FICTION.

New Zealand Mail, 22 January 1902, Page 5

FICTION.

SIR ASTLEY’S WIFE

r. gy FLORENCE WARDEN. 'Author of “The House on the Marsh,” ' “A Prince of Darkness,” etc.

[All Rights Reserved.] /CopYriVht in the United States of 1 America by D. T. Pierce.) CHAPTER I. Tu-o miles at least from anywhere, with the first flakes, of a coming snowstorm falling, a biting wind cutting • n to vour bones, suffering, moreover, from a recent spell of fever and a scarce healed gunshot* wound can mortal Ilian imagine a much worse predicament? This was not, however, the whole sum of the suffering of Astley Darwen on that bitter December day. For lie had not only himself to think of, but he had to'consider also the fact that he was in charge of a brand new motor car. the property of a confiding friend, which had broken down in a hopeless Planner when he had got a few miles out of Oxford, and which he felt bound to stand by in misfortune as it had stood by him up to then. With much exertion, therefore, and limping along in a very chastened mood, Ast 1 ey°directed his steps, motor and all, towards a riverside inn which he knew, where iie proposed to leave the car for the time, and to get rest and refreshment. for himself before returning to the town. Never had he seen the place so deserted. Not. so much as a tramp did he meet to give him a hand on his way. Slowly, painfully, with laborious steps,he pushed the vehicle along, filled with that deep sense of humiliation and abasement of which the Englishman becomes conscious when, after forsaking his true friend the horse, and taking up with the modern substitute,' that substitute breaks down, and, so to speak, taunts him with his inconstancy. When he had got so near the inn .hat a shout would have brought someone out to him, Astley paused a moment and gave a look round him. The snow was beginning to drive down at a faster rate; the wind was whirling the flakes round before dropping them in little feathery clumps wherever there was a nook or hole to be filled. Already a cloudy veil hung between him and the river, which was running fast and looking black as it ran. There was just one figure in sight, and Astley watched it with the interest to which its lonely position entitled it. It was that of a woman, apparently a slight young girl, who with her hat pressed down tightly with one hand, and her skirts blown round her like a sheath, was running like a hare with the v.'ind, along the towing-path and towards the hand bridge which crossed the river, a little below this point, past an old water mill.

He was much too far off to see her face, hut something m the woman’s walk and maimer made Astley look again, and presently made him leave his motor-car, to hobble a few steps in the direction in which she had gone, to look at her again. And the more lie looked, the more interested he became.

The woman reached the bridge, stepped cn it, stopped short, turned once, turned twice, hesitated, came off tho bridge again, and stood for a few moments looking down at the water. Then a,Cain she made a dash for the bridge, crossed it, and disapneared in the veil ot snow.

Astley had by this time made up his mind to follow her. Something in his own circumstances at that time made mn take a special interest, of a cynicratJlcr than a benevolent • , m the doings of any woman of cceentnc tendency. So lie crossed the and tnrned to the right, and close t , s , amo figure again, this time oft to the racing water. h«?®him d n SGe him - S ; hc - did nofc wind ' ■ . sncnv was driving, the KiesTtr/er' 1 " 8 ! a , nd whistling Si the bank nmvT l ’ and sie walked along the Then s„ k i i V ’ ; vits , loufc a lool ‘ behind, she was bh C i‘ 'I ! h ° st '°PP od - Whether ther'she di l° d > the or whenever told d L ? f kcr °' vn free will she was down iIJT V lO moment she Astlev i,-n mnk and m t,IG water, down tiU el \ oU S h to scramble her dress aftci ' hcr > to snatch at wet through l • eize 1 , lt > and to hold on, °ther, fieft, kimSelf ’lUnti 1 Until > somehow or they found if 7 knew exactly how, inpfinTci tfiemsdves. dripping, shiver! their circums < L° f amazement at and mud at tbo' C T’ on £ t l 0 slim y grass Such a L ed «o of the river. f s the womJn a i" i ( ’i miserable object ho had never bli Ti kei L, Astle y thought was inipossihio +’ sko was like bad got 'W 0 t 0 - ted 5 for her hair brings downT 0 ’ f and was hanging £ bat - and aK n o/r ; had forthS that inornine P something which had chiffon no l i? beon a cravat of white cord. n °' r hun S round her heck like a ,^Z V tTaVJtl y ° Uns ’ and so he con- | . Inat th o creature was a girl;

and to his surprise,- there was an accent of refinement in it which he had not been prepared to expect. “Thank you, thank you,” she said, rather tartly, as she freed herself from filie grasp of her preserver’s hands, and made a futile attempt to draw “her jacket back into its proper place; it had twisted itself round her in<an indescribable way, while*one of the sleeves had become stretched to an inordinate length. Astley was by this time exceedingly cross, and his ill humour was discernible in his voice as he said: “Are you all right P” “Oh, yes. I’m—l’m much obliged to you—of course,” said she, speaking with so much irritation that Astley suddenly burst out. laughing. It. was not that he was ill-natured, not that lie was unsympathetic; but the incongruity of her words with the service lie had just rendered her struck him with so much force that, being not unnaturally in a state of some excitement over his adventure, he was quite unable to control the impulse which moved him. His laughter startled the girl as nothing else could have done. She stood before him—for they had now scrambled up a little way—and stared at him stolidly. “Why do you laugh?” said she shortly* Brought face to face with the knowledge that he was behaving unconventionally, Astley grew serious again. “Indeed, I don’t know,” said he. “There’s nothing really laughable about tho affair for me; for I’ve got wet through; and as I’m dead lame, and haven’t long got over an attack of typhoid, there’s really nothing about this adventure which ought to make me merry.” The woman stared at him, and a little sound, like a smothered sob, came to her lips. Her eyes, which were black and looked unnaturally large in her face •now that it was blue-grey with cold, suddenly became moist.

“Let me help you up the bank,” said she.

And it was now her turn to do him a service, for his injured limb was benumbed with the cold, and she had hard work in getting him up to the top of the bank, which was now wet and slippery.

“I’m much obliged to you,” said he, with his teeth chattering. And he tried to walk, following her as she hurried along in the direction of the bridge. A curious object she looked, with her lank garments clinging to her, and the water still pouring down all over her. Before she got many steps away she turned half round to look at her rescuer. He was hobbling along with evident pain, and she hesitated, her conscience getting the better of her shyness. In another moment she had come back to him.

“Won’t- you let me help you along?” said she quickly, in a_ shamefaced way. “Thanks. It’s very good of you. hut you’d better make haste and get somewhere out of the snow, and I can’t get along fast enough to—to—” “I can’t leave you. after what you did, until I’ve seen you out of it, too,” murmured the girl in a low voice, still in the same awkward and shy manner. Suddenly it occurred to Astley to think that it would he better for the girl as well as for him for her to remain under his eye for the present. So ha said:

“Very well. Then well get to the other side, to the inn there, and ” “Oh, no,” cried she in sudden horror. But the next moment she checked herself, and said, in a low voice: ‘Yes, yes, to the inn.’ Very well.”

They had to go against the driving wind now. and at the slow rate of progress which was the best Astley was capable of, they were so blue and stiff with the cold by the time they got across the bridge, that it was with difficulty they parted their lips to exchange a few melancholy words. “Now—l’ll—leave—you. You can—get along from hero,” the girl said, as she withdrew her stiffened arm from his when they had reached tho opposite hank, and were near the little desolate looking inn. “You’d better—come in—too/’ rejoined Astley, with difficulty forming the words behind his chattering teeth. “There’ll be—a fire.—Think of it!”

He was trying to speak with humorous joviality, though his half-frozen companion was scarcely aware of tho fact. She shook her head, but feebly. Astley tried again. “Come—you’d hotter,” said ho. “You’ll be half dead —by the time you get back—anywhere—if—if—” Something in these words struck tho girl, and made her hesitate.

Half dead! Dead! That was a solemn word, and it had a new meaning to her who knew what she had just escaped. She let liersclf be persuaded. When Astley put a cold, stiff hand on her arm, as if again asking for her support, she silently gave in, and accompanied him up the little path, trembling and wearing a very hang-clog expression.

Before they readied the dooi it was thrown open, and the landlady, with a hearty warm of kindness, which sent a glow to both the frozen hearts, hurried them within doors, and busied herself at onco in preparations for their restoration.

“Here, Sam, go and tell your master to find some clothes for a gentleman

that’s fallen in the water!” screamed she, not waiting to hear particulars of the accident. “And, Susan, light a fire in my room, and go and rout out something for the lady. This way, this way, my dear. Oh, you’ll catch your death of cold if we don’tmake haste. How did you do it? Come, this way. ibis way!” And tho good woman, talking herself so fast that there was no need for either of the guests to find an answer, hurried tho shivering girl up the stairs, and into her own bedroom, where she quickly provided her with some clothing to put on while her own was dried downstairs at the kitchen fire.

When the shivering girl had had her circulation restored by a warm bath, and had put on the clothes provided for her hv her good-natured hostess, she sat down before the bedroom fire, with her face buried in her hands, and her heart oppressed with fears which were strangely different from the miseries which had brought her to her present plight. In a short time there came a tap at the door, and on her crying “Come in,” she found herself once more in the presence of Mrs Benne, who smilingly asked her how she felt, and handed Her a cup of tea. “Oh, I’iii all right, thank you, and I don’t know what to say to you, or how to thank you for your kindness,” said the girl, reddening, and holding down her head, as if to hide her face from scrutiny. “Bless me, that’s nothing!” said Mrs Benne, pulling back the window curtains a little, so that she could get. a better look at her guest’s face. For though it was still early, the December day Had already begun to draw in towards dusk. “I only hope you’ve not caught cold. Never shall I forget the turn it gave me to see you both, you and the gentleman, looking that blue and shivering at the door! How did it happen, now? Were you blinded by the snow, so that you both walked right into tlie river before you saw where you were going? Oh, there now, don’t mind me!” added the good woman with a little laugh, patting the girl’s arm kindly, as she seemed to shrink into herself at these words. “I know what young folks are; I’ve been young myself, and I know it’s very little they see of anything but each other.” The young girl moved restlessly under the infliction of this speech, not knowing whether she had better confess that the man who was her fellow-sufferer was a stranger to her, or allow Mrs Benue’s curiosity to evaporate in ignorance. “Oh, it wasn’t that, it was not at all like that,” she said, with a little frown and a restless movement.

“Oil, well, never mind, I won’t bother you. You neither of you want to talk about it, I see.” From these words the girl gathered that her unknown rescuer had been as reticent as herself. “I only hope the poor gentleman will get over it as well as you seem to have done; but he’s done nothing but shiver ever since.”

‘‘Really?” said the girl, in a strangled voice, rising instinctively as she uttered the word.

“Realty and truly. It seems he’s not long got over an attack of typhoid, and lie’s been wounded beside, so he’s more than ordinarily susceptible just now. Do you want to see him?” she went on, moving towards the door, as if to lead the way downstairs. “No,” said the girl sharply, as she promptly resumed her seat by the fire. Airs Benne seemed rather surprised, if not displeased. “He’s sitting all by himself in the parlour downstairs,” said she, while she began to wonder whether a serious quarrel was at the bottom of this accident. “He’s sent into Oxford for a fly, to take you both, and in the meantime I advised him to keep as warm as possible.” Again the girl stood up, and now it was impossible to mistake the expression of her face for anything but one of serious concern.

“Not for both of us,” she said quickly. “He—l—” She stopped. The landlady was confirmed in her suspicion*, and tho expression of her face changed also. Intense curiosity began to get the better of every other feeling in her breast, and the girl, grateful as she felt for the kindness she had received, was worried and distressed by her position, and a little inclined to resent Mrs Bonne’s evident wish to know more than anybody chose to tell her. “Oh, well, of course, it’s no business of mine,” said tho landlady, after a pause, to allow her guest to unbosom herself if she chose. “Of course, I’ve no wish to intrude, though I’ve been trusted with a good many secrets in my time.” “There’s no secret in the case,” said tho girl, with unconscious irritation, turning to the window, and looking out at the still fast falling snow. “I slipped and fell into tho water, and this gentleman got me out, and unfortunately got wet through himself in doing so. That’s all.”

“I quite understand, and I won’t trouble you again till the fly comes,” said Mrs Bonne, as she snatched up her little tray and retreated to the door.And before her guest could detain her to express afresh her thanks for tho kind treatment she had received, Mrs Benne had shut herself out of tho room, and was on her way down stairs.

The girl sprang up again, and onco more stared out into the gathering gloom. The snow was falling faster than ever; tho wind swept clouds of the feathery flakes now to the right and now to the left, and the black line of the river was growing dim.

“I must get away, I must get hack!” muttered the girl, peering out at the flat country along the river bank with a dismal sense of the difficulties that lay before her. Then she turned quickly, and having by this time exchanged her borrowed garments for her own, proceeded to put on her jacket and the mis-shapen headgear which, much dam* aged by the water, had to do duty for a hat.

With one horrified glance in the little looking-glass at the strange object slio then appeared, she hurried across the room, opened the door softly, and ran downstairs.

The day was by this time fading fast; the heavy clouds and the falling snow all contributed to tlie darkness and the gloom. At the bottom of the narrow staircase she came to a window .halfblocked with snow, and to a door which she knew was the back door of the house.

Almost leaping to the ground in her hasto to get away, the girl had her fingers on the handle,, when someone darted out of an opposite door, and turning in her direction, began to grope for t-lie latch, evidently without seeing her.

Instinctively she drew back; the other person found the handle and threw open the door.

It was the man wlio had rescued her from the river. At the same moment they saw, recognised each other, and uttered an exclamation.

Each understood that they had had the same idea in their minds, that of escaping from the house without the knowledge of the other.

CHAPTER 11. j A curious situation it was, and for i till© first moment each hesitated what to make of it. Then, with a laugh, ; Astley spoke: j “Not inviting outside, is it? And—- | there’s a fire in that room.” Drawing the outer door slowly to, in the face of a gust of wind and a whirl : of snow, ho looked round towards the room out of which lie had just come. 1 The girl hesitated, made a movement forward, as if she would have hurst her ! 'vay out of the house at sight of linn, and then, with a crimson, hang-dog look, and breathing heavily, turned in the direction he indicated. She hoped ihe would not follow, but he did. Ho I came in his turn, into the big, bare room, with its uncomfortable linoleumcovered floor, and its rows of deal tables, now huddled together at one end, which would be covered with little tablecloths and ranged at even distances when the summer came to invite the tea-drinking visitors and excursionists from Oxford.

Now there were only two of these tables in occasional use, and they were placed near the fire, each with a couple of worn knives, a few Britannia metal spoons, and a dusty basin half full ot sugar, to intimate that they were at the service of the chance visitor.

On each side of the fire was a springless armchair, relic of the days of horsehair and crochet antimacassars, and m one of these Astley had been taking his ease when a sudden impulse had urged him to leave the inn before his fellow visitor should make her reappearance. For there was no doubt that their situation with respect to each other was an awkward one. Astley had few romantic tendencies, and although vhe young woman had certainty not appeared inclined to overwhelm him by any uncomfortablo display of excessive gratitude, yet there was no doubt He was her rescuer, and if she met him again she could hardly fail to refer to tho fact.

Foiled in his attempt to escape, Astley was seized with a sudden impulso to laugh on finding that the girl herself had been foiled in a similar fashion. When, therefore, she reached the fireplace, and turned round abruptly, in a shamefaced manner, towards him, she saw that he was convulsed with merriment.

Astonished, as well she might he, the girl stared at him in silence. Then, half turning as she stood with one foot upon the fender, she caught sight again, as she- had done upstairs, of her own reflection in a weather-stained lookingglass, and her feminine vanity suddenly got tho better of every other feeling. The expression of her face changed suddenly as she stared at the unattractive looking object before her. It needs beauty of a high order, and in the most perfect condition at that, to stand tfie ordeal of an appearance in a shapeless hat which has been thoroughly soaked and imperfectly dried, seen through tho medium of an early Victorian lookingglass. The girl’s good looks—for she was good looking—could not stand such a test. Her olive skin looked green; her’black hair looked lank, twisted up, half-dried, in an unbecoming fashion; and her large dark eyes and fairly regular features counted for nothing against these odds.

Instinctively she turned her head away from Astley. who was struggling to regain his gravity. For the awful thought find suddenly struck him lliafc sho might think he was laughing at ler

In fact, the curious little knob into which she had fastened her hair peeped out under her shapeless hat in an extremely comical way. It behoved him, therefore, to be careful. “I’m afraid you think it- very stupid of me to laugh,” he said as lie came forward a little way into the room, and stood behind one of the mahogany armchairs.

“Oh. no. Some people see fun in anything,” said the girl, somewhat distantly.

Evidently she was not grateful for what he had done for her. Astley felt that this was a great comfort. And it amused him to think that he had been anxious to avoid an hysterical scene of tears and thankfulness, while she had been just as anxious to escape the sight, cf him at all.

“Well, when things are at a very bad pass, they have a way of taking a laughable turn, don't you think so ?"’ said he.

“I can't say I do.” said the girl tartly. “There's a long walk in the snow to befaced, for one thing, and in the dark, too.'-'

And she glanced out into the gathering gloom. Astley broke in cheerfully:

“Oh. it’s not quite so bad as that. I've sent in to Oxford for a cab. you know, and—”

“But I mean to walk.” struck in the girl, and she suddenly sprang away from the fireplace, and made for the door.

Astley, however, was nearer it- than she. and in spite cf his lameness was able to obstruct her passage.

“Oh. no. you can’t do that.” he said quickly, speaking with sudden gravity.

“Oh. but I can. I must!” And into the girl’s tone there came suddenly the first intimation of inward distress which she had given since her reappearance.

“Indeed you must not. I can’t allow it." .said Astley. speaking in his turn with 'seriousness, and also with unexpected authority. “To venture on such p. walk along an exposed road, in the d;ark. with the snow and the wind driving towards you. would be danger, if not certain death, especially after such an adventure as you've had," he added hr.rriedlv.

What gave him authority with the girl was not so much the fact that be had saved her life an hour or two before, but a certain hardness, amounting almost to a suspicion of mockery in his manner, which made her curiously conscious of a feeling of inferiority to him. Though he was perfectly courteous, it was with the courtesy of one who stands in an unassailably superior position. She felt that he looked down upon her. despised her. was courteous only because it was a convention of his class t-o be verbally courteous to women. The thought enraged her. quite swallowed up. indeed, any impulses she might have had towards gratitude. “Oh. as for that. I'm none the worse for getting my feet wet.” she said ungraciously. r.s she paused a moment, watching for her opportunity to slip by him and get away. ■ Getting her feet wet" was such a euphemistic description of what had happened that Astley could hardly forbear another smile. The girl saw it. and made another dash for the door. She was foiled, however, again. "Excuse me.” said lie, “but you must allow me to insist.'’ The girl drew herself up. “Suppose I insist, too?” “Then we shall have to see who can insist the hardest,” retorted Astley with perfect coolness, “and to judge by our previous experience, you know, it—will not be von.”

The spirit, the dash, the daring went out or the girl s face and bearing In a moment. She gave one shy. frightened look at his face, and turned away with a. quivering lip. His manner altered direetlv.

"I should strongly advise you.” said he. with the resumption of a more e\ eryday tone, as 11c glanced towards the fireplace, “to take off your hat and unit quietly and get tliorcughlv warm before the cab comes, as you will have a very cold drive.”

. “And—and you?” faltered the girl, in a strangled voice, and she instinctively turned as if to obey him. .“Oh. I think I shall perhaps stay the night here, unless I tell the cabman to come back for mo,” he said. It was quite clear that the <rirl began to breathe more easily after this. To the highly strung mood in which he had first met her had succeeded the inevitable reaction, so that she now felt as anxious to conceal her identity from her rescuer and to hide the rash at tempt she had made, as she had been previously indifferent to all tw„ things.

. “Oh ?” she ejaculated in a low voice in a tone of unmistakeable relief. There was a pause, and then she said: “But. I don’t like to take your cab. And if you’ve been ill, it’s even more important that you should get back than "that I should. I think it will bo better for you to go first, and to send the cab back for me. I’ll promise to wait,” she added quickly, and with a certain ingenuousness which confirmed the impression that she was very young indeed. Astley tried not to smile again. “Oh,” said he, “don’t trouble your head about me. After roughing itt through an African campaign, this sort of experience is a mere picnic.” A look of interest suddenly peeped out of the sidelong glance she gavo him.

Then as he still stood in the way between her and the door, she muttered, “Very well, then,” and immediately walked back to the fireplace, where she resumed her former position, standing with one foot on the fender, and her eyes directed towards the terrible look-ing-glass. | Astley came forward slowly, drew one i of the horsehair armchairs back to a discreet distance, and sat down. As she was between him and the window, the only view he could get of her face was by the light of the fire below her, which threw distorting shadows upon her face. Little as he saw, however, he was conscious that she was taking up the burden of life again, and trying to devise some manner of tricking him, so that she might hide her identity. (To he Continued.)