A GOODLY HERITAGE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXI, Issue 18861, 8 November 1924, Page 5 (Supplement)

A GOODLY HERITAGE.

BY L. O. MOBEBLY. (Copyright.)

CHAPTER XXII. A QBTIDGDfO " THJLXK YOU!" "Elizabeth is upstairs, I will send for her." Airs. Ginord's voice was very kindly. She had never liked or approved of Miranda Maitland, the sister of her old friend and lover of her youth; but from the bottom of her heart sh« pitied the woman who stood before her now, the haggardness of whose face no powder and paint could disguise. "I had a letter from her. I thought I would come and see her," Mrs. Maitland answered abruptly, her sunken eyes turned away from the serene face of her hostess, the glance wandered restlessly about the drawing room. "Sho is going out of town soon, I believe?" "She goes back to Bransway to-morrow. She has had a trying week." "A trying week?" Mrs. Maitland's voice rose into shrillness. "And what do you think the week has been to me ?" "Terrible," Mrs. Gifford answered, deep sympathy in her voice. "I have thought of you so much. It has been a terrible time for you." The hard misery of Mrs. Maitland's face relaxed a little, her restless glance focused itself upon the other woman. "You look as if you did not know the meaning of trouble," she exclaimed almost fiercely. "You look as if you were above it all—and yet you must have had sorrows."

"Yes, I have had sorrow," came the gentle response, "and because I have had them I can understand what trouble means to other people." "He was my only son." Mrs. Maitland's tones were rasping in their exceeding bitterness. "My only son "

"I know. lam so sorry." The accent, even more than the words, carried with it a world of sympathetic understanding, and tears suddenly dimmed her visitor's hard eyes. "And it was all so sudden," Mrs. Maitland went on. "Such a shook. They sent for me from the hospital/; but I got there too late. Elizabeth was with him when he died—only Elizabeth " Again her voico rang with bitterness. "They seem to have sent for hef; even before they sent for me—his own mother!" "I think he mentioned hfer name." Mrs. Gifford exercised all the U*ct of which she was capable in this difficult moment. "He wanted her to take a message for him."

"Oh! Yes, I knew." The lines of haggard misery deepened on Mrs. Maitland's face. "She ha'd to take a message to the designing wojrnan who trapped my poor son into marrying her. Well—that

wasn't Elizabeth's fault," she went on grudgingly, "and I must say Elizabeth >»

As she uttered tho name, the door opened, and Elizabeth herself came in, and as she greeted Mrs. Maitland, Mrs. Gifford tactfully melted away to the far end of the drawing room, where she busied herself at her writing table.

" I thought I would come to see you," Mrs. Maitland began when she and Elizabeth were seated. "I don't suppose there is much love lost between us. I don't suppose we shall ever bo friends— but I'm grateful for what you have done. I don't imagine your grandfather would approve of it," she added grimly.

"I have to do what I myself think right," was the quiet response. "I daresay my grandfather and I would havo thought differently about a great many things." "And yet you remind me of him when yoar mouth shuts firmly," Mrs. Maitland said with rather a wintry smile. "There could bo no doubt about your being James' grand-daughter: and perhaps it is just as well you and ho never met. There would infallibly have been a clash of wills. But I didn't come hero to discuss James. I heard yesterday from Mr. Bray, and I thought I ought to como and thank you." " But you mustn't say any moro about it." Elizabeth's pretty,, eager tones contrasted oddly with Mrs. Maitland's rather metallic voice.

" I understand from Mr. Bray that you wish to pay all Ambrose's debts." Mrs. Maitland ignored the girl's words. "As I said before, I do not think you and I can ever be friends, but I am grateful to you for what you have done." Her thanks could scarcelv have been uttered less graciously; there was a kind of grim compulsion in her utterance; but Elizabeth seemed to find a kernel of real gratitude behind the husk of cui't grimness.

" In anv case the debts would havo been paid, 1 ' she said. " Ambrose knew that beforo his accident. I think he asked for mo in the hospital because he wanted to thank me." She realised instinctively that the summons which had come first to her had rankled in t.ho heart of Ambrose's mother, and the little flash of relief that lighted Mrs. Maitland's eyes told her that her instinct was correct. " He would, of courso, wish to thank you—although he must have felt as I did that in all justice some of my brother's money should havo come to us. However, I came to thank you for what you have done, and I don't wish to rake up old sores." The sentence , was ungraciously worded; the thanks were grudgingly given. But if Elizabeth felt rebuffed and if her kindly impulses had received a check, she showed no signs. .There was nothing but pity in her heart to-day for the woman whose face sorrow had stricken into haggardness, whose eyes were so full of pain. " 1 wish you and Nora would come 'down to Brans way for a change," Bhe

1 said. "You should be as quiet as you liked, and as independent as you liked. Don't you think you could come!" The dull colour mounted to Mrs. Mainland's face, but she shook her head. "No, I couldn't go to Brans way," sho answered. Nora is free to do as she chooses. Well, of course she has stayed with you before and there is nothing to prevent her from staying with you again. But I couldn't go to Brans way, though I am sure your intentions in asking me were kind." The last words seemed to come as grudgingly as her thanks had como, and there was veiled hostility in the eyes that met Elizabeth's. " I meant what I said just now," she went on. "We are never likely to be friends. W* had better make up our minds to the fact that we are not compatibles—we should never mix well."

She rose as she spoke. "There is really no object in prolonging our talk," she said, holding out her hand to Elizabeth. " I am very much obliged to you for what you have done, but I think we need not make efforts to see each * other in the future. It is quite useless."

It really did seom auite useless, Elizabeth thought, after her aunt had gone. Perhaps her visit was right—perhaps they were incompatibles who would never mix; and certainly if Aunt Miranda was so averse to any friendly overtures she would in future refrain from making them. Only it seemed so sad that this last great sorrow had encased her aunt in a mould of greater harshness, greater bitterness than before!

To the girl herself the return to her country home brought a sense of peace. Her cousin's death and the confession by which it had been preceded had given her more of a shock than she at first quite realised; and it was a rather white and silent Elizabeth who was welcomed by Pamela in the early dusk of the winter eyening. Pamela had not stayed in town, but she, like Elizabeth, looked white and shaken, and tho two sat together after tea in a silence which for many minutes neither cared to break. Pamela spoke first. . " I am glad it was you who was with him at tho end," she said. " I am glad he told you the truth." "I am glad, too. Pamela" —she put her hand out to her friend—" I know he realised then how much he had hurt you. He was sorry. I am sure he would be glad to know you are going to have a chance of happiness." " Will another man tire of me as quickly as he did ?" Pamela asked bitterly, but she pulled herself up sharply as soon as she had spoken the words. " How could I say that?" she exclaimed. " I know John will never fail me. He is trustworthy through and through." " And he cares for you so tremendously. You are going to make such a difference in his lonely life. Pamela, you won't keep him waiting long ?"

" Not long—if you can spare me. You remember what a strange feeling I had that I could not possibly marry him when he first wished it 1 That feeling was a right one. You see I was Archie's —I mean Ambrose's—wife after all. All unwittingly I might have done John a horrible wrong if I had done as he wished. Now—nothing stands between us. Only I cannot bear leaving you." " I am going to give you notice —turn you out—make you leave mo, if you turn me into an excuse for keeping Mr. Sturgis waiting a moment longer than is absolutely necessary," Elizjujeth said, with a cheerfulness she was far from feeling. "I shall advertise again—and oh! Pamela, you will have to help me sort out the applicants. Don't let them bo such a terrible collection as the ones who interviewed mo before I got you! But I shall never find anothor you," she ended with a little catch in her voice. " My dear, I hope some day you will have a John of your own, who will be much more adequate than I am, who will bring you all the happiness.vou deserve." " I don't think it is in tlio least likely." Before Elizabeth's eyes there flashed the memorv of Derrick Fane in the conservatory* of Mrs. Gifford's houso, the momor/of his sudden stiffening into something that nearly approached coldness, but she would not allow her thoughts to dwell on either of thoso momories; she deliberately- thrust them away, and went un speaking with outward quietness. I mean to qualify to manage things hero for invself. I don't like the idea that a woman must just hang about all her life waiting till she can fin.d a man to carry her burdens for hor. idea has surely exploded by- now! "In a sense, yes: in a sense, no, Pamela answered with a wise shake of the head. " Of course hundreds of women will be ofcliced to shoulder their. own burden for life, and live through those lives without finding their own particular man to help them. But there are also hundreds of women who will find their mates, and I am sure a man and woman mated are better and happier than a man and woman alone. My dear, she spoke earnestly, "if a good man asks you to be his wife you will be making the happiest choice if you say 'Yes.' " " I believe you think I am a sort of detestable man-hater," Elizabeth laughed. " I didn't a bit mean that I have any feeling against marrying. Only—if marriage doesn't come my way, and it is quite likely that it won't, then I shall make the best of my life without it, that's all!" Pamela looked at the girl's face and smiled. i " Yon are not one of the people who have to take second best —or make the best of life or of anything," she SH'd- " but if you had to do it you w°"'d carry it through in the finest way. But I am not afraid. Second bests were not made for you! It will be your fortune to find always the best in lite. (To be continued daily.)