CASTLE MARY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXIII, Issue 7788, 6 November 1886, Page 3 (Supplement)

CASTLE MARY.

BY L. T. MEADE. M scamp and I" "A Band of Three, Author 01 ' &c., &c.

CHAPTER XXV.

AT RATH MULLET. , ~ ro.ll and shabby little town of I* , ,ip t lived a widow woman of the R>thnV 7 Mahoney. She was Irish to the D anie <> [ 1 k ut she had some qualities which backb °the Rathmulleters were considered among . f : re i v „ She ha( quite an English ID f or thrift an( cleanliness. Her aptltJ l e n«« was conspicuous, amongst the littlC houses in the Bame row ' for it 3 clean dlDgy hP,I walls and for its neat green Window sashes and hall door. The P i had a brass knocker which also was jjgll gma! j w i n dows of the little T y o br Wed of red geraniums placed in !' im their narrow ledges, and of really P °u> ° muslin Winds drawn halfway across white IB f elass. Mrs. Mahoney had no their pan® 3 ° c j eane( j her house inside and ervant-- 9 " e Eyery spring she white* oatßdf l w own sails, and frequently put up wasbeii ner , across her windows, relittle 0 *?. h her peranium pots, an <i plenuhed raJB When the polished an gmiliDg and clean as willing house was . she p ut Q p & car( j in jj er bands com fhis car( bore the words parlour D own handwriting, which was "file round hand, and legible enough, Comfortable lodgings for a single gentle-

111 Mrs Mahoney never kept her card up long, . * her clean little house was quite famous, nd more than one Irish squire was glad to RD take of her homely but excellent cooking, freat his tired limbs at night between her bite sheets, for the sake of the good fishing ffbich was to k® obtained in the neighbourk°Mr's. Mahoney generally let her lodgings • ht through for the summer, but in this parti^ui»r season she was not so fortunate ; owing to expected circumstances her lodger was cttod to leave her early in August, and it io happened, fortunately enough for him, that when Humphrey arrived at Uathmullet, the widow Mahoney's rooms were at his diswas made aware of this fact at the little station, and accompanied by three or four 'urchins, who all volunteered "toshow the iintleman the way," he arrived at her door and was presently iD possession of what coaf rts her little place could afford. Humphrey had a pleasant and friendly Banner, and he quickly won the good widow's regard. , . , , "I like your rooms very much indeed, Mrs. Mahoney." "I'm proud to hear it, your honour, replied the gratified little woman, dropping a curtsey to her grand, foreign-looking lodger. " And though I say it as shouldn't, there that clane you might ate your bit of dinner od the floor, and never a morsel of dust would cling to it. 1 prides myself on taping the rooms clane, your honour." "Clean!" said Humphrey. "Clean is no word, Mrs. Mahoney ; they beat even my Indian bungalow for cleanliness." Mrs. Mahoney felt duly impressed, not having the most remote idea what an Indian bungalow could mean and she redoubled her exertions in favour of the nice dark young on who, for aught she could tell, might be a prince in disguise. When she brought in his dinner, Humphrey questioned her again. "I am going to stay here for a fortnight or bo. It I I'ke the place I shall remain even longer. You must tell me about its attractions, Mra. Mahoney."

" Well, sir, there's the beautiful fishing ; why they do say as the Blackwater is quite choked up with the salmon this year." "flow remarkable, and what pleasant news to an ardent fisherman like myself ! I shall not spend my whole time, however, fishing. Have you nothing else to offer? To-morrow, for instance, will be Sunday ; and I don't belong to your persuasionyou are doubtless a Roman Catholic, and I—well, well— am not, you see. How shall I spend j my Sunday ; if I went to your place of I worship I should not be following the dictates of my conscience. I suppose it will shock you good people of Rathraullet to see me shouldering my fishing-rod on the Sabbath Day ?" "Ob, sir, it isn't for the likes of us to spike again the ■wishes of a grand gintleman like yourself, and Mr. Dixon, of Finnigar, always spent the intire of the holyday taking the lives of the poor fish ; it's true enough that Sammy Malone fell into the Blackwater on the Sabbath Day, and was took out a corpse; but I'm not saying that to frighten your honour." "Not at all, Mrs. Mahoney. How delicious your potatoes are. I don't think however, that I shall fish to-morrow. Are there any picturesque walks about? Fine bold cliffs and sea, that sort of thing, you understand ?" "Yes, your honour. Well, your honour, you couldn't never from here to the Injies clap your ryes on anything finer than the walk round the coast to Castle Mary." "Castle Mary! That sounds a romantic name. I fancy I've heard it before," " Like enough, sir, for the fame of such a place must travel far. It's a grand bit of a property, sir, and belongs to the old stock, for the Fitzgeralds have been lords of the soil since I don't know when." "Ah, Fitzgerald. I seem to know that came too ; are there many in the family ?" "Only two, now. your honour, since the dear lady was took away to God. Ah, but she was a loss ; as sweet a lady as you ever slapped eyes on. There's only Mies Mary tow, and the old gentleman." " It must be very dull for this Mies Mary, whoever she is, to live so much alone, but perhaps, she iB not young ?" "Oh, isn't she though—you just set eyes on her, sir. Why there isn't & geranium bloisom in the whole of them pots in the window tit to hold a candle to her for freshness and for beauty. 'Tis she that's the dear young lady, too, Mr. Humphrey— the tindereat heart, and with all the brightest, most spirited way. There isn't a person in the whole country side don't love Miss Fitzgerald, and we'll all take it hard when \ she goes away and gets married." "But she's not thinking of doing such a thing? You say she has an old father, and it would be unkind to leave him, and she is 80 young ; didn'tyou tell me she was scarcely eighteen ?" " No, sir; I didn't mintion her age at all. Well, as I was saying, it will be a sore day for us wben Mi«a Mary goes away ; but I suppose with her fortune and her party face she'll quickly find a mate ; and there was great talk of a foreign«looking gentleman who was staying at Castle Mary this summer. It was gossipped that he was courting our young lady, and that our young lady wouldn't have nothing to say to him." Humphrey suddenly seemed to find his dinner rather distasteful; he rose to his feet. you, Mrs. Mahoney. I shall take that walk you recommend to-morrow." And Mrs. Mahoney felt herself dismissed. The next morning, at the little church, Which stood as most of the old Irish churches do, in one of the most exposed situations which could be found, a very small and rustic congregation were much impressed by he arrival of a stranger. Just as the serVICe was commencing, several paivß of eyes Were turned to watch a grave-looking young ? an who came in quietly and seated himself ! a ° ne °| the free pews at the end of the < j "I® building. The old sexton who performed the offices of clerk, choir, and piw opener, was quite disturbed, not so much by he strange gentleman's appearance on the ? ce ?®> «by his demeaning himself by sitting eside shoeless Mary Donovan and dusty ®Dd dirty Dan Pratt. He felt that such a " ID g was not quite ' respectable, and he presently went up to ihe stranger and * wpered in his ear that there was plenty room for his honour in the Squire's pew. ompnrey, however, nodded back that he as luite comfortable, and even refused in considerably annoyed tone the loan of a j? i 0a and hassock for his knees, which alone, the sexton, further volunteered. snt service went on, and Humphrey just ° ! a glimpse of a bright little head in a very th k- an( * ruß^c bat, which appeared above cj® 5 » square pew at the other end of the its '• A 6 saw the hat and the head, with «eiv' lr ln ß bair, during the intervals of the he f' Ce 7 hen tlle congregation stood up, and oni r d himself murmuring with a certain qQicke UlD? °{ his pulses: toy Wife*" 13 the fiirl Whom * k°P e t0 make .*!•* t ' lo dull service an( the sleepy cot nu , °i* met oaa end . an( the congregation, strolled ® riD S '"ore than thirty individuals, out 0 f the building. Miss WSj e !? r ' 0 f the . N«w Zealand Herald k® North IS «i nB . i? le "& ht to publish this story " ,Ul w «l*ad of Hew Zealand.

Fitzgerald came last. She wore her usual clean white Sunday dress, and had a large bunch of soft pink roses, fresh gathered, pinned into her rustic hat. She made a charming little figure, and Humphrey stood quite still in his free seat, and watched her pass. Suddenly she caught sight of him ; the colour rushed vividly over her face, she half came forward as if to speak, then recovering herself, hastened her exit out of the church. "Malone," she said, addressing the sexton in the churchyard, " who is that gentleman who stood by the free seats just now ?" " I never laid eyes on him before, Misb Mary," answered Malone. " Wei), I seem to know his face," said Miss Fitzgerald. " Have not you seen someone very like him somewhere, Malone ?" But before Malone could respond the gentleman himself appeared on the scene, and lifting his hat to Mary, was quickly out of sight. " He is like someone," repeated the young girl, as she hastened home. Now the influence of a foreign climate, the addition of a long, silky beard, and still more the subtle difference between an upright and an ignoble soul, had taken off the sharp edge of the likeness between the two De Cliffords. At the tirst glance it was marked, but with each further look it became less apparent. When Miss Fitzgerald saw thestranger stand ing by the free seats she had almost sprung to his side to speak to him, but before she left the churchyard she was only puzzled by an intangible likeness, and forgot that she had ever seen any points of resemblance between him and Henry de Clifford.

Again at evening service Humphrey was present, and this time, partly through the unintentional aid of Malone, he managed to enter iuto conversation with the Squire's young daughter. The frauk and simple girl was delighted to answer his enquiries, and before she parted from him had invited him in her father's name to visit Castle Mary.

" I am all right now," said John Humphrey to himself. Yes, she is just what 1 dreamt about; and how lucky that she retains no memories of my former visit. My disguise, the disguise which years bring, must surely be even more perfect than I had imagined."

CHAPTKR XXVI. THE ST >RY OF THE PHOTOGRAPHS,

The Fitzgeralds, both father and daughter, were, compared to the men and women of the great world, very simple folks. Fitzgerald might lay his little plot to marry his daughter to the scion of an old and distinguished house, and May might make rash and impulsive promises to become the wife of a man she detested, but at the time that Humphrey appeared on the scene, neither father nor daughter in the least realised that they were walking into a snare with their eyes blinded. Fitzgerald, it is true, still considered De Clifford a saving, a prudent, and an excellent man ; in his heart of hearts he did not love him, but he still firmly believed that he would make an excellent husband for his daughter. He believed that May would marry De Clifford some day, for De Clifford himself had given him to understand that this would be the case. The wedding day might be three months off, or three years off. Fitzgerald, after the manuer of his countrymen, considered that there was quite time enough to trouble himself about the question when it was fiually arranged. He had in the meantime to own to himself that he rather preferred his life without Do Clifford than with him.

May had given her promise to this man, bat as it was conditional, and as she firmly believed that the condition could never be fulfilled, she did not trouble her head at all about it. In a fortnight's time she had almost forgotten that she had made the promise, and her spirits, after their temporary depression and uneasiness, rebounded to a higher level even than their ordinary wont.

Humphrey, who, in the easiest manner imaginable, dropped into a pleasant state of acquaintance with the father and daughter, found them at this time absolutely at 4heir beat. They neither of them recognised an old friend under the disguise which he had assumed, and yet they both were conscious of a warmth of heart and of a subtle and undefined pleasure in his company. The Squire became quite intimate with Humphrey, and after a day or two asked him in his usual hospitable fashion to come and stay at Cassie Mary. This invitation, however, Humphrey declined ; a certain sense of honour forbade him to sleep under his old friend's roof in the guise of a stranger. He said to himself, "If all goes well I can declare myself presently, and then if she indeed loves" me she will forgive the small deception for the sake of the strong motive." Meanwhile Humphrey and Miss Fitzgerald rode and walked together, and the young girl began again to think of King Arthur a knights, and to believe it quite possible that such people could exist. One evening Humphrey came up rather late to Castle Mary with a basket of fish which he had just caught on his arm. He had now been over a fortnight at Rathmullet, and it seemed to him that he knew Miss Fitzgerald very well indeed. The Squire was out, bat Mary was standing by a rustic seat on the lawn, and she beckoned him to her side with a little imperious and happy gesture which suited her well. "I'm glad you've come, Mr. Humphrey. I was feeling so dull; father won't be in until very late." I've brought you some fish for your supper," said Humphrey. "And for your supper, too," replied Mary, " 1 will run with the basket into the house, and come back in a few moments." Humphrey watched her slight and childish figure as she tripped across the lawn, swinging his basket of tish on her arm, and singing a snatch of a wild Irish ditty in high, clear voice. She is just the same as she was ten years ago,he said to himself. " ast the same, only a little more developed, a little older. She is a woman in years, but an absolute child in heart. She still stands, to follow Wordsworth's metaphor, 'on the shore of life. What right has any man to drag her into the midst of the waves and billows? Marriage mean much ; a training, an education, and therefore of necessity a sorrowful experience. I will marry her ; she shall never belong to anyone else, I swear it; but I will not hasten her wedding day ! she shall be mine, but not absolutely altogether for a year or two."

Mary, still murmuring her gay song, came tripping back from the house. She held a thick-looking letter in her hand. " See what I've got!" she said, holding it up for Humphrey to inspect. " A letter with the London post mark. Oh, isn't it delicious !' I was going to be so lonely this evening, quite down in the dumps, in fact, and now two pleasant things have happened —you have come and I have got a letter."

"You want to read it, don't you?" said Humphrey, with just a little undefined feeling of jealousy stealing over him, for a glance had revealed to him the fact that the handwriting was masculine. "Don't mind me, Miss Fitzgerald ; read your letter, please." May burst into a merry laugh. " How very, very little you know," she said,, " what a letter means to me ! Why, the last letter 1 had was on Christmas Day, and I kept it under my pillow and did not break the seal for three nights, that was for luck, you know, and it was a very stupid old letter after all, only a rather ugly Christmas card. I knew th«re could not be much in it, because it was thin, but this, oh, this it so thick ! I shant't read it for a long, long time."

Humphrey laughed. " You Irish girls have very queer ways," he said. Now, if I only had a letter once or twice a year, I should be so devoured, by cariosity that I could not keep it fastened down in Its envelope a single instant. - You Irish girls are very queer in this particular." " You Englishmen have no strength nor fixity of resolution," replied May, saucily.' "Anyhow," she added, slipping the thick letter into her pocket, "this can keep." You know who your correspondent iF, of course," said Humphrey. "No, indeed, I don't. That the fun of the whole thing. I have not got a correspondent in the whole world. I shall be awake all night trying to guess who it can possibly be. I shan't dream of opening my letter until I am quite sure who the .writer

There flashed across Humphrey's memory just then the remembrance of a little speech made to him by Mrs. Mahooey.

"A foreign-looking gentleman has been staying at Castle Mary, and the peasants round said he wanted to marry Miss Fitzgerald." ' " Perhaps I can help you," he said, aloud, looking full into the girl's happy eyes. "It may be from the fellow who was staying here a few weeks ago."

The eyes opened a little wider, and returned his gaze fully.

" Ob, no," she said, " he won't write ; he knows I don't like him. Now let us talk about something else. Shall we stay out for a little, or shall we come into Mie house 2"

" We shall stay out if you don't mind," said Humphrey." • "Oh, no, I prefer it. Will you sit here? there is plenty room for us both. Are you going to be very kind and agreeable to me this evening, Mr. Humphrey, now that father is away ?" "I should like to make the time pleasant to you," said Humphrey, in his deep tones, " You do. I was so delighted when I saw you coming' across the lawn. It really is very funny, Mr. Humphrey, but 1 don't feel a bit as if you were a stranger." " That is easily accounted for, lam not a stranger," " But I've only known you & fortnight." " Time has nothing to say to it. Some people meet, and are never strangers; others know each other for years, and are always so."

" Oh, yes, I can understand that," replied May. " For instance, 1 should always be a stranger with the man who was here in the summer. Oh, please, do not let us talk about him."

"My dear Miss Fitzgerald, who introduced the obnoxious theme ?"

" I did. Never mind ; let us go back to you and me. It is very interesting to feel that we aren't strangers ; I really don't think we are. I felt at home with you the moment you spoke to me; and do you know that when I caught sight of your face in church I wanted to rush up to speak to you ; be- that wasn't because I liked you, that was because you reminded me of the other man, but only for a moment. Horrid fellow 1 we must not get back to him. Now then, about you and me. We have known each other a fortnight, but we were never strangers."

" No ; there is a little expression which explains what I meaft—' in touchthat means that though we are quite unlike, both in ourselves and characters, yet a certain feeling of sympathy draws us together. Do you understand ma ?" "It sounds very nice. I don't know that I have over heard the expression, but it sound* very pleasant. We aren't a bit alike, and yet we are in sympathy ; we have only known each other for a fortnight out of our whole lives, and yet we are not strangers ; the whole thing sounds very pleasant indeed."

"Sometimes, for instance," continued Humphrey, looking down at her in the gathering dusk, and a great tenderness coming into his face,'' sometimes people find that the very differences between them make them fit to each other all the better. Now, you aud I are not at all alike." •♦Mo," replied May. "You are tall and dark, and I don't suppose you are very youug, and I am fair, and I am little more than a child. We are not alike in our looks, are we ?''

"No, my dear," replied the man, his voice dropping just a tone or two; "we are not alike in appearance, and there is a difference between us in age. Neither have our lives been similar, for you have lived at home, a little sheltered nestling in the warm home neat, and I have been out the world, and have gone through strange adventures, and have passed through cruel temptation, and have heard things and perhaps done things which would sound very dreadful indeed to one so good and innocent as you are ; but for all that, such a thing has happened as that two so unlike, and yet so well fitted, can each find their counterpart the one in the other. The little nestling can find shelter in strong arms, and the man of the world can grow young again and good again in the presence of the girl. Do you understand me, or am I talking riddles to you ?" " I tbink you frighten me rather," said May. " I don't quite comprehend what you mean." "The time has not come yet," replied Humphrey, with a slight sigh; then he suddenly changed his tone. "Shall I tell you a story which was once told to me, which interests me because I know it is true. I know the man to whom it happened, and I know the girl, too, and I wonder very much if anything will ever come of it, or if it will come to be a sort of memory to the man, by-and-bye when he is old, or if the girl will ever care in the least about it. It is rather a queer story, and rather interesting ; shall I tell it to you ?" Oh, please, do; I should like of all things." " Well, these are the facts: A boy, just grown up, met many years ago, a little , bright girl; she was only a child, quite a I young child, bat she was pretty and sweat, and the boy liked her, and played with her, and when he went away from her presence he was silly enough to dream dreams about her. He saw girls of his own age, nice girls who perhaps cared for him ; but always between him and them come the memory of the little child who did not know what flirting meant, and he wove more and more silly little dreams around her, and began to fancy what she would be like when she was a young maiden and fit to bo someone's wife. One day a wonderful thing happened to the boy ; he had an interview with the little girl's father, who suggested to him that years and years hence he and the little child might perhaps fall in love with each other and marry. The father of the girl said he thought he would like this marriage, but he said it could only be on one condition : that the girl by-and-bye gave her whole heart to the young man, and that the man heart was free to love and protect the girl. The father said that the two were not to meet again until the girl was grown up. "The young man went away; he went quite away to the other side of the world, and the little child stayed at home, and doubtless forgot all about him. He never heard anything of the child; only once in every year a curious thing happened : he received a photograph of her. At last he had nine photographs, and he saw by the look on the face of the one which reached him latest, that the child was now grown up. He felt very restless, for he knew that the feeling that he had long ago in his heart for her had never changed, but had gone on and increased and strengthened ; and at last he felt that he must come back from the other side of the world and see the child who was at length a woman, and who to a certain extent he felt belonged to him. He did come back—he saw her— Here Humphrey abruptly stopped. " Please go on," said May. " Did he love the girl when he saw her again ?" " Yes, he undoubtedly did love her. When I beard from him last, I knew that the attachment he felt for her must go down to his grave with him; that, in short, she would be the one and only love of his life." "Oh, dear, what a lovely, romantic, interesting story! And is the girl very, very fond of him, and very proud of him ?" " When I heard from him last he could not tell me anything about the girl's feelings." "Oh, dear ! But she must learn to love him. Won't it be dreadful, Mr. Humphrey, if she doesn't love him ?" " For him it will be, undoubtedly; you see she has been his dream for ten long years; a man twines his heart strangely round one object in ten years." " Oh, but she must love him 1" said May. "How I wish I knew her 1" What a very wonderful story! Are you likely to hear from him soon again, Mr. Humphrey ?" " Yes." "Will he tell you what the girl said? Will he soon find out about the girl'a feelings ?" •' 1 hope so ; I think so. Shall we go into the house now ; it is getting quite dark ?" "And the photograph," continued May, " that was a very interesting part of the story, his getting the photograph every year. Do you know that father has my photograph taken once a year—we always go to Dublin, just for that—always once a year, as long as I can remember, almost. Oh,'are you cold, Mr. Humphrey ; how white your face is ?' "I feel excited," replied Humphrey. Ah, here comes your father at last." [To be continued.]