JAMES DAUNTON’S FATE.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 705, 4 September 1885, Page 7

JAMES DAUNTON’S FATE.

j [NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.]

BY DORA RUSSELL, Autlicn’ of “ The Vicar’s Governess,’’ “ Footprints in the Snow,’' &c.

CHAPTER XV. James Daunton.

Alice said these words like one in bitter distress. She stood there looking at him — at her old lover, at her never-forgotten lover—and her heart went back to the days when her life had been one sweet dream.

* Why have you done this ?’ she said at last. ‘ James, why have you spoilt my life ?’ James Daunton now gave a little bitter laugh. ‘ Do you mean by my unfortunate re appearance?’ he said. ‘ I mean,’ answered Alice, her eyes full of sad reproach, * why did you go away ? Why did you break my heart ?’ * Why did I go away V repeated James Daunton, as if surprised for a moment. ‘ But —of course you rlo not know the story you are, I suppose, the innocent victim. But you soon forgot me, Alice.’ ‘ I never forgot you. They told me you were dead, and I wished to die—but there were others. I was forced to think of others, James—and for my mother’s sake ’

‘ You married Arthur ! Do you know whom you married, Alice ?’ continued James, with darkening face ; * the double-dyed villain who would have murdered me because I stood in his way.’ ‘What! —what!’ cried Alice, horrorstricken, ‘ not Arthur, James ! It was not Arthur ?’

‘ Arthur, and no other. Arthur, who hired brutal ruffians to set on me in the dark at Tynmouth, who hoped and believed they had flung my body in the sea ! But there was one, Alice (and James’ voice grew softer), one, who though she was the dupe of this villain, yet had a -woman’s heart within her breast, and she saved me, begged for my life when I lay insensible.’ ‘ And it was Arthur !’ shrieked Alice, and she fell forward panting and stricken on the floor.

‘Forgive me,’ said James Daunton, and with some of his old sweet gentleness of manner he lifted her up, and placed her on a couch, and took her hand. ‘My poor girl, I do not blame you; how could you know? How could you dream of such wickedness as his ?’

For a few moments Alice sat silent. She put her hand to her head ; she looked in James’ face ; she gripped his hand. * This is not a horrid dream, is it ?’ she said. * I am not mad, am I, as he said I was ? You are not a fancy of my brain, are you, James ) You are real, you are living, are you not ? Oh ! do not deceive me,’ she prayed, falling on her knees ; ‘if I am mad, tell me I am mad ; I would rather be mad, rather than know this horrid thing !’ * You are not mad, my poor girl,’ answered James, gently, for he was shocked at her wild looks ; ‘ this horrid thing, as you call it, is real; the man who was my cousin—l believed my friend—wanted me out of his way ; and, like a fool, 1 fell into his trap.’ 4 A woman lured you out,’ said Alice ; 4 they told me that you went out to meet a woman.’

‘Yes, like a fool,’ continued James ; this woman had a beautiful face, and I went because it was an adventure—for the fun of the thing, Alice. I was not false one moment in thought to you. I went to meet a woman who for years had lived with Arthur; a woman who adored him, and would have died for him. She. had Spanish blood in her veins, and Spanish relations, low-born ruffians, but some man had educated her, and she was on the stage when she met Arthur. She had not been over good, I believe, before, but her love made her not good, but devoted to the man to whom she had given her heart. Do vou guess the story now? I stood in Arthur’s way. He was poor and embarrassed, and this woman, this Estelle, knew all—all, but that he loved you, Alice ! He induced her by soft words and feigned love to act as she did. She wrote to me asking me to meet her. It was all planned. The scoundrels intended to murder me—were lying in wait ; they were two brothers, Estelle’s cousins, ready to cut a man’s throat for five pounds any day, and they felled me from behind when I stood talking to her. But when she saw me fall —poor soul!— some womanhood came back to her, and she begged them not to strike again.’ * OH ! James ! James !’ cried Alice, with a shudder, and she covered her face. * Quite true, Alice, they carried me out to sea ; they had a boat lying ready on the shore, and a little foreign ship anchored a mile or so further out, and they intended to fasten a weight to me, and to fling my body into the sea.’

‘ And this womau saved you ? Did this woman save you V ‘ I will tell you. My head was lying on Estelle’s lap in the boat, and God Almighty I suppose sent some pity, some humanity into her heart —she said my hand clasped hers as I lay unconscious, at all events she would not let them finish me; she made them carry me on board the foreign ship ; my head was injured, and I knew nothing—nothing for weeks and weeks, and when I came to my senses I was confined in a Spanish mad-house.’ ‘ A mad-house !’ ‘ Yes, at some seaport in Andalusia, and I suppose I was mad from the blow on my head when they took me there. But there I found myself—she did not dare tell Arthur—he was told I was dead, for she was afraid of him and loved him so madly she would not risk his anger ; and I was virtually dead. I was confined in a mad-house, and I knew not a word of Spanish, and the people about me knew no English, and- my head was so injured I wandered at times, and I could not make anyone understand my story, and if they had understood, they would have said it was the ravings of the poor mad Englishman. So there I stayed month after month, year after year it seemed

to me in my living grave ! I could not make it out. They told me by signs and grimaces I was mad, and I began to think I was, and that my poor father, you Alice, and home, and my past, life had been but a pleasant dream. But one day a visitor came for me. It v r as Estelle, but so changed I scarcely' knew her, and with bitter grief written on her face, and she told me all. Told me how 1 had been trapped and by whom ; told me that you were Arthur’s -wife, and that he had lied to her and deceived her, and kept his marriage a secret from her who loved him so well. But she had found it out, and she had come to seek me, to revenge her cruel wrongs and mine 1’ ‘ Is she golden-haired, with a beautiful face and large eyes ?’ asked Alice, eagerly. ‘ Yes ; she is half-Andalusian, half-Eng-lish. Her mother was a Spaniard, and her father an Englishman. She is a beautiful woman, Alice, and she has seen yon.’ ‘I know. She watched through the window one night,’ ‘Exactly,’ said James Daunton bitterly, as Alice paused ; ‘ she told me the whole story—the fair, happy looking young wife in white, the model husband by her side ! Yes, f Alice, that grim w r atclier was Estelle Vaughan, whom your Arthur had deceived and forsaken, and that sight nerved her to come out to Spain to find the real owner of Daunton. She told me he came out to seek her in the garden, where she was hidden; that she almost felt his breath, but she made no sign. She was a determined woman, and she waited her time, and her revenge was not yet ripe.’ ‘ Where is she now ?' said Alice. ‘ I left her in London,’ answered James Daunton, ‘ but let me go on with my story ; I was telling you, Estelle found me in the madhouse and told me all, and we planned together to return to England. She had some difficulty in getting me free, but she had paid all the time for me, and she understood the language, and she said I was one of her English relations. There were some English people in the town, for ore is shipped there from the Spanish mines, and they helped her. At all events she succeeded. We came together to England in an English steamer, and the horrors of my prison-house gradually faded from my mind. But I was greatly changed, and she urged me to wait until I had regained something of my former appearance. I did wait ; then I watched for you in the Park, Alice; 1 wanted to see if you knew me, and when I saw you recognised me I thought it was' almost time to act.’ ‘ Does he know—Arthur?’* ‘ Not yet; I only came down here yesterday, and old Siddell knew me at once, and told me you.were expected, sol bade him. keep the secret till you came. And Alice, he told me also about my poor father, of his misery and his death ; and of a promise, too, that both you and he made my father when he lay dying ?’ ‘ You mean ’ said Alice, her face ghastly pale. ‘ I mean you promised to find my mur« derer, did you not ?’ answered James, with a smile. ‘ Well, Alice, now that you have found him, what do you mean to do ?’ Then Alice caught his hand with sudden passion and terror. ‘ Jame 3, let me tell you my story now,' she said imploringly, ‘ and the long anguish of a broken heart ! When the news first came, the news your friend sent from Tynmouth, that you had disappeared, it all butkilled me. Your father and I lived in misery day by day and night by night. He was o d and weak, and he died, but I was young and strong, and I lived on and on. Do you think I did not suffer? Then I went home and found my poor mother in debt and sickness and trouble. And by-and-bye Arthur came. He wanted me to marry him, and I would not. But it ended thus. My mother was in bitter poverty, and a deadly sickness had seized her. She urged me to marry Arthur, and to give her bread and ease I married him. But I told him the truth James. I told him it was for my mother’s sake, and he has faithfully kept his word. He had always been good to mother —always ! And now let me plead for him. James ! Jame 3 ! —spare him for the child’s sake. I have a child ’ ‘I know,’said James, turning away his head. 4 He, the babe, has been my little comforter, my hope, my love. James, do not look away—some of my dead love came back to my little child; and for baby’s sake ’ ‘ Do not ask any more,’ said Jame 3 Daunton, now looking at her, ‘for your sake, not for his child’s, I do not wish to punish Arthur. Let him go - a coward, who would stab a man in the back ! Nay, I won’t even be hard. Let him leave England at once, and he shall have enough to live on—you will not go with him, surely ?’ ‘He has sinned, and he will suffer,’ said Alice, clasping her hands, ‘ grievously sinned, and will grievously suffer—and I am his wife. I married him to give my mother bread, and I cannot turn away from him in ~ his bitter disgrace and shame. But James, there is one thing—for the sake of the old days will you grant me one last request ?’ * Why do you ask ? You know I will do anything you wish.’ ‘Be good to my mother then, and spare her, if possible, the knowledge of Arthur’s crime ; for she is ill, James ; she cannot go away, but I will take the child.’ ‘ But why go, Alice. I entreat you not to go ? You talk of the old days —for the sake of the old days, do not go near this worthless man.’ *He will be alone,’ said Alice, much affected. ‘ Forsaken by God and man, and I cannot leave him in his despair—and—and James, we must say good-bye now, for we must meet no more.’ ‘ This is folly, utter folly,’ said James > Daunton, impetuously. 4 How could we meet James ?’ asked Alice, in great emotion; 4 how could we forget what has been—no, it could not be.' James Daunton could not speak for a moment, for he, also, was greatly affected; . and as he stood, silent, Alice went up to him and kissed him, but her kiss was like the kiss Ave give to the pale lips of the dead. ‘ I thought you were dead,’ she said in broken accents, 4 and to me you must be dead. Good-bye James, on earth I shall see your face no more.’ ' ; Thus they parted, and in James Daunton’*

"heart was such bitter disappointment and pain, that it seemed to him as if the sweetest thing of his new life had left him, when he saw Alice turn away. Alice did not seek her mother that night, to tell her the strange news. Mrs Butler was exhausted with her journey, and her illness had increased of late, and Alice always thoughtful of others, would not disturb her, but she went up to the nursery to take hei head-nurse, a good-looking woman, with a slightly flushed face, remonstrated. ‘ I am sure, my lady, you 11 excuse me Ravine so, but the sweet little darling is much better here. He is not very well. * Not well ?’ interrupted Alice, with eager anxiety. to ma h e you uneasy, my lady, but he wants rest.' ‘Yet he must go with me to town tomorrow,’ said Alice, lifting the child in her aT **To town P said the nurse ;it is impossible, Nurse, he must go,’ said Alice, kissing the little rosy face with passionate love ; he must go with me to his father. A great change has come to us all, nurse,’ continued Alice, lifting up her face from the child s , “my husband’s cousin, Sir James Daunton, who was supposed to be lostdias returned, and my husband is not Sir Arthur now, and I am not Lady Daunton, and my little one (and again she kissed the is only a poor little child—except m his mothers love.’ , i l > ‘ This is indeed agreat change, my lady, said the nurse much startled. ‘ And he will be well enough to go, don t you think, nurse V inquired Alice, still fondly gazing at her child. f ‘Oh, I dare say he will,’said nurse, ‘of course this makes a great difference I am afraid my lady in this case 7 ‘ You do not wish to remain his nurse ? said Alice quietly. ; No, you will be too expensive for baby now ; I will take Jane, the under-nurse, with me.’ , , , ‘ I think that would be better, my lady, said the head-nurse, and she made no further objections to the young mother s taking the child away. , , , - And all night Alice kept her baby, and as she knelt by the bed and watched it, she was praying for strength to bear the bitter cross for the child’s sake.

(To be concluded in our next.)