FICTION.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1204, 29 March 1895, Page 8

FICTION.

"ft t5St WIFE," BY MRS LOVETT CAMERON, AUTHOR OF 'IN A GRASS COUNTRY/ r A DEVOUT LOVER,' * DECEIVERS EVER,' ' THIS WICKED WORLD,' &C, &C

(ContirmedJ CHAPTER XXIIL REVELATIONS-. * I£ she be mad,, as I believe ho other, Her madness hath the oddest form of sense (Such a dependency of thing dn things) As e'er I heard in niadhessv'

Miss Barbara Fairbank was quite right when she called Kaneton Scars a ' desolate place.' As I drove up to it on the afternoon of my arrival, I thought it was, without exception, the most desolate and out-of-the-world place I had ever seen. There was nofc a house, nor even a tree, within .two miles of it; not a hedge, nor a cultivated field, nothing but miles and miles of wild round-topped moors, dotted Over sparsely with flocks of little black-faced north-country sheep, and, out up at intervals by swift rocky-bedded ' becks,' that came tumbling down noisily from the hills on every side. There was nothing else to be seen in any direction —it was like the end of the world. The house stood in about five or six acres of ground, and was entirely surrounded by a high grey stone wall, covered with lichens, and now withered ferns. It had been a oonvent in olden times, and was a weatherbeaten and picturesque building, with a ruined chapel at one end of it. It stood low in a hollow of the hills, and had a melancholy and to a certain extent a prison-like appearance! Within the surrounding walls were a pretty well-kept lawn and shrubbery, and a conservatory, evidently but newly built, stantial modern oufchousesi and good kitchen garden, and a fair-sized field, or orchard, where in the summer time a couple of cows were to be seen. So that it was evident that everything that it was possible had been done to make the house pleasant and homelike. Still, with it all, it was a gloomy place. Inside, the house was prettily and comfortably furnished ; and in a very few days I felt myself perfectly at home in it. The two Miss Fairbanks welcomed me joyfully. Ellinor could not make enough of me ; she was evidently delighted to have me, and seemed never tired of sitting talking to me in her own queer peculiar way. She spent a curious life ; she never occu>pied herself in needlework, nor wrote letters) nor played the piano. She read no books except the Bible, but that Was almost invariably open upon her knees, even if she were not reading it; and she would bring its words and precepts into her daily life in an extraordinary way. She took long walks every day, in which I was her only companion ; and when I had been up to the tops of all the surrounding moors, and had seen the wonderful lights and shadows among them, and had watched the crimson winter sunsets from their summits, I no longer thought the country ugly and uninteresting, but learnt to see a loveliness of its own in its wild and desolate features. Miss Barbara, meanwhile, relieved by my presence from her constant attendance upon her sister, drove off almost daily by herself in a little basket pony-carriage to visit her "poor people" in the nearest village, about four miles off. She generally went laden with good things for the old and sick, which I helped her to pack into the little carriage. We received no visitors, and we never went to church; indeed there was no church to go to within six miles, and, moreover, Miss Barbara told me privately that the excitement of seeing strange faces would be very bad for Ellinor. Every Sunday Miss Barbara assembled her household, and, spectacles on nose, read the Morning Service to us, followed by a short sermon, which I have reason to suspect was her own composition. And very good sermons they were, too. And once now and then the clergyman drove over in his high-wheeled gig, and paid us a pastoral visit, staying to our midday dinner, and bringing a little whiff of the outer world and its doings into our quiet lives.

It would be impossible to imagine a quieter life, and yet I was not in the least dull. For, | to begin.with, I became deeply interested in J my charge, and intensely curious to fathom J the mystery of her early life. Miss Barbara I had never told me any more about the sad I story which had wrecked her younger sister's j life than she had told me the first day I had | met her in front of St. Marylebone Church ; and as she had impressed upon me to discourage any conversation concerning her past life in Ellinor herself, I was naturally anxious to fulfil her wishes in this respect. Nevertheless, in spite of my utmost endeavours to the contrary, Ellinor would at times perpetually refer to her past history, and would not consent to be silenced, and I could not help learning something of it from what she let fall. One day she said to me, whilst we were out walking: " ' Do you remember that I had a weddingring on the first time ycu saw me ?' ' Yes,' I answered, shortly, ' I remember it.' She was silent for a few minutes. ' Why don't you ask questions ?' she said at last. ' You don't seem very inquisitive, but I know why : Barbara has told you not to let me talk, but I want to talk of myself to you because I like you.' ; You had much better not, dear,' I answered soothingly, for her face had suddenly flushed, and there was a gleam of excitement in her eyes. ' Don't be afraid,' she said, laughing. I shall not hurt you.' Then with a sudden change of manner, she caught hold of my wrist, and said hurriedly : ' When we go in I will show you that ring. I keep it locked up, because Barbara won't let me wear it; when I can get away by myself I wear it, for it is mine. I have a right to it; you mayn't behove me, Freda Clifford, but it is as true as you and I stand here that I am a married woman !' She was evidently dreadfully excited ; her hands trembled as she grasped me, and her voice was husky with emotion. We were a long way from home ; I grew frightened lest she°should have a sudden attack of illness out here on the moor, where I could not have got any help.,, I did not dare to let her go on talking upon these dangerous topics. I called her attention to a flock of starlings that came whirling by over our heads ; like a child, she was easily distracted from her previous train of thought; she looked up at the birds, but made no remark, only when I suggested that I it was getting late and cold, and that we had 1 better hurry home, she placed her arm within

mine in silence, and let me lead her home

passively. That eveninsr she had an attack of illness, the first since my arrival. She passed out of one fainting 1 fit into another for nearly two hours, and afterwards was so prostrated and exhausted that she had to be got to bed as quickly as possible. Miss Barbara always came into my room for a little talk after her sister had gone to bed.

That, evening, When'ghe came in for her Visual visit, she said at once .: ' Can you account fdr this attack ; Freda P She never is so ill as .this; unless there has been some previous excitement,of mind;' x Yes. Miss Barbara, I think I ought to telj you that Ellihor told ifte this afternoon that she was married.', .__ • -...-. •■ J Ah!' Then she was silent, for, a few minutes. ' That was quite ehoiigh to account for it,' she said. 'lt is a dreadful delusion, is it not? The fact is the child really believes it. I think I had better tell you that she was tricked into a sham marriage by a scoundrel who deserted her: Was I not right to take her away, lest she should fall into his power again ?'

Some memory of another story I had heard not so long ago flashed for a moment into my mind. But it was instantly dispelled by Miss Barbara's next words.

' The man's name was Thome, John Thorne, an unprincipled wretch. He thought to make a victim of my poor child, but I have saved her. It is bad enough that her life and her health have been wrecked by him; he has not, at all events, been able to pollute her soul. That, thank God! is as pure as when my dying mother gave her as a sacred legacy into my care. It is a dreadful story, my dear Freda—a story of shame and misery ; but it is best, perhaps, that you should know something of it.' ' And do you not think that what she says may possibly be true, and that he did really marry her P' I Ventured to ask. Miss Barbara shook her head. 'Alas, no !' she said. 'lt is but the delusion 6f her poor warped brain. Some people might think that I have done wrong in flying from him—in not, on the contrary, seeking him out, and forcing him to marry her. But I could never reconcile it to my conscience to surrender her to the care of a wicked man, and as I have told you, I hope—God forgive me if it is a wicked hope—l hope that he is dead. If not, if she were ever to see him again, I am quite sure, in the state of health in which she is, that the shook would either kill her or drive her to raving madness. She was mad once, many years ago—at the time. After it had all happened she was completely insane for three months. It is best, perhaps, to tell you this. Shall you be afraid to stay with us, Freda ?' Boor Miss Barbara, her trial was indeed a sore one! I kissed and comforted her, and told her I would never leave her as long as she and Ellinor required my services. The stern-featured but soft-hearted woman wiped away a few tears, and bade God bless me, ere she wished me good-night.

CHAPTER XXIV. FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. ' See, winter comes to rule the varied year, Sullen and sad, with all his rising train, Vapours, and clouds, and storms.' —Thomson. We had a very severe winter at Kaneton Scars that year ; a long, hard, dry frost, and then a heavy fall of snow, that lay for weeks upon the face of the earth like a great, soft, white winding-sheet. Ellinor had completely recovered from her attack of illness, and there had been no repetition of it, neither had she spoken again about her supposed marriage. She had also either forgotten to show me her wedding-ring or else had changed her mind about doing so —at any rate, she had never alluded to it again. The only reference she had made to her past was one day when I had come suddenly into the drawing-room, and called her by her name. 1 Oh ! here you are, Ellinor!' I had said, for I had been looking for her in her own bedroom. ' Ah I' she said, dreamily, ' it is always Ellinor now. Once, a long time ago, somebody called me Nell, his little Nell! Don't you think Nell is a much prettier name than Ellinor, Freda ?' ' No, dear ; I think Ellinor is a beautiful old English name,' I answered, lightly. She sighed, and did not answer me. That was her nearest approach to the dangerous subject which it was my duty to her sister to prevent her as much as possible from dwelling upon. One morning, when the snow had been upon the ground for nearly ten days, one of the maids came in and told Miss Barbara that Thompson, the gardener, the only male being about the premises, desired to speak to her at once. Miss Barbara went out of the room. Ellinor and I rose from the breakfast-table and went into the drawing-room. There, standing idly at a window that looked to the side of the house, watching the robins pecking up the crumbs we had thrown out to them, I was surprised to see Miss Barbara, in thick clogs, and with a shawl thrown hastily over her head, jjloddrng her way by the side of Thompson through the thick snow. To my astonishment, they pashed through some laurel bushes in the shrubbery, heavy with snow, and which scattered a white shower over Miss Barbara's back as she stooped under them and disappeared. Presently they both reappeared through the same narrow opening and passed down the swept path, on the drive, out through the front gate, where they must have remained outside the walls for nearly ten minutes. Just then Ellinor called me to come and give my opinion upon the conduct of Samuel in putting the unfortunate Agag to death, after he had thought that' the bitterness of death was past.' ' I don't think it was very kind of him, do you, Freda ?' she said, referring to the open ] Bible before her. ' No ; but we are told that God ordered him to do it.' ' Yes, I suppose that was it. And perhaps he had deserved punishment in some" other way—he had been cruel to some woman, perhaps, as that cabman was to me. And then, of course, he deserved to be killed.' I laughed at her queer way of bringing things home to her own life, and asked her if she thought the cabman deserved to be killed, too. ' There is nothing to laugh at, Freda,' she answered, gravely. ' I don't trouble my head about that cabman. But I know very well that God will punish him, and reward you.' This quaint discussion, arising from the story of Agag, had so diverted my thoughts from Miss Barbara and her unprecedented 1 expedition across the snow, that I had for--1 gotten all about it, until a few minutes later, happening tQ cross the hall, I met her com-'

i ing in at the front door, with a face as white as the snow behind her. 4 Come in here, Freda,' she said, in a queer, choked voice, 'I want to speak to you.' She drew me into her little sanctum, half boudoir and half study, where she transacted all her daily business, and locked the door. ' What is the matter ?' I asked in surprise, as I helped to divest her of her wet shawl and overshoes. She looked not white, but ashen grey—frightened as if she had seen a ghost, and she trembled in every limb. ...There was a_medicine' chest iii the ddfiief tff the" rdbtti. % fait id it and poured' her diit soihe sal Volatile; which ± made her swallow": , ' For heaven's sake, What is it—wliat has happened P'. I dsked, alarmpd in my tufri at the sight of. her evident agitatidri. ' You saw that Thbmp'sori cam l e to Jp'eakio' me P' she said, as soon as she was sdftfeently recovered to be able to speak. i Well, it appears that he discovered quite early this morning that there were footprints in the snow —fresh footprints, coming from under the shrubbery bushes, against the wall, straight up to the house. I have just been out to see for myself, and they go from the conservatory right up to the wall,- then I went outside the wall, and there are the footprints again, coming from a long way off,' across the snow, and stopping short at our wall, exactly corresponding to the place within the walls where they reappear. The bushes grow rather close to the wall. I have ordered Thompson to cut them down this morning. Freda, a man got over the wall last night and came up to the house !' I was rather surprised that Miss Barbara, who was, as I had always imagined her to be, a strong-minded little woman, should be so

terribly upset and frightened by the alarm—common enough, I have no doubt, in lonely a thief wandering round the house in the night. 'Oh ! don't, be frightened, Miss Barbara,' I said, reassuringly j ' The thief, whdever he is, did not get in. Ydtl know how strong l this old house is, hoiv thick the walls are'; and how well barred-up and shuttered are all the windows. No one could get in, I believe, and nothing has been stolen. If you feel nervous, let us send in to the police-station at Kaneton and ask them to send us out a couple of men for a few days to protect us. But no doubt, since the burglar was unable to effect an entrance, he will not trouble us with another visit.' Miss Barbara continued to rook herself backwards and forwards in her chair, in an uncontrollable distress of mind. ' Oh! my dear,' she said, with a sort of a groan, ' you don't understand I It is no burglar—ph. I how I wish it Were I—that I cotild believe it for a moment! Do "you suppose a whole gang of thieves would frighten me in this way ? But it is not a thief.' ' Not a thief P' I echoed, in surprise. ' Why, what else could it be, Miss Barbara? No honest person would come climbing over people's walls and wandering round their houses at dead of night. What else could it

be but a thief ?' T - ' Oh! my dear girl—my story is only half told. Look here at what I have found.' She held out her hand, which she had kept dosed upon her knees, and showed me what she had hitherto concealed from me. It was a small, bright object. I took it from her and examined it, and found that it was the broken half of a solid and rather handsome gold sleeve-link. ' Tell me your opinion,' she said, watching me anxiously as I turned it over and over in my fingers. ' Tell me what you think. That sleeve-link never belonged to a thief —it belongs to a gentleman !' ' Not at all,' I said, reassuringly, as I handed it back to her. ' No doubt it originally belonged to a gentleman, bat a thief may have stolen it, and probably has done so in this case. Where did you find it?' ' Just at the foot of the wall at this side; it must have broken off as he scrambled down. Oh, Freda! you must see now what frightens me. It is that man come to look for Ellinor!' _ It was in vain that I tried to soothe and to comfort her, to assure her that nothing was more unlikely, no supposition could be more wild and improbable. The notion had taken firm root in her mind that our midnight visitor was her sister's false lover, and none other, and no words of mine had the least effect in shaking her conviction. ' I am certain of it—quite certain,-she kept on repeating. 'But, my dear Miss Barbara, what motive could he have in tracing her out P' ' What motive ? Why, to regain possession of her, of course.' ' But is it likely,' I argued, ' that after all these years he should suddenly endeavour to find her, now that her first youth is past, that illness ' 'What can you mean, Miss Clifford?' she interrupted, angrily. 'My sister's beauty is as great as ever it was. I have never met any woman so lovely as she is !' To her sister, poor Ellinor, in all her faded, woebegone pallor, was as faultlessly lovely at eight-and-twenty as at eighteen. I could not.

help being touchod by tlie devotion which could see no flaw in its idol. ' Yes, that is true,' I said, humbly, feeling sorry that I had unwittingly o fended her on so tender a subject; ' but still, you have described him as such a heartless villain.' ' Ah ! he may have heard that she has come into a little money lately. I told you, I think, that my uncle had left me this house, and his little fortune was divided equally between Ellinor and myself. If that miserable man has heard of this, it would perfectly account for his being anxious to claim the poor child. He will pretend that he married her, so that he may get hold of the money she has come into now.' Further arguments were wasted upon her. Miss. Barbara stuck to her own opinion persistently, and refused to listen to any of my far more reasonable theories. One immediate result of the night occurrence was that she instantly stopped our daily walks, and that the place was put into a condition of siege. Workmen appeared the next day, and in spite of the hard weather the whole length of the grey wall was speedily garnished with a most alarming looking cheveaux defrise of iron spikes, that, like the flaming swords of the Garden of Eden, turned every way, and brandished their formidable points in every direction. The entrance-gate was kept locked and barred day as well as night, and Ellinor was told that there were some gipsies, evil-looking characters, about the country, and that it was safer to confine our walks for the present to the garden. The snow disappeared, and with it the footprints which had so much alarmed* Miss Bar- . bara, and that lady seemed by degrees to recover her usual equanimity of mind. I could see that she was still watchful, for every night she went round the premises and inspected the fastening of every door and window in the house herself; but as days went-by and nothing further happened, an 4 no fresh

alarm by night or day occurred, she gradually relaxed in her vigilance, and her extraordinary fears appeared to be quieted. As for myself, I had always»regarded her terrors as the wildest and most unlikely fancies of her own imagination, so that I very soon dismissed the incident of the thief and his mysterious footprints entirely from my mind. Things were in this condition at Kaneton Scars when an incident suddenly happened to myself so extraordinary and so unaccountable that, although I carefully kept it to myself — judging it worse than useless to alarm Miss '[Barbara by imparting to her my discovery—it had the. effect of making me take a far more serious view of the appearance of those strange footprints than I had hitherto done. It "happened that one day, as I was thinking of going up to my room in the usual way —up the wide oaken staircase which led from the entrance hall I found my progress barred by a carpenter, who had been sent for to repair one of the steps which had got broken. I found the man, tool-basket and all, kneeling across the stairs, hammering away with all his might, with his back turned towards me. Sooner than disturb him, I ran down again, along a passage at the bottom of the house to a small spiral back-staircase, seldom used, and which led from the conservatory, door up to the landing where my bedroom was situated. Running lightly up these • stairs, which were but dimly lighted, I caught sight of a small glittering object in a corner !of one of the steps. I picked it up and carried it to the light. ~Jt was a broken gold sleeve-link! . With a strange terror at my heart, I rushed into Miss Barbara's room, tore open the drawer of. her writing-table, and sought for - the half of the gold link she had showed me the morning of the discovery of the footprints. .'. I fitted them to each other. They corresponded exactly. The man, then, who had dropped the first half of his sleeve-link near the wall outside, had dropped the second half inside the house.

(To he continued.)