ONCE IN A LIFE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXX, Issue 9307, 16 September 1893, Page 3 (Supplement)

ONCE IN A LIFE.

BY CIJARI.ES GARVICIi, Author of " A Life's Mistake," " Better Than Life,' " Oil Love's Altar ; or, A Fatal Fancy," " She Trusted Ilim," " Paid For," " Elaine," Etc. CHAPTER XXII. A week later Lyra stood at the cottage gate. An open letter was in her hand, but her eyes were fixed on the square tower of Barnstaple church, and she was thinking of the dead father who lay at rest in his quiet grave. Even if she could have recalled him to life, she would nob have done so, for she had come to know that her loss was his gain. He, at any rate, had been spared the knowledge that his child was married to a villain ; for in that one moment when Chandos had shrunk from her searching gaze, she had read his miserable soul as plainly as if it had been an open book. She had her oub-door things on, and a small portmanteau was at her feet. Black makes even stout people look somewhat thin, and in her plain black frock of merino and simple bonnet, Lyra looked almosb ithereal. >

A man, a strangerin fact, a man in possession—lounged at the cottage door, smoking a short clay, and presently Griffith, with a growl, pushed past him and came limping down the path. Lyra turned to him with a sad smile. " Is it nearly time, Griffith ?" she said. "Yes," he said, his gnarled face working with suppressed emotion. "It's nearly time, if you've made up your mind, and nothing I can say will alter it." Lyra shook her head and laid her hand on his bent shoulder. "No, Griffith," she said, in a low but quite steady voice, "nothing. My mind is made up, and nothing can alter ib. I'm afraid you think me very ungrateful, Griffithand she sighed. "No," lie said, with a catch in his voice, " not ungrateful, but stubborn—stubborn, Miss Lyra. Why should you go out into the word while I'm left to work for you ? I've enough money saved to buy new furniture. I can earn enough to keep ua two—" Lyra shook her head with a gentleness which was more convincing than any fervent refusal. He looked up ab her with mournful scrutiny. " Sometimes, since I heard of this whim of yours—for it is a whim, Miss Lyra— thought that there was some other _ reason for your going. I've wondered if that fellow, Mr. Barlo, had anything to do with it. I've asked myself if you was afeard of him." Lyra turned her head away and shuddered slightly. " I'm not afraid of Mr. Barle, Griffith." He gnawed at his thumb nail, eyeing her sadly, anxiously. " There's something between you and him that I can't make out, Miss Lyra," he said. " What had happened that you and he should be quarrelling that day the master died ?" His voice dropped. "You've never told me, and I'm not quick enough to guess! Won't you tell me—GriffithMiss Lyra, dear She looked straight before her for a moment, then she turned her sad eyes upon him. " No, Griffith, I can nob tell you. You promised not to ask me, you remember? I could not tell you or anyone. He has gone ; he will not come back." "If he only would," he said, between his teeth. " Miss Lyra, I mistrusted him from the first. Ho was like one of those brown adders you see in the sand-hills. I wish he'd broken his neck tliab day he fell from the cliff." . Lyra sighed. " Don't let us talk of him for the few moments we have to spend together. You mean to stay here, Griffith." " Yes," he said, doggedly ; " I shall stay here, Miss Lyra. The rent isn't more than that of a labourer's cottage, and I can earn it. I've grown fond of the place. But that isn't all. I feel that some day you maywell, you may want to como back"—ho looked at her eagerly ; and Lyra, feeling the glance, suppressed a shudder—" and if you do, why, here I shall be, and here will be a shelter for you. Yes, Miss Lyra, dear, I shall stay here. I've had work promised me, and I can buy a bit of furniture— But all that's nothing. What becomes of me doesn't matter it's you, you, my dear mistress — " His voice broke and lie turned away, Lyra forced a smile. " Why, Griffith," she said, cheerfully, " I shall be all right. I am a very fortunate young person. You told me when I answered the advertisement that there were hundreds, hundreds wanting the situation, and that I should have no chance; but you see I have got it." Griffith grunted discontentedly. "Situation! The word galls me. You, a Chester going out into a situation !" Lyra laughed. It was only the shadow and semblance of her old laugh. "Why not?" she said. "No one who is poor ought to bo too proud tc earn their own living; and, somehow, Griffith, I think I shall bo happy and contented, the lady writes so frankly and kindly"—she glanced at the open letter in her hand—" and there is so very little for mo to do; and that is fortunate, for there is so very little I could do." She sighed. "All the other people that advertised wanted me to know French, and German, and mathematics, and I don'b know what else. But Mrs. Leslie says that I shall only bo required to read aloud and answer letters. Oh, I am very lucky, if you would only believe it, Griffith." " Lucky !" he snarled. " You, who are a lady, having to read aloud and answer letters !" She let her hand fall on his shoulder again, and said, soothingly : "I might have had to do worse and harder work, Griffith.* I might have had to teach a lot of children things I didn't know myself," she laughed. " That would have been very bad. But lam used to reading aloud. "You remember how I used to read to— —her voice broke—"my father ; and I can carry on a correspondence." He shook his head and growled. "If you'll only say the word, you could stop on here at the cottage —" " And be a burden to you," finished Lyra. "No, iio, Griffith; I could not do that. But I am glad you are going to stay." " And you promise if anything happens— if you don'b like —place"—he stumbled over the word as if ib were a nauseous draught—" that you'll come back— time, without notice? I shall be here, glad and joyful to welcome you." " Yes, yes," she said. " But isn't ib time we started, Griffith? Wait a moment for me." Sho went into tho house and passed through the untidy room, in which the furniture was already marked with the odious labels, " Lot" so-and-so, and up to her father's room. She knelt beside the bed for a few moments, then went out again, the man in possession staring ab her in a wooden, unsympathetic fashion. Griffith Btood by the gate, with the portmanteau on his shoulders, almost in silence they walked along the riverside to the station.

There a surprise awaited Lyra, for on the platform was Mary, who had been dismissed with a month's wages in lieu of notice. The tears wore in her eyes as Lyra approached, and the honest, tender-hearted girl threw her arms round Lyra's neck and gulped out her farewell. " If I could only go with you, Miss Lyra, dear!" she sobbed. "You was always so kind and good to me !" Griffith would havo shoulered her away jealously, bub Lyra retained the girl's hand until the train was on the point of starting. However, Griffith had the last word.

"Remember, Miss Lyra," he said, hoarsely, "there's a home for you at the mill cottage whenever you want it. And— and you'll write to me ?" Lyra's eyes were blinded with tears—the first she had shed since her fathor's death— as the train puffed out of Barnstaple Station, and she cried gently and silent in her corner for a greater part of tho journey. The West of England Express is a good train, and a little time after five ib steamed into Waterloo. Lyra got out, and was making her way through the crowd, when a footman in rich bub subdued livory approached her and touched his hat.

" Miss Chester ?" he said. " Yes," said Lyra ; "I am Miss Chester." "The carriage is waiting if you will follow me, miss, please. 1 will see to your luggage." " There is no luggage but this," said Lyra, indicating the portmanteau, ab which he tried not to look surprised. She followed him to a landau drawn by a pair of magnificent horses, and the footman opened the door for her and shut her in with grave respect. The carriage made its way over Waterloo Bridge and through the crowded Strand to the Wesb End, and stopped at one of the houses in Carden Square. Lyra, like most persons, had read a great deal about London, bub never in her dreams had she been able to imagine anything like the reality. _ The endless rows of houses, the handsome, richly dressed shops, the interminable line of vehicles, the throngs of human beings, all ranks of life crowding the pavements amazed and bewildered her. Suddenly, to find herself in a quiet square, and in the large and richly-appointed hall of this huge palace, was like an unexpected shock, the falling over a cataract into the still depth beneath. The footman ushered her upstairs into what she at first thought must be the draw-ing-room, so richly was 'it decorated and furnished, bub which, as she learned afterward, was only a boudoir. She sunk with a feeling of strangeness and solitude into one of the softly padded seats and waited—an interminable time, as ib seemed to her; then the door opened, and a lady eatered the t;gaa>.

She Was a middle-aged lady with a very t pleasant countenance, which wore an \ an apologetic smile as she came forward £ with extended hand. c " Oh, Miss Chester !" she said. "I am i sorry to have kept yon waiting." After much consideration and painful self-questioning, Lyra had decided to retain < her maiden name. Lyra rose and murmured something inaudibly, and the lady scanned her face with j gentle and kindly intrest. j Of course you know who lam she , said. " I am the Mrs. Leslie with whom I you have been corresponding." " Yes," said Lyra. At the sound of her voice a faint look of ; satisfaction shone in Mrs. Leslie's eyes, and , she drew a little breath of relief. "I am afraid you have had long and wearisome journey," she said. "Will you go to your room and take off your things ? Ib is only on the first floor. Come, I'll show 1 it to you, and then we will have some tea." She led Lyra to what was really one of the small rooms in the large house, but one that looked to her, used to the tiny cottage, 1 a spacious apartment exquisitely furnished. " Ring the bell for anything you want. My maid will wait upon you. You are sure you can find your way down ?" Lyra took off her hat and jacket and enjoyed a good wash, then went down to the boudoir. The rose-tinted blinds were drawn to exclude the fierce rays of the evening sun, and a dainty tea-service was on one of the marquetry tables, with Mrs. Leslie reclining in an easy-chair before it. "How quick you have been!" she said, giving Lyra one of those swift glances of approval of which only womon are capable. " Have I been so quick?" said Lyra, ingenuously. "I thought I had been a long while." Mrs. Leslie laughed. " Why, my dear Miss Chester, most girls take at least half an hour to get their hats and cloaks off, and you have not been ten minutes. It is easy to see that you have lived in the country." " Yes," said Lyra, " I have lived in the country all my life. I have never seen London until to-day." Mrs. Leslie smiled her surprise. "Really? But you must not think you have seen it even now," she said ; "for you have not seen the best of it; nearly the \vor3t, indeed. Do you think you shall like it? But don't be alarmed. I may as well tell you before you answer the question that we do not live in London very long, and that wo are just on the point of leaving it. ' We go to Castle Towers to-morrow." " To Castle Towers ?" said Lyra, vaguely. Mrs. Leslie nodded, then paused in the act of filling Lyra's cup. "How stupid of me!" she said. "1 haven't yet explained the real facts of the case. I suppose you think that lam—well, your employer ?" Lyra coloured faintly. " I—yes, I thought so," she said. " You are Mrs. Leslie ?" "Oh, yes," said that lady; "but I am only a servant like yourself, if you don't mind the word. I don't." " Nor I," said Lyra, bub rather wonderingly. Mrs. Leslie laughed approvingly. ' It is an honourable term enough," she said. "Wo are all servants of someone. Why, even the Prince of Wales is nob too proud to wear as his motto ' Ich Dien'—' I serve.'" Lyra smiled. " I am not proud," she said. Mrs. Leslie glanced at the pale, beautiful face rather doubtfully. "I am glad of that. Bub I think you are. You have proud eyebrows. We are all proud, really ; only we all deny it most eagerly. But you are wondering who your —shall I say employer?—is. She is a lady of much greater importance than I am. Have you ever heard of Lady Hainault ?" Lyra shook her head. ""No," she said. "But that goes for nothing. I have heard of no one. All my life I have lived in a country place far away from anywhere, and I know, have heard of no one." Mrs. Leslie looked ab her thoughtfully. " I was going to say ' poor child !' but I will alter it to ' fortunate !' " she said, with a smile and a sigh. "I envy you your quiet life. lam sure it mush have been a happy—" she paused, as Lyra winced. "Oh, I beg pardon, my dear! I did nob know—l forgot," and she glanced ab the black dress. Lyra ought with her tears and mastered them. " I have been very happy till lately," she said, simply, "until I—l lost my father." " Poor girl !" murmured Mrs. Leslie. "I understand. Forgive me. I know what that means. lam nob too old to remember my own loss. I, too, was left alone in the world." She paused. " Bub 1 have suffered more even than you, my dear ; for I lost a dearly loved husband." Lyra's face went white for a moment. Fortunately, Mrs. Leslie's eyes were cast down, and she did nob notice the spasm of terror that passed across the beautiful face. "Bub about our 'mistress;'" and she laughed. " The lady to whom you have engaged yourself is Lady Hainault, the late Lord Hainault's daughter and heiress. I am an old friend of hers, as well as her servant, and until now have been her companion and amanuensis—that is, reading and writing machine. How fond we all are of long words, especially if wo think they conceal something derogatory to our dignity; bub my eyes have been rather weak of laue —or I fancy they have, which is quite the same thingand Lady Hainault, instead of getting rid of me, and exchanging me for a more serviceable person, chooses to consider me indispensable, and engages someone to help me. There it is in a nut-shell. Your duties will consist in reading aloud whenever you are required—and you will be required to do so very often, and to read most abominably dry stuff, too, my poor child !— and you will have to write Lady Hainault's business letters." " Business letters?" said Lyra, with faint surprise. Going by her knowledge of titled ladiesknowledge derived from three-volume novels — she thought they did no business whatever. Mrs. Leslie laughed. "Oh, yes. Lady Hainault does an immense amount of business," she said. " I don't mean that she keeps a bonnet shop and millinery establishment, like some of 1 the ladies of the nobility." "Do they—do they keep a shop?" said Lyra, with surprise. " Oh, dear, ye 3 I" said Mrs. Leslie, coolly; "a number of them ; and very good businesses they have." She mentioned some titled dames. " Poor things I they have lost • their fortunes, what with bad speculations, • defaulting trustees, and the drop in the value of land, and they are obliged to 1 do something. Dig they cannot, to beg they are ashamed, and so they take to bonnetbuilding. Bub Lady Hainault hasn't come ' to that yet. All her business is of a philanthropic kind. She is a great social reformer—wants to make the working-man give up drinking beer and beating his wife, and tries to persuade the wife to keep the ' home cleaner, learn cooking, and wash the i children."

"And does she succeed?" asked Lyra, greatly interested. Mrs. Leslie shrugged her shoulders. " Well, partly. Ab Castle Towers the people are super naturally good. But then they all pay less than their proper rent, and are mostly coddled like children in arms. Here, in London"—Mrs. Leslie laughed— " well, that's a different matter." "And is Lord Hainault as philanthropic ?" asked Lyra, after a pause. " Lord Hainault is dead." "She is a widow, then?" said Lyra. Mrs. Leslie stared at her, then laughed rather ruefully. «' Oh, I see; yon meant her husband. I'm sorry to say Lady Hainault isn't married. I wish she were. She would have plenty to do in reforming her husband, and it wouldn't be so disappointing, perhaps," she added, naively. "Bub you must nob jump to the conclusion, from what I have said, that Lady Hainault is—well, a foolish and credulous person. She is really very bright and clever, and very lovable. The only fault with her is, as I have told "—she stopped— "told a friend of hers, that she is too good." Lyra smiled. ' " I did not think anyone could be too good," she said. "No. Wait until you know Lady Hainault, my dear. You will see her tomorrow—that is, if you are nob too tired to travel." "To-morrow—hob to-night? Oh, I shall nob be too tired.' I am very strong." Mrs. Leslie looked ab her. " You do nob look strong, my dear," she said, gently. " Bub we will try and plantf some roses in those lily cheeks of yours when we go into the country* Yes, we will go

to-morrow. Did yon think Lady Hainaulb was here ? How stupid of me nob to tell you ! She is at Castle Towers. She only comes up occasionally, though this, the town house, is kept going till quite the end of the season." ' Lyra looked round. I "Lady Hainaulb must be very rich," she j said, more to herself than to Mrs. Leslie. ( " She is," assented that lady. " Mote's the j pity. And now, my dear, you shall go and lie down ; till dinner-time. We will dine here instead of in the great room downstairs, ' and to-morrow we will go to Castle Towers. ( That is, if you are well enough." ' That night; Lyra lay awake till the great London clocks boomed the small hours, « wondering if she were herself, and if the great | house and the new life she had entered upon were not a dream "instead of a reality. . ' After breakfasta luxurious breakfast, j served in the boudoir— carriage came j round, and the two ladies started. ] The footman engaged a first-class com- < partmenb for them, purchased a bundle of ; magazines, pulled down the blind?, and ] carefully arranged the small bags and wraps, . and touched his hat in response to Mrs. 1 Leslie's " Thank you, James. " The guard , came up and touched his cap, and in , deferential, respectful tones asked if they ■ were comfortable and had all they wanted. ] Ib was difficult for Lyra to realise that only • yesterday she had come up to the same j station in a third-class carriage, seated between a farmer who eat sandwiches noisily and a girl who sucked oranges. Mrs. Leslie, in a hundred little ways, showed the kindness of her disposition, and insisted upon Lyra lying down for a greater parb of tho journey. You look tired, my dear," she said, "and no wonder! Now, just do as I tell you; and you must try and drink a little of this wine. You don't like it? I know; most girls don't. Bub you must try it all the same—take ib as medicine. Why, if you arrived .ib Castle Towers looking fagged and worn out, Lady Hainault would never forgive mo ! You have no idea how kind she is. " "She cannob be kinder than you,' said Lyra, with moist eyes; and as she lay back and closed them, she was conscious of a guilty pang of self-reproach. What would this warm-hearted woman say or think if she knew the truth—knew that the girl whom she was treating as a child wjs deceiving her—was not "Miss Chester," but a married woman ? When Lyra and Mrs. Leslie reached the station, a carriage and pair as handsome as those which had awaited them ab Waterloo stood at the station ; a footman was in attendance, and treated them with the profound respect which his fellow in London had accorded them ; and they drove through the country lanes to Castle Towers. Lyra had never seen a nobleman's mansion before, and she gazed with frank amazement and admiration at the great house, with its wide-stretching terrace and flower-spangled lawns. " How beautiful it is I" she said, almost unconsciously. Mrs. Leslie smiled. . " Isn't ib ? I'm glad to hear you say that, for I am almost as fond and proud of it as if it were my own. Whereas, Lady Hainault doesn't value ib at a pin's point; in fact, she thinks, I believe, that ib is almost wicked to own ib while there are so many poor people living in hovels. This is the avenue — planted by Richard- Earl of Hainault, in 1443. This property was not entailed, and Lord Hainault, the late earl, left ib to his daughter. Bub if you think the exterior beautiful, I don't know what you will say of the interior. We" —she laughed"you see, I talk as if I were part owner—we have some of the finest and oldest oak carving in England." The carriage stopped ab the grand entrance ; a footman helped them to alight, and they entered the hall. A small and girlish figure came out of one of the rooms, and a soft, low, bub grave voice exclaimed, as the owner kissed Mrs. Leslie : " You have got back, then, dear?" Then she turned to Lyra, who stood, rather pale and timid, a little apart. "How do you do, Miss Chester? I hope you are not tired and she held out her hand. "Of course she is tired," said Mrs. Leslie, with a kindly smile. " She has spent the last two days in the horrid trains, my dear Theodosia." At the sound of the name Lyra started, | and the faint flush, which had risen to her • face faded away, and left ib pale again. Theodosia 1 The name brought back the remembrance of Lord Dane with the suddenness and keenness of a knife thrust. Lady Theodosia looked at her with grave ' but gentle alarm. ■ " I can see that you are tired," she said, in her low, sweet voice. Lyra tried to speak, but no word would 1 come. The great hall, the two gracious ladies, had faded from her sight; she saw j only the stream up the valley, and the tall, j stalwart figure of Lord Dane. _ i Lady Theodosia signed to a maid standing under the gallery. " Take Miss Chester to her room," she said. Then as Lyra, with bent head and still dazed eyes, followed the maid, Lady Theodosia said ; "What a lovely girl, Fanny ! bub how pale and fragile she looks." " Yes, poor child," said Mrs. Leslie. " Her beauty startled me quite as much as , ib has startled you. I don't think I ever saw a lovelier face ; and she is grace itself, ; isn't she I think I have secured a | treasure for you. Bub we must be very i careful of her. The poor child has just lost ; her fatheronly a week ago. Think of ; it!" " Oh, dear," murmured Lady Theodosia, i compassionately. . ' " And 1 fancy there was trouble—money trouble—before that, though she has said nothing. Indeed, she is very reserved and i reticent, like all who have suffered. I don't . think, from what I can glean, thab she has ! a friend in the world." "She will have two now," said Lady ; Theodosia, simply. " That's like you, dear," said Mrs. Leslie, . kissing her. " I think you will get very , fond of her. I have taken to her tre- . mendously already, though there is nothing brilliant about her, thank Heaven. Ib is wonderful how innocenb of the world she is. She had never seen London till [ yesterday. In fact, she is jusb an unj sophisticated, unaffected child, with the f sorrowful heart of a woman." " A woman with a history ?" Said Lady

Theodosia. " I—l (3 on *tj know. No, I don'b think so. How should she have ' a history' ? She is too young. No, I think her only trouble is the death of her father and her terrible loneliness." At any rate, she shall be lonely no longer," said Lady Theodosia, very quietly. The footman brought the tea into the drawing-room where they were standing. Lady Theodosia filled a cup and left the room with ib, saying over her shoulder: " You can pour out your own, dear." The maid had offered to help Lyra remove her things and unpack her portmanteau, bub Lyra had gently declined, and, left alone, had gone to the window and looked out dreamily, thinking of the name she had heard—Theodosia. A knock came to the door and she opened ib, to find Lady Theodosia standing there with a cup of tea in her hand. " May I come in ?" she said, as if she were the newly-engaged companion, and Lyra the mistress. Lyra opened the door wide, and Lady Theodosia entered. " I have brought you a cup of tea," she said, lifting her clear brown eyes almost timidly to Lyra's large, sad orbs. "Will you let me stay while you drink ib ? I know what ib is to arrive in a strange house and feel lonely. Leb me help you take your hat off. Why, how tall you are 1" Lyra looked at her, and as she looked the tears welled into her eyes and fell on Lady Theodosia's sleeve. Lady Theodosia took no notice, even when a sob escaped Lyra's lips. "Drink your tea. I wonder why a hat always makes one's head ache There, now." {To be continued.] In the course of a few weeks, the opening chapters of a new and stirring sensational tale will be begun in the New Zealand Herald. Ib is by Mrs. Hungerford, and is entitled, THE RED HOUSE.' Mrs. Hungerford is one of the best writers of fiction of the present day, and being possessed of a considerable degree of humour, invests her characters with a sprightliness which is very charming. From a perusal of the few chapters to hand, we feel sure "The Red House" will prove interest jog CQ&diQg to owe subscribers,