A HAUNTED LIFE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XVII, Issue 5680, 31 January 1880, Page 2

A HAUNTED LIFE.

BY BERTHA M. CLAY. Author of "A Mad Love," "A Bitter Atonement, "Thrown on the World," &c. CHAPTER XXVI. AN UNACCOUNTABLE ABSENCE. A season of almost unendurable suspense set in at Alton Priors, where the life of the beautiful yonng mistress "was in deadly peril. Everything was done for herone of the first physicians in .London came down every day to see her; two skilled professional aurses were engaged; the utmost resources of art and "science; were tried, to all appear-"

: ance in vain. The sun rose and set, the flowers bloomed and died, the leaves fell, and the wind blew, the lady moon went, her rounds, bat no change came to the figure that lay either in stupor or tossing oh the bed—no reasoo, no sense, no light of intelligence to the dimmed eyes, no word of reason to the never-silent lips. She talked always, talked until her lips grew parched and the sound died on them, but they never knew what she was saying or what she meant; she talked always in au undertone, and very rapidly, evidently to acme one she loved, for her hands wandered caressingly and she murmured loving words. Theorigin of her illnes3 couldnot betraced; every doctor who 'saw her said the same thing, that it had been brought on by some terrible shock, an idea in which the earl never agreed. What shock could reach his dainty, delicate, beautiful daughter, so securely sheltered from the rude winds of life ? "She has been happy all her life," he would say to every one ; "1 do not know of one unhappy moment she can have had in it." Lord Oaburn was distractad. He came every day to Alton Priors, and ho too laughed to scorn the notion of a shock.

"What shock could come to a dainty, high-bred girl who never left the shelter of her father's roof ? I have no patience with the idea," he said ; and when they told him that her cry was always "Help ! help ! —my God, help 2" he said all strange fancies came with fever of the brain. In the meantime she lay day by day growing weaker, and nearer death. The doctors agreed that there could never have been a more violent case, and more than once they feared that even should she keep her life, she would loose her reason. The day came when they sent for the old earl and told him it was feared his daughter would not see another sun set. He came to her room and knelt dowa by her side, her dazed, wild eyes looking at him without recognition. She held one weak hand up to him and beckoned him nearer. Wheu he came she raised imploring eyes to his face. "Help," she whispered; "send help." Hot tears rained down his fr.ee ; he would fain send help. He would have given his life to have saved that of his only and moat beloved child. "If she would but say something else," he cried, "it goes through my heart that cry forhelp."

It would not last much longer, they told him; the frail strength was almost gone, a few more hours of delirium, of raving for help, and Lady Vera would find reat in death.

' 1 Heaven cannot take her from me !" cried the old man in his agony. " She is my only child, I cannot lose her, Bhe is all I have in the world; there must be science to save her—there must he knowledge that will beat down the fever. Kyder would save her. Send for him. Where is he ?"

That was the very question which had begun to agitate all minds at Alton Priors. They were too full of sorrow and suspense to think as much of it as they would otherwise have done, but all around the countryside people began to ask themselves that question—where was Dr. Ryder on a certain eveniDg, September the 30th ? He had left home, as was his usual custom, either for the stroll in the woods or to visit his friends, or to enjoy a cigar near the forest. He had said nothing at all about returning. His housekeeper asked him if she should prepare anything for him, and he answered ".No." She told him there had been a message, asking him to call at the Fir farm to-morrow, and he said :

"I will go there." He was not in the habit of stopping out late, and on this particular evening the housekeeper fancied he must have met some one who had come in search of him. At first she did cot feel any alarm, but when the night passed, and the next day, she became alarmed; still it was so improbable that anything should have happened to him. She tried to believe that he had been sent for to see some dangerous case at a distance, or at one of the farmhouses, and had not been able to get away ; even then it seemed strange that he neither wrote nor sent a messenger. When a week had passed by, Mrs. Cane became alarmed and went to Doctor Daniels, the vicar, who was quite as much puzzled as herself. He mede all inquiries, but could hear nothing, and the next question to ascertain was—Had he run away ? The good vicar had always entertained a sincere regard for Dudley Ryder. He went himself to the doctor's house, and with the house keeper's help searched minutely through it, through the books, papers, and accounts. There was no trace of confusion ; everything was in most perfect order; the account at the bank was not overdrawn ; on the contrary, there was a moderate balance there ; he was not in debt, on the contrary, a good sum of money was owing to him. The vicar searched diligently, but he could find no reason whatever for his absence, or to account for his flight. His affairs were all prosperous, and iu most perfect order. He could only counsel Mrs. Cane, the house-keeper, to wait patiently some littte time longer. Another week, and then the wonder, the curiosity of the whole couutry-side was roused ; the pooor to whom he had been so

good a friend, were clamorous for him ; the rich wondered, and. in the end all classes joined in the effort to trace liim. Mrs. Cane applied to the magistrates for advice, and a reward was offered of fifty pounds for any information about bim. _No one had anything to siy, and then they Bpoke to the ear), tryiug to take his thoughts from, the room wherein his beautiful child lay sick uuto death, and fix them on this wonderful disappearance. He Jistene I, but expressed no wonder ; his. heart and soul were too dead within him. He* said to the vicar : " I cannot think—l have lost the power of thinking ; but it seems to me the easiest and w seat plan, now that all others have failed, would be to send to Scotland Yardforade- ; tective, and let hiui do his beat. I will bear the expense." So that for the next week King's Barford and Clevedon were kept alive by excitement. People agreed that JDudloy Ryder must have disappeared from the face of the earth,, or the detective would have discovered some trace of hiui. He read his letters, he visited his friends, he visited every person whom the doctorhadseen on that last day in September. They all agreed in declaring that- he had been cheerful as usual, and that they had seen no difference in him. They could gain no clue as to any love secrets ; the doctor was kind to a'l alike ; no one knew that he had any Bweetheart. Gradually it came to this : he had disappeared : and of this disappearance there were three explanations—t!io first, that be had killed himself; the Becond, that he had been killed ; and the third, that he ba:l run away. None seemed possible. He had no cause for putting an end. to his own life ; and

if he h'ad done so, where was the body ? That idea was done away with. If Dudley Ryder had committed suicide, his body must sooner or later have been found. If he had been murdered, there must still bo some evidence of the crime. He had no enemies ; every one loved him ; tliero had been no robbery, it was absurd to suspect murder. The detective was a skilful man who did his work well, and at length he gave it as Ilia decided opinion that there had been neither suicide nor murder. The third and explanation was that he had run away ; and though there was no reason for it x and such an act was.in direct opposition to his character, it was the ouly explauatiou of the circumstances.

Gradually ihe people of King's Bai-ford came round to that view of the case. Doctor Kyder had for some reason or other suddenly left his home, and in all probability would not return. The house was closed, and the house-keeper went home, and the nine days' wonder died. Doctor Ixyder's name was a, thing of the past—a wonder or a mystery which no one ever expected to be cleared.

Lord Beaufort cheerfully defrayed the expenses. "Yon have not found out that he waß dead," lie said; "and I would gladly pay double to knotv that he still lives." So the detective went homo again, and people spoke of Dndley Ryder's disappearance as the King's Barford mystery. In the meantime Lady Hylton Beaufort lay in the dark valley of the shadow of death. . On the same day that the earl_ said good-by to the officer from Scotland \ard, the doctor sent for him to say that this day would be her last. The old man knelt in tearless des-. pair. " It will be no uso for me to pray for her if Heaven wants her," he said " yet I cannot help thinking that if Dudley Ryder had been here he would have saved her." But the old earl's darling was not to die. While they stood round her, watching every breath lest it should be her last, a change came over her; the restless mattering, the restless tossing ceased, the fierjr flush of fever died away, the throbbing, beating, quivering pulse grew calm, and she slept. Ah, me 1 how the words went from one to the other: "Hush! she sleeps." Quiet and silence the most profound reigned at Alton Priors, for sleep meant life. . She slept" and woke up with reason oflce more oa her

throne, but so weak, so frail, so feeble, it seemed a problem now whether she conld ever get strong. ' 'I have not loved you enough, my darliDg i" said the earl. " You are given back to me from the dead." But he was told that neither words nor tears would do for her now, and he must leave her. • It was a strange recovery—she never showed the least sign of wishing to get better. She took what was given to her, and did what she was told, but she lay through the long days without speaking or turning her face from the windows on which the western sun shone.

CHAPTER XXVII. WITH A SWORD IN" HER HEART. Youth and natural strength of constitution triumphed at last over fell disease and fiery fever. The day came when Lady Vera rosi from her sick bed, the shadow of herself, but lovelier in her weakness even than she had been in her strength—a shadow of the beautiful, stately girl who had reigned queen of the county. Those who loved her best could least understand her convalesence, ic was so completely without hope. As a rule.people recovering from a long illness have more of hope and a sense of renewed life than anything else. That was not the case with Lady Vera, the first breath of sweet air that came to htr brought no light to her eyes, no faint flush to her face, no thrill of pleasure, hope, or joy. She did all that she was wished to do; she sat up, ate, drank, rested, walked, drove, read, all she was desired, but she never expressed a wisb, and she never complained ; she never saii she hoped to get better or did not feel well. The doctors advised cheerful conversation and reading until she was able to leave home for change of air, and the earl looked almost despairingly at the still white face. "My dearest child," he said, "whom shall I find to talk cheerfully to you. There are times when I fear that you will never laugh again," and then it was almost pitiful to see how she tried to smile, as though her heart were never at rest. ' The earl asked Lord Osbnrn to come often, but the first time they met he almost repented doing so, for she turned whiter than ever, and shrank back with a little cry that wounded both father and lover to the quick ; but after the first meeting she seemed more at home with the handsome young . lover she had so often refused to love ; she talked to him with some little show of animation that was unusual with her. When a book was given to her she opened it, her beautiful face drooped over the pages for a

few minutes and then it was raised slowly, the -dreamy, .far-off look came to her eyes, and the book was forgotten.

The same with conversation; she would answer a question, although she seldom volunteered a remark ; but in her face there was always the same far-off, reckless look, which showed so plainly her thoughts were not present with her. Nothing roused, nothing interested her. More than once the great physician from London told the earl he was more confirmed than ever in his opinion

j.that she had received some terrible shock had been most dangerous to her. In scorn the earl said it was impossible, nothing eould have happened to her without his knowledge. The doctor's answer was that he would eventually find out his words to be true. All sad or sorrowful subjects of conversation had been strictly forbidden; but one day, it was late in November, and Lord Oaburn came over to luncheon. Lady Vera was looking a little better—there was a faint, delicate colour on the beautiful face, a gleam of light in the dark eyes. The earl was delighted because his daughter was able to go down to the dining-room for the first time, to take luncheon with them. How careful he was for her ! it was touching to see how he shielded her—how solicitous he was over the draughts and the chair, what she ate and drank —how he talked of the subjects she liked best, and when the luncheon was over placed her in the easiest chair. No mother could have been more careful over a yonng child.

The three talked cheerfully, and the earl vas delighted with the improvement in his daughter. The conversation turned upon doctors, and Lord Osburn said, carlessly :

"It was a strange thing about Dudley Ryder." And then, knowing all sorrowful tropics had been forbidden in her presence, they both stopped abruptly and looked at her. It was. terrible to see the change that had come over her face—the sweet gloom had gone, and a ghastly pallor came in its stead ; her eyes were dilated with a wild light. She raised her hands with a low cry.

"Why do you look at me?" she said. " Why do you look at me ?" Lord Osburn took her hands and held them tightly clasped in his. "Hush, my dear!" he said; "how forgetful and foolish we are !" " Why do you look at me ?" she repeated. " Because we have been forbidden to speak to you on any sad tropics," he answered quickly, for he saw that she was trembling and shuddering. She raised her white face to him. " Why—is—he—asadtopic?" shegasped. " I shall never forgive myself," said Lord Oaburn, "for having mentioned the name. My dear Lady Vera, there is nothing very wrong, believe me." " Why did you look at me ?" she repeated ; "you must have some reason—you must have had something in your thoughts. Why :.did you look at me ?" " It will be better to tell herthe truth," said the earl. "My deare3t Vera, it ia nothing that concerns us, only we are all sorry for him. "Sou remember poor Dr. Ryder, who was so attentive to lis always ?" Her breath came in thick, short gasps from her lips,.her hands were clenched until the rings she wore made great marks on each finger. "I—l remember," she said; "what of him ?" "I-always liked him," said the earl, "he was the most promising young man I ever met."

A voice like none that he had ever heard said : " Tell ma quickly—what of him ?" It seemed as though her soul died on her lips. Lord Beaufort looked dreadfully distressed. ■ ' " Nothing, 'nothing, my dear, to distress us ; nothing that matters to üb. We are foolish to speak- of it before you ; the fact of the matter is that poor Dr. Ryder has disappeared." She shuddered a little and then sat quite still, her eyes fixed on the earl's face, her hands clenched. - "Thatisall," hesaid. "I frightened yon, Vera ; there is nothing worse than that." "Nothing worse!" she repeated; and her voice had in it the wail of despair. " No, my dear ; he has disappeared quite mysteriously—no one knows how, why, or where." "It is an acknowledged fact, though," said Lord OBburn, "that whatever may be the reason of his.disappearance, it.is nothing in any way discreditable to him." " We are all quite sure of that," replied the earl. "Indeed, I myself am so well satisfied that there is some mystery in it that I ordered a detective from Scotland Yard to come down and s:e what he couid make of the case." ■ The white lips opened'as thongh she would fain speak, but no sound came from them. "He could do nothing," continued Lord Beaufort. "My own opinion is' that in walking across the wood he must have fallen .down some disused quarry or pit; yet they have searched well." "It is wonderful .to me," said Lord Osburn, "how many cases of mysterious disappearance there are in the world, mysteries that are never cleared." My opinion," saidtheearl, "is thatthere are many more murders in the world than people know of; a mysterious disappearance and a murder are very often the same thing." ."Yet," added Lord Osburn, "Imustsay, in favour of our police, I do not think there is a more intelligent body of men on the face of the earth—l uphold them always." He looked up with a startled cry, for quite silently, and without a word, Lady Vera had fallen back white and senseless.

They looked at each other in dismay, these two men who loved her so dearly, each believing his own' wans of care had caused this relapse. They rang for help, and help soon came, bat it was many a long day before Lady Vera quite recovered. At last she took her place in the household once more, sad, silent, the ghost of her former self. The doctors, who had been most'anxious over her, strongly advised her to leave home at once ; they told her that change of air and scQne was needful for her, that she must travel, mnst have a warmer climate. ' She made ever the same answer,;and.it -was, " I cannot leave home." To all persuasions, prayers, pleading, and importunities the same answer—•" I cannot leave home." " Why, Vera?" the earl would ask. ■ Her dark eyes, with their dreamy gaze, would meet. his, unfathomable sadness in their depths. J "No one understands," she would answer. " I cannot leave home.".

r'J Y Z a „ wil ' leav ? world altogether. Lady Hylton Beauf..rfc," Baid thodosffllne day, if you do not leave Alton Priors " To his surprise a light oE rest and ve%cn came into her eyes. He cried out: "Surely you do not want to leave this ' world ; you with youth, beauty, and wealth'" " Which of those three briog happi De 3 she asked, *

And he'was compelled to answer none That was the nearest approach to a complaint that Lady Vera made. They ceased to mention it at last, it was so entirely in vain and she remained at home. People said that it was wonderful to see the change her illness had made in her. She was not like the same person ; there was a listltss look, on her face she started at the least noise, the sudden opening of a door made her change colour and tremble, a sudden noise made her faint and ill. She who hai been so stately, so calm, was now never at peace; she went from one room to another, she would walk for a few minutes on the lawn and then return ; she would ride for a short time, then return to the house ; she wou'd take up a book, then lay it down. It was noticeable above all that she who had always been one of the bravest of women was now afraid to be alone and afraid of the darkness; in the winter afternoons she would ring for the lamps to be lighted long before the grey shadows fell.

It was the result, as the doctors said, of the terrible fever that had laid her life bare and desolate ; she would recover in time; but to the father who loved her, and the lover who adored her, the time seemed long in coming. "I cannot think, Vera," said the earl to her one day, " why you cling to- this place so fondly; one would think if health and streuijth really awaited you elsewhere, you. would be pleased to find them." "I am well and strong, papa," she said. "You are not yourself, my darling, ani that is what I want to see you," he said. She tamed from him with a shudder. "Myself 1" she cried. "Oh, papa, I would give my life if, for one hour, I could be any other creature living than, my own. self." He did not see the tragedy of the words, he simply laughed at them, never dreaming that this beautiful and beloved daughter of his went about with a sword sheathed in her heart, and would gladly have died to get rid of it. [To be continued.]