LORD LISLE'S DAUGHTER.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXVII, Issue 8162, 25 January 1890, Page 3 (Supplement)

LORD LISLE'S DAUGHTER.

CHAPTER VH. »a secret?" said Daisy, raising her clear, eyes to Rita's face. "I did not ,l- l- m-p had one in our home ! *S b i/a secret," continued the elder • , •' that the world would never suspect, f\L one concerned, never dreamed of it. Daisy, can you believe that I was not Mrs. topis' own child ?" ..Vot our mothers own child?" said Dwsy, incredulously. "It is impossibleit cannot be true !" .•It is a fact," said Rita. "The night i Mov mv poor nurse died she sent everyone Lv from the room and told me the story." .'•"Who are you, then?" cried Daisy. ~\Vliv Rita, 1 cannot believe it! You m *i be my own sister— are dreaming !" .. >,v it is no dream," said Rita. " See, hcreVwthe proofs. Yet I shall always be . onr <i<ter and love you very much. I ib-ill always do my best for you." "The flint inflection of patronage in the • S niuMcal tones was not lost upon £v something like pain flitwd over i ",;,„„, ,d shadowed her tender eyes. .•Tell mo all about it, Rita," she said, - ~Vrin<dv "How can it be? \Miy, S l Sir' always seemed to love you !. t C !ia 'i'd e ßita, in alarm, "that could „ 0 . 'bV l>id it never strike you how '; h nlo re anxious she ? eemed over your M iL-.tion than over mine? I here * little to 'oil; the storv is a very simple one. Your mother, when quite a young girl, was iv mother's mir.e. It seems that my ':„h,r'.- parents were once very rich "vi.le. but lost all they had. Her lather fiici and she herself, after receiving an excellent training, went out as governess. The place where she went was called Hurst Hail, I believe. While there some gentleman fell in love with her and married her. Hut Daisv. the marriasre was a secret one. He »as brought up by rich, aristocratic relitions, who would not hear of such a thine : so he married my mother, .Margaret unknown to every one. •• But who was he?" interrupted Daisy. " \h : would that I could toll you !" was the calm reply. "My mother trusted vours. but she never told her that. All she <atd of mv father was that he was an officer in the army. She called him '(Sprain Arthur.' Captain Arthur went to India, leaving gny mother in England. But he had a serious" illness there ; he sent iamlo.-ine my mother to go out to him. The doctor said the journey would cost my life. My poor mother, therefore, resolved to leave"ine behind in her old nurse's care. She took me to Deepdale, our old home, and left me in your mother's charge." "How strange!" said Daisy; " it seems like a romance, or a fairy tale." "The strangest part has to come," continued Rita. "My mother went in a ship called the Ocean Queen ; it was lost at cea: and from the day she left me until this present time no word has ever been heard' of or from any friend or relation—no one seems to be aware of my existence. My father has never writtenhas never claimed me : either he is dead, or he does not know where I am. I shall never believe that he lias left me here, and wilfully ibandoned me. Your mother told me all this on the night she died ; she gave me ;he locket, the ring, and the letters. How strange it is. Daisy ! Ido not even know mv own name. My mother called herself 'Howard.' 1 shall take that name. lam •Manraret Howard ;' but I never mean to rest until I have found my father or his relations."

'• Then we shall be parted ?" said Daisy, sadly. ••That doe? nob follow. When I find noble and wealthy relations I shall not icr.'et you, Dairy."' No thought of wrong no suspicion that the artfully told story was a false one, came to the pure-minded Daisy ; nothing warned her the story she heard with wonder vas her own ; that her place was usurped by one who had no right to it; that her time, her parents, her identity even, was stolen from her by the proud, ambitious ~sl she had loved as her own sister. They talked until the grey dawn of so.-nint; stole into the little room; Daisy imonently suggesting plans by which Rita entl discover her father's name; Rita vr.ipped in glowing dreams of what the h:uve might bring for her. Daisy returned on the morning following io school. Rita remained at the cottage with old Mrs. Feme. She had decided upon certain plans, but did not intend to curry tbem out until Ralph Ashton had lift the country. He was the one dark spot in the bright future. Already she had thrown off her allegiance to him in her own mind; she Lid freed herself from a premise that, with her new prospects, was simply hateful to her. If all went as she dreamed and hoped, tijfh-bern gentlemen would sue for her baud. With her glorious dower of beauty, with wealth and positicyj. it would be folly, she md to herself, to think of marrying a em like Ralph. She gave no thought to his strong, passionate love—of the life she held in her hands ; but no word of all tins did -he say to her lover when he came to bid her farewell.

On that evening, as far a? human influence went, Rica's destiny was settled. There was no longer any need for meeting her iovi.-r clandestinely. She told him to call at the cottage, and say " pood-bye" to hr there. Win.!! lie stood at the door, and Mr-. iVrne wondered who it was, Rita, in iifcr calm, grand way, said : "It wa- an old friend going to sea, and te had called to say good-bye." .Sri.; went out to him in the little garden, where the June roses were blooming, and t.".e ft',: white lilies showed their golden hart,. b

Raljiii Ashton never forgjt that scene in i::e rjeiet evening gloaraing ; he never the f-.\j;reh!?iori on tnat proud, beauti- "- '■■■':<:. us he spoke in words so passionate i.V;y .-'-euic-'i to thrill the quiet evening '<■'•<■ He held her hands in his strong and made her again take the oath U; he believed would bind her to him : ; '"-vt;r: aa<i, under the light of the evening f; }'. -he uttered the words that for her had t;i-«J to have any meaning ; she made the •° w with her lips that in her heart she intended to break. Not one word did she Ralph Ashton of the story told by -!>•. Rivers, or of her own version of it. "flenhe returned in three years'time, he '■''•id hear that she had left Rooks' Nest, * r, 'i -ho did not intend or mean him to tract; her. She believed he would forget u.r. or give up all pursuit of her as hope- '-«• Even should he discover her, she tuought the change in her position would **"fchiin and convince him of the impassable krntr between them.

I here was no change on the calm, proud we ur,raiscii to her own, as the young 'Wlor spoke those words that would have touched another heart. While he spoke of injure, the happiness in store for of his passionate love and devotion, :r - e was thinking and hoping they would •*);« stand side by .side again. sac dure not utter one of the thoughts j a « filled her mind . the dark, handsome * , ll:it giizerl so lovingly into her own / .1 have worn a look that would have her. She was brave enough, but •* dure not. rouse Ralph Ashton to passion t'p.f l^''*1 "' She felt, as they stood there, i ••»«■ he v; as her mastershe daro not defy, c might elude him. p." 1 " three years!" Ralph said. "Oh, Vl"?l "' l;iU J live throu S h thera ? There .W be no one moment in which I shall not "ink of you. and long for the sound of • Ur voioe, or one glance of your face. In f n o rp e J ears I shall find you when the , lo Wcrs •''"-' blooming just as they bloom *.• a,l 'l no sun will bo so bright to me wii t smi!e you wi * l welcome me with, '"" l come to claim you." and i'p' Ashton could have foreseen how k ~' eie no would find her, he would Wl l before the blow c"" 16 - To the (i e . •] our of his life he remembered every B {"?. ' «t scene; the distant chiming PtreH* *f ves ' tno musical voice that whistle 7 it worcls ' t!ie magical charms of tad l loved, the fragrance of the roses, ;J the mellow evening light. of r,;' e u^ loarnin o passed, and the grey tints " I ." ht grew deeper. Rita » l Ine sit witD 3' 0U ouo hour longer, bin I, pleaded Ralph ; and she asked him ""?">« cottage. said «k must &° lve me a keepsake," he it * a , en Mr «- Feme plainly hinted that lav„7 ' r ? Wln g Lite; "anything that you "Gi u ™ed and cared for yourself." . *nod/pL , something that will do him «ita. said the old woman. ««He i

a young man, and hois going down into the deep seas. It will do him no harm to remember who keeps him safe in the midst of dangers." _ Ralph smiled at the words, but she continued, earnestly: " You have two Bibles, Rita. One, there, your poor mother used every day. There is another lying on the shelf; there— give him that." Rita silently took the book from the upper shelf, where it had lain for many long years, and placed it in Ralph's hand. " Read it when you aro oa the sons," she said, gravely. Ho took it from her without a word or comment. She was all unconscious that, at Deepdale, Mrs. Rivers had placed little Daisy's portrait and her mother's Inst letter there—the letter which spoke of the child's golden curls, and directed again that she should be called Daisy; all unconscious that between the leaves lay the portrait of a fair, graceful child, while underneath it, in her mother's own handwriting, where the two words, "Daisy Howard." In the strongest armour there is generally one weak point. Rita had made good her story, serenely unconscious of the only piece of evidence that could ever betray her, and that evidence she had placed in the hands of tho man she intended to dupe and elude. Ralph thought little of the gift. He would have preferred tho ribbon she wore in her hair, or the flower that she carried in her hands. He took the book home with him, and laid it in his sea-chest. He was many miles away from old England when he saw it again, and found what it contained. Even that vain, ambitions heart was touched with his sorrow when the time came for him to leave her. Ho clasped her in his arms, and kissed the face that lured him on to ruin and death. Tears dimmed the eyes that had seldom wept before. For long hours after he had quitted her his warm kisses seemed to burn her lips and brows. She was touched at his sorrow, wondered at the depth of his love, but never dreamed of being true to him. When his tall figure disappeared down the highroad she felt released. He had faded from her life, she thought, and would trouble her no more.

Two days afterward Daisy camo home with strange intelligence. One of the pupils at Miss Tomes' academy — the daughter and heiress of John Denham, of Landsmeer—was going abroad, and nothing would satisfy her but taking with her, as companion, the fair, gentle girl whom everyone loved. Mrs. Denham came over to Queen's Lynne, and urgently pressed Daisy to accede to her daughter's wish. Daisy had no objection ; her only difficulty was in leaving Rita. The chance from the dull schoolroom to such a life of gaiety and pleasure as Laura Denham mapped out was delightful enough. She liked Mrs. Denham's high-bred, graceful manner, so different to the starched propriety of Miss Toffies ; she asked Mrs. Denham "to wait a few clays for her decision, as all must depend upon Rita. Far from opposing the plan, Rita thought it the best event that could have happened. Daisy, at home, might have been in her way ; but Daisy, abroad, could not interfere with her arrangements. By all means, let her go. " It would be folly to remain here for my sake," said Rita. " 1 shall not be here long myself. In a few more weeks I intend to take some active steps for discovering my father's name and whereabouts. If I find him, this will be no home for me."

"I shall always love it," said Daisy,

gently. " Quite right," replied Rita. "It is your own ; but it is not mine."

The younger girl said nothing; she felt pained and wounded. Already there seemed to be a boundless difference between them. Rita assumed a haughty, patronising manner that grieved the other's tender, sensitive heart. In less than two months after Mrs. Rivers' death, Daisy had left England, and Rita was wondering what should be her first step. Ralph was far on his voyage, and the only proof of the identity of Captain Arthur's daughter was with him. Daisy was happy. The Donhams intended remaining on the Continent for three years, and during that time she was to be the friend and companion of their own child. The June rose? were blooming when Ralph Ashton bade farewell to the girl he loved so deeply and dearly. She began then to arrange her plans; but before tho roses had faded, fate had taken the threads into her own hand. There was no need for the beautiful, ambitious girl to scheme and arrange ; the father whom she intended to seek was seeking her, and the tragedy of her life began. CHAPTER VIII. The Lisles, of Lisle Court, stood foremost in the ranks of English nobility. They had served their country well, both in senate and on the battlefield. Time had been when the English Court had no greater favourites than the lords of Lisle. Far back as the reign of Stephen, one found their name in the annals of history—a Lisio fought for Matilda, and never quite yielded allegiance to King Stephen. A Lisle joined the Crusades, and was well loved by the lion-hearted king. Huldebraud Lisle fell at Bannockburn, and Bertram helped to win the victory of Poictiers. Vyviene died on Flodden Field, and Hubert figured as one of Henry the Eighth's best counsellors. The doomed race of the Royal Stuarts had no truer friends than the Lisles, of Lisle Court. The bedchamber where "Bonnie Prince Charlie" slept remains untouched. When the last Stuart ceased to reign, their interest in public life seemed to end.' Lord Archibald Lisle, during the reign of George the Second, gave up his seat in Parliament, and devoted himself to the care of his estate. In all England there stands no fairer domain than Lisle Court. It lies in the fertile midland counties—in the quiet, green heart of tho land. Wide streams How through it; dark, belted woods shade and shelter it; rich meadows and golden cornfields surround it. In the far distance, Glenn Forest gives to the calm scenery the picturesque aspect not common in old Eng-> land. The Hall itself is a grand old building, comprising every style of architecture in vogue since the reign of Stephen—gableends, deep oriel windows, towers, and torrents. The broad portico still stands where Lord Douglas Lisle knelt, with his fair young wife, to welcome the " Merrie Monarch." Ancient and modern time seem strangely mingled at Lisle Court.

Cheerful, modern rooms, with long French windows, look over the garden, where tall fountains play among fragrant flowers. Every modern luxury is there, every late improvement, every new design that can add either to pleasure, luxury or comfort. One sees, also, state-rooms, untouched since royal faces smiled there.

In the long picture-gallery hang portraits of all the lords of Lisle—not one is missing. Fair-faced, haughty damos.are there also. Sybilla Lisle, whose sweet, modern grace, and tender, spiritual face, charmed the " Merrie Monarch," is by the side of her loyal husband. Lord Roland Lisle, the last baron, married young ; he had two sons, bright, handsome boys, and then his wife died. He loved her memory too well ever to take a second wife. From the time of her death, he devoted himself to his children. He was a proud, fastidious man—proud to excess of his name and lineage, honestly believing the Lisles second to none. The bare idea of a miicdliancc was hateful to him. Poor relations he considered one of the greatest afflictions that could befall any family. When his sister married Lionel Wy verne, the younger son of a poor baronet, his anger knew no bounds. Lionel Wy verne, whose only fortune consisted in a handsome, aristocratic face and some two hundred per annum, struggled for a few years with poverty and a delicate wife \ t he died then, tired of the world and its coldness. Lord Lisle had no resource save to fetch his sister and her only child, Arthur, to Lisle Court. He adopted his nephew, treating him in every respect as one of his own children. He educated him with his sons ; and when his college career ended, purchased for him a commission in a " crack " regiment. When Captain Arthur Wy verne came to his uncle, and told him he had fallen in love with and wanted to marry a pretty, penniless governess, Lord Lisle laughed in contemptuous anger. Ho was deaf to the young man's pleading and earnest supplication. He grew white with anger when Captain Wy verne persisted, and declared his inviolable resolution to marry Margaret Arle. Lord Lisle asked him if he knew at what cost. "Not only," he said, "will I refuse to eee you again, and withdraw from you all

countenance and support, but your mother too, must suffer for you. If you persist in « this absurd folly, she must leave Lisle Court, and you know what suffering that would inflict upon her. Let me hear no more of it, Arthur; boyish fancies are soon forgotten." Captain Wy verne paused then. For himself he could have endured anything ; but the thought of his delicate mother sent adrift from the home she valued so much, where every luxury was at her command, quelled him. She had suffered enough ; for no love or fancy could he give her wnab he believed would be a death-blow. He said no more to Lord Lisle. After some weeks of anxious debate, he compromised the matter by a private marriage, as already detailed. Captain Wyverne was the more tenacious over his secret as his mother, to whom Lord Lisle repeated the whole conversation, daily, almost hourly, implored of him never to offend his uncle. " It would kill mo, Arthur," she said, "to leave Lisle Court now ! I have grown accustomed to luxury ! I could never ronow tho old struggle with genteel poverty and limited means !" Then he looked upon her pale, delicate face. Ho knew she spoke truly ;so Captain Wyverne guarded ins secret as ho guarded his life. He impressed the importance of secrecy so strongly upon his wife, that, as wo have soon, even to the nurse she entrusted with her child, she never breathed his name.

One briof year, as the reader is aware, and then a dark cloud fell over the happy homo. Captain Wyvorne's regiment was ordered to India, and neither wife nor child were strong enough to accompany him. Ho never forgot the agony of that parting hour, how his wife clung round him, the warm tears falling on his face. Ho never forgot the parting words, in which she told him how dearly she loved him, und thanked him for his kindness and his love. Ho wept, as men seldom weep, when he kissed, for the last time, tho fair, sweet face he was never to see again. Margaret laid tho little one in his arms. Ho could not see down tho long vista of years. Ho never dreamed that tho cold, cruel sea would hido from him for ever the loving wife, whose kisses and tears were warm upon his face. He could not foresee how treachery, ambition, and vanity would, for long years, make tho little daughter he loved a stranger to him. Then camo his illness, and his urgent request that his wife would join him in faroil' India. How anxiously ho awaited her arrival may well bo imagined. But, instead, there came to him, on his sick-bed, the fatal tidings. The vessel was lost, and all on board had perished with her. In after years he never knew how ho i had lived through the misery of that time. At first he hoped that something might have prevented his wife from going in the doomed ship. But in the printed list of the dead he saw her name, ".Margaret Howard." The papers mentioned her as a beautiful young lady, going to join her husband in India. There could be no doubt about it; she was lost, and the tender face he had longed to see would never smile on him again. For many long weeks Captain Wyverne forgot his sorrow in insensibilty. When health and reason returned, his first thought was of his child — Margaret's child. What had become of her? The little one had evidently been left behind, for there was no mention of her in the passengers' list. With whom had she been left? How should he find her During the long, weary hours of convalescence, the young officer lay pondering these questions. Surely, in England, there must be some clue. .Someone there must know the whereabouts of Margaret's child. He wrote to Mrs. Markham, in whose house his wife had lodged, but the letter was never answered. He could not recover; his mind and heart were both tortured. At length he succeeded in obtaining a few months' leave of absence, and returned home. His mother, when she gazed upon his face, did not know her own son. Tho white, haggard features, and dim, saddened eyes, told of more than physical suffering. Once more in England, he commenced a life-long search for his lost chilli. How could ho best find out to whom Margaret had entrusted hor?. On the first day of his return he went to the house where she had lodged. Then he found out Mrs. Markbam had gone to America ; but no one could tell him where, or to what part of that vast country. One of the neighbours, who remembered the lady and the child, told him they both loft the house a week before Mrs. Mark ham went away ; so that, evidently, the child had not been left with her. By dint of great expense and trouble in advertising, the cabman was found who had driven the lady and the little one to the station. He remembered every detail, but he could not say where she was going ; he had not remarked the direction upon the box. It seemed to Captain Wyverne that every trace of little Margaret was lost. CHAPTER IX. Captain Wyverne did not search alone for his, lost child ; he employed tho keenest, cleverest detective in England to assist; he advertised in all the papors, briefly stating the circumstances, and offering a handsome reward for anyone who could tell him where the child had been placed. But a silenco like the cold, long silence of death seemed to have fallen upon little Margaret. Mrs. Rivers, in her quiet home at Deepdale, never saw any papers ; not one of the many advertisements ever came under her notice. Driven almost to despair, Captain Wyverne told the secret to his terrified mother. Her wonder and astonishment were great ; she quite believed, poor lady, that her son had forgotten his "foolish love affair ;" and now, he told her, not only had he been married and lost his beautiful young wife, but he was over in England purposely to find the child so strangely lost. Her first cry was one of earnest supplication that he would keep the secret from Lord Lisle. "Of course I shall, mother," lie replied. " Would to heaven I had told him before, and had taken my darling with me ! It is I who have murdered her by my cowardice and cruelty in hurrying her over to India. There is no use telling my uncle now. Have no fear, mother ; help me to find my child." • But Mrs. Wyverne could suggest nothing. "Margaret," she said, "must have left the child with someone ;" but she could not tell how that someone was to be discovered. Strange to say, she had read some of the advertisements, and had wondered who it was that so earnestly sought a lost child. The name, Margaret Howard, was new to her ; least of all did she dream that the poor lady lost in the Ocean Queen was her son's wife. All over England the advertisements were read, and many comments were made upon them. They told so pathetic a story that many were anxious to join in the search for the child.

"A lady—Mrs. Margaret Howard, of 11, Linden-street, Regent's Park—sailed in the Ocean Queen, to join her husband, who was then dangerously ill, in India. Before leaving she placed a little girl out to nurse ; the father is now in England, anxiously seeking information as to the child's whereabout, as its mother was lost at sea; and no clue, even, can be found of the person who has charge of it." In many a happy English homo this advertisement was read; the dates were carefully inserted, but no reply ever came. The six months' leave of absence ended, and Captain Wyverne returned to India, broken-hearted at the loss of his child.

He did not abandon the search ; every year he sent remittances to the detective who had the business in hand ; his mother, too, promised to do her best. Twelve years passed, and never once during the course of them did one iota of intelligence gladden his heart. . He grew at length to believe that she was dead.

Life had no pleasures for him. He never ceased to mourn for the loving, gentle wife who slept beneath the waves— never ceased to reproach himself for having sent for her. By so doing he had lost both his treasures. He thought of her unceasingly, picturing to himself how she looked ; what she would be liko if she still lived ; had she Margaret's sweet face and soft dark hair? At length a change came in his fortunes. An accident happened that created a sensation in the great world. Lord Lisle and his two sons, who had gone on the Continent together, were drowned in the Lake of Como. No one knew exactly how the

I accident had happened. There had been a sudden gust of wind—a sudden upheaving ' of the deep blue waters. Those who waited for them on shore saw the gentlemen struggle for some time with the waves. The boatmen saved themselves, but the English "milords," none of them good swimmers, sunk, and were lost in spite of all the efforts made to save them. It was more than a nine days' wonder. People could not forget it. The father, still a handsome man, in the prime of life, lost with his sons, two fine, promising young men ! The tragedy seemed, for a few days, to spread a gloom through all England. The papers were loud in praise of the deceased nobleman. The title and estate devolved, they said, upon Captain Arthur Wyverne, now serving in India. He, the nephew and next-of-kin to the dead lord, was his heir-at-law.

The news came to -him, but it brought nothing but sadness. He had loved the bright, gay-hearted cousins with whom his childhood had been spent. He felt a grateful liking for Lord Lisle, despito the one great quarrel and its consequences. He would far rather they had lived, and ho remained Captain Wyverne. His interest in all that concerned the world seemed dead. He might have returned to England years ago, but ho did not care to do so. He might have gained position and rank, but he cared nothing for them—all energy and hope seemed to have died in him.

But, whether he liked it or nob, Lord Lisle was obliged to hasten home. He had many painful duties to perform. He went to Italy himself and superintended the removal of the three bodies to England. The whole country-side wore present tit the magnificent funeral he arranged. He complied with every injunction found in his uncle's will—that will which mentioned so proudly and lovingly the two brave sons who now slept with him. Legacies were paid to old servants and dear friends. All this was done before Lord Lisle paused and realised to himself the great change in his life.

The first question he asked them startled the lawyers: Who was his heir? —for he never intended marrying. They told him Philip Lisle, a second cousin of tho lato lord's—a young man still at Oxford.

Lord Lisle desired that he should come to Lislo Court at once. He wished him for the future to reside there.

"But, my dear Arthur," remonstrated Mrs. Wyverne, now tho proud, happy mistress of the Court, " you are young still. You will surely marry. There are many fair and noble ladios in England who would gladly call themselves Lady Lisle." " I shall never marry, mother," he replied with a grave smile ; "my heart and my love lie buried with Margaret. I died with her in one sense. Life has been dark to mo since."

" You should try to forget that dismal story," said bis mother, anxiously. " Something is due to your rank in life ; something is due to me. Am I never to hold a child of yours in my arms or know the happiness of loving your wife?" " Hush, mother," he said, gently ; " you torture mo. My wife is sleeping where the restless waves chant her requiem. My child is lost. Oh, if it should please Heaven that I may one day find her, I shall live again !" She opposed his wish no longer, and Philip Lislo, the heir of Lislo Court, came to dwell with his kinsman.

He was a bright, handsome youth, with a clear, true Saxon face and fairhnir, honest, laughing eyes, and a smilo of singular sweetness. His disposition was charming and open as his face. Loyal and true, honourable and chivalrous, he detested all things false and mean ; lie would have preferred death to dishonour, torture to disgrace. Lord Lisle soon loved his young kinsman. He trusted him, relied upon him, and, above all, ho liked telling Philip the story of his " two pearls." It seemed to him impossible that Lord Lisle's daughter should be lost, and the unhappy father loved the very sound of the young voice that prophesied he would one day see his child again. By Philip's advice the.advertisements were resumed, tho reward was doubled, and somothing like hope woke once more in Lord Lisle's heart. (To bo continued.]