THE CANKERWORM.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 11686, 22 June 1901, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE CANKERWORM.

BY GEO. MANVILLE FENN, ' Author of "Black Blood," "A Mint of Money," " A Crimson Crime," " A Woman Worth Winning." "Cursed By a Fortune." etc., etc. [COPYRIGHT.] BOOK 11. CHAPTER XVII. A STRING JARRED. "What has come to Linda?" said Lady Drayeote, a few mornings later, and speaking in quite an ill-used tone.

" Eh, what do you mean, dear'.'" said Sir Ronald, looking up from a three days' old journal. "They will not be happy till they wreck this Bill. I do wish 1 were in the House."

" 1 do wish, dear, that when I speak to you you would not let your thoughts wander so. I say, what is the matter with Linda?"

" Nothing. Growing a little brighter and happier, that's all. Where is she? .1 want a, walk."

" Before dinner, Ronald?'' " Yes. Walk's good at any time. Good for you."

Lady Draycote shuddered ; and just then Linda entered, looking so bright and attractive in her simple muslin and hat that Sir Ronald dashed down the paper amd sprang up, to take her hands.

" Going out, my pet?" " Yes, dear, to the flower market." " May I come and be cavalier?" "Will you?" she said, with an eagerness that was quite foreign to her now. "Glad of the chance, my dear," said Sir Ronald, merrily. "Come, mamma. Let's take you out in the sunshine. It will chase away the vapours. What do you say?" Lady Draycote shook her head, and as they went out Sir Ronald sighed. "Poor mamma! It's no good, Linda." "But she really is a little unwell to-day, dear."

" Yes, a. little unwell. But what a glorious morning ! Let's go on the old bridge for a lew minutes."

"We'll come back that way. Let's go to the, flower market first, and then cross one of the bridges, and come back by the other.''' "To be sure; and I want some cigars. Linda, my dear. I'm going to be extravagant. I mean to have a few at twenty centimes ; and we'll have a bottle of the Swiss champagne for dinner, in honour of a splendid cheque received from John Preston this morning." " From John Preston?" "' Yes, my dear; he has managed the old estate for me splendidly. By George! he's the king of mortgagees. Bought cut all the others, rule the roost, and sends me a surplusage which really astonishes me." "A good, tried friend, if ever there was one," said Linda, warmly. " Yes, my dear ; and why some good, true woman does not take compassion on his lonely state and marry him I can't conceive." Linda laughed gently. "Oh, no!" she said. "I can't see John Preston married," and Sir Ronald looked at her curiously, as her eves grew dreamy and then sad.

"No," thought her father; "you never could see John Preston married. I wish to heaven you could. It would be the way out of a sad tangle." Then aloud, "Well", my dear, ready':"

" Oh yes," she said, rousing herself from a fit of musing, and they went along the narrow, shadowy streets of the old town. with its windows full of artistic ironwork and signs projecting, each one in its wonderful intricacies of hammered iron showing what a labour of love it must have been to the smith of the, middle ages who forged Ike design.

As Sir Ronald went on. with his child seeming to be rousing herself out of the sad state of depression in which she lived, it seemed to him as if the old town had never looked so quaint and attractive, and that so many admiring glances had never before been cast by old and young at the handsome woman who walked thoughtfully by his side.

For her, too, the place seemed to have fresh all tactions ; and Sir Ronald smiled at her in \. iy awakened interest in the antique fountains with their bronze waterspouting dragons, in the high windows, in the narrow " gasses," each seeming to tumble out, flower* over the heads of the passers-by ; and so many halts were made that it was

long before the extravagant cigars were pur- 1 chased and the flower market reached. i

Here there were smiles in plenty for the beautiful Englander, and flowers were added as a gift after her little bououet had been selected.

"Lovely!" said Sir Ronald, as he walked proudly on by his child's side and admired the blossoms she held. "Now then, for the old bridge." "Yes." said Linda, softly. "I love those old bridges, with their curious covered ways. I shall be sorry to go away from here." "Then we will not go,"' said Sir Ronald.

" Nob yet," said Linda, looking softly in his face. "It is so pleasant to stand here with the cool water rushing beneath us. and the distant mountains locking so dreamy and fair. The world is very beautifulto some."

" To you— one of that some," said Sir Ronald, tenderly. She turned to him with her lips parting and the old saddened look returning fast to her eyes, when she started. The clouds disappeared as if by magic, and a look of eager, joyful expectancy lit up her countenance again, for a little voice a few yards away cried : " Nov,- I'm going to throw a long way ; and you hold me to see the fished come."

"A long way indeed! Why, that was swept under the bridge directly. Give me the next- piece." Linda uttered a faint cry. CHAPTER XVIII. THE TEN'DER SORE. The speaker was the slight, grey-haired, aristocratic gentleman in deep mourning, and he held out his hand for one of the biscuits the little girl had in a paper hag ; but she had suddenly caught sight of Linda, and ran to her at once with extended hands. " Come and feed the fishes," she cried. " Quick ! quick !" "Helen, my darling said the gentleman, coldly and in measured tones. Then he stopped as he saw the wondrous look in Linda's face and Ike simple natural way in which the child reached up to kiss her, and he took off his hat.

" My little girl does not wait for introductions." he said, half-laughingly, hut with a. dash of petulant annoyance in his manner. "' We have been so much abroad. Tray forgive her." * There is nothing to forgive." said Sir Ronald, a little distantly. "The natural act of a child, sir."

"Yes, yes, exactly," said, (lie other, looking at Sir Ronald with an Englishman's suspicion of everyone he meets abroad. "Now, Helen, my darling." " Stop a minute, papa," said the little thing, with all the imperious action of an indulged child. "The beautiful lady's coming to see me feed the fishes. Now, yon look over while I throw the biscuit. (live nie a flower."

" Helen, my darlingT" said her father, reprovingly. " I gave her some, papa," cried the child in remonstrance.

"Yes, yes, she did!" cried Linda, with an eager display of excitement. "Pray, let her take them."

"What, all?" cried the child, gleefully, clapping her hands and letting fall her bag of biscuits, which her elderly-looking parent stooped to pick up, his face lined with perplexity, while Sir Ronald helped him and gathered together three or four of the little biscuits which had rolled here and there.

"What tyrants little children are said the stranger, as he held the bag for Sir Ronald to drop in the biscuits he had recovered.

"God bless them, yes!" said Sir Ronald, softly ; "and what willing slaves we are." No more was said for a few moments, the two middle-aged men standing patiently watching the. eager child as she dragged Linda to one of the openings in the quaint old oaken bridge, to point down at the fish distinctly seen through the pure green water. Then, half querulously, Tialf pleased at the tender, loving solicitude Linda displayed towards the child, her eyes seeming to hunger for its love, the father said :

" My little one quite overthrows one's notions "of etiquette. Your wife, I presume?" "No, no," said Sir Ronald, smiling, and looking wonderingly at his companion. " 1 thought I looked too old for that. My only child. We have been here some time. My wife's health is delicate, and I was anxious about my daughter's." "Indeed! I was in trouble, too, about my little rider there. We are staying with her nurse and governess at the Schweitzerhaus. May I have the pleasure of knowing whom I address?"

Sir Ronald handed his card, and took that given in exchange. " You will excuse my rather distant way. I'm sure. I have lived in such seclusion since we have been on the Continent. Where are you''"

" At. the quiet hotel yonderwhere the verandah hangs over the river. I am glad to have made your acquaintance, Lord Inveraigh. By the way. surely I must have been in your neighbourhood a few years ago when I was shooting the Viwross Moors."

" You know the MaclntonV" said Lord Inveraigh, eagerly. " These, thirty years. We were at Harrow together." "An excellent neighbour, a very dear friend. Most kind to me during my *' He stopped short with a curiously pained expression in Ins countenance, and his eyes looked piteously in those of the sturdy manly baronet. Sir Ronald read everything in a glance at the deep mourning band on the hat of his new acquaintance, and he raised his own as he said, softly:

" Pain and suffering come to us all, Lord Inveraigh." There, was a sad, plaintive smile on Lord Inveraigh's thin lips that was almost feminine, and he gave Sir Ronald a grateful look. " But my little one is growing troublesome. Will you introduce me to your daughter?"

They were quite alone upon the bridge as Sir Ronald led his new acquaintance to where, forgetful of everything but the -mild, Linda stood obeying her little imperious commands, and hat in hand Lord Inveraigh :tood looking on with a puzzled expression, half-wonder, in his thin pale face. "Linda, my dear," said Sir Ronald. " Lord Inveraigh asks to be introduced." She did not hear him, but obediently lifted and held the child so that it could look down in the rushing water, and the dreamy, tender look in her eyes intensified as the wind wafted the child's sunny hair across her face and her lips closed upon one of the golden strands. The two men stood gazing at the picture before them, framed as it were in the quaint old oaken beams. Then their eyes met for a moment or two, and Sir Ronald spoke again. "Linda, my dear, Lord Inveraigh asks to be introduced." The end was that they all walked off the bridge together, the child holding tightly by Linda's hand, while Lord Inveraigh, after another serious apology for his child being so troublesome, began talking quietly about the beauty of the country, and asked the customary questions about this mountain and that valley till their roads divided. "Now, Helen, dearest, you must thank this lady for being so patient with you, and say good-bye." " So soon?" said the child, pouting. "Helen, my darling!" said Lord Inveraigh, in a tone of reproof. The child darted at Linda.

" Good-bye," she said, reaching up. and as Linda bent down the little arms were thrown about her neck, and in a quick, impetuous wav the child covered her face with kisses.

"Good morning, Miss Draycotc," said Lord Inveraigh, and Linda stalled as if she had been stung. "Very nice, gentlemanly fellow!" said Sir Ronald. "Wonderfully shy and nervous, though, poor fellow. What a natural little girl!" There was no answer, and as Sir Ronald glanced sidewise as they walked on towards their hotel he saw that there was a peculiar ra.pt look in his child's countenance, with a calmness and repose suggestive of her having found something at last to melt the icy chains of misery which had so long clung about her heart. CHAPTER XIX. THE BREAKING OP A CRUST. Very few weeks sufficed to ripen the acquaintance between die two families into a warm intimacy, during which Lord Inveraigh gazed at times with jealous misery, then with a keen sense of delight, at his child's love for the beautiful woman, who seemed to worship little Helen, so that they became almost: inseparable. For there was no need for jealousy; the child wa.s as tenderly attached to him as ever. But there were limes when he shrank

raid felt as if be were gloving forgetful of one whom he had loved with a devotion rarely equalled. And at such times a feeling of suspicion would cross his mind, and he asked himself whether this display of love for his child was genuine or only part of a plan with ulterior motives. But he cast away such thoughts directly after. No woman could have acted such a part so naturally and well, and any lingering doubt was chased away soon alter. A day had come when little Helen was listless and strange. The next day she was worse, and on the next in a high state of . delirium. The Draycotes knew ,i the illness, and Linda's eagerness and excitement increased so that on the evening of the third day she suddenly turned to her father and whispered : " Papa, we must go and see how Helen is." But, my dear, it is only a couple of hours since we had a report." She made a hurried gesticulation. '" Come !"' she said. '"Linda, my child, don't be unreasonable," said. Lady Draycote. She hardly turned her Lead, but took her father's hand. Sir Ronald look his hat without a word, and they walked in silence to the hotel, and were at once shown in lo where Lord Inveraigii was walking up and down his room in a great state of agitation, listening to the report of the English doctor, who had just left the child's room. Linda, hardly glanced at Lord Inveraigh. as she went straight to tile doctor.

" How is she?" " i regret to say, very seriously ill." " oh:"

A passionate wail burst from Linda's breast, and she turned now to her father.

"Take me to her. please." Lord Inveraigh gave her a grateful look, and then shook his head.

" >70, Miss Draycote," he said, sadly. " I'm afraid I—

He did not finish, but glanced at the doctor.

" Certainly not!" said that gentleman, gravely, as a plump, pleasant-faced lady entered the room, and stopped, waiting to be introduced.

"Ah, Sophy," cried Lord Inveraigh, excitedly, " how does the nurse say she is?" " Very, very ill. George." was the reply. " Yes, Miss Drayeote : very ill." "Then I must see her!" cried Linda, passionately. "My dear young lady, it is my duty to tell you that she is suffering from a very infectious form of fever. She is being, well attended to. and it would be the height of imprudence for you to go near her bed." "Is this the lady she keeps ashing for?" said the stranger, rather distantly. "What!" cried Linda, " She 'has asked for me'.' Lord Inveraigh. you will not be so cruel as to shut me from her side?"

"I am most grateful to you tor coming, my dear Miss Drayeote, but the risk—the danger—l must say no."

"Say no':'" cried Linda, wildly. "Risk— danger? lam not afraid. J mustl must see Tier."

"God bless you!" said Lord Inveraigh, in a choking voice, as he. held out his hand. " She has been crying constantly for you, but youyou must not run the risk." "Take me to her!'' said Linda, firmly. "No one could nurse her as I would. Lord Inveraigh, 1 must sec her. No fever will injure me." "Drayeote." said Lord Inveraigh, turning to his visitor, " for heaven's sake take her away, or I shall consent." Linda went straight to the door without another word, and passed out. "Sophy!" cried Lord Inveraigh; " she must not go." The lady raised her shoulders a little. "It is too late to say that, George, dear," she replied ; " the lady has gone." The doctor followed to the sickroom, and returned at the end of ten minutes.

"Well?" said Lord Inveraigh, eagerly. "I can say nothing more," replied the doctor, " but that she is sleeping a little more easily." "Did she know Miss Draycote?" " Yes, at once." " You think there is risk of the infection?" said Sir Ronald, uneasily.

"There is risk, of course, sir but we must hope for the best." " And the young lady will of course take proper precautions?" said the pleasantfaced personage. "Of courseof course," said Lord Inveraigh. "Forgive me, Drayeote; Miss Brcssemer, my cousin. She lias come on hearing ci my darling's illness. A most unhappy time." "But a time when I hope to he of use, George," said the lady. "I must take all the precautions I can, and see that little Helen is properly nursed. What precautions has Miss Drayeote taken so as not to inhale poor Helen's breath?"

" None," said the doctor, drily. It was quite true. The poor child was tossing restlessly upon her pillow, half-de-lirious, and asking where .Miss Drayeote was, reiterating from time to time: "1 want her; tell her to come."

Linda heard her weary cry as she reached the room, and the nurse rose to forbid her entrance, but she was motioned back.

" Helenmy darling whispered Linda, as she sank on her knees by the bedside.

The child, uttered a cry of joy, flung her arms about her visitor's neck, and her face upon her bosom, and dropped asleep almost at once.

" I ought to have stopped her ; I ought to have stopped her," said Sir Ronald, some little time later, when the doctor had returned to the room where he and Lord Inveraigh were standing. " Poor girl! Poor girl!" '* It does not follow," said the doctor, "that a person tinned with confidence who enters a sick chamber cfltches a- disease. Where would the poor doctors and nurses be if it were so? Miss Drayeote seems to have no fear whatever of the infection."

" Tell her from me, please, that she must come now."

Lord Inveraigh darted an agonised look at the speaker. "Is it absolutely necessary that she should come away''" said the doctor. ' "Of course!'' said Sir Ronald, wonderingly. " .She cannot stay here." " I fear that if she leaves now it may have a bad effect upon the patient." "Draycote," cried Lord Inveraigh, excitedly, " believe me, no man could hold in higher esteem Miss Draycote's health and safety; but my poor darling!—l cannot help it, I am selfish. But think of my position now." Just at that moment Miss Bressemer came into the room, looking very solemn, and her voice was distant and cold as she said: " Miss Draycote asks me to tell you, Sir Ronald, that it. is impossible for hei to leave my niece. She wishes you to tell Lady Draycote not to be uneasy about her, and to explain how necessary it is for her to stay." Sir Ronald bowed, glanced at his watch, and moved towards the door without a word.

" Draycote," said Lord Inveraigh, as he walked down into the hall with Sir Ronald, " join with me to-night in praying that our darlings may be spared. Believe me, 1 am deeply moved by this act of devotion to my motherless child." " I have no faith in my prayers, Lord Inveraigh,'' said Sir Ronald, coldly. " Good-fright." He shook hands quickly, and hurried away. "It will not do—it will not do," muttered Sir Ronald, as he walked back. " With John Preston, yes. Put impossible here. It would mean disclosureor a scandal. No, no: it will never do." "Where is Linda'.'" said Lady Draycote. "How late you are !" " Yes, very. She is staying with little Helen." "What? Oh, Ronald, the infection—the risk "Yes. wife; and the risk of tattling'folk and their remarks." Has that Miss Bressenier come—Lord Inveraijjh's cousin'.'" " Yes, she is there." said Sir Ronald, with his brow all wrinkles.

"Oh, then, it doesn't so much matter; but it was foolish of Linda to go." " I begin to think that we ate. not our own masters sometimes."

"I do not understand what you mean." "Nor I either yet." said Sir Ronald, thoughtfully; "only that I begin to think it, is time we left herethat is, if it is not already too late." "Oh, Ronald! You think she will catch that dreadful fetrer?''

" Eh Oh no.. Oh no." " Not that one," he said to himself soon

after, "but there begins to )*>, a probability of an attack of the other. No, no. She i's not likely to be touched again." And Lord Inveraigh about that same time had stolen silently to his child's chamber. where by the light of a shaded lamp lie could see Miss Bressemer comfortably arrayed in a long dressing-gown, sitting back "in an easy-chair fast asleep, while, more faintly still, a graceful figure half-knelt, half-rested upon the lied, her bonnet thrown aside, her mantle still clinging to her dark dress, and round her neck two little while aims.

He stood by the. door, watching the group, so motionless that it might have been some, clever artist's work, till there, was a quick start, a faint cry. and then a muttering which sent, a thrill of agony through the father's breast.

"Hush, hush, my darling?"' came in a, low, deep whisper from the bed. " Helen, dearest. 1 will not leave von. I am here."

Then there, was a low. test less sigh. The little anas seemed to tighten round Linda's neck, and once more all was still, Lord Inveraigh stealing away without a sound, to descend tlis dark staircase to his own loom.

"It is only too real," lie said, softly. " J .veil to 'Asking her own lite for our darling's sake. And how she loves her! Ought 1 to feel jealous of her love"?" " No." In- said, softly, after a long pause. "A child rarely errs "in that. All"that is sweet and lovable and pure. Heaven bless her. and spare them both The dawn came stealing at last ovei the mountains, which flushed with orange and gold lights reflected from the placid lake, to strike through one bedroom window on a pale, clearly-cut aristocratic face, as Lord Inveraigh sat gazing straight before him. a, watcher through the night, while in tho room above Linda still knelt with the suffering child's arms about her neck, and her lips moving in prayer. After all those weary yens she had found something which had opened the sealed-tip love in. her woman's breast, mid in her agony of spirit her prayers had a ring of reproach in them, as in her blindness s»e asked—Had she not suffered enough for her girlish weakness? Was even her poor solase to be torn away? (To he continued.)