r.rdly know how, how exactly his sentiments agreed with hers. The power of hia character impressed her, as it did every one who came near him. She had been thinking a "rest deal about him, and was auxioue to see him again. Lady Vera's one complaint against the people she met in society was that they were all the sain::—they seemed to Wow 01.0 standard—to have but one model. Shu liked character, aud in the young countrv doctor, Dudley liyder, even during one iutcrviow, she had found plenty. ,Sbo was lo .king very beautiful iu a simple co-tume, suited to the warm Juno day, a beautiful imlhn mnAia with trimmings u£ rich white 1 c. SII2 wore no jewels aud no lacs : in her hxiv r. Huperb creamy rose, aud a rf'o of the same colour iu the bodicu of nor dre-s Sho was looking bettor, sb« had an exquisite colour in her face, and a bright light in her eyes. This time there waa no conCufiion no emb.MT.ifsment in his aiauner; he felt like a perfou who had been for some time s"ekiri»'the sbn.iiiij of tho sun, a ad, finding it re<?s in ita light; he had longed for the of her iacc, the sound of her voice with lierco, pitiful loiigint?, with a fever of longin" with a sharp pain, and now that longing was gratified ; he stood onco more in her sweet, proud presence, and a yreat calm

cim-i over him, a sudden sense of dignity seemed to infold him. " I.need not ask you if you are better," he iaiil. " You look much improved." And again a chair was plaoed for him by her side ; again the delicate wrist was held out for him, and he touched the sweut white hand "Yes, you are decide.Uy better," he said, "but not quiti) well; you will have to bo careful o£ yourself ; you tlo not go out in tha heat of the day, I hope !' After a time sihe turned her bright f-ice to him, and said : '• V"i>u iuteresitel mi very much yesterday, Doctor Ryder. Have you heard auymoro of Alice Bo we?" "No," he replied; "that reminds me ot something I wished to fay, L»dy Hylton Beaufort. I took au interest iu her fur her own sake. I shsli double it, now that I know she is a protegee of yours." " You are very kind," she replied, with a vague, half-sweet, half-thy wish that she were Alice Rowe. She felt that if she were ill or in troubla she would like that brave yet gentle presence near her. She would liku to be comforted and befriended by him. " You say nothing to me about the moat,' she said, vrith a sadden smile. "Papa was amused by your onslaught, yesterday." " Was it an onslaught ?" he asked.

" Yes; and the worst of it is that my kinsmaa, Lord Domto:i, declares you are right." A sudden pang shot through him. Her kinsman, Lord Dornton ! Who was he? His face blanched. It took all his prc3euc-j of mind to recover himself. Juat theu the door opeued, and the earl himself entered. He looked pleased to see the doctor, and made minute inquiries about his daughter's health. The doctor, auswered them, and then they discoursed on some political measures just n't that time occupying the minds of men. The earl, who held rather peculiar views on all matters, was pleased to fiud tho doctor agreed with him. They were talking most pleasantly when the bell for luncheon rang. " You will stay and take a luncheon with us, doctor ?" said Lord Beaufort. .. He longed, yet dreaded to stay. Asimple, country doctor, he knew nothing of the etiquette of an earl's table. Yet ho thought t> himself, iu his simple, noble fashion : "I am a gentleman, and gentleman is always a gentleman." Looking up, he caught her eyes, and, whether she knew it or not, they Slid to him, very plainly : "Stay!" He staid, aud every miuute the earl spent with him increased his liking. When luncheon was over lie asked him if he would like to look through the picture-gillery. " I should, vary much," he replied. " I am fond of pictures, and I have had but few opportunities of seeing really good ones." "I shall be very pleased to show you," said the earl. "We have some fine Raphaels, and agi and Titian. Vera will you go with us ?—your memory is better than mine."

They started for the picture-gallery, ani just as the earl, with great triumph, pointed out the Titian, he was suddenly summoned to the library to meet some one who had come from town purposely to see him. " I am very sorry," he said, turning to his guest—Lord Beaufort was famous for his courtesy—" I am really distressed." The doctor made some equally courteous reply, when tha earl looked at his daughter. "Vera," he said, "you will have to do the honours to our youug friend," and in a few moments more the earl's daughter aud the youn« doctor were left alone in the picture-gallery. [To bo continued.]