SEALED ORDERS.

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXI, Issue 4441, 22 August 1901, Page 3

SEALED ORDERS.

By R. Ramsay, in “Chambers's Journal.” (Concluded.) 11. ‘‘lt’s a fine place,” said Archie; “a fine place. Why. Bess, you’re a landed lady.” “lou are changed,” she said. “Tougher? Tanned? My dear purl, remember it’s years and years” They ran up the steps hand in hand—girl and boy, as they made believe—and all unaware of the two watching them from an unobtrusive outlook. ‘‘You are not changed,” said Archie. Ho was watching her tenderly, as became him after that long parting. He was at least as handsome as ever, much taller than she, with a fierce moustache. "A widow,” he continued, in a comical voice that jarred. “A widow I Poor little Bess!” ‘‘You haven’t been home yet?” ghe said in a hurry. Archie looked halfreproachful. “No,” ho said. “You came first. Yon wore always first, weren’t you? But, I say, I’d no end of a bother in getting leave.” “Had you?” ■ j. tried for it before,” ho said. “Just after the'news came that the General—that—you know—l’ve got a bit of a cut on the head, but it healed up before I could get my papers; and they wanted us badly Jor a pack of little fights.” “How did you get it at last?” said Bess. She saw the scar, a white ridge across his brow,, and remembered finding his name, with terror, among the wounded. It made her feel proud and tender ; she looked in his face and smiled. “How?’ asked Archie. “I told the Colonel I wanted leave to get married.” “Dut—are you ?’ Archie laughed oddly, at her exclamation. “I —I—hope so,” he said meaninglv. Then, as luck would have it, in walked Joseph. - Ten minutes later ho was being literall v shaken. “What possessed you to interrupt them?” said Mrs Cox, injured and in dignant. ‘‘Another minute and they would have come to an understanding. Now it may be put oil for days.” “.Elizabeth seemed glad to see me—almost relieved,” said Joseph. Mrs Cox looked at him with warlike scorn. “She had to pretend,” said she. Archie had always been imperious with Bess, and time had not made him loss so. His air of proprietorship was the revival of an ancient habit; and yet, when it struck her, Bess felt as if up in arms. He came to her as she was standing at the window in her writing den, oud looked over her shoulder. Somebody was riding away from the door. “Who is that?” he asked curiously. Bess started. “It’s Mr Gordon of Dalcarres,”. she said. “I asked him to stay to lu.Veh, but ho wouldn’t: and you had van 4 ’ '"d with Polly Cox.” , , ' “What did ho want?” asked >

Bess lifted her chin, at his lordly ; she was not accustomed to any. Is imperiousness. mi i “It was on business,” she said. 'l’m buying a farm of his.” “Oh,” said Archio. “Where is it?” “Wo mustn’t let him cheat you. “Can’t wo ride over and have a look?” “Cheat me?” cried Bess. She was angry with Dalcarros that ho had been so queer and curt, and had ridden away so fast; but cheat her I If only he could hear that cool suggestion! “Yes. all these people look upon you as lawful spoil,” said Archie. “A forlorn widow, I suppose?” Ho did not understand that she was rather angry. . “Poor little girl I” he said sympathetically. “You’ve been having a had time lately, I dare say. A woman is never happy when sh 0 is rich. Well, Pm here; so all that is past.” “Thankyou,” said Bess. Archie came nearer. His manner was more than ever suggestive of the possessive case. “Mrs Cox was telling m 0 you had been fairly plagued with admirers- A pack of fortune-hunting scamps. She made me feel quite nervous.” Bess laughed. “Oh, no. she said : ‘Tm spared that. Tile '"'ill keeps them all aloof.” “The will?” said Archie. His fingers went up suddenly, affrightecllv, to his moustache. HeJxeTC^ba^^th^tart^

"Yes. You know if I marrv I lose it all.” “What?” Archie was breathless with astonishment, and ho looked at her as if she must be mad. “i. never heard that. Aou never told me ” . ~ “I told you long ago; m my first letter after—after -” “I never had it,” lie interrupted fiercely, like a much-injured man. “Annie and John and the mater all said it was left to you And I understood from the lawyers ” There was an extraordinary change in his manner. Ho stared at her, speaking like an accuser. _ “You must havo mistaken them, Bess said steadily. “But, Archie, it docsn t matter.” “Matter? Tho old _ curmudgeon! What a shame! —what a wicked shamed “Don’t!” with a warning cry. “I can’t help it,” said Archie, furiously. ‘T never liked him ; I’d too good reason. But I didn’t think lie was such a vindictive wretch. 'Io chain you io his grave like that! I hope bo’s gone to a hot place—that’s all: Ho stopped, confounded. Bess faced him, white at first, with angry eyes; but as she listened her face grew as red as fire. “How daro you?” sho cried. “He is dead, and ho can’t defend himself—oh, you coward! I tell you I loved and worshipped him; ho was my hero when I was a child—you remember that. I told him I’d rather bo big nurse than he the Queen; and I was proud of him to the last. He was right—ho was right. God only knows what ho saved mo!” Sh o flung out her hands as if to ward off a danger, and turned and left him. Archie stood there dumb: Ho saw her rush past the blank horror of Mrs Cox in her room beyond, all too near for dignity, and so disappear. There was a crash of a glass door shut furiously; sho could not trust herself in tho house any longer. Archie sighed and whistled, utterly crestfallen. Another house of cards had fallen in tho dust. Bess did not know where she was running; she was desperately angry. All sho eared for was to feel the wind beating in hor face and to get away from Archie. At last she grow breathless. She sat clown on the grass, and lauchcd and cried, with her cheeks again white with anger. As luck would havo it, John Gordon of Dalcarres was taking a solitary walk round tho farm he was going to sell, and which lay s° near the lands of his neighbour. Walking along thoughtfully, with a gun under his arm, he presently saw a rabbit. Ho fired, and the air was shaken with a little white dash of sraoso. “Oh!” Sh e lifted er head with a cry and saw him—saw his look of horror as ho sprang forward and was with her in three strides. “Mrs Courage,” he was saying, “I might have shot you. What aro you doing here?” He was uncivil in his alarm, as if addressing a trespasser or a tramp. Doubtless she made a strange spectacle sitting there.

“If you must know,” she said recklessly, “I was crying.” “Why?” His voice was still unsteady, but very kind. She felt a sudden, bitter impatience at his manner, like that of a Queen’s adviser, always faithful, a little distant. “Because I am poor,” she said. She had not expected to cause such an effect with her scornful words. It was worse than Archie. “Poor!” he cried. He looked involuntarily at tho great house behind, at the land stretching between it and this farthest strip of his. The richest woman in the county was making a strange excuse for her tears. “I’m the poorest woman in Scotland, I think,” said Bess. She Iqoked at him with a defiant smile on her lips. “I haven’t a single friend. I’m only a thing with money for a little while in its hands; and my dearest friends like me with caution, knowing that any day they may find my hands empty. I’m nothing without that glitter.” “Tell me what you mean,” said Dalcarrcs. His tone was queer. “Oh,” said Bess impatiently, “does not all tho world know that the General left me everything till —I—married?” “God bless tho General!” cried Dalcarres. There was no mistaking his look at last. I , “You—did —not—know? she said? “No,” said Dalcarres. “If 1 had known “And Archie did not know. The lawyers must have been strangely merciful ; they seemed to think it was a kind of slur. Yet—l thought—oh! I thought th e whole world knew the thing and shunned me.” “Listen,” said Dalcarres. “I—l beg your pardon, Mrs Courage—oh, my dearest!”— It was odd to see his old distant manner giving way to the new eagerness in his face. Others may have known; I did not. And I’ve never dared to tell you I loved you because of that black trouble of money that bid you so. Don’t be angry. I used to hear people say, ‘There’s Dalcaxres ; he must marry money; watch him with the widow!’ Then I had to turn my back. Each time your little hand touched mine heavy with rings I could not give you, it was a fight; hut tho Gordons were always poor, and proud.” The strong arm was not round her yet. She looked at him with a little shiver. This was not th e quiet John Gordon that she knewj. it was a strange, eager, impatient—lovjf. “I was ill last year,” she said, “and I used to hear night after night a horse in the distance. Nobody beard it but I, as they waited for me to_ die. But 1 asked tho doctor, and ho said it was Mr Gordon. I asked him again, and he said it was Mr Gordon; and then I did not ask any longer, although night after night I heard it still —I alone. I only wanted to lie and listen: it was so far—so far. And I said, ‘I will not die—perhaps’ ” She broke off, putting out her hands with a little fling of reproach. “Tho Gordons were always proud,” she repeated. “Were they always hard—and unkind ?” His arm was round her then ; it held her safe and happy—and—poor —at last. • * * * *

“Allow me to congratulate you—Mrs Gordon.” , , The lawyer spoke as cheerfully as if he had not come’ down to towu expressly to deprive this Mrs Gordon of all her wealth. His manner was far too chirpy for such a melancholy occasion. In the distance the General’s surviving tives were sitting side by side. The lady was Mrs Cox no longer, haying clinched the bargain irrevocably with the rival party. Within the next minute one or the other would bo made rich, and they had cunningly put themselves past the danger of treachery or the fear of a breach of promise. Now they were able to look forward with an air of assured expectation. The General had directed a solemn opening of his last instructions as soon as the fatal marriage had taken place; and their voung aunt by marriage was forgiven by them at lastArchie was there also—glum and embarrassed—hut inquisitive, all the sameThere was no reading the countenance of that little grey man with the sheets of blue paper and the envelope sealed with black. He was impassive, professional, down to his very cough. It was that, for the.last thirty years.

had made heirs-expeotant jump. His curt, dry voice went muttering on, repeating the last clauses of the General’s will, with its burden of riches left to his wife, and its one harsh condition : “The said Elizabeth Black or Courage, having forfeited the above, X will now break the seal of this envelope, obeying the above directions, and will disclose the name of the individual inheriting in her default.” Archie, looking on entirely as a spectator, fancied he caught a twinkle in the formal mask of the speaker as he paused with fate in his hands. Was he ignorant, also, or could he give a guess?” “An institution after all, by George! said heThe General’s niece and nephew, forgetting in their excitement that their interests were identical, glared like cat and dog at each other. But Bess, stripped of her riches, smiled valiantly at Dalcarres. “ ‘Whereas’ ” —the seal was broken; they heard the General’s commands, stilted and formal, but firm as on the field of battle—“ ‘whereas my wife Elizabeth has found a man worth all she has hereby forfeited for his sake; and whereas this man will have married her for herself, and is proved worthy of her trust —and mine: I hereby leave all I die possessed of—to my dear girl as a wedding present.’ ” There was a short hush of consternation. The General’s surviving relatives look-. ed at each other fiercely, each feeling tricked by the other into a match; and the lawyer, his twinkle justified by results, came forward to repeat his congratulations. But Archie turned on his heel.—“ Chambers’s JouFnal.”