THE LOST LABY OF HADOON.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 11644, 4 May 1901, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE LOST LABY OF HADOON.

BY BERTHA M. CLAY, Author of " Thrown on tho World," " A Bitter Atonement," " His Wife's Judgment," " Every Inch a Queen," " Marjorio Deane," etc. CHAPTER XIT. THE STATE BOOM AT HADDOX. -A Goodly tree, stricken in its prime, Dying while its leaves are still green.'' Tiikhk are no truer words writ or spoken than those which say that "in the midst of life we are in death." Sir Philip had invited a large party of guests to Haddon, and although he had already two of the finest studs in England, lie had resolved upon purchasing two magnificent hunters that had been offered to him. On this bright September morning he had rise!) early, full of health and spirits. He sat. down with Guy. He had talked gaily of his plans for the amusement of his guests, and then declared his resolution of galloping over to Lynnton to see how the new hunter, Prince Charlie, was gelling along. Guy, who had been riding the same horse on the previous day, tried to dissuade him, saying lie had found him difficult to manage; but Sir Philip laughed at the caution. " I have always been considered the best rider in Lomeshire, Guy," he said. "Am I to turn coward now? Prince Charlie will try no tricks with me, and, if he does, he will repent them." As he was leaving the room' Sir Philip turned to his son. "Hide over to the Court, Guy, if you have time, and ask Lady Han ton about the picnic to Ilarleigh, and give my love to Lady Viola." " Guy watched his father as lie mounted. Prince Charlie standing submissively: but as he looked at him, the heir of Haddon thought there was no finer, handsomer, or grander man in England than his father. Another moment and he had mounted, had waved a parting salute to his son. and had ridden gaily out of sight, the kindly smile still lingering on his face. Guy went over to the Court, and made all arrangements with Lady Hanton for the picnic that was never to take place. He remained to lunch, and rode back again in the full glow of the afternoon sun, half fearing thai his father might have wanted him. But Sir Philip had not returned. 'The hour for dinner came and went. Guv became uneasy, for his father, contrary to his usual custom, had ridden out alone and unattended. He had just resolved upon going in search of him when there came a sound that he never forgot—a sound that haunted him, sleeping or waking, for years—the heavy tramp of heavy feet along the lawn, the half-smothered cries of women, the indescribable murmur that tells of some fatal accident, the hurrying of rapid footsteps then a sudden, deathly silence. He stood for some minutes stricken, tinable to move—a deadly, awful fear had paralysed him. Then he went out into the hull." The rays of the September sun streamed through the stained-glass windows. They fell

on a ghastly burden, that strong men, with weeping eyes, had carried home—Sir Philip, maimed, wounded, a mass of dreadful wounds, white and dving. Another moment and Guy was by his side. " I had better have taken your adivce, Guy," whispered a faint voice. " Prince Charlie has killed me. He threw me, and my foot was fastened in the stirrup. He dragged me along the road, only God knows how far. Don't let them torture me, Guy. Let me die in peace!" He would not be carried to his own room | —the room he had left full of strength and health only a few hours since. He asked to be taken to the state room, where his fair young wife had died so many years ago. They laid him on the bed where she had breathed her last. He did not seem to suffer much pain; neither was he conscious at ail times. " It is very strange," he said to Guy, " but I saw Helena, my wife, last night. She stood by my bedside, and asked me if I wore j ready, for she was tired of waiting. She bent down and kissed my lips. They have been cold ever since. They are cold now, and I shall soon be with her. "Guy." he continued, "we Wyvernes are very true to our love. I loved aud won your mother, ah! so many years ago. She died, and left me when you were quite a child. Her face has been shining upon me from the silent stars ever since. Do you know, Guy, when I see her, I can tell her that, although she left me so long ago, 1 have never looked in the face of any other woman since she died. No woman's band has lain in mine. no woman's voice has said sweet words to me. That is love. Guy. I shall not be j afraid to meet my darling again." j He lay silent for many hours, with the | same sweet smile on his lips, murmuring low words of his wife Helena, who had come to summon him with a kiss. When morning dawned, lie asked to see Lady Hanton, " who had helped him to take care of Guy, and Viola, who loved his son." Guy sent for them, and, while the dew was wet upon the grass in the early morn, they came. The scene that followed will never fade from Guy Wyverne's memory. To this! day he can see the gorgeous state room, with its hangings of blue velvet and gold, its massive furniture, its few rare pictures and costly ornaments, the 'tinbeams gilding them and falling like a halo round his father's head and face. He was touched by the deep, unfeigned emotion of Lady Hanton. "Are we in time?" she asked. 'Oh, Guy ! I have hurried so. Are we in time?" Yes ; for as she bent over the white face, tiie dying eyes opened, and Sir Philip smiled as they smile who stand oa the threshold of that other, fairer world. " I wanted to see you," he said, " to thank yon for all your kindness to Guy, and to me. I shall tell Helena All you have done for Iter son. Where is Viola?" She was bending over him the next moment, all tint of colour banished from her face. "I am here, Sir Philip." she said, with a deep sob, " and I am so grieved for you." He took her hand in his. "Guy." he said,, faintly, " you must marry Viola. When I am gone, you must bring her home here to Haddon Hall, and love her as I have done Helena, my wife. Promise me!" Put no word came from his son's lips. Sir Philip had caught his hand, and the warm lingers of Viola Carew clasped it. " Yon must marry Viola," again murmured the faint voice. " She will be to you what Helena was to me. Promise, Guy!" But Guy Wyverne, for all answer, h n nt down and touched his father's face. He saw that consciousness had failed him. "Another time," he said to Lady Viola; " another time. I must ask you to pardon this. My father does not know what he says." In the eyes raised to his he might have read a sudden glance of passion that would have been.a revelation to him. Even d-ath could not.wholly quell or subdue it. In that moment she would have given her soul i'self if he would have but endorsed his father's words. These words had grown faint and indistinct now. He had forgotten their presence, and saw only his wife, Helena, waiting for him. i Lady Hanton took her daughter's hand, and led her from the room. They went to the library, where Sir Philip's letters still lay unread, and sat there awaiting the news that must soon be told. When the door was shut, and they were alone, Viola Carew turned to her mother. " Mamma," she cried. " did you hear? : Sir Philip says T am to marry Guy! Mamma, tell me I did not dream it. Tell mo it is true." " It is quite true," said the countess, kissing her daughter's lovely face. " The great ! wish of my heart will be accomplished when I see you Lady Wyverne, of Haddon Hall. That marriage, Viola,, will be the door through which we shall enter again the life I loved so well. Viola Carew forgot the dark shadow that hung over Croome. She forgot that the man who lay dving had ever been kind and good to her. She forgot that the man she loved so passionately was plunged into the bitterest sorrow man can know. She 'o'got everything except that she was to mvry Guy. and become mistress of Haddon Hall. Even as she sat waiting for news of its master's death she sat planning what she would do when she was mistress there what rooms she would take for her men; how many months of the year she wou'd spend in London and in Paris; how she would dazzle the world with her beauty and her wealth, until the name of Lady Wyverne should be one of the most famous if the day. Then she dreamed of Guy, whom she loved with all the force of her passionate and undisciplined nature. She was to be his wife. The proud, noble face she i ad seemed to worship so far off would smile on her now. He must love her. The words she had longed with such fiei<ce longing to hear from his lips must now be spoken. Her eyes were bright, her face glowed, her red lips quivered, the light that never yet Mas on land or sea shone on her brow,; The decorous, wordly countess, happening to look at her radiant daughter, was shocked beyond words. "Viola,"" she cried, " pull down your veil, child. If anyone should come in, what would be. thought of you? How can you look so pleased when you know what is happening?" She had long forgotten about Sir Philip, but her mother's words recalled her. f-he hastily drew down the black lace veil that was to shield her want of sorrow, not one moment too soon, for there was a sound of footsteps, and then the housekeeper entered the room. They knew her errand when they saw her tear-stained face. There was no need of i words to tell them that the kindly, hospitable. gei;crous master of Haddon was dead. " Sir Guy," said the woman with emphasis on the words Sir Guy, "desires bis compliments, and begs the ladies will excuse him from seeing them." Real tears stood in Lady Hanton's eyes, for the dead man had been a true friend to her; but Lady Viola turned away, lest through her veil the housekeeper would see the want of sorrow in her face. Then they drove home together, to await the coming of Sir Guy Wyverne. CHAPTER XIII. A DREAM REALISED. ' I looked upon her face, and knew My dream was realised. They laid the master of Haddon Hail to rest in the vault where the Wyvernes for long generations had slept. There was great mourning and lamentation. He had been well loved among his friends and dependents. His handsome face and cheery voice never failed of bringing sunshine even into | the dreariest place. He was misled f'om I among them, and they had told each other, with Wondering faces, how he had died with a smile on his lips, sweet as Unit seen on lie face of a sleeping child. "The king is dead!— live the king!" Sir Philip was buried in the vault; Sir Guy succeeded him. Another master reigned at Haddon. who would soon be loved as dearly and served as well as Sir Philip had been. There was little or no change, save that the party of guests Sir Philip had invited went' elsewhere. His sou felt the shock of his death so keenly that at first he was inconsolable. It hail been so sudden, so entirely unforeseen. No lingering illness had laid'the strong man low. He had been cut off in the very prime of his manhood, .n the prime of his •.strength. And Sir buy. v. ho had loved his father with affect.on ad de- ; votion both rare in this age, could not tecover from the shock. „„ i „,i . Tn To him, Jlaclaon «" _ haunted . Tn every room he could fancy his lathers face. lie heard his voice, go where he would And the doctor who had attended Sir Philip

strongly advised the young man to leave home for a time. " Go into fresh scenes," he said to him. "Go where you ore quite unknown. Seek new friends."new interests, new occupations —nothing else will cure you." So Sir Guy Wyverne decided upon obeying the doctor and leaving home. He intended, too, to leave all his cares of vvealth and station behind him. He would not go out as Sir Guy Wyverne. of Haddon, with a retinue of servants, with horses and carriages. For once in his life, he resolved to throw off all trammels of state, and enjoy the novelty of freedom, It was a pleasant prospect—one that pleased him as nothing else would have done: but before he started there remained one duty to be accomplished. He must go to Hanton, and settle matters there. The mors he thought of it. the more unpleasant did his task appear. Yet he was not one to shirk a duty. In his heart he shrank from blaming his father, yet he did wish,, with all his strength, that those words had never been spoken : "Guy will marry Viola! - ' tie could not forget them. He could not forget how h?.r soft, warm fingers had. clasped his. an 1. though he Iw.'l not seen the passionate love in her face he felt uncomfortable and iil at ease. Some men would have crept out of the difficulty. Sir Guy resolved to face it. He had not now. and never had. the least intention of marrying Lady Viola Carew. II" never even dreamed of loving her. He did not. could not love her. She was not the style of a girl for him. He was not even at- | tracted toward her. He asked himself, because those few words had been spoken by one who was evidently delirious ami unconscious as he tittered them, was he to make himself miserable for life"' Common sense and reason said '' No." He had done his. best at the time to show Lady Viola that he attached no importance to the words. He had said that lie would beg her pardon for them another time, hoping and believing that she would understand by his saying so he had no intention el ever carrying them out. The sorrow that he felt for his father was increased by the dismay that almost overcame him when he remembered the task before him. The most honourable and truthful way seemed to be for him to go over to Hanton. and tell the countess that those words, spoken under the influence of delirium, must be forgotten. Vet he shrank from the ungracious task. Do it gently, kindly, courteously as lie could, he si ill hated the idea. How could he look Lady Hanton in *ue face and say in plain words that he had come to decline marrying her daughter? The bare idea seemed a monstrous insult', and jet it must be done. He had already received several notes of condolence and sympathy from Lady Wanton. and in each of them she had mentioned " dear Viola" as anxious to console him for his cruel loss. Sir Guy could not c mceal, even from himself, that there was an a'r of proprietorship about those notes, auguring ill for him. Then Lady Hanton had driven ever to Haddon, but he was not at home. She lift a sugared little note, begging him to come over to them, and let them teach him how to forget his sorrow. He replied most politely, excusing 1 imsclf from visiting. Then came another rite, and in it Lady Hanton said that Viola Mas not well, and longed to see him. "It is only natural that under the circumstances she should feel very anxious,"' wrote Lady Hanton, " but we can say nothing' until we have seen you.'' Then Sir Guy knew it was high time he went over and explained that no meaning could be attached to his father's words. He went. Whether the countess understood or suspected the motive of his coming, he could not tell. She and Lady Viola, were dressed in the deepest mourning, and they received him with such overwhelming kindness that he felt more awkward than ever. There had been an indescribable something in the manner of both ladies that he could not describe. Yet it left him under t,'e impression that now they considered he belonged to them. One of the earl's new friends was there at the time. Sir Harrv Clinton, who had gone over to lunch at Hanton, and his presence entirely forbade all confidential conversation. There was a gentle claim upon him in all the countess said—a. deferential way of inquiring into his arrangements that caused Sir Harry Clinton to open his eyes in wonder, and to proclaim to all his friends aid acquaintances that there was something be- ; tween Sir Guy Wyverne and Lady Viola Carew. Sir Guy fought bravely against this insidious something that he could not define, until at last his patience was exhausted, and he rose to take leave, requesting from the countess the favour of a few minutes' conversation alone before he left the Court. He saw Viola's face flush warmly as he did so. - He saw the golden light in her dark eyes deepefra, and he read plainly an air cf flattered triumph in both ladies. " Sir Hurry will excuse me, I am sure," said the countess, with a smile. " All claims must now yield to yours, Guy." A speech which caused the young baronet's face to grow dark with auger and annoyance. Lady Hanton led the way to the library, talking easily and pleasantly as she did so. \ Sir Guy walked to the window and stood there*, looking out in gloomy silence, hating with all his heart the task before him. Lady Hanton placed one hand upon his arm. "Guy," she said, gently, "let me beg cf you to remain with us to-night; the change will cheer you, and you must learn to look upon Hanton as your seecond home." Then he turned and looked her straight in the face. "Lady Hanton," he said, gravely. "I cannot let another day pass without speaking to you of a matter that is very near n.y heart." "My dearest Guy." she replied, holding out her hand, " I have been expecting this." " Nay," lie interrupted. " Pray hear me ! I fear what I have to say will not pleaste you." Her outstretched hand fell, and file sat in grave silence. "I hate the words I am going to say— they seem unmanlyand yet I have no recourse but to utter them. You will think me vain, perhaps, if to you I venture to say that I hope Lady Viola paid no heed to the sentence my father murmured over and over again. " Do you mean his wish that you should marry Viola?" asked the countess, proudly. "Yes," replied Sir Guy; "did she attach any importance to the words? I am quite sure my father was not conscious at the time, or he would never have placed us in so , unpleasant a position. I tried to apologise to Lady Viola at the time, but I was almost ! beside myself." " There was no apology needed," said the countess, proudly; " Sir Philip often expressed the same wish to me." " I thought it only honourable to lose no time in seeing you," continued Sir Guy, with some hesitation of manner, " just to beg you to forget the words Lady Hanton, and let all be between us as though they had never been spoken." "You wish me to understand, then, that you have no intention of carrying out your father's wish?" she said, her lips quivering with anger as she spoke. "' It is better that there should be no doubt on the matter,' he said. "My father was in a dreamy, half-conscious state. Even had hi been quite himself, he had no right to say anything of the kind. In love Mid marriage every man must and should choose for himself." "Am I to understand, then, that you do not love my daughter':" " You force words from me that I would rather not speak. I do not think a. marriage between Lady Viola and myself would lead to the happiness of either; I have never thought of such a thing. Lady Viola has beauty that is peerless; she has noble birth. No one does more homage to her great and good qualities than I do; but there was never any question of love between us, and never will be." " You do not care for her?" persisted the countess. '" Ido care for her." he replied. " I have a true, sincere, brotherly affection for her. I should like to be a friend of hers, of yours, all my life ; b.it I do not love her as men love women they intend to marry." Lady Hanton stood for some minutes in thoughtful silence. She was bitterly disappointed. She. had not thought that the young heir would ever dream of refusing compliance wit l his father's wish, so often expressed. Still it might have been worse. He spoke very kindly of Viola, and she thought it more than probable that the friendship would in time ripen into love, '.To be continued.)