A SUMMER SORROW.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLV, Issue 13782, 22 June 1908, Page 3

A SUMMER SORROW.

BY "EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS. ; CHAPTER I. Tctk splendour of : the setting sun without had sent a wave of hot red gold into the big old-fashioned drawing-room; one or two pictures , on ■ the walls and a large ivory-mounted mirror had caught the reflection of the vivid colouring and seemed ablaze as if with fire. In the remoter corners of the room, grey, misty shadows of twilight were gathering themselves together, but the* long, open windows were full of the sun's glory, and the tall, graceful fronds of a palm-tree, that stood near them, were outlined clear and distinct against the gorgeous background of the evening eky. A young girl, in a gown of some soft, grey material was sitting at the piano in the twilight side of the room, her fingers touching the keys in a subdued, dreamy, way, while her whole epirit was awed into a silence of most eloquent adoration for this beautiful ending to a most beautiful day. She ceased playing almost unconsciously as the moments passed, and resting back in her chair she watched the delicate transitions of colouring in the sky beyond—the deepening of the radiant yellow into a glowing orange red, then the fading of this orange into a rosy pink, then the darkening of this pink into a ripe purple, and gradually tho merging of the whole into a delicious grey, half rose, half purple, entirely soft, refreshing, and full of peace.

As the last streak of red melted faintly away, Margaret Desborough awoke out of her dream of rapt enjoyment and admiration. The sound of a voice came to her ears in the twilight silence, a pretty, clear, young voice, that came from the distant shadows of the garden out beyond. "Peg! Where are you? Peg, dear !" The girl went out hurriedly through the open window. "Here, Judy darling," she answered. She paused a moment to ascertain exactly where the pretty questioning voice was located, and then went swiftly across the lawn to where a patch of white showed out clear against the darkness of the trees. "Oh, Judy 1" she said, with keenest reproach in her voice, when she came up to the patch of white. " Oh, Judy! And you have no shawl and no hat, and the dew is falling as fast as possible. The grass is not merely damp—it is wet." Peg stooped and put her palm on the ground tor testimony to her words. " Quite wet," she repeated, as she rubbed the moisture from her hand. " How can you be eo foolish, clear?" Judith gave a little laugh, half amusement, hall weariness. " Please don't scold me, Peg. A little dew more or less cannot hurt me—and I was so happy out here. 1 had forgotten there was such a hideous thing in existence as a shawl, and now you come and spoil it all." There was a little movement of impatience from the white-robed figure m tho b;g garden-chair. " ifou are just as bad as Paul!" Peg did not answer for the space of one moment, then she spoke gravely, and the tone of her voice was not a happy one.

" It being very anxious about you and earnestly desiring' to see yon always well and strong constitutes being ' bad' to you, then I am afraid Paul and I are a couple j of villains," she said. ■ ! Judith Fcilden gave a little sigh and j rose slowly out of the garden-chair. \ I " Now I see I am going to be bullied. \ so I had better 4 give iii at the very be- j ginning and save myself if possible. Nasty old Peg l'j,< she added, twisting her \vm with a sort* 4 of, careless affection about tr sister. "Cross old Peg i I do love 'Au so much when you are nice-w-and I &\- hate, you so much when! you are the oiler thing. Why don't you leave preaching and all the" refit of that sententious prfcene&.oi' wisdom, to Paul? You may trj as long as you live, but I tell you i'rakly you will never be so successful a lire as Paul—never ! So don't waste Jtnyttuore time in trying to imitate him." iuirgaret Desborough walked across the lawn with her sister's arm clinging to h|r, but there was no pleasure to her •in ins loving touch at this moment; instead, her young heart was troubled and full n pain that had been creeping slow- | ly bul surely into her thoughts these few I weeks past—ever since Paul Feilden's beautikil young wife had com© down from her pttty, smart London house to pick up heath' and strength in the fresh country aii-and amid the tender euro and ; wholesale, if shabby, surroundings of j i her old home. ■ Peg knew very little about, j the wo(d that existed outside the pre- j cincts o\ this home. The whole of her j nineteen years had been spent in one simple, unaentful groove. The greatest j evcn'i, in\eed, that had occurred in her j life had Wn the marriage of her elder j sister, Juftth, to Paul Feildeu, a young j man who i&d already made for himself { a name—a 1 , high position in his proles- i sion as a banister, and who, a few months i after hit, Carriage with Judith Des- | borough, had succeeded, most unexpectedly, both to tie baronetcy and a considerable fortune. \ That had. happened two years before, and Peg hail \fcen very little of her sister during fode long" two years. News of Judith's socApss, of her reputation as a beauty, of hu'eostly dresses and splendid jewels, of hr entertainments, reached her family t'iijugh the medium of the newspapers, of g,ssin and of her own short, hastily-scrUled and veiy rare letters. Save for In, there was little in common between Ah; town eister and the country. Lady Fallen, it is true" had more than once Wy'tten, urging Peg to pack up her modesVwardrobe and spend a long month with h\i at her town house; but Peg had always Wt a refusal. Loudon life, with all it. luxury and gaiety and mental and bo&\r enjoyment, was not for her. Her -was home, to fill the void left by her %d mother, to be a help and comfort to \> r weak, kindly, improvident father, a \mtector and tutor to her two younger Voters and general buffer and fighter for \i e whole household against the fiercest,\jiost persistent of all enemies—aristocrat iy, poverty. She had somehow From', /.he very first stepped into the place si? now" held. Times had been no bettor* or smoother with them when Judith Wl left the schoolroom, but Judith haduever taken upon herself the duties and the responsibilities which Peg held to V. her life's task, and almost before she hal well-nigh realised the enjoyment of beingjree from the It-odium of studies and of turning her attention to such amusements aid gaieties as might come her way, Paul FeTJen had fallen in love with her, and Jifeb had fluttered away like a lovely butterfly to the garden of sunshine and h.ppinees which her husband's love spread,lief ore her pretty young feet. \ Young as she had been then, Pe; had heaved a sigh of unconscious eonteii'in seeing her beautiful sister transplanted from her old home to a. new one so irsnitely bettor in every eense of the word,ln her simple, earnest, thoughtful fashW Peg had' allowed herself to love her b\»-ther-in-law very quickly. She felt a $. liance, a sense of comfort, a kind of prv tection oven, in the very thought of him and she had been wont to find her great* est content in remembering the sweetnes4 of the love story which had ended so hap-\ pily for Judith and given her a lifo that was, above all, most sympathetic to hexnature and her young loveliness. It was left for Judith herself to destroy this sense of pleasure and content in her sister's mind, when, all unexpectedly and with a certain lack of consideration and, it might almost k be said, of courtesy, too, Lady Feilden made a sudden and tardy appearance in her old home. . She. had been ordered to try immediate change of air and rest, and, with one of her capricious fancies, she elected to seek both these essential things in her father's shabby household instead of in her usual luxurious apartments in a foreign hotel. Lady Feilden had been three weeks now in her old home, and slid had made no announcement as vet of her departure. Somehow, though the presence of so distinguished a guest made great demands on the household accommodation, on the narrow bounds of the household purse, and kept

Pea's busy mind more than usually occupied, the girl had conceived a strange dread of hearing Judith say anything about going away. She could hardly have explained this feeling even to herself- bhe only knew it was. with her, definite and most emnhatic. She felt that so long as Judith was near her that jarring pain, that faint, vague touch of- apprehension, which was not altogether comprehensible, but which also was most clearly denned, would grow no greater. " ' p She was sorrv for her sister, yet eg could not find It in her honest heart to give Judith much sympathy. She lelt that this spirit of discontent, this languid evnicism, this half-veiled sneer at life in general and at Paul Feilden in particular, was not only most unworthy to any.woman, but was in Judith's case distinctly ungrateful, distinctly wrong. She had a yearning desire over her sister as a mother might yearn over her child. She longed to see again the Judith of the past— happy, sunshiny Judith, with never a frown on her brow or a care in her heart, and to whom the word "cynicism" would have possessed no meaning at all. - V|v°tthat the change that had come outwardly ; to her sister was unsatisfactory. If any-, thing, Peg saw a greater degree of loveli- i ness in Judith as she was now than she had possessed formerly. The vigour and merry laughter and bright, quizzical speech were gone indeed, but the girl with all her charm of youth and hearty enjoyment of life had never been so beautiful or so fascinating as this slender, ; fra-gile-looking woman, with her languorous grace and her marvellous eyes shining like jewelled violets out of the ivory setting of her face. It was when she realised to its full extent the power of this gift which Nature.: had' bestowed so bountifully upon Judith;: when she remembered the high position which Paul Feilden's talents in the first place, and his inherited title and wealthy in the second, had bestowed upon her sis--ter; when she contrasted this sister's life.i —all riches and sunshine and roses—with; the long, hard struggle with poverty and' all .its disheartening and blighting rami-fications-that had constituted the, meaning, of her own existence up to tho present, that Peg had felt a touch of anger with her regret and a sense of impatience seize her for the trouble which Judith managed to fashion, somehow, out of a happiness greater than falls to the lot of most mortals. •

There was no confidence between them, however, and very little conversation. All the long', hot summer day, when Peg was busy with her innumerable ditties, Judith sat under the tress' on the broad, green lawn, with sometimes a book in her hand and sometimes some trifling pretence of work, but most frequently with no occupation at all, just leaning back in the low chair, with her eyes fixed unseeingly on the distance and her pretty jewelled hands lying clasped together on her lap. The two younger girls, from their schoolroom window, looked down with wondering admiration on that beautiful, silent form, with the sunlight flashing on its diamond rings and the folds of some dainty sum-mer-gown falling gracefully about its feet. She was to them a being from another world. They worshipped her beauty, but they had no love for her nor even a* sense of kinship with her. They called her sister, but it was only in the utterance of the word they claimed relationship with this sister. They admired her ungrudginly, but they would never have dared throw their arms about her neck and hug and kiss her, as thev hugged and Kissed Peg. Vaguely, perhaps, they wished in their inmost hearts that this queen-like sister would go away before very long, then they would be able to race and romp about.-.the old garden, and shout and sing and laugh to their heart's content as in their usual fashion, but they said nothing to one another, and they said nothing to Peg. They made themselves as happy as they could in the dingy old schoolroom, and they took furtive peeps from the window at that silent graceful form under, the distant trees, as, at something that was incomprehensible as well as beautiful. '-'-".

As for Judith, she never troubled herself about them. If they had been allowed to come into close contact with her, she. would have been irritated by their sturdy, sunburnt individuality and bored by their clumsy companionship. Since, however, they never made their appearance within; a hundred yards of wherever Lady Fodder.! might be, she managed to forget even their very existence. A fact that did not escape Peg, and was not a, little hurtful to her, for she loved her children dearly. Judith sighed wearily once or twice,' as they crossed the lawn in the twilight hush. The servant was lighting the lamps in the drawing-room. " Dinner will be late to-night," Peg said, breaking the silence at last. " Father cannot get back from Knollwood before a quarter-past eight. I hope you will not mind, Judith." Lady Feilden 'laughed slightly, as she slipped her arm from her sister's and passed in through the long, open window. "You know how much interest I bestow upon dinner at any time." She walked slowly down the quaint, low-roofed room, in her trailing white gown. At a small table where a lamp was burning she came to a standstill. The evening letters had arrived and were lying therein a small pile. The postman had rarely failed to make a, journey to Sourthorne Park since Lady Feilden had come there as a guest. Peg was flitting out of tHe doorway to take a cursory glance at the dinner-table, and perhaps to peep in at the big, red-bricked kitchen also, to satisfy herself that all was in order as it should be, when her sister's voice arrested her. Lady Feilden hud turned. The lamplight fell full mi her beautiful face. There was a bright patch of colour on her usually pale cheeks, ami a new and hard expression a.bout her lips. ''You are honoured," she said, in that cold, half-sneering tone that was so disagreeable to Peg to hear. "Paul has written to you." Pec came forward hurriedly, and took the hitter, while Lady Feilden, after a momenta pause, sank down in a chair and began opening and reading her numerous correspondence. She looked up after a while, as her sister crossed the room toward her. "Well:" she queried, with a faint smile. "Judith, will you read this letter—it is all about you. Paul is anxious for news." Peg paused almost perceptibly. " I had no idea you had not written to him, Judith," she said in a low voice, after that pause. Lady Feilden made no response, only stretched out her hand for the letter, and Peg stood by hesitatingly and exceedingly troubled. Sir Paul's letter was not very long. Itwas dated from some chambers in the Temple, and it ran thus : "Dear Peg,—l shall be greatly obliged to you if you will kindly send me a tew words telling me your real opinion of Judith's health at this present moment. "I am very anxious about her. I have been hoping to receive an answer to my last letter lor the past two days, and, as she has not written, I have begun to fear she may not be so well again. I had a strong wish to run down and see her today, but it is not easy for me to leave town at this particular time and, moreover, I reassured myself that if by any unhappy chance she were to be really ill, you would be certain to lot me know. What I fear, however, is that the heat may have tried her strength, and consequently _ you will be doing mo a great kindness if you will write me a line by return, giving me the latest news about her. It is necessary for me to say that, if Judith desires it, I will run down to .Sonrtherno at an hour's notice, but I shall not do this unless she wishes it, as I am not overwhelmved with business, but I am content knowing my dear wife must be lappy in your tender care. In haste and nith love to you all, dear Peg, your afifcetionate brother, Paul Feildex." Judith read the letter through in a calm, o*l way, and when it was finished she foded it up and returned it to her sister. 'What a sincerity of affection ! What a Yealth of anxious love ! To wait two days in a state of tormenting suspense, and then to write a letter, with a full dayU lapse before he can receive an answer!'' Slir laughed a. hard, fierce sort of lakh, "' E'aul evidently does not know thcrcu such a thing as telegraphy in this nineteenth century of ours. Pray reassure him. '%. I am'perfectly well." The\ girl beside her flushed hotly, pausedUnd then snoke eagerly, earnestly.!« -\\ ;■' '~ ' " YVilVyou no) scud him a few words fiujyj:."

Lady Feilden glanced upward an instant, and then said, "No very coldly, very abruptly, yet .very decidedly. She went, on reading her letters, and Peg turned and walked slowly away. She was absent about a quarter of an hour. When she returned, her young heart still heavy and burdened with a sens;© of trouble which she did not quite understand, but which oppressed her all the \ same, Judith was sitting at the writing-table, pen in hand. She rose after a few moments. " Can you have this sent to the post to-night, •" Peg?" she asked carelessly, •wearily. Peg assented in a quiet way. " I will give the letter to Carter," she said. And as Lady Feilden sank again int> the easy-chair, the girl went for a second time out of the room. ; A sort of eager hope had seized her for one second as Judith had put the* letter into her hand, but the hope was not destined to be realised, for, as Peg crossed the old hall to the servants' quarters, her eyes went to the superscription on the envelope, written in Lady Feilden"s bold yet graceful hand, and she saw that Judith had not sent an answer to her husband's anxious request, but that the letter was addressed to another man—to a name Peg had never heard spoken or mentioned before. It was a name destined to be written in the history of her fair young life in letters of fire, but how little she knew or imagined this in this, the first moment of meeting it (To be continued!.