TRISTRAM OF BLENT

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXI, Issue 4425, 3 August 1901, Page 2 (Supplement)

TRISTRAM OF BLENT

AN EPISODE IN THE STORY OF AN ANCIENT HOUSE. (By Anthony Hope.) [ALL EIGHTS STRICTLY RESERVED] (Copyright, 1001, in the U.S.A. by An- • thony Hope.) CHAPTER XXVl.—(Continued.) “Thank goodness, that’s over!” said Mina snappishly, as she stepped out into the garden, followed by Mr Neeld. The rest went off to see the treasures of the Long Gallery. Mina turned to him with a quick question; “You saw Mr Tristram. How is he ?” “Harry Tristram is quite well and in very good spirits. I never saw a man better in my life.” Mina was silent for a minute. Then she broke out: “I call it disgusting. He’s in good spirits and she’s in good spirits, and—and there’s an end of it, I suppose! The next thing will be——” “It’s not the end if there’s a next thing,” Neeld suggested timidly. “Oh, don’t be tiresome. The next tiling’ll be some stupid girl for him and some idiot of a man for her. How I wish I’d never come to Merrion!” “Don’t despair; things may turn out better than you think.” “They can’t,” she declared fretfully. “I shall go away.” “What a pity! Miss Gainsborough— Lady I mean—will miss you so much!” “Let her!” said the Imp ungraciously. “I’ve put myself out enough about the Tristrams.”

Neeld forebore to remind her of the entirely voluntary nature of her sacrifices ; after all he was not the man to throw s tonei on that account. “Wait a *t days anyhow,” he urged her. In a few days something must happen. “A few days ? Oh, yes!” As a matter of fact she meant to stay all the winter. “She’s started,” she went on, with an irritated Jerk of her head towards the Long Gallery, “putting all the things in different places and rearranging everything.” “I should imagine that Mr Gainsborough’s enjoying himself then ” “She doesn’t let him touch a thing,” replied Mina with a fleeting smile. “He just stands about with a duster. That contents him well enough, though. Oh, yes, I shall go. The Broadlevs won’t car©, about me, and Cecily won’t want me long.” Neeld could give real comfort only at the price of indiscretion. Moreover h e was nob at all sure that a disclosure of the truth would bring any comfort, for Mina wanted to be on both sides and to harmonise devotion to Cecily with zeal for Harry. Neeld did not quite see how this was td be done, since it was understood that’ as Harry would take nothing from Cecily, so Cecily would refuse anything from Harry. “We must wait and see how it all turns out,” said he. “I hate people who say that,” grumbled Mina disconsolately. “And I do think that the Ivers have grown extraordinarily stupid—caught it from Bob Broadley, I suppose.” When Injustice springs not from judgment but from temper, it is not worth arguing against. Neeld held his tongue, and they sat silent on the seat by the river, looking across to Merrion, and hearing the voices of their friends through the open windows of the Long Gallery. Presently there came to them through the stillness of the night the sound of wheels, not on the Blentmouth side, but up the valley, on the Mingham and Fillingford road. The sound cea s ed without the appearance of any vehicle, but it had reminded Neeld of the progress of time. “It must be getting late,” he said, rising. “I’ll go and see if they think of starting home. Did you hear wheels on the road—towards the Pool” . “Bob Broadley’s cart cpming for him, I suppose.” “No, I don’t think so: He’s going back to Fairholme with us. I heard him say so.” Mina was languidly indifferent, and Mr Neeld trotted off into th e house. Mina sat on, frowning at the idea that in a few minutes she would have to go in and say good-bye; for the voices came no more from the Long Gallerv. and she heard the guests laughing and chattering in the hall, as they prepared for departure. Suddenly she discerned the figure of a man coming into sight across the river. He walked slowly, as it seemed stealthily, till he came to the end of the footbridge. Then he halted and looked up at the house. It was gaily lighted. After waiting a moment the man turned back and disappeared up the road in the direction of Mingham. Mina rose and strolled to the bridge. She crossed it, and looked up the road. She could make out dimly the stranger’s retreating form. She heard Cecilv calling to her, and ran back to the house. A wonderful idea had come into her head, bom of a vaguely familiar aspect that the bear*

ing of the man had for her. But she laughed at it, telling herself that it was all nonsense; and as she joined in the talk and farewells it grew faint and was almost forgotten. Yet she whispered to old Neeld with a laugh : “'I saw a man on the road just now who looked rather like Harry. I could not s ee him properly, you know.”

Neeld started, and looked at her with obvious excitement. She, repaid his stare with one of equal-intensity. “Why, yon don’t think ?” she began in amazement. “Come, Neeld, we’re waiting for you,” cried Iver from the waggonette, while Bob in irrepressible spirits burst into song as he gathered up the reins. He had deposed the coachman, and had Janie with him on the box.

They drove off, waving their hands and shouting good-night. Mina ran a little wa3' after them, and saw Neeld turning his head this way and that, as though he thought there might bo something to see. When she returned she found Gainsborough saying good-night to his daughter; at the same moment the lights in the Long Gallery were put out. Cecily slipp®d her arm through hers, and they walked out again into the garden. After three or four minutes the wagrronette, having made the circuit necessary to reach the carriage bridge, drove by on the road across the river, with more waving of hands and shouts of good-night. An absolute stillness came as the noise of its wheels died away. “I’ve got through that all right,” said Cecily with a laugh, drawing her friend with her towards the bridge. “I suppose I shall be quite accustomed to it soon.” They went on to the bridge, and halted in the middle of it, by a common impulse as it seemed. “The sound of a river always says to me that it doesn’t matter much,” Cecily went on, leaning on the parapet. “I believe that’s been expressed more poetically.” “It’s great nonsense, however it’s expressed,” observed Mina scornfully. ‘T sometimes feel as if it were true.” Probably Cecily thought that nobody—no girl—no girl in love—had ever had the feeling before. A delusive appear ance of novelty is one of the most dangerous weapons of Cupid. But Mina was an experienced woman—had been married, too! “Don’t talk stuff, my dear,” she cried crossly. “And why are we standing on this horrid little bridge ?” She turned round; Cecily still gazed in melancholy abstraction into the stream. Cecily, then, faced down the valley; Mina looked up it, and at the moment the moon showed a quarter of her face a nd illuminated a streak of th e Fillingford road. The man was there. Ho was there again. The moonlight fell on hie face. He smiled at Mina, pointed a hand towards Blentmouth. and smiled again. He seemed to mock the ignorance of the vanished waggonette. Mina made _no sign. He laid his finger on his lips, and nodded slightly towards Cecily. The clouds covered the moon again, and there was no more on th e Fillingford road than a black blotch on the deep grey of the night; even this vanished a moment after. And still Cecily gazed down into th 0 Blent. Presently she turned ■ round. “I suppose we must go in,” she said grudgingly. “It’s getting rather chilly.,” They were both in low-cut frocks, and had come out without any wraps. With the . intuition of a born schemer, Mina seized on the chance. “Oh, it’s so lovely!” she cried, with an apparently overwhelming enthusiasm for nature. “Too perfectly lovely 1 I’ll (run in and get some cloaks. Wait, here till I come back, Cecily.” “Well, don’t bo long,” said Cecily, crossing her bare arms with a little shiver. Off the Imp ran, and vanished into the house. But she made no search for wraps. After a moment’s hesitation in the hall the deceitful creature ran into the library. All was dark there; a window was open, and showed the bridge, with Cecily’s figure on <it making a while blur in the darkness. Mina crouched on the window sill, and waited. The absolute .unpardonableness of her conduct occurred to her; with a Smile she dismissed the consideration. He—and she—who desires the end must needs put up with the means; it is all the easier when the means happen to be uncommonly thrilling. Harry was humbled! That was the conclusion which shot through her mind. What els© could his coming mean? If it meant less than that, it was mere cruelty. If it meant that A keen pang of disappointment shot through her. It was the only way to what she desired, but it was not the way which she would have preferred him to tread. Yet because it was the only way, she wished it—with the reservation that it would have been much better if it could have happened in some other fashion. But anyhow the position, not to say her position, had every element of excitement. “Poor old Mr Neeld,” she murmured once. It was hard on him to miss this. At the moment Neeld was smiling over the ignorance in which he bad been bound to keep her. It is never safe to suppose, however pleasing it may be to believe, that nobody is pitying us; either of his knowledge or of his ignorance some one is always at it. She started violently, and turned round. The butler was there, candle in hand. “Is' her ladyship still out, ma’am ?” he asked, advancing. “I was going to lock up.” He was hardly surprised to find her—they knew she odd —and would not have shown it if he had been. “Oh, go to bed,” she cried in a low voice. “We’ll lock up. We don’t want anything, anything at all.” "Very good. Good-night, ma’am.’ What an escape! Suppose Cecily had seen at her at the window! But Cecily was not looking at the window. She moved to the far end of the bridge, and stood gazing up towards Merrion, where one light twinkled in an upper room. Mina saw hec stretch out her arms for a moment towards the sky. What had happened? It was impossible that he had gone away! Mina craned her head out of the window, looking and listening. Happen wkat might, he the end of it what it might, this situation was deliciously strong of the Tristrams. They were redeeming their characters ; they had not settled down into the ordinary or been enpmlfed in the slough of the common-place. Unexpected appearances and midnight interviews of sentimental moment were still to be hoped for from them. There wa ß not yet an end of all.

He came; Mina saw his figure on the road, at first dimly, then with a sudden distinctness as a gleam of moonlight shone out. He stood a little way up the road to Cecily’s right. She did not see him yet, for she looked up to Merrion. He took a step forward, his tread sounding loud on the road. There was a s udden turn of Cecily’s head. A moment’s silence followed. He came up to her, holding out his hand. She drew back, shrinking from it. Laying her hands on the gate of the bridge, she seemed to set it as a fence between them. Her voice reach*

od Mina’s ears, low, yet a s distinct as though she had been by her side, and full of a terrified alarm and a bitter reproach.

“You here! Oh, you promised, vou promised!” ith a hound Mina s conscience awoke. She had heard what no ears save his had any right to hear. What if she were found? The conscience was not above asking that, but it was not below feeling an intolerable shame even without the discovery that ij suggested as her punishment. Blushing red there in the dark she slipped from the window seat and groped her way to a chair. Here sh e flung herself down with a sob of excitement and emotion. He had promised. And the promise was broken in his coming. Now she heard their steps on the path outside. They were walking towards the house. Telling herself that it was impossible for her to move now, for fear she should encounter them, she sank lower into her armchair. “Well, where shall wo go?” she heard Cecily ask in cold, stiff tones. “To tho Long Gallery,” said Harry. The next moment old Mason, the butler was in the room again, this time in great excitement. “There’s someone in the garden with her ladyship, ma’am,” she cried. “I think—l think it’s my lord,” “Who?” asked Mina, sitting up, feigning to bo calm and sleepy. “Mr Harry, I mean, ma’am.” “Oh, well, then, go and see.” The old man turned and went out into the hall. “How are you, Mason?” she heard Harry say. “Her ladyship and I have some business to talk about. May I have a sandwich afterwards?” There h e was, spoiling the drama, in Mina’s,humble opinion. Who should think of sandwiches now? "Do what Mr Tristram says, Mason,” said Cecily. She heard them begin to mount the stairs. Jumping up, she ran softly to the door and out into the hall. Mason stood there with his candle, staring up after Cecily and Harry. He turned to Mina with a quizzical smile wrinkling his good-natured face. “You’d chink it a funny time for business, wouldn’t you, ma’am?” he asked. He paused a moment, stroking his chin. “Unless you’d happened to be in service twenty years with her late ladyship. Well, I’m glad to see him again, anyhow.” “What shall w© do ?” whispered Mina. “Are you going to bed, Mason?” “Not me, ma’am. Why, I don’t know what mayn’t happen before tho morning.” Ho shook his head in humorous commentary on those ho had served. “But there's no call for you to sit up, ma’am.” “I’ll thank you to mind your own business, Mason,” said the Imp indignantly, “It would he most—most improper it I didn’t sit up. Why. it’s nearly midnight.” “They won’t think of that up there, said he. The sound of a door slammed came from upstairs. Mina’s eyes met Mason’s for a moment by an involuntary impulse, then hastily turned away. It ig an excellent thing to be out of the reach of temptation 1/ The door was shut! “Give me a candle hero in the library,” said Mina, with all her dignity. And there in the library she sat down to wonder and to wait. . Mason went off after the sandwiches, smiling still. There was really nothing odd in it when once you were accustomed to the family ways. (To be continued on Tuesday.)