SEYMOUR CHARLTON.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLVI, Issue 14103, 3 July 1909, Page 3 (Supplement)

SEYMOUR CHARLTON.

BY W. B. MAXWELL, Author of '"The Countess of Maybury." v- ' < "Fabulous Fancies." "The Bagged Messenger." "The - Guarded Flame." etc.. etc. \ [COPYRIGHT.] ' CHAPTER XIII. ': WrnriiK forty-eight hours Gladys was to • ,tand by her lover's side and > ceive the blessings of the Church. it' Her father had long since blessed her— v in a somewhat careless and perfunctory .manner. "What, my dear, engaged again? Well, I said there were good fish ': in the sea." He was preoccupied with his own affairs, boasting continually of tome great syndicate that had requested, ■"'• or was about to request, his assistance. He could talk only of himself, did not require his daughter's society, and could not attend to her trivial concerns. Per- ' haps if he had let her now describe the gigantic size and magnificent glittering 1 teaks of the new fish that had come out " of the ski for her, he might have consent- • ed to hear more. She had obtained permission to invite ''•'■■ him to the wedding. She tried to tell him •:- r of how this second engagement was clos-P-*inc But he would not listen to her fairytale. As toon as she began he interruptr ed her. . -.. . Tell me all about it some other tune. >" This was in the little room behind the " chop, and she had waited until Mrs., Pas: call his constant companion, went upstairs to fetch the evening whisky and water. "My luck is turning," said Mr. Copland exuberantly, and he pointed to docketed • Tetters and papers on the table before him. '• " Big things-T-very big things— opening out before me. lam on the upside at last. And no matter how high : 1 ike, there'll be a place for you, my little lady. You've shared all my bad luck, and" vou shall have your full share of the, good luck. ... But leave me done now, my dear." Mrs. Pascal! came down with, the whtiekv bottle and the glasses—one for papa and one for herself—and Gladys left I papa with tender feelings. She would al- ' xvays remember this of papa; he had promised that she should enjoy. whatever good luck fell to him. '■ \ , She wished for his presence at the church, but now . she decided that she would not ask for it. She would tell him --all in a letter—which he could read at lei- ■ ■ sure. In any case he would nut have come -to the church without hie partner. This ; thought confirmed her decision; she would spare her lord the attendance of Mrs. Paecall. . •■■::■. v •,

, ; ' But she must have someone with her; a bride cannot- go quite alone to seek the ~: ; . Bridegroom. There was no one except y Irene whom she could beg to act as brides- :;; maid ; and perhaps ■~ Irene _ would already have gone away. London, including Bays--4 water, . was almost empty the August -; - quiet : had ; come upon lately crowded :" streets; cabs and railway omnibuses laden ; v with luggage seemed to be the only traffic; :';' everyone, : old and young, who had not yet gone, was going now to make happy holi- ■£:;"..'. day. '- : ' : -' > - >;' '■' - '.And no child carrying last year's spade and pail, skipping for joy on the station < platform, flying on wings of thought to .• yelkw sands and th& blue sea— happiest child of all the holiday-makers was hap- ■ ' pier than Gladys as she thought of her |* /holiday. - , The honeymoon as planned, in its original humbleness and simplicity, was to be v. unaltered. They would go .. to Yorkshire, | to the little villages between the waves >: and the heather, and they would go incog- ;?; nito ; they would take so much of poorman's pleasure if ; all the rest had been ? snatched from them. '.:; She had pleaded for '"-.■' the fulfilment of the original programme,: and Seymour had gladly agreed. ! "But, Gladys, I have a email 'place up there—an 'old castle. 5 . I have; never seen it, but I know it is pretty—from photo- '; / graphs; shall we go to;that?'* No, pleaded: Gladys. No .castles thing lordiike or grand; a. few weeks' postponement of their greatness. ; She was fortunate enough to find Miss : Malcomson able and willing to be bridesmaid. Irene with her parents was soon departing for Homburg, and her bedroom and sitting-room were both being used for a review of hats and frocks. One might have supposed that she was about to be married, and that these extensive masses of finery had been purchased for her trousseau. "The day after to-morrow!" said Irene, with excitement. "Yes, of course I'll come. What fun! I'm glad it is ending so properly. Make him bring you to Homburg—bukl forgot. If he is hard up, I \ iuppose he can't run to that." " i Then Gladys told her fairy-tale. i' If they 5..-. did not go to Homburg, it would be because h» did not care to go. There was nothing a-*d nowhere that he could not run to. He - was not poor; he was rich. But he had not been pretending or deceiving. He had not been a prince '. in disguise; but a , prince who did not know that -he was a - prince. And if Irene, hearing the fairytale, did not feel some sharp pangs of envy, it was odd. •

" Ber—Ber—Brentwood," she stammered. "Why, my brother Tom was only speaking of him last night. Tom knows him— slightly. Tom told us the romance of his succession. Everyone is talking of it—you ' may well call it a fairy-tale." "We neither of us wished to be so rich." H:^:-•- "Oh! that's rot—utter rot,'" said Irene. "Money isn't everything; but if you have Uvv rank, too! Oh, Gladys, what have you ■ ' done to deserve this? Tom spoke of him ■■. (as Charlton,'but I never guessed— never , ( even thought of your Mr. Charlton. . . . ! What shall I wear at the wedding? Help i me choose." i "Don't wear. anything grand, please." And Gladys explained that she was trousseanless, that she would approach the altar rails in the dress she now wore. ."'*." " Oh, you can't V cried Irene. "My dear ,_. girl, be reasonable. Let me lend you a. dress. Come out with'me now, and let me buy you a dress. You can pay me back, with interest if you like, when you are Lady Brentwood." But these offers Gladys obstinately refused. '

They were. married at the church of St. Judith, Chelsea, without organ-music, choir, to choir-master. But the kindly sunlight •won* upon them. No cruel fairies came "to lurk in distant, shadowy pews, and to nse and claim their prince when with solemn voice the curate gave him irrevocably to Gladys; and if the bride, in her black skirt, the spotted blouse, and the . hat with the pink roses, was too simply \ a cd plainly attired, the bridesmaid made jV: ?!*. for all deficiencies by the richness and ' hnljijjncy of her costume. , . '■■}.. C<.«tainly, if Irene mid in her Homburg trousseau, any finer dress than this, she would astonish the water-drinkers at the Wizabeth well, and dazzle the diners on the ;■ Jvurhaus terrace.

"You are wonderfully sure of yourself," -,'• she said to Gladys, as they drove* in a cab '> St. Judith's. And she glanced, at her dowdy, shabby companion with something '• of contempt and something of admiration. Tsth-at.tile secret of your strength, I won«ti m not sure of myself."said Gladys. But I think I am sure of him !" |^; : ,And again, perhaps, the gorgeous Irene i *?« stung by envious reflections. she flashed her eves and showed her white teeth, and rustled in silk, lace, and tuUa - /he swept up the nave with the ,R«fce of an empress; she stood bv her friend «- the chancel steps and lowered her eyelashes to permit the bridegroom, the best m an, the parson, the verger, the pewter to look. at her: and then, raising Sip; eye ashes, realised that not one of them -ad. looked at her. All of I hem were look - j IP m at the pale-faced, trembling-lipped, shy -»We dowdy bride." ' Then, as nobody looked at her, Irene »mred with violet-tinted, coldly flashing inteuita at th€ ]or(]lv bridegroom and his attendant squire. - . . ■ JfeS*^ 1 - n!an as sunburnt, fair-headed, •S-" 086 ' cro PT>ed ?■* his clothes were made tKn • V er * e: » is tie was blue arid red i"7 Guards' colour* known so well to .]•'■-• but novel bv any chance seen in the - swatro drawing-room. . Quite the best

of best, men— easy, friendly, smiling, bloodish, ■. modish, yet not f foppish as the stockbroker swells of far-off Hebrew descent who came to the Bays-water parties: a cousin pi my' lord's—another lord perhaps! ■ What had this trembling little fool ever done to deserve it all? Then the bridesmaid studied theft bridegroom, and for a long minute was devoured by jealousy, was gnawed by burning teeth, was. rent by ice-cold claws; He wide his groom to seem a common lout a humble varlet beckoned from the princely train to hold a hat or bring a footstool. He was tall, black, splendid—a prince to dream of. He was handsome beyond belief, noble of port, clothed from head to foot with dignity. . He needed no mantle of state— ermine and velvet would not make him more majestic; ' bare-headed he still woro the crown-invisible. "

And now he took the bride's hand m his, while he repeated the pretty words of faith and promise, and the bridesmaid saw the sunlight fall upon his face, and the light inside him come shining out to meet the sunbeams. Love shone out of him as he put the ring on his bride's finger. He had no eves except for his bride; he was careless of scrutiny, unconscious of bystanders. He was hand 'in hand with his bride, and. the priest would say God was watching him. If he believed that or not. he could not be pretending now. There; was a smile on his lips, and it tolckthe bridesmaid the wonderful, staggering, preposterous truth; that he loved his wife, was grateful to her, was proud of her. What had she ever done to earn such a smile?

It was compliments, congratulations, introductions now, with chatter, signing of register, paying of fees, etc., etc.- ■ •■'. , .-, • "I think you know my brother, said Irene to Lord Brentwood. "Tom! .Not a bad sort, is he?" Lord Brentwood, laughing, happy, radiant, sent hie best regards to Tom Malcomeon, said he had known him for years, and implied that Tom was one of his dearest friends. To-day the world contained none but dearest friends.

"Gladys," said Irene, kissing the bride in a corner of the vestry, "you axe the luckiest girl on 1 earth. I don't car© twopence about his rank or wealth," she added, with lofty scorn, " it's the man! Worship him—worship him on your knees!" The happy pair drove off in one cab, and the bridesmaid and best man followed in another. It is not a long drive from Chelsea to tho hotel at Knightsbridgo whore luncheon waited for this small bridal party, and Irene' never stopped talking to her polite escort. She talked to him of marriage and of free love, of French plays and German philosophy, of mixed bathing, riding astride, the origin of matter, the conservation of energy, the water chute at the Earl's Court Exhibition, the belief in another life after deathand she rather scared him. ■' ■'.

After luncheon she obtained possession of the bridegroom for a -moment. It was time for the- happj pair to be off. to King's Cross. Gladys was bidding good-bye to the best man, Seymour was paying the bill and tipping the waiters, when the bridesmaid gave him her final congratulations. "Lord Brentwood, Gladys and I were children together." And she clasped his hand, drawing him to her ; with abrupt, theatrical gesture, so that his hand touched her bosom. " You have won the dearest, sweetest girl that ever lived. Guard your treasure, Lord Brentwood." "Yes, I won't fail in that— promise you." ; : - .■ , "Be faithful to her," said Irene, with surprising intensity, as she released his hand, after pressing it with her cold, nervous ; fingers. v "Lord Brentwood, be true to her, bt, gentle to her, till death parts you." ■ "Yes—l promised that j»ist now in church, you know." said Lord Brentwood, smiling happily. He was too happy to be Surprised by anything this theatrical young lady could say or do. In the hall of the hotel, whin the happy pair had gone, Irene looked round for the beet man—perhaps thinking that she would finish the afternoon in his pleasant ■ company. But the best man had vanished. He was gallant and brave, worthy to wear the red and blue tie, liking to charge the savage foe ;and peer into .the cannon's mouth; but somehow handsome Irene, with the quick-served artillery of her conversation, had scared him and made him turn tail. :'■ ' , , > - ': ■ \ "What is it?" as Mrs. Malcomson used to say i piteousl v. " One can't understand "it—lrene contrives to frighten all young, unmanned men." , / Week after week the wedded couple lingered, now,here, now there, on the wild Yorkshire coast; and every day and all day long they were peacefully, .perfectly happy. Summer lingered -vvth them in this northern land; the corn .'i : «/ened slowly to show them the yellow harvest on the moorside ; the heather kept its bloom, the sea its warmth, and the earth its fragrance— to make them happier. But Messrs. Killick and Mills could not allow them to tarry for ever, a prince and princess travelling incognito, masquerading as holiday trippers, without equerrv or lady-in-wait-ing. Business was piling up for Lord Brentwood; London required him, Mr. Killick began to clamour for him. , Up !*ere there was only one thing to remind him of his greatness. ' He could have forgotten it altogether, but for Dykefield Castle. Mr. Killick had told him to go and look at it, and every penny guidebook also told him to do so.

"Visitors," said the guidebook, "should not leave the neighbourhood without seeing Dykefield Castle." ,

Wherever he went he was offered his caetle as recreative/instructive, and interesting matter for examination.

,;. " Another -excursion which the tourist should certainly take is to the grand old castle of Dykefield." - Wandering from place to place, he read of it always on those printed lists of drives that hotel porters submit to new arrivals. "Short drives: Dykefield (one horse). Half-day drives: Dykefield (pair). "Whole day drives: Dykefield (19 miles, 30 shillings)." '

; Once; when they were staying at a moorland inn near Whitby, it was so near that lie could liave done Dykefield for six shillings between luncheon and tea now it had receded from him, and yet still it stared him 7 in the face as a duty neglected. "Dykefield: by train, one hour and fifteen minutes." • .""■■■■.':■ ' ■.•;■.

Quite at the end of his holiday, he reluctantly performed his holiday task.

The train, labouring and grunting, slowly climbed from the sea to the top of the moor, resolutely puffed across the wide tablelands, then rattled and swung down the long slopes to the plain. It swooped round curves in wooded glens, dived recklessly into .rocky valleys where black-faced sheep scampered up green banks and leaped like chamois among the brown rocks and the purple heather; and by its side, all the way. a stream raced and tumbled, lashed itself to foaming rage because the train went faster, sprawled suddenly over broad shallows, and sank to sullen , rest in deep pools, and let the train goon without it. ; Then the stream appeared again, spreading at a little distance from the railway line into a river that wound among flat meadows towards a red-roofed town. And all at once Gladys saw the. castle, gave a cry of pleasure, linked her hands through her husband's arm, and made him see it too. ■■ . "' - '

It stood upon a mound in the middle of the plain with the river washing its feet. The village lay huddled for protection close to the stone wall*, and from the railway station one crossed the water by a buttressed bridge, and looked up at battlements and towers. Beyond, the bridge the narrow street was as steep as a staircase, and all-but the most agile tourists reached the great gate breathless. ,v \ As she passed through the frowning entrance and came into the outer court, Gladys took her husband's arm again and pressed it in wonder and delight. ' ''This," she whispered,, is where I should : like to live—the world * forgetting, by the world forgot." - ':!: Seymour asked for. the bailiff, and was glad * when the guardian of the gate told than Mr, Mullock was away. Ho need not then announce himself; he could strictly preserve" incognito,, make the inspection, arid fulfil his duty with very little trouble. The gate-house dame was civil and intelligent, and answered all questions; but regretted that the gentleman, and the lady would not hurry up,and catch a party of tourists who had just started. ; | " "lis my daughter showing them round, and she can recite the tale of the castle

better than what I can. She learned it of her father in his last illness and I never learned it, but picked it up by scraps. ." "... This is tho great hall, where the meals of the lord and his folk were all token together. Very old. Fourteenth century—except the minstrel gallery, of much later date. Look up, ma'am, at the little hole in the roof—the only chimney known in those days. The fire was in the centre of the floor, -you're standingand warriors, field hands, and herdsmen gathered round it to warm themselves. ... My daughter could give it you a deal better than I do." _ There were 'guard-rooms, butteries, kitchens, long galleries, a chapel there was everything a castle should have. And it was no ruin, but a castle rain-proof, weath-er-tight, ready for occupation to-morrow. The bailiff's house was in the small middle, court, and Gladys thought she had never seen anything quite so beautiful—until, under an archway, they came to the garden court. "This," said the guide, "is the quarters of the familyif they ever came here, but they don't. There's* been a death in the family, you know, ma'am, and Mr. Mallock is in hope that the new lord will give us a turn one day." It was beautiful beautiful—with the bright autumn flowers glowing in a long border beneath the grey stone, with the afternoon shadows falling on the smooth grass, with sundial, stops, paved walks, and low parapets ; on one side the back of the chapel and the hall; on two sides the homely red brick house; and on the fourth side, beyond the yew trees and the terrace nothing! Wide, sunlit space; _ white streamers of cloud floating high in blue vastness—the view of an upward-soaring bird. "All modern—what we call the family house," said the guide. " Rebuilt in the time of Elizabeth, who was the third Sovereign of -the realm to sleep at Dykefield. We don't as a rule show the rooms, but None of the ancient furniture is left. Refurnished throughout, 1851. Would you like to have a peep, ma'am?" Gladys peeped, at dining-room, library, and two other rooms. They were comfortably but plainly furnished, and wore all ready, clean, well-dusted, waiting for the family who never came. "See that farthest yew tree," said the guide. "Well, Mr. Mallock ho believes 'twas planted in Queen Elizabeth's time." Gladys walked on the terrace, and again whispered to her husband. " I should like to live here should like to die here. Bring me here if we are over unhappy. Send me here if I ever disgrace my Lord of Burleigh." They mounted by winding stairs in a. tower, came out upon a battlemented platform, and looked at the plain stretched as a, map before them. They could trace each writhing turn of the river among the marshy meadows. Here and there fields were green and bright, and tan-coloured patehes showed where the yellow corn had sen; but for the most part the land seemed infertile and poor. Its enemy was. the river, the guide informed them—subject to heavy floods; and she pointed out unreclaimed bogs or marshes- that were apt to slide over more and more of the pasture and the crops. The treacherous quagmires and the flooding stream needed many bridles; and that was why, wherever you looked, you saw the strong dykes. One was called " Great Dyke" or " William's Dyke"—popularly supposed to have been built by William of Orange. But the guide said it was made long before then. " More likely built by William the Conqueror, 1 say. But whoever done it did a, famous good thing, for 'tis famously built. And all those other dykes what you see are a copy, and Mr. Mallock has told me, if the family lived here, or could take any interest, he'd dyke the land up to moor, and win the cost ton times over for the betterment of the soil." ;-'>;

Certainly it could not be good land. Seymour, dutifully obeying Mr. Killick, surveying things with the owner's eye, remembered vaguely that the whole estate— as managed by the wise —brought in only about £1000 a year. How much was it? Three or four thousand acres? Bad, dull-hued, sliding, trappy stuff scarcely worth measuring; but he hoped that one might trust Mr. Mallock, and not have the labour of discovering him to be a pillager and cheat. The guide, he was glad to notice, gave Mr. Mallock the highest character. Mr. Mallock had held the post, of bailiff ■ for forty years; he was just and kind; tenants respected him, and were fond of him. No one ever complained about Mr. Mallock's rule. Good or bad, the land was pretty to gaze at from the castle walls. The scattered homesteads, the toy-like bridges, the threads of water, the distant slopes of the hills—all things, far and near, were lovely' in the cool brightness of this October afternoon. . Gladys looked back at the castle as the train carried her away— at the castle glittering bright in the distance, looked at it gleaming very, very faintly, lost it, and saw it once again, and then it was gone for ever. " Seymour," ; she said, with a long-drawn sigh, "are you quite sure it belongs-to you? Sure you didn't misunderstand what somebody told you? Sure it isn't just a fancy?" . - "Oh, no! It's mine all right," (To be continued next Saturday.)