A ROSALIND OF THE BUSH.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XL, Issue 12282, 28 May 1903, Page 3

A ROSALIND OF THE BUSH.

EY KATHARINE WYNNE. Author of "The Madness of Love," ("A Strong Man's Lore." " Silken Bonds,' etc., etc., etc.

CHAPTER XVIII. NEWS FROM HOME. After all, Gilbert did not go the next day to Warabool. Miss Philadelphia considered a lesser personage might assist Amos Brown, and it would be better for the manager to superintend the arrangements for the increase of stock. He agreed with a readiness that pleased her, failing to recollect that this was the day Jim went to Burnt Bush Creek for letters. On the conclusion of the morning meal she accompanied her manager to the stockyard, rather to listen to and confirm his orders than to issue ker own. Evidently the shifting the management of the station on to his shoulders was an immense relief. She, however, kept up the mask of being the executive power. Gilbert had not only been directing but helping when, flushed and heated, he saw Miss Philadelphia standing by one of the bullocks, caressing its beautiful, velvety ears with one hand, while the other held her skirt from the ground. It .made a pretty group, only Miss Philadelphia was laughing, as at a joke; and as her eyes were fixed on him Gilbert took it' personally. "What is it?" he asked, a trifle curtly. "I daresay I did look ridiculous." "You?'' she answered. "I was thinking how my friends up there"moving her head northward" would stare to see me now. Before I was left alone I would not have believed it myself." His features clouded. "Neither would I of myself," lie remarked. " But there is this 'difference between you and me, Miss Spring. You are here of your own choice. lam the victim of necessity." "Did you not wish to come?" she questioned, hastily. "Are you not content?" He looked into her eyes, and penitence gave deeper earnestness to his words. "I am more than content here," he rejoined. "I am happy. Happier than I believed it ever possible to be ; and it's all thanks to you. Please consider me anything but ungrateful." She lifted her eyes to his face, and he perceived in them fears of sympathetic emotion. Then,", she said, in that low tone which sounded so musical, "I have not lived in vain, if I have made one being happy. Mr. Fermoy"—abruptly—" I wish you would tell me your history?"' He shook his head.

" There are portions in some men's lives," lip. rejoined, "upon, Which they turn adouble lock and key. Better if they could equally shut it to themselves. They say we all have one secret. Perhaps you have—and can understand'.'"

She glanced toward the toe of her boot, which was pressing a stone into the ground "Yes," she replied, softly. "I have my secret, too—you are right. Not a great one, though ;'not double locked. One day I may tell it." A pause. But for the shadow of Florizel, Miss Philadelphia was very near the realisation of her desire at that instant. Her handsome manager's heart warmed to her ; lie seemed drawn strongly to her as he had never teen vet. "I wish "l could tell you," he almost whispered. "I am certain I should have your sympathy." "I am sure you would" —and somehow the tears appealed to have got into her voice. " Whatever be its nature, you, I feel, were not to olame— —this reverse — shall I call it so?" " It is the correct term ; thank you, Miss Spring. No, I was not to blame ; I was the victim. You understand —the sins of the fathers —" He stopped abruptly, flushing crimson, seeing he had said that which might lead her to suspect the shame of his birth, which, unless serious necessity compelled, he intended to reveal to no one. " That is obsolete, or should be, save in inherited disease or temperament," remarked Miss Spring. " A man should he judged by his own good or evil deeds alone; another s has no right to handicap him in the world's race. Do you know" —smiling--" think you will unlock those double-locked doors one day, and tell me vouv secret, then I will tell you mine. It is scarcely a fair bargain," she added. "Mine is but ah episode in a life—yours, I can see, is life itself." Perhaps thinking she had said too much, certainly noticing "that the "hands" were regarding them out of the corners of their eves, she moved away. "Fermoy was not sorry, for he was conscious of" being much moved. Sympathy — a woman's sympathy, especiallyis ever acceptable to a man; that seems human nature. ' Why should I not tell her?" he thought; but even as the idea came it was followed quickly by the shrinking from opening these old wounds, by renewing all the old torture; beside, she would blame Florizel. and he could not permit that. He had tinned to rejoin the men when he heard Miss Philadelphia, calling him. She was standing at the gate on one side, Jim, back from Burnt. Bush Creek, was on the other. Miss Philadelphia hold up the letter-bag to show its arrival. She had, apparently, already divined how he built upon the coming round of mail-day. . On reaching the gate he found her looking at his letter. " Yes," she smiled, " it has come. I guessed you would be pleased. ' Good news from Home; good news for me.' Well, I just hope it is good news. You've a regular correspondent, at any rate, only it's always the same." " I have but one friend," replied Gilbert, gravely. "In England," put ill Miss Philadelphia. " I take it as unkind if you don't mean that." " Of course— did mean that," he rejoined, quickly. " Only one in all the Old Country. Here, at Sweetwater Plains, I have. 1 believe, many." "That's well," said Miss Philadelphia, beginning to open her letters. Accepting this as a. signal to retire, Gilbert, returned to bis superintending the men, the letter from Marlow Summerton placed securely in his pocket. He longed to read it, but, as it has ahead} been said, he never perused these epistles before witnesses. It was not long, however, before he made an opportunity. Going to his own room he took out "the letter. Then he paused. A sudden dread to open it came over him. Something whispered that there was bad news, not good, in it. Why should he think that? Where could 'come the bad news? Had he not long ago prepared himself foi the worst, wondering often that it was so long coming? Pshaw! this was womanish. The next instant the letter was opened. It began gaily enough, quite in Summerton's old, light-hearted fashion. Numerous quotations, proved he had Shakespere on the brain, as badly as ever, but no word was there of Florizel. The absence of any reference increased Gilberts foreboding. " He knew his friend so- well. Nob a word, and here was the end: "Yours, dear old boy, until cremation do us part, Marlow SiraMKivroN." Ah, here was the postscript, with the news he dreaded: "Dear boy, be a man. Take your courage, your pride in both hands. What I have led you to expect has happened. Florizel has made her choiceher marriage is now certain." Gilbert Fermoy could have read no more had there been more written. Every vein seemed to swell to suffocation, his brain whirled. As it was, he fell forward on the table, sobbing like a. woman. He had expected it, as we at times expect the death of those we love, but somehow it does not deprive the blow, when it comes, of any of its pain. After the first stunned sensation wore off, thoughts whirled through his brain too swiftly to he particularised. At one moment it seemed he had never realised, or rather believed, they were really parted. The next he blamed her, then' himself, and started up with some wild idea of hastening back to England and staying the marriage. How many of us have experienced such moments; such wild thoughts? It is not

folly; for the space it is madness. Some never get back over the boundary. What mysteries life, joy, suffering are. Gilbert was aroused by Miss Philadelphia's voice. Looking through the window he saw her in the garden. " Such a woman as that," he muttered, "would never act like this," bringing his hand heavily down on the letter. Then he laughed cynically, adding: "Would I not once have said the same of Florizel? I would have staked my life upon her unchanging love." After awhile he remembered the men. and the expected cattle. With an effort he pulled himself together and went out. Almost instantly he came upon Miss Spring. She might have been waiting for him. On perceiving his face, starting, she said, with concern : "It is bad newsnot good, then?" "Yesthat is, I do not know whether I ought to consider it so, but — do. Still, it was what I have been expecting," he replied, quietly. " I shall get over it." "I hope so, lam so sorry —I wish I could help you"softly. He regarded her gratefully, gravely. " You are very kind, thank you," he remarked. " But there are some things one must bear alone. Please forget —as — must." "I understand," she replied, letting him pass. When he had gone she went to her rock-ing-chair on the verandah, and sat down. An expression of distress was on her features, tears were in her eyes. Once, however, she murmured, smiling: " Surely his trouble will help to bring him to me.' But it did not. Miss Philadelphia had so far made a miscalculation. Her manager was, if it could be termed so, more distant, and found, or pretended to find, work which hurried him from his meals, and kept him much to his room. "If I could but rouse him, and make him jealous," thought Miss Philadelphia, again. "There is the worst of this place ; there is no one to flirt with. I can't flirt with the general." Suddenly an idea crossed her brain, and that evening she stated her intention of paying the promised visit to Silver Peak Station on the morrow, and her manager advanced no opposition.

(To he continued daily.)