THE WORLD BETWEEN THEM.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXI, Issue 6936, 9 February 1884, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE WORLD BETWEEN THEM.

.■'':x-:'..: BY BKBTHA M. CLAY.. ■.<■'' -Antnor of "Thrown on the World," "A Bitter A Atonement," "Beyond Pardon, , ' "Set in Diamonds," &c, &c. ,:.■: CHAPTER XLV. WITH A SWOBD IN HIS HE ABT. "ISEALt' take the farm, with your permision, Lor d Chandos, " said the stranger. ge seemed all at once to have regained his lelfpossession, to rouse himself from the land pf "dreams. "I am afraid, " he added, with rough honggty "I am afraid yon must think me a strange character. I have a fatal habit of speaking my thoughts aloud; I try to conquer it, but rarely succeed. And now, my lord, to buisnese. I like the Valley Farm; I will take it on a long lease. I shall hope to and my days»here." ""I hope your days will brighten before the end, " said Lord Chandos, kindly ; and the dark, pictnreeque face clouded again. " I shall do my best, " he laid. ■."Would you like to look over the land?" asked Lord Chandos. "We can ride round by the woods —the Kyestone woods they are called —that will give yon an excellent idea of it." " No, I have seen quite enough to be quite sure that Is what I want," he replied. "Thereis nothing more to be done but to complete our arrangements." "I am pleased to hear you say HO, Mr. Lester," said Lord Chandoa. ■"Lester!"'cried the stranger; " my 'name is not Lester." , "I beg your pardon ; I read it so iin your letters, and I understood Mr. Berry to call you "Lester" "No, L'Estrange ! My name is L'Estrange. J am of French, not English, extraction."

, "L'Estrange, " repeated Lord Chandos. "I'quite thought it waa Lester. A name matters little. I shall be pleased to have you for my tenant."

He saw a quiver of pain pass over the handsome face ; he saw, too, that Mr. L'Estrange was drawn toward him, and he knew that his silent sympathy was well understood.

" I wonder, " said his lordehip, suddenly, "if the manager could find us some cider. Valley Farm was famous years ago for its magnificent cider. You will think I am very rustic in my tastes, but I prefer cider to anything else. If we can get some and drink it out there under-the cedar, it will lie refreshingthis warm morning." A table was placed beneath the cedar, and two wooden chairs were carried out. Some barrels of fine cider remained in the cellar, and the manager sent a full tankard with two glasses, and in a short time Lord Chondos and Mr. L'Estrange were seated quite at then* ease. ,

"Is there much cider drank in England?" psked Mr. L'Estrange, as he replaced his empty glass on the table. "It would be a good thing if our people took more," he replied.

"I have not tried it before," said Mr. L'Estrange,.and the conversation fell upon the drinks most in use in various nations.

_-?'How long have you been in England ?" Baked Lord Chandos. - ■

-s "Not more than a year," he replied. "I have been all over the Continent—indeed I may say for the last seven or eight years I have been wandering about on the face of 4he earth:" -

"It will be a change for you to rest home," Baid Lord Chandos.

" Yes, a ohange. I shall watch the sun rise and set over these meadows. I shall see the moon change—l shall see the summer sun and the' autumn rain—l shall see the winter enow and the spring flowers year after year, and I shall be always alone—always, oh IJeaven help me I—quite alone."

"You have had a great trouble in your life ?" said Lord Chandos, kindly.

<His heart went out to this man who seemed so'unutterably miserable.

" Yes, I have had the greatest trouble that falls to the lot of man. I have been cursed by a woman—by the light love of a beautiful woman, who has slain me a thousand times more cruelty, than if she had plunged a dagger in my heart." '~??:But," said Lord Chandos, gently, "you are a strong man—strong in heart as in physique, lam sure. Can yon not get over itr. ; ■.- _■; ~ .■■. ■

A cheerless, desolate langh that came from the lips of the unhappy man startled him. /-"Get over it 1" he said. "Ah, no I such things are never got over, It is seven years . since Jt-happeDed, ard I have mot got over it at all. -■ Seven years, and the pain is as great, as horrible to-day as it was at first. Seven years, and from the day it happened until now, -I havenever told any human being one word of what happened but you. Well, ■yon have been kind to me,-my lord; you nave gone out of your w;ay to be kind to me, and my heart is open to you. The world is civil enough to me, I have nothing to complain of. lam a rich man, and money always insures civility; bnt you have been kind, and I have felt it. You see that lam a solitary, unhappy man, and you pity me; and for that pity—the first ever wasted on mevf-I am your slave for life. If you want a friend, a: defender, or an avenger, send for me." : • " I may want a friend, bnt never an avenger,".said Lord Chandos, touched to the heart by the man's strange words. r."My lord,", he\cried, "you know how fast a frozen sea holds a ship ; just so has my frozen heart held its own secret. Your kind face has been as the warm sun which melts thefrozeiuee. l do not want to bore you with .my story—it will never be told to mortal ears—or to burden yon with my sorrows, which touch no one but myself; yet if I am to live near you, better a thousand tunes that 1 ehould tell you that I am different from other men, and tell you why." : "I am accursed," he continued, •" the false . love of a false woman killed me seven years more than that time—and I have never lived in the full sense of the word eince. I shall never live again, and yet I am so strong I cannot die."

"You must take courage," he said, kindly. "An. unhappy love seldom kills, and time heals all sorrows."

"It will never heal mine," he said ; " for oh, my lord, as the moon is above the stars, bo is she above all other women the fairest. You call mine a sorrow. Ah, my lord, do you realize what it is to live with you heart on fire ? I have a heart literally on fire. I have tried—shame be on me to confess it— I have tried to drug and deaden my pain. I have drank, I have gambled ; but no matter what I do, it is always there before me, and my heart is burning fire."

: And the Eoble, kind-hearted man who was 80 happy in his own love, listened with the deepest pity to the man whose love had driven him mad.

"Gould you fancy, my lord," he said, "a nan living with a sword in his heart, always there and never withdrawn ?"

"No, indeed I could not," replied Lord Chandoe.

. "My heart contains a burning sword. There came to me one September day, when the birds were singing in the trees, and the Baa shining in the far-off blue heavens, a blow—a sword was plunged into my heart— a burning aword—and it has remained there eversince. I have gone all about the world with it there, aiid no man has seen it save yon. It was a little white hand, sweet and cool as a flower, that thruet it there—a hand that might have raised me to heaveD; but Which has thrust me back into . Have I lived without pain, my lord ?" "May Heaven send you healing," said lord Chandoß,- gently. ' Some sense of the unfortunate man's extreme misery came to him, and filled bifi Whole soul with pity. "I will tell you this much." Mr. liEstrange continued, "because I have peculiarities in my way of living which, if you heard of from the lips of another you would •uaapprove. It is a woman who has cursed Oie, and for her sake all women are hateful y° me. I will have none of them. If women m nat b e j n my }, ouse( tnev must keep f ar f rom jne—they must keep from my sight. I shall have men to wait upon α-e. People call me a Woman-hater. So I am. A woman blotted ont.the beauty of heaven and the loveliness oi earth for me—a woman crushed my heart under her feet with as little remorse as she wonld have trampled on a wild blossom—a woman has killed me in the prime of my youth, and made my life accursed. .- « you should hear me badly spoken of, trfn°i* 8^ tear evil rumours of me, you willlknow they-are unjust.. lam a man set apart by the most cruel oi fates. I shall make no appeal no complaint to men ; I shall appeal, to the angels against her, and my appeal will be heard; but I shall never fP.Peal to men—never to men ; they are stoneDiindand deaf; they do not hear or see or ■speab but angels do." / 'jf Ou ma y be quite sure, now. that I have neawleo much from yourself, I ehall listen to no such.idle rumours. You will always find i» inend in me."

Simplo honest words,, that in time bore fruit. They rode back to Mr. Berry's office together and there the whole matter was eooh arranged. Mr. L'Estrange, the new tenant, was to take possession at the end of. June.

Lord Chandos thought a great deal of. hie new tenant as he rode home. Hβ wondered what terrible tragedy had happened in his life—-what was the fire that.had scorched and seared him—whose was the white hand, "cool and sweet as a flower," that bad stabbed him ?

"Poor fellow !": he sighed to himself, "I hope-he will brighten up—l hope he will get over it. lam truly sorry for him." And he looked so grave, so serious that when dinner was over, hie wife laid her arms round his neck. - "Kay," she said, "you look distressed— sorrowfuL What ia it, my dear ?" "I am thinking of our now tenant," he answered, " I speat the whole afternoon with him." " With Mr. Lester ?" she said. "I find'we have made a mistake,'" he answered, "owing to his illegible handwriting : hi 3 name is not Lester, but— L'Estrange." : CHAPTER XLVI. undine's alarm, " L'Estrange !" The name fell aa a crash of thunder falls on summer roses. It seemed to Lady Chandos that the very air thrilled and throbbed with it " L'Estrange !"—and after the waves of sound had died away there was perfect silence. A shudder passed over her, and seemed to pass out to the flowers—the roses nodded their heads, the jessamine sprays stirred in the wind, the leaves trembled on the trees, and yet there had been no sound save that one word, "L'Estrange." :

Something seemed suddenly to have hidden from her the summer sun—a dark, ohiil mist enveloped her; then she looked up in wonder. Her husband was speaking to her. The roses nodding at the window, the wind whispering to the trees—everything was exactly the same, yet to her it seemed as though an earthquake had happened. Sbo repeated the name after him. It seemed as though some spirit forced her to do so. She did not wish, she had no inclination—she loathed the sound of it—she hated the very utterance of it, yet she was compelledjby some power she could not withstand to repeat it.

" L'Estrainoje!" she said, and even to her own ears her voice had a hollow, horrible sound.

"Yea," replied Lord Chandos, "and I quite thought it was Lester; he looked surprised when I called him Lester."

He seemed suddenly to take some peculiar shape—some identity. She tried to speak, lest he should see that which she wanted to hide. . ' . .

"Is it a common name?" she asked, and to her it seemed as though the voice which asked the question came from some one Btanding afar off. "I should call it rather an uncommon name," he replied; "but I know several L'Estrangen. They are generally, more or less, of French extraction."

And the voice that seemed to come from afar off asked again :

"Ray, is he—your new tenant—French?"

"He is more French that English," he replied. "Do you know. Undine, I have met with a new character to-day ?"

■ She ventured then to turn her face to him, and made enquiries with her eyes.

" Who is it ?" she asked, but with her lips she uttered no works.

"My new tenant; he is a woman-hater; the first I have ever met with—a complete, confirmed woman-hater; the first. I have ever met with—a complete, confirmed, woman-hater." " How strange," said Lady Chandos. "I felt sorry for him," continued the lord of Heme Manor ; " I feel much interested in him." Then a thousand'questions, all hot and eager, rose to her lips—a thousand words seemed to rise, burning and thirsty words. She opened her lips, but no sound came; she found herself shuddering violently, and cold —cold, with a chill she had never felt before —a chill that reminded her of death, it wa3 so bitter, so deep. "I do not know," continued Lord Chandos, " that 1 have ever met a man who interested me more; he is so strong, so rough, yet withal so picturesque. He is the embodiment of melancholy." It seemed to her. again that the roses nodded in at the window, and another great shudder passed over the jessamine sprays. "Why should he be melancholy?" she asked; and again she wondered what impulse led her to ask the question.' " I do not know," he replied ; " something to do with a fair woman. I should imagine that he has had some great disappointment. Ah, Undine, my darling, it is not every man who has been so fortunate in love as I;" Saying these' words, he kissed her—kissed' the lovely face and sweet lips. " Why, Undine, how cold you are, and you are trembling ! Love, you are ill." i She tried to shake off the impression of fear, and laugh as she looked'up at him. "I am well enough, Kay," she said; "it is your fanoy. How can any one be cold on a warm Jane day ?" " You are trembling," he said. " Why should I tremble ?"she asked, with the same would-be careless laugh. "I am interested in your tenant, Ray," "So am I," he added. "I'do not know a man who interests me more. He looks like a man who has passed through, fire—he has had some tragedy in hi:i life, I am sure." " And he did not tell you what it was ?" she asked. "No: he merely said he had been cursed by a women, and that, for her sake, he hated all women ; that he would have none of them near him. I have* had no idea what happened to him. He said he had been a wanderer on the face of the earth for the last seven years—nay, more than that.'

Again it seemed u3 though the castle shook beneath their feet.

" More than seven years ?" she said more to herself than to him. "It must have been a great sorrow to have lasted more than seven years." "Some sorrows last a life-time," he said gravely : " this man's will. Hβ will never overcome whatever it was. Of course," he continued, meditatively, "I know that I am singularly blessed and fortunate. I honestly believe that if you had not loved me I should have been the most miserable man on the face of the earth; but that is because I loved you, and there is no one like you ; yet I cannot imagine a great, strong, picturesque man like that wasting his whole life in despair because some woman did not care for him."

• "Perhaps he cared very much for her," said Lady Ghandos, gently.

"He must have almost idolized her. L assure you, Undine, I felt sorry for him—l did, indeed. Bβ looked round the place, and there wag such wistful sorrow in his eyes, such pathos, such unutterable woe ; he said he should live there alone until ho died. If you had heard him, Undine, with your sweet compassion for all kinds of snfforiDg, you would have grieved for him. 'Alone from sunrise .to sunset, , he said."

"He may find someone to care for him here," she said ; " there are many nice families in the neighbourhood."

"Ah, no, Undine, he will never fiid refuge in another love," said Lord (Jhandos. " Poor fellow ! We went into the large back room —that beautiful room that opens into the garden—and he said it was juet the kind of a room in which the face of a wife should emile, and where the sound of children's voices should be heard, but that they would never be there for him. I assure you my heart ached for him. He seemed to have taken a sudden fancy for me." "How strange, she i-aid," vacantly-, "Do you think so, Undine ?" he asked, with a smile which brought the color to her face. "You know what I mean, Kay. It ie not strange for anyone to 'take a fancy to you,' as you phrase it—but 1 mean—" She paused and looked so embarrassed that he laughed. " You do not know what you mean ; I am sure of that. It is a fact he liked me, poor fellow. Besides being picturesque in appearance, he is the same in language. ■ He said his heart had been frozen until it warmed tp me. Still he did not tell me his storv, nor did I ask any particulars." " What made him come here?" she asked, and if Lord Chandos had not been so deeply engrossed in his own thoughts he must have noticed his wife's strange manner. "I do not know; he told me that ho had been a wanderer on the face of the earth for more than seven years, looking for something he could not find. He says he must drug the teerible pain he feols by work, and the only thing that interests him is this amateur farming. He takes great interest in English cattle. He is going to institute some wonderful reform, but I do not know what it is." Suddenly her face cleared, her eyeebrightened, and the thought that passed through her mind was—she had never known any-

one who took an interest in cattle or farming. Why should the sky suddenly clear, the light and warmth return, the rosea smile, and the jessamine sprays lie still in the summer w'.'i'l?—why? Of what and of whom had she been thinking? Rapidly looking back over her whole life, she could not remember that she had seen any one who cared about farming except her own father.

The shadows vanished, the sun shone; she seemed suddenly to pass out of the shadows of the valley of death and to stand again in the full glorious sunshine. She did not want to pursue the subject any further; she did not want to think of it aoain.

"I mniit say," oontinued Lord Chandos, who had by no means exhausted the subject, "that I shall watch his career with some interest. I have long thought there was a great opening for men of enterprise in the cattle markets of Europe. We ehallsee what he makes of them. I wonder," he added, "if he has been brought up to farming. He told me he had been brought up in the colonies, but he did not say to what." She would not listen ; she would not hear; yet even aa she turned away the same impulse which compelled her to speak came so strongly apon her, she could not resist it. " The colonies !" she said; "whatcolony, did he tell you ?"

"I am not sure, but I am under the impression he said something about Australia," replied Lord Chandos. And that one word, '•Australia," seemed to her like the sentence of doom.

She asked him no more questions; she said no more to him. She wanted to be alone and analyse her own feelings; of what was she afraid—what had she to fear—what was the shadow that seemed to fall so dark, so terrible over her? She would not speak of this new tenant, or even hear of him again; what need for her to trouble herself, what could it possibly matter to hex ?

With a few words to her husband, she left the room, and went to her own.

She aould not get rid of the strange feeling that she had lost her own identity and was thinking of herself a3 some one else. She caught sight of her face in the large mirror as she passed by. Was it her face ?—those pure,' wild eyes full of fear, a trembling, quivering mouth, a face white as the face of the dead ?

Why ? Her husband had been talking to her of hie new tenant, and that new tenant hod lived ia Australia, had had a tragedy in his life, and his name was L'Eatrange; but surely, many men come from the colonies to England, many men had been wronged by women, and *here must be more than one L'Estrange in the world.

What was she thinking of ? Let her bring out her fear and look it straight ia the face. What was it ?

And the answer was clear enough, horrible enough. It was this—that the man who had taken the "Valley Farm, who had chosen it for his home, meaning to live and die there, who had learned to hate women for the wrong they bad done him, who had talked to her husband and had been irresistibly drawn to him, was no other than the man she had married and deserted, believing that the whole wide world lay between them. That was her fear. She looked at it in the face; the more she looked at it the more improbable it seemed. Why should it be? Between them rolled great oceans, between them rolled the tide, between them were the stretches of great countries, mountains, tbe summits of which were lost in the skies, between . them rolled long years. Why must this man be the one whom she had deserted.

"It cannot be," she said to herself. "I cannot believe that of all the men in the world he should be the one to take the farjn. And thera camo to her a memory of the hour in which he had said he should like to go to England and live there. " But it cannot be," she cried out again and again. "Oh, Heaven, it cannot be! lam mad to think of it, mad to entertain the idea; mad indeed to think that llaoul L'Estrange has taken house and land under my husband, Ray Chandop,"

And so far was the past obliterated from her mind, se far was she concentrated in the present that she did not pause to remember how Raoul L'Eatrange had made her his wife before she h&d seen Kay, Lord Chandos. [To bo continued.]