A ROSALIND OF THE BUSH.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XL, Issue 12272, 16 May 1903, Page 3 (Supplement)

A ROSALIND OF THE BUSH.

BY KATHARINE WYNNE, Author of " The Madness of Love," " A Strong Man's Love," " Silken Bonds," etc., etc., etc. CHAPTER VIII. AMONG THE WELSH HILLS. None had been more hopelessly and wrecked than Gilbert Fermoy. In a day, from living au prince, he had been reduced to what was, comparatively, absolute penury, while to poverty was added shame. To have faced society, when, as it very soon happened, it was ringing with the news— truth not being known —was impossible ; so he quitted London, letting but one friend know his address, Harlow Summerton. Indeed, Summerton, suspecting what he might do in this bitter trial, refused to leave him. And after the first sense of irritation at having his solitude invaded, Gilbert found comfort in his presence.

Gilbert Fermoy went off to Wales, bury ing himself amidst the wild, romantic scenery of its hills. He wanted solitude to think.

He had said truly. The old life was dead; the new had begun. And what means had he to face it? A hundred or two at his bankers', his furniture, his horses. " •'•.

All these, which might seem a' p/city little nest-egg to commence life with some, appeared insignificant to one who had lived as he had.

Still, in the deep, lonely silence, of those Welsh hills, the utter absence of any distraction, made Summer ton fear that his friend might put an end to an existence so full of bitterness and sorrow. It is at such times one echoes Tennyson's words: In a life so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?

The answer readily enough comesaye. So, indeed, might it have been with Gilbert, but for his staunch friend, who stuck to him like a burr; and, often at the risk of offence, forced his miud from the Hades of gloom and despair into which it threatened to sink and be forever overwhelmed. Thus, like the weak sapling that has to be for a while supported, Gilbert, in about a month, began to acquire sufficient strength to stand alone and reflect seriously upon the future. . He had, indeed, come into mans true inheritance—the inheritance of work—but at what? What was he to do/ And now the two friends beheld Sir Koyston Fermoy's vengeance in its darkest malignity. Gilbert's education had taught him absolutely nothing more than being a gentleman, with the capacity ot spending money. . . "The youncr schoolboy just leaving school," so often advertised for, was far more capable of making a living than he. One afternoon, the two friends sitting alter a long, exhaustive tramp on the side of a hill, Gilbert, to Summerton's delight, spoke seriously of the future. " It is no good going on ar.y longer like this, old boy," he said. "I've been thinking over it very gravely. There is a

want af dignity about it, of which I should be ashamed. A man is a man. Heaven has given him brain, intellect, muscle. It's a stock in trade most of us

bring into the world. The rest are items." He paused, plucking aX the short herbage, Summcrton was about to speak,, when he went on : "It the loss of a woman is not worthy to drive a man to the bad, I urn r.uro the loss of wealth should not be. Happiness lies very much in our own hands. it we will to content with a star and not try foz the moon, life may be made, at least, bearable." *'M\ dear old man," said Summerton, "that's most wise and excellent philosophy. Look at that rustic yonder, down in the valley, see how ha swings along, singing, too, in Welsh, pleasanter to hear than to understand ; I'd wager many a millionaire would envy his capacity for restful sleep. He is evidently content" ""Ah. yes," out in Gilbut, " just because lie is u rustic. A round peg in a round hole. The deuce of the thing is when you are a square peg, and arc suddenly tried to ho. forced into a round hole. You; sec, I was not born to be a rustic. If I were to offer my services to the owner of yonder farm, he would either laugh in my face, or send me about my business, believing me light-lingered, because my hands are. those of a gentleman." " Hut there's no need ot your going back to the primitive Adam," laughed Summerton., "Each to his own trade, you know. If a lady-bird Hy upon otu hand, and w." want to get rid of it, we don't put it on a laurel bush. If we try, it will cling to our epidermis; but; if we take it to a rose tree it will scurry on to it of its own accord. "Very sagely put," said Gilbert; "but will you have the kindness to tell me which is nn' trade which is the right bush upon, which 1 am to crawl to work and feed and fatten? It's no —Summerton not at once replying— am an Ishmael, ill a land where 1 have no place." "Nonsense. You said just now," cried Summerton, " heaven had given you brain, intellect—

"111 a state of Nature," put in the other, "and civilisation will have none of them. No, old man, I've been thinking much over it, and I'm lit for nothing; for all things require 'in apprenticeship, and indentures cease at twenty-one. A courier would not be bad, especially if the lady'smaid were pretty; but I don't know one language save my own sufficiently well to talk it. A groom or stableman, for I can ride, but I've never groomed a horse in my life. A waiter at. a hotel or restaurant would suit, but they say it's not good pay, and I'd hardly like to takes tips."

iSummerton had begun by laughing, bufe now, sitting more erect, exclaimed, with assumed indignation, but a certain choky" feeling in his throat: " Don't talk such nonsense, old man. You'll be proposing billiard-marking next." "By Jove, Marlow, you have hit the blot!" ejaculated Gilbert,* with a merriment that, to his friend, was most emotionally sad. "I could do that. When one's a' pretty good stroke, too, there's many half-, crowns to be picked up." " If you go on like that, old fellow," eaidt Summerton, "I've done with you. Foii heaven's sake, be serious."

"As heaven knows," remarked Gilbert Fermoy, fervently, with abrupt change of manner, "I'm serious enough. Haven't you yet discovered that saddest heart is often hidden behind a mask of mirth? Sunnnertou. tell me what I can do, what I am capable to do, and I will do it. No; you are silent; I am capable of nothing.". " Every man is capable of something," said the other. "It's only finding the right bush." " Ah! there's the rub." "If you only asked Stanley Greaves 01 Martin Plethcott; they have influence—" Gilbert Fermoy stopped him quickly. " Not another word in that direction, Marlow!" he exclaimed. "It is impossible. It may be foolish, but I can't crush out self-respect. I can't go, cap in hand, as a pleader, where, I may say, I have ruled. No; some of my borrowed plumage yet clings about me. All these men have been my equals. I cannot yet ask them for patronage and alms in penury. I'd sooner would, indeed, could I wear a mask over my featurestramp up and down Pall Mall as a sandwich-man, earning a shilling a day. I wonder." with a sudden, bitter laugh, " what Fiomel would think of that, were she to coma riding up a. cock-horse, and, the mask slipping aside, she saw me'.'" -. Then the avalanche of misery, of the contrast of this present life to the past one, rushed over him. Flinging himself prone, face downward on the grass, h. groaned: " Oh, heaven! I shall go mad! Why not, and forget? I cannot bear it— cannot."

After all, the outburst did him good. It was the safety-valve for his suppressed emotion.

When he sat up again he was caimer, more reasonable.

It was finally decided that Summerton should return to London and sell Gilbert's bachelor belongings, his horses, and dogcart. " Perhaps there :are some fellows wlic 1 * would take the rooms, furnished as they, are," said Fermoy. "There are many who would, gladly," interpolated his friend. "Well, old boy, that i; just what I don't want. Don't you know there's a spirit about a fellow's home, where he's been happy, which, though only chairs and tables, becomes part of himself. When I look back to the jolly times I've passed in those rooms, the dreams of a joy never now to be realised, the thought that I have dreamed in this chair or that, the' friend who has sat here or there, I can't endure the idea of strangers coming into possession. By Jove! it seems sacrilege. They ara part of one's self. So, dear boy, scatter them far and wide, that henceforth they, may live.but in my own memory." Summerton agreed. He perfectly wall understood. Those chairs and tables, the fashion in which they stood, had been rendered as sacred as an altar to Fermoy, owing to the dreams he had dreamed of Florizel there. Her spirit yet clung about them, as the perfume about fading flowers. So Summerton went and got, a.s he knew well he should, fancy prices for the articles. " Just as a remembrance of poor old Fermoy. don'tcher-know? A doosed hard thing to be disinherited just as you want the vital fluid of existence most. Why did the old chap do it?" Summerton answered as best he could for his friend, which necessitated very little information, and that ambiguous. Gilbert's " inheritance"' remained yet a mystery. The books that had been made on the event were rendered of no service; and the affair was talked over incessantly, until another topic of interest arising, it was relegated to the waste-paper basket of forgetfulness. Of the truth no inkling was obtained. Summerton, leal and true, guarded that disgrace from public knowledge as religiously, , as though it had been his own. .Jubilant owing to his success and the business qualities he had found most'unexpectedly devwwp/>d i' l his nature, Summerton, one afternoou, put in an appearance Cb the Welsh inn.

"By Jove! Have you realised all that?" ejaculated Fermoy. " Mopsy, old boy, you've certainly missed your vocation. It's commercial, if anything. Let's see; it will not be a bad start for the future waiter or billiard-marker, ebV" " Certainly not," responded Sumertoo, seriously. '"Why not take a pub. or restaurant* of your own? Lots of the fellow"! would patronise you for a time. I'd think or it if I were you. You might realise even a fortune by renting a street-crossing _ or starting a mechanical organ, and wearing a placard in your hat, 'Disinherited.' You're rather a good-looking fellow, and at the seaside, during the season, the pennies would come rolling in to a good tune. _ " Then the tune would be in the mechanical organ exclaimed Fermoy, giving themost genuine laugh he had since the receipt of Sir Royston's letter. " Still, the perambulating organ has its advantages. One must perambulate, too. That would be preferable to the continual odouv of meats at a restaurant, the stuffiness of '3. billiard-room, or rubbim, down horses. I fear I should find it difficult to acquire the ' shur' in the latter." ■■•.-.'

"Oh, put your mind into it," responded Suminerton, solemnly. "Home wasn't built in a day, you know. All may bo done with practice; but, while practising, perhaps you wouldn't mind giving consideraton to a proposal I have to make." "Certainly not; out with it, Mopsy." '">, " Well, my mother's second cousin married a Frenchman. The families correspond about once 01 twice a year—l may sayj.

■when either of them wants information or assistance. Madame Philippon is, at the present moment, in that position, so she has written to my mater, xhey have a son, aged nineteen or twenty, who has been ordered by the faculty to travel. He is suffering from overstudy; he needs amusement and a companion—a governor. Ihe latter must be young, not, given to study; steady, with a, good moral character, a conscience; and a gentleman. I thought, my deal Fermoy, the cap would fit." '"Me?" smiled his friend. "Bear-leader isn't a bad office sometimes; but you said the young overstudy was French." "True, but my third cousin is English; and, thouch wedded to a Frenchman, has retained her insular prejudices. Steadiness and a moral character'being" required, she is of opinion she can procure one possessing these attributes better in her own land. Hence the request to my mater — my mater's request to me, whether I knew such a person, who might safely be relied upon to see no moral harm come to ou- third or fourth cousin—l get awfully mixed in these relationships." "And you, Summerton. instantly thought of me!"'exclaimed Fermoy, with sigus of emotion. (

"Hobsou's choice, Fermoy," was the reply, to still try and keep up the light tone the" conversation was commenced in. "Where else could I find a. gentleman of moral character—with a conscience—young, and not given to studv? My dear boy, if it hadn't been for me you would have taken away from college but little mure than you brought from Eton." "That's true, old man. I was never urged to learn, only to spend. I see the reason now," his hands gripping, his lips compressed. "Let the dead past bury the dead." ejaculated Summerton. "What do you say? Will you be bearleader to my fourth consull have got it now — Edouaid Philippon?"' "Grant me one answer first. Do they know"

"Your history?" concluded Summerton, as the other paused. " Not a syllable. They do not even know we are friends, and need not. The mater has sent me on the quest as Sir Launcelot fur the Holy Grail." "Then, thank you, Mopsy, from my heart," exclaimed Fermoy, extending his hand to grasp the other's. "You a:e my friend, indeed. I rather fancy the post; at least, it. will give me time to rest, to look about me, and arrange my plans for the future. Where are we to go first?" " Algiers." "Thank heaven! it's away from Europe," said Fennoy. For some time itirlher they talked, and all the time a question hovering on Fermoy's lip, which he was anxious to put, but dared not.

At last, however, when the twilight descending darkened the room, with a con scious tightening of the chest and loss oi colour, he said:

"How long were you in London, Mopsv?" " Ten da vs.

" Did you see—her?" It was out at last. Had he seen her'.'' Spoken to her? Fermoy had been living upon those two questions. The answer came: " No, dear boy. But 1 heard. She and Lady Strathearn are gone to Vienna." Fermoy did not speak, and for a time silence reigned in The room. (To be continued daily.)