Sister Anue. CHAPTER 11.

Otago Witness, Issue 928, 11 September 1869, Page 19

Sister Anue. CHAPTER 11.

The death of my dear stepmother wag the firßt great calamity of my life, the first at least of which I was ponsuioua. It did not merely pierce my very heart with grief, it was always'the leading cause of, almost every subsequent affliction which b jfel me. My father never recovered the blow. He had been a happy and prosperous man till then, but after his wife's death he. became both 'sad and unfortunate. The judgment and industry which had won him* wealth and* knighthood failed him in this great grief. He had heavy losses, speculated to redeem, became the prey of designing men, and died broken-hearted and ruined before ' I was twenty. My brother William was left wholly-unprovided for ; but from my mother I derived a small income on which we could live, and, thanks to my trustee' and to William's guardian and mine, Mr. Bolt, we were not divided. We had to leave our old home, however, and oh ! how my heart ached as, standing on the threshold of my dead stepmother^ room, I looked back on every thiigr which recalled her so vividly: Five years had not effaced her from my heart, or made her memory less dear ; and when, leading William by the hand, I passed by the little fountain with its waters dancing in the sun, I seemed to see her dear face looking tenderly at her child and me through the shining spray. Mr Rolt was married, and with his wife and him we went to live, at Brompton. They were very good-natured people, and both belonged" to what I' will venture to call the sleeping tiibe. Few thinga roused them ; yet I should have been happy enough with thorn if my darling's prospects had not given mo many an anxiousthought. Whenever I spoke to Mr. Rolt of my late father's affairs, he raised his hands and turned tip his eyes to signify the deplorable state in which they had been left. Whenever I attempted to get hold of something like clear and definite information, he put me away with a " Oh, you girl ! you girl !" that waa both sweeping and contemptttouß,

But when I was twenty-one matter* changed. 1 then insisted on knowing; how and why my father's property bid melted away ; I insisted on talking; to the lawyer myself, and that, uentleman waa heard to deolarti that "Miss Sydney was an extraordinary young lady. Such a houd for business in a girl of her years was simply fabulous." Good old gentleman, I don't «hi«k my head was fabulous at all, nor were my abilities so very wonderful. If my interest alone had been at stake I dare say I should have let matters tako their course, nor troubled my bruin with thn recovery of seemingly lost thousands. But you soo there wai William ! William, my darling boy ; William, my father's child, who looked at me with itu motlier'a eyes and smiled that smile I hud Been on her poor dear face the night before she died. I had promised her that I would be true to him, and feeling as I did, that if I did not care for him, no one would, £ set my mind, my heart, my whole energies to the task of saving something for him out of our great wreck. A Ins ! I Bared vory little, not enough to give him the education of a gentleman. I hud two hundred a- year of my own ; I resolved to spare out of that whatever ho might need, in ordor to live oheaply and vet not to bo alono in a strange place. William wag to go to a German university. I wroto to Mrs. Gibson and asked her tor that dreary Roaehowor, which, ns I know, tho poor lady still found it very hard to lot. Both Mr. Rolt and tho lawyer approved tho course I was taking, t could not do hotter for tho boy, they said.

" But you will find it lonely," remarked Mr. Rolt, "vory lonoly."

"I shall not mind, Mr. Uolt; bonidos, who knows but wo may yet reoovor the forty thousand pounds that W«>st Indian Monniour Thomas owod my poor father ? '»

"Oh, you girl !" ejaculated Mr. Rolt. " My dear young lady/* coolly remarked tho lawyor, "you will got tho forty thousand pounds whon Mon.iieur Thomas turns up— and ho never will turn up in this world. I have told you again and again that according to my information the man is doad.' r

"My doftr sir, the man cheated roy poor father out of hit money, but having, heard of my wonderful Ulonts for busidohs, and being afraid of thorn, ho protonds. to be doad. insects do itconsUntly, why should not n thief do it too F'

Thoy laughed, and that was all theoora*fort { got from thew, H traj vt»y hll4*A-

wart from my-dear- boy,- who swas «o* eleveniyears old, but!* went .thToiighi'it, bravely, I believe. I kno v .that .women aeldomvmake men* and I loved: him far too much to wish to keep him .near, me, and ruirs, maybe, the Whole of his f v ure Me, so we parted. I gave hittfup to-thef nend who was to see him safe to Germany, and I went alone to Rosebower. , « I had not visited the village -since my father's death, and the carriage had to drive me past the old red, ,brick mansion which had been my home. I looked wistfully at the tall elms and beeches beneath which William and I had played. t The great gate was open, and in the sunlight T saw a child s tting by the plashing fountain near which my father and Miss Grrem-* had found me reading. ' The carriage drove on and the glimpse vanished, but not the thoughts it had called up. Of all that dear past, lost as well as dear, what remained to me now— the boy from whom I had parted that morning, and to whose mother I had promised that I would be true. The sun was setting as I reached Rosebower ; a red light flashed back from the windows but no one came forth to receive me when I alighted from the carriage. Mrs Gibson had not got my last-tetter, and she was away on a visit with her daughter. So said a servant who did not know me. She added that Mr Williatn Gibson had unexpectedly arrived that afternoon, would I see him ! I riaid yes, and he came forth. He was now a tall handsome man with a grave brown face, but, alas ! he was as nervous as ever, and so shy and awkward that he made me feel very uncomfortable indeed. I did my best to put him at his ease, but the girl whose hand he had taken, as he spoke to her, by the seashore, was now a young woman, " very stately," as he said to me later, and she evidently inspired him with a feeling akin to awe. Then he was so distressed that Boaebower should not be quite ready for me. Well, it was a dreary place, and I wondered at myself for coming to it, whilst William _ Gibson showed me through the low ruins that, looked so grey and chill in the twilight, and kept stammering apologies and opening windowa and expressing regret at the neglected state in whioh I found the cottaee. But ho did mere than all this. When he returned to his mother's house, and sent me the servant to attend to my first wants, he alao sent me everything he could think of as likely to add to.my comfort. An arm-chair came up on 'his head to my room door and was wheeled in by the girl ; then a amall bureau followed, then a little table which would do for me instead of a work-table. I know not what else would nob have come if I had not laughingly put an end to his proceedings by coins out to Mm on the otuircase. "Now' Mr Gibson," I said severely, « I am not going to allow any more of this. You are stripping Mrs Gibsons rooms, and what will she think when ehe comes back .'" , „, , . He looked chagrined, and replied hen- *" Thi» is such a wretched place for you, and— and— the things came out of a lum-ber-room no one over looks at, no one ever uses them." , , " At all events," swd I, rather doubting this statement—they all came from his room—" C am amply provided for, thanks to you, and I really want nothing more. I wonder if I really waa so handsome then, m he told mo lator, ttut he found me. There waa something ot it in his eyes, as, looking up at me from the bottom of tae •tSe" he muttered that Rweboww was a wratohed place for one like me. I had my way about the furniture-, after that iiidistinot protest of which tbo purport, not the actual words, reached ray bar, William Gibson vanished, and 1 remained alone. It was \ho autumn tune and I folt very cliill. The servant lit mo a firo in tho «rato, and as it burned and crackled I looked round me and fchougnt: '•This is my homo, the home I have Chosoii, lot mo ninko tho bust of it. 1 Maid tho same words throo yoars oaolc, when t came hare, but not in tho wne spirit nor with the same light hope i in future good within my heart a* I hud then. Amongst the plans which I laid ns I sat thuo by tho firo and saw the light playing on tho mouldy furniture of BoseMmer, mvgardonh*ld a chief part, but William Gibson's zoh! forestalled me there. Long before I was up the next morning ho was working and toiling for me, sottmg flowers, trimminjr h« '««», «w <Unng Ml ft S ard«nor's part with fur more than » gw> Soner'a »iS. I would havo Pasted aoatnst this if I could havo soon him, but iSould not catch • attmp* of my kind brownio. Neither that day nor tho next, not till his mothur and sister rotnmed and I called upon thorn, did I «oo William GiSon again. I oould but thank him then : protest, when he had done alt ho «£ld Jo and my little garden w» one »wM,of bloooiina Howors, caino too lato, to I tn«vnk«d him cordially; ho hoard me with a shy nervous smite, then gUnood up at mo with such, frank adoration » his gWy <9* tt»» I AMIM *>»™ *> wn wry

blini indeed ifo L^hadf riot?, ,khosm*i the i „ imeanirigKof r*ha*Hook.-tt'So from: itae- firs*. I' saw -thftfe.WiUiam Gibson, loved me » wH»f <said ity<not.ti. >wordVthat fell from him ever implied it, but I 'saw ' it, and seeing his goodness I loved him too. I loved him, but I did not know it, and' was the happier for my ignorance. -No thought of the future marred the sweet--ness of the present.itime, Or passed like a cloud over the.>bjight sunßhiue. I sometimes wondered why, though Mrs Gibson was so prosy and Ellen so flippant, the evening-. -I spent with them seemed so delightful, but even. that wonder did not ' enlighten me. At last,! learned the truth I used toj speak of my brother with William -Gibson, whose nervousness had much worm off. He listened to me with a marked attention that bespoke interest and once he said, " You love your brother very much?" . "Of course Ido I st I exclaimed, amused. "He is such a, darling," I added. " Oh, if you were to^see the letters he writes to ( , ( I should iVery much like to see them," promptly replied William Gibson ; then, looking «fc me, he added, "Of course he is like you." > ' , • tWe happened to be alone in his mother's parlor, I sitting on a low chair, looking;, at. the fire, he standing by the chimney ,f looking down at me. I felt myself turn crimson when he spoke thus. Why should William belike me, and why did . Wilttaai Gibson care for that likeness ? Ah ! I knew it, I knew it very well, and knowing it I waa glad, in a vague, confused way, which I did not quite understand as yet. But, as I said, the knowledge came at, last. I went as usual to Mrs Gibson's on the next evening. My heart felt light and joyous ; I had received a letter from my darling that morning ; he was working hard to be a credit to me yet, and he was already quite fluent in German. How could I but be glad 1 In that bright mood, and with my letter to show to Mr Gibaon, I entered his mother's parlor, and, aa usual, that dull, low room, so , shabbily furnished, looked gay to me as a fairy palace. There was an antique charm about the old chiffoniec ; perfumed oil burning in a silver lamp oould not have shed a. purer light in my eyes than that of Mrs Gibson's moderator. Everything was dear, everything was delightful about the place where I thought to meet "William Sibson. At once I missed him, at once I saw Ellen's red eyes and Mrs Gibson's woeful face, and with a cold chill at my heart I guessed what had happened. " My dear boy is gone," plaintively said Mrs Gibson—" gone to Poland for two years." , William Gibson was a oiyil engineer, and once or twice he had saul something about, going to the north of Europe, but still I had not anticipated a departure so sudden. 1 had been out rambling all day, and during my absence the summons had come, and beonfobeyed at ouco. " Willie asked to bo very kiDdly remembered to you," resumed Mrs Gibson, in the same dolorous tone. I heard her with my useless letter m my hand. He had asked to bo very kindly remembered to me. He could not say more ; but he oould not say lees either. This wa3 hia adieu, this our parting. By the keen pang I felt I learned how dear he hod become to me, and by the changed eyes with, whioh 1 viewed the house he had left,, l and tho rooms in whioh I saw him no more, I knew how delightful had been his presence. I was very sad when I went home that evening, and I cried myself to sleep. I was sad Cor many days ; then I rallied, and Hope, who had folded her wings awhile, owne and whispered sonio of her sweet nniwonso in my oar. I was sure th*t William Gibson loved mo j I waa sure that ho would bo true to me ; and I was suro that my lovo wiw his for over. He wa» not rich, indeed, and his mother and «istor woro dependent upon him. I al«o had William my darling to soo to and help on. but for all that we were not too poor to marry. Why should not my brother be ft civil engineer, later ? Happy dreams, happy hours, in which you camo near me, turning Rosebowor into a paradise. Two years did you last-two blissful happy yoars-darin* which nil I knew of William , Gibson was that he was well, and begged to be remombored to me whenever he ; wroto home. , T He had boon gono two years, and i ', know ho was otpeoUd homo shortly, when my darling came back from Germany, l , had .ont for him, but he arrived a day ; earlier than I anUoipatad. 1 was sitting t alone* thinking of him as I looked at tho , coal firo, when the parlor door opened, I and a Mytho voice said, 'Sister Anne ! i I started up and saw him~tall, handi some, bright m sunshine, and so like his i dear mother! I wopt, and ho laughed, > and wo were both too happy. My eyes , feaited on his radiant face ; and then to i hoar him laying, in hU young voioo : j "Sister Anne"— he always called me i so- « you are prettier *h«* •*« 1 , Or, t *$9lv, (( MM **•* will yp» fc»vo

this merry cottage and-go<baofc.to^the.old, chouse?**-*/ ♦ " •'"i' "i " "■»" r ':V'' : ; .;,-.". When. y<ou are a foa man,, my daiUng,?' I replied, gaily. ,< i , - . . • ■„.. I thought, nothing of that speech, of his them; I only thought that I bad him ><ack, that Mr Gibson was coming, and that my cup of happiness was very yearly full ; but when, the next day, William said to me, almost gravely, [\ So the old house is to let 1 " I began to wonder that he thought s® miich about it. I asked if. he had seen it. ' ' -" • ' " Yes, I went round Jbhat way. It is a noble place, Bister Anne. The gate was shut, but t could see the fountain. It was not playing." "My darling," I said, with a little sigh-^-forwhenhe spoke of the fountain the memory of many lost and happy hours came back to me—" we must not think of that now. You are to be a civil engineer, please Heaven, and civil engineers don't live in Elizabethan mansions, as a rule." "Then l'll be an exception," he said, walking about my parlor with his hands in his pockets, laughing so joyously that, it made my heart glad within me to hear him. ' But, alas ! my gladness was all gone the next morning j for my poor boy was in a burning fever. Three weeks of suspense and misery followed ;• then he was Bayed, said the doctor ; but, oh ! how weak and languid, how pale and wornjand, altered I. He had the strangest fancies. Npthing would do for him one. day but to sendme off to W. for some particular lozenges. I wanted the servant to go, but he grew pettish and fretful j , she, was stupid,, and would commit some mistake, he said ; I must go myself ; and so, to please hiw, I I went. "> W. is two miles away from Bosebower, but I walked, fast, and soon reached it. I despatched my errand quickly, aud made haste home. I felt all eagerness to return, for, to say the truth, William Gibson had arrived that morning, and I feared he would call whilst I was out.,. To, miss Beeing him, even one day, seemed hard after so long a separation. My way home was up-hill, and I walked so swiftly that I was soon breathless. 1 was obliged, to sit down by ,a> stile and, rest for a few minutes. A strong high hedge divided the broad field I had been crossing from the next. Along that hedge there ram a low path, whioh had beeu well known to dear Miss Grwme and me in days gone by. I was thinking of her when I heard Ellen's voice olose to me._ I looked, but, though I oould not see her. my heart beat fast ; for I guessed to whom she was speaking. I was so mo«ed that I could not stir ; I could not even speak ; I oonld only sit there, lost in a joy which soon passed away. ."I tell you she does not care about you, and never will," pettishly said Ellen. '" I wonder you can think of her." " I suppose I cannot help it," answered William Gibson's voice, rather, sadly; " She is so wrapped up in her brother that it makes me sick," continued Ellen.

" Have you seen him ]," " No ; but I hate him, big stupid boy 1 What right has she to praise him so, and then throw it in my face that you are awkward, that you don't know how to sit on a chair, and that you tread on ladies' dresses V* ... I heard Ellen, and felt petrified with anger and amazement. T started to my feet to contradict and deny, but they had already passed on. "No matter," I thought, as I too rose and walked away ; " Mr Gibson shall know the truth, Ellen. He shall know that the words you have so cruelly remembered and repeated to him were uttered eight years baok when we were all children. He,, shall know it, though Heaven knows what he will think of me for volunteering suqh a confession J " I could have cried with shame, a^ the thought, and yet I was quite determined. No pride, no reserve would prevent mo from undeceiving William Gibson. He should not think, no mnttor what the cost might be, that I slighted him becauso he was nervous and shy. Ido not knuw how I should have managed this, but I never had the opportunity. When I got home I found my poor boy once more very ill ; he had a xelapae that lasted weeks ; and during all that time I never left him night or day. At length he $ot well again, and on a lovely morning m April I could take him down to the gsrden. tie sat in an arm-chair, in the aim, looking at the ewly flowers, at the green hedge, at a broad field in which a oow was gmuig, at tho bluo sky, along whioh little fleeoy clouds sailed away ; and he looked so like hu doar mother that my whole heart yoftrnod towards him. •« God bleu you, my darling 1 " I oould not help saying— '• God blew you I " Ho smiled, and was going to say something, when the garden-gat* opened } two dark figures stepped between ns and the sun, and, looking up, X saw Ellen and her brother ooroing towards ns. A» I saw them then, I see them still as I write. She, a tail, elegant, and beautiful girl of nineteen, with long goldtn cuxlf and ib*

rand much altered. Was that her doing ? Hadftllatff lovely '.bit very selfish 1 sister .improved her opportunity all this time, and stabbed him day after day with those Tittle thrusts of unkind speech which can wound so deeply ? She did not like me, that I had always known ; but might she not have spared him' 9 I suppose she did not wish him to marry. The sin sat , very lightly on her conscience, however ; for she, came towards us. with a happy smile on her rosy I*ds, and her charming face flail of pretty dimples. : , " Give William a 1 good scolding, Miss Sydney," she said, gaily ; " he wauted to go away without bidding you good-bye, but I would not allow that."

So he was going again — going,- and I had not seen him once ; and his sister and my brother were present, and what could I do or say now ? " I should have been very sorry not to see Mr. Gibson," 1 replied. « j_X was afraid of intruding," he stammered. I called Jane, and bade her bring out chair* ; but Ellen interfered. . . ."Bless you, he has not a minute to spare," she said ; " and he is going for I don't know how long," ' I looked at him ; I could not help it ; and ho has told me since how that look startled and staggered him. But he did not 'understand its meaning, I suppose ; for he said a few words morey then he w t eni He, went, and, I oould not oali him back ; I could not say to him, " Stay ; I love you ! Do not believe her ; she ia false, she is selfish ; she wants to keep you nnmarried for her own ends ; but I love you. I esteem, I admire you, and I love you with my whole soul, with my whole heart i " , I could , say, nothing. He took my hand,. and it lay cold and passive in his, and did not betray the secret I would have laid before him so willingly. He went, and I let him go, feeling all the time he took with him my little share of woman's happiness bete below. , " What a great baby ! " said my darling. My heart was very full. My lovo for him had coat me very deer ; since, but for his relapse* William Gibson had never been lost tp me ; but I bless heaven that, heavy though my heart felt just then, neither that petulant speech of a boy, nor the heavy price I had paid for his love, could rajse one bitter thought against him in my heart. I threw my, arms around his neck and kissed him. "God bless you, my darling 1" I said. " God bless you— it shall make no difference." ."Why, sister Anne, you are not crying ?" he said, with a gay laugh. " What if I am?" I replied, trying to smile. " What if lam you foolish boy f All my tears are not shed yet, are they f '' He patted my cheek and bade me not fret, for that he was getting well and strong again. I was then nearly twentyfour, and a woman of twenty-four can suffer and not show it. William never suspected, and Ellen never saw, my grief. She had robbed me of my great happiness, but I kept my sorrow sacred from her cruel eyes. The task was an easy one. She soon left the place and got married ; her mother went to live with her, and died after a. little while. Their cottage could find no tenant, and ere long became as wild and drearily forlorn as Rosebower was when I first saw it ; and thus my link with WilliamGibson, whohad gone abroad, as I learned, was utterly brokon. Once I inquired after him from the agent to whom I paid the rent, " Oh I I believe he has got married," the man replied — "yes, he is married to some foreign lady or other." (To he continued.)