FICTION.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1354, 10 February 1898, Page 7

FICTION.

LOISERDOTT. • ■ » ~ ’ BY KATHARINE S. MAOQUOID» Author of ‘ Patty,’ Appledore Farm,’ Ac., &c.)-. All Rights Reserved, IrcT. -~r ■ tContinued.) CHAPTER XXXII. SOPHY’S OjJRStiON. Ercott had slot seen Sir Miles again since he told him of Lois’s refusal and took a hurried leave. The harassed father was full of Suspicion; he resolved that Caversham should liois. He had only seen his daughter on the day liter he£. l&st visit, when she brought Bichard Stern and introduced him to her father. Ercott had at once taken a strong liking to the self-restrained, kindly-man-nered man. In introducing him; Ldis Said that Richard Stem Was the Only true friend she had ever found. Then, alone Mth his daughter, Ercott urged her to recall Caversham. Lois refused, and as sOon as she left him her father was taken 1 ill; He was very ill. A fresh doctor was called in, only to agree with the former one that perfect tjutet was fi'ee’es&'&ty; in fatii imperative. This doctor said, too, tMt the jEiieht must not he thwarted.* Sophy wished to defer the wedding, but Ercott peremptorily desired that it should tike place at, the time appointed, so the preparations went on till the evening before the marriage. The invalid asked every day to see Stern, though he declared he was not strong enough to receive a visit from Lois ; he hoped that this sensible quiet friend might be brought to mflucn% fieri un tlik evening Lois was sitting with Sophy in her bedroom trying to cheer her. For Sophy declared that it was heartless to let the wedding take place when her uncle could not be present. ‘ You know,' Lois said, as she stretched herself out on a sofa (she was not going to perform this evening), ‘ it really makes very little fuss in the house. Mother will give you away, and the only outsider will He your one bridesmaid, Mrs Johnson, and Richard Stern. Does it not seem Wonderful, almost uncanny, this liking dad has takeii to my old friend ?’ ‘ We all like Mr Stern sd much/ Sophy §aid. * I feei as if I had known him for years. You were very fortunate to have il ffifend like that, dear, in those lonely years that you never talk about.’ She looked affectionately at Lois. She longed to question her about that faraway time, but il seemed impossible. ‘ Yes,’ Lois sighed, ‘ he was true to me, true as steel, for all that he seems to have come between me and dad. I asked to see him again before I came to you this evening, but mother said I had better not go in. I wonder what dad and Richard Stem find to talk about ?’ ‘ I was in your father’s room to-day when he came,’ Sophy answered. ‘ They began to talk about Sir Miles Caversham.’ She saw the angry scorn in Lois’s face. Sophy knelt down beside the sofa, and put her arms around her friend. ‘ I am not happy in leaving you, dear,’ she said, ‘I have beeu wanting to ask what has happened, but you know that I am bad at asking questions. You have looked so tired and altered for the last week. I noticed it before uncle began to be ill. What did happen that day between you and Sir Miles ?’ Lois sat up and looked reproachful. ‘ I did not think, Sophy, you would join in this persecution. Mother says I brought on dad’s illness because I refused Sir Miles. She actually cried about it. I believe ibo poor soul’s heart is set on seeing me Lady Caversham. Surely, Sophy, you and George don’t agree with her?’ ‘Of course not, if you don’t care for him. Only we both think that you ought to be quite sure; I fancied when you talked about him at Brinsby, that—that you liked him better than you knew.’ Lois sat nursing her round chin in the palm of her hand. She was listening to her own thoughts more than to Sophy. Presently she said, ‘dad and mother think it is more respectable, better in every way, to marry a man you—you don’t like, because of his position, than to be an actress. I never expected you would hold such an opinion, Sophy.’ Sophy looked greatly troubled; her lips moved but she did not speak. ‘ You poor little thing,’ Lois said, laughing, ‘ don’t you think I can read you as easy as print ? You want to say something to mo and you are afraid to it; You bad better’have it out/

- Sophy sat down on the end of the sofa; \ ‘ Yes ; 1 must say it before I go away. I have been afraid you would tiiink j Georgia has talked me over, blit behftsii*!);! You know I have aiwaVs cared very much j fOi* #out dad, and now he is going to be my dad, too. I watcii him; and I seem to .know hOw much he suffers. Stay a moment, dear, and let me finish. I think Sir Miles spoke too soon, but I do not want you to marry without love. I know girls dp it; but to me that sort of thing is perjury, I believe if you could give PUfi dear father hope that after a time you would leave the stage and live at home with him, it would make him very happy, and he would not urge you any , more about Sir Miles.

Edis pushed iier hail* away with both hands, and holding her face, framed by Her long slender fingers, she kept her lirge eyes intent on Sophy. It wounded her that her friend should understand heir father better than she did.

* And how about me ? Why aiii I left Piit Y Is my happiness to be quite a for- ( gdtten quantity in these arrangements ?’ she said, haughtily. ‘ That is what I want to say to you, You will never find happiness while you follow only your own way of finding it. You have had the wish of your life—success in the cabeet you chose; H&s it made you happy, dear? No; you are not happy, Lois. I have seen it from the first day you came back to us. You look bright; you are often gay, but you are not happy.’ Lois had turned sharply away from the girl’s loving eyes. ‘ Well, then,’ Sophy went on, ‘ I am sure you would be more contented if you tried at least to put some joy into lives of others.* She took her friend’s hand, but Lois pulled it away. ‘ Don’t be vexed, dear. I wished —I can’t tell you how much . I have wished —that uncle would reconcile himself to your life, but he cannot. The dislike to it is a part of his nature ; and, after all, he is your father.’ Lois bent forward and kissed her.

‘ There, you have done your duty, you good little preacher, and now you can sleep with a quiet conscience. It is easy for you to preach unselfishness and all that, child, when you are going to a husband you love, to whom you safely can give up your will because he will let you do everything you please. If I were to live at home, dad and 1 should constantly quarrel and I should break his heart. He is very dear, and greatly improved* but he is a tyrant still. Now am I going to help you pack up all these pretty presents.’ Sophy was silent while between them they replaced the gifts they had brought from the drawing-room in their wrappings. When they had finished the girl put her arm round Lois and kissed her very tenderly. ' ‘ You made me feel so unkind, so selfish, just now ’ (she kept her aim round Lois, she seemed to fear she would escape from her). ‘ I can’t feel happy in going away to-morrow unless you tell me what is troubling you, dear; unless, indeed, there is someone else to whom you can tell it. I am sure no one ought to keep a trouble rankling, as you are doing, Lois. If you won’t tell me, could you not tell Mr Stern ? ’ Lois gently unclasped her arm.

“ You have done more harm than good, child, by asking that question. I must either vex you or tell you a falsehood. I will tell you as much as. this. If when I came to England I found you as I left you, just my own Sophy, I should probably have been selfish enough to laden you with all my griefs; but I cannot do this. I certainly cannot make a confidant of George ; and I love you too well to burden you with a secret which you might not share with him. I shall never marry; but I am sure no good wife could keep a secret from her husband. My trouble will die out if lam left in peace. Perhaps by the time you return I shall have forgotten it. Sophy sighed. She was not at all satisfied, but she resolved to tell her uncle and aunt that Lois must not be urged any further about Sir Miles Caversham’s proposal. Even George, who fully appreciated the worldly advantage of such a marriage for his sister, had said that Lois was the last girl who ought to marry a man she did not love.

But on the eve of her marriage-day the most unselfish girl cannot give all her thoughts to others, and though Sophy longed to say a good deal more to Lois she did not find the chance of doing it. When she was really her sister, the girl thought Lois would listen more readily than she now seemed disposed to do,

CHAPTER XXXlil. THE WEEDING—AND AFTER. Weddings H&Ve more or ies3 a family likeness, fiut although this wedding party was so small, Stern and Sophy’s bridesmaid being the only outsiders, it was very gay and animated. Lois and Stern vied with one another in brightness, and Mrs Ercott, who was inclined to be tearful at losing Sophy, soon became cheerful and looked her best in a pretty bonnet chosen for her by Lois. Even Robert Ercott looked brighter than usual.

‘ That is the charm of Lois,’ her stepmother said to her husband, who lay on the sofa in the dining-room and was greatly cheered by the gay talk and laughter. ‘ She sympathises with all my little weaknesses. She does not think me vain if I am ever so long choosing a bonnet or a cap. She is perfect to go shopping with.’ ‘lt is only refined selfishness on her part,’ Stern said. ‘ MiSs Ercott so well knows how successful the result of your hesitation will be, that she looks forward to pleasing her own eyes by the sight of you.’ Ercott smiled. He was very much gratified by the attention Richard Stern bestowed on his wife. He often brought her flowers and sent her plants, and was always ready to help her in seeking amuse- , ment.

In the days that followed the wedding life became less gloomy in the Kensington house. Ercott had made such progress in recovery that he was now able to occupy his study. At present he so greatly disliked seeing visitors that he avoided the general living rooms. Lois and Stern saw him every day, but he shrank from seeing his daughter alone. He said as much to Stern, without giving a reason foi* this shrinking;

After that, Lois usually found her old friend with her father when she went in to see him. She rejoiced, for she had greatly dreaded a fresh expostulation on tbe subject of Sir Miles Caversham. Mrs Ercott had reproached her for refusing him. She told Lois that her father had found thb squire quite crushed apd mortified at the disappointment of his hopes, and she begged her step-daughter to reconsider her decision. She assured her that if she accepted Sir Miles it would certainly benefit her father’s health. Lois listened without interruption. Then she quietly told the kind, tearful woman never to speak to her again on the subject. Since the marriage, now nearly three weeks old, except on this one occasion, Sir Miles’s name had not been mentioned to Lois ; but almost every day when she left her father alone with Stern, Ercott asked his friend to use his influence on this point with his daughter.

He had never been able to see more than one side of a question, and his lack of insight made him unconscious of Richard Stem’s own love for Lois, which Sophy already suspected. At first Stem listened, and then abruptly changed the subject. By degrees he had become attached to the lonely invalid, with whom no member of his family seemed closely intimate, and as he was ignorant of Ercott’s explosions of anger when thwarted, from his very fearlessness he got on better with him than the others did. Of late Stern had been greatly moved by the father’s earnest desire that Lois should leave the stage. ‘ It may be too late,’ Ercott said, feebly shaking his head. The look of tenor in his pale blue eyes stirred his companion’s pity. ‘ I mean, it may be too late for her to content herself with a quiet stay-at-home life; but if she married Sir Miles she would bo lifted into a field of usefulness which would give not only full I occupation for her time and energies, but | also scope for the intellect she undoubtj edly possesses.’ He paused. Then, as Stern remained silent, ‘ Don’t you know the sort of village Brinsby is ? The poaching and other kinds of rascality and wretchedness that fill the place would be quite incredible to me if I had not lived so near. I had the opportunity of seeing things as they really were.’ ‘I hardly think that as Caversham’s wife your daughter would be able to do as you wish for those villagers. I saw they were a bad lot, but their Squire has not sufficient moral standard of his own to improve them.’ ‘ You are quite mistaken,’ Ercott said, impatiently, ‘He had a wild youth, I know that; but even Evans, the present rector, writes me word that he thinks the squire is a reformed character.’

‘ It is quite possible; he has steadied, ho may think it necessary in his own place to set a better example, but with a lawless set like the Brinsby folk it will take a generation to make them believe in

morality of such recent growth as his besides, Sir Miles is too roving and restless to remain long enough among them to do inudh good. Depend upon it, he will always spend more than half the year out of his own country.’ Ercott eyed him curiously. He began at last to see that Eicbard S'tern disliked Caversham and would, therefore, prove a weak advocate for the baronet with Lois ; still, he thought it was worth while to see what effect this idea of regenerating the wretched people in whom she had formerly felt an interest would have on the girl. At any rate, it would hold out to her a purpose to be accomplished—a far nobler purpose, her father thought, than her present O'ceupatiom ‘ George and his wife return to-day,’ he said, 1 and perhaps my son may look in this evening. I should like to tell him the matter is settled. I wish you would see Lois before you go ; she will stay the afternoon. I should like to say a few words to her when you have broached the subject, her I only want a few words with her—she need not be afraid of me,’ he ended, sadly. He leaned back on his sofa, looking so pale and exhausted that Stern felt anxious.

‘ Won’t you wait a day or so ? Your son’s return will excite and tire you. Your daughter is sure to como to-morrow.’ Ercott fidgetted with impatience, then he smiled.

‘ You see where Lois gets her temper, Stern ? I must have my own way about this. I know Lois ;■ when once she has Sophy back again she will lose all her interest in me. She will come and see me, but her attention will be concentrated on the doings of this new husband and wife, and anything I say will go in at one ear, and out at the other.’ He looked so urgent that Stern could not persist in refusal. He found Lois, as he expected, alone in the drawing-room. She was reading a poem of Matthew Arnold’s. She closed her book and smiled when she saw her old friend.

‘ Here you come,’ she said, ‘ with your trusting face, which looks as if you believed in everybody, just when I am full of doubt and wonder as to why the world was made.’

‘ You used not to be so pessimistic,’ he said, reproachfully. ‘ltisas if you were one of life’s failures. You have not much to quarrel with life about.’

Lois looked hard at Richard Stern. She was wondering whether he really meant his words, or whether he was trying to find out her secret grief.

‘ You used not to think that one could believe seemings, or that one human being could judge for another. You used to try and judge from another’s point of view, now and then,’ ‘I do so still, but there are times in every life when the following one’s own lights becomes impossible unless one sinks into mere selfishness.’

She frowned and felt uneasy, she thought he was talking at her. ‘ You know I always was selfish. 1 mean I prefer to have my own way about things : why should you say that to me now ? People must be as they are made. I cannot change my disposition.’ ‘ I did not say you were selfish,’ he said, tenderly, ‘ but even if you are, people can help to lessen their faults though outwardly they may appear just the same.’

* ‘ Too much trouble 1 ’ she shrugged her shoulders. Then she said, abruptly, ‘ What do you think of my father today ? ’ ‘ I fear he is wearing out. He has set his mind so strongly on seeing a wish gratified. I fear it will go hard with him if he is disappointed.’ She sat silently studying Ills face. At last she said, slowly : ‘ You are in the conspiracy, too, are you ? I thought better of you, old friend. I did not think you would join in persecuting me to marry Sir Miles Caversham.’ A sudden impulse came to Stem. He longed to speak of his own love, and then he hesitated —he must keep his word to Ercott.

‘ Your father has put the—the —matter in a new light. He says that you might do so much good in such a position. He has been talking about those wretched Brinsby people, and he seems confident that you could reclaim some of them if you lived among them as their rightful superior. He says there would be scope there for you intellect and for your energy.’

Lois had sat very still and quiet while she listened.

‘ Did dad say that ? I could not have thought it. But he gives me too much credit. Example is much better than precept* How could l get a good ©sample

if I had to live with a man I detest ? Oh, you need not look surprised, my dear friend—that is a mild word to express my feelings for that person/ A slight flush rose in her cheeks. * I confess your attitude surprises me; I fancied there was just a little old-fashioned romance about you. I even went so far rs to dream that

you could love in the real honest unihis-

takeable way people do in novels. She looked earnestly at him; as he turned towards her, the love in his eyes made hers droop. She rose quickly, and went to the door. * I suppose I had better see dad afe once, I must be leaving in an hour/ ‘Shat would never do, anyway but that,’ she told herßelf when she reached ; the study. ‘ Oh, bow I wish these men would understand that I have had enough of them; I love my own life work better ; than I could love any man that was ever i born. I must end all this/.

She sighed as she opened the door. Her father was standing by his table, turning*©ver,papers. When she went in, he placed himself bn the sofa and pointed to a seat beside him. 1

‘ What is it, dad % Richard Stern says you want to talk to me/ ‘He has told you then ? I am glad you have come, dear Lois,. : I have waited for you/ He looked at her," and then cleared his throat. ‘ I have waited in the hope that you would change your mind. You know that I am speaking of the refusal you gave some weeks ago to Sir Miles Caversham/ ‘Yes ’ She paused, his voice sounded so strained that she feared she might make him angry. ‘ I should have spoken to you sooner, but you seemed so poorly, dear; it was impossible to worry you.’

‘ Nev:r mind me, I am thinking about your future. When you were a girl, you used to pity the Brinsby people. You said if they had a chance given them they would be better. Do yon’ remember ? I have heard you eloquent in their defence/ ‘ Oh, yes, I remember. I don't think I am as enthusiastic about improving others as I used to be,’ she said in a calm voice. ‘ You see, dad, in those days I believed in

everyone, myself included. That was before I was fledged. Now it seems to me sheer waste of energy to do evil that good may come of it/ He She feared ’ he was angry. ‘ I do not to do evil, Lois,’ he said, quickly. ‘ I ask you to marry a man who loves you, who is willing to devote the rest of his life to make you happy. He was almost in tears at your refusal. Surely you might learn to return his affection. You might be a help and example to him in raising the tone of these people, for whom he can if he chooses do so much/ His voice had straightened as he went , on. There came to it the old insistence that Lois had shrank from at Brinsby. She shrugged her shoulders in disgust

at her own bad judgment. Why had she yielded to Stern and entered into the subject of Sir Miles with her father ? She might have known that it was best avoided between them, But she said, quietly: * My dear dad f you propose an impossibility to me. George and Sophy might work this kind of miracle. They are both God-fearing people, they believe in the power of prayer, and all the rest of it. Above all, they love one another. Father, you really must accept the plain fact. What good could I do with a man I loathe as I loathe Miles Caversham ?’ Ercott rose from the sofa and stood facing her. ‘Listen to me, Lois,’ he said in the stern voice she so well remembered. * I have been wrong, I see, in keeping silence. I fancied Stern’s influence with you was more powerful than mine could be, I forgot that as your father I had a right to insist on ’ She interrupted—' To insist ?’ She also rose. She thought he meant to insist on her marriage with Sir Miles, and she looked, as she felt, defiant. ' When you were at Brinsby, you liked him and encouraged his attentions, what has happened to cause this change ? He is a better man than he was then. You cannot deceive me, Lois. I saw when you met him the other day that something was wrong, and the doubt struck me down. Now, I insist on knowing the truth of what has passed between you.’ He grasped her arm; his eyes had become wild. Lois had recovered her wits. For a moment she had been scared. 1 Sit down, dear dad,’ she said calmly, ‘ or you will be really, ill. You are exciting yourself terribly, and you frighten me.’ Then alarmed by Ms increasing

paleness, she put out her hand to ring the bell, but her father caught it in his. • ‘ You will not tell me, then ?’ The meaning she read in his eye stupified her. She tried to speak, but words would not come. Her father gasped in his effort to speak. He pointed to the door, and flung her hand from him as if it we#e a reptile. ‘ Go—nut of my sight before I forget myself. I will never see you again !’ He pointed to the door. It seemed to her that there was hatred in his eyes. A horrible fear mastered Lois and held her dumb; she again tried to speak—to tell her father that he wronged her. While she stood striving for words, Ercott fell back fainting on the sofa. (To be continued.)