Chapter XXI.

Otago Witness, Issue 1156, 24 January 1874, Page 23

Chapter XXI.

"she is woman, therefore to be won."

The next morning's post brought Sylvia a letter from Edmund Standen ; a letter written at Southampton the night before the mail steamer left that jjort. It waa the first letter her lover had ever written to her. At Hedingham it had been easy for them to meet, and there had been no need of letters. And this first love letter was very sweet to her, though a vague flavour of bitterness mingled with that sweetness. So many obstacles arose to block the path along which they two had sworn to travel hand in hand. Sylvia shed some of her rare tears over that letter, and kissed the page which her lover's hand had pressed. Indeed it was a letter which any woman might have been proud to receive — a letter breathing as pure and honest a love as ever man felt for woman ; a brave letter, in which the young man spoke confidently, yet not recklessly, of that battle of life which he was to fight for the maintenance of his home.

' ' I have begun to pre pare myself already, dearest," he wrote, " and am endeavouring to supply anything wanting in an education which has up to this point been literary rather than commercial. I provided myself with some of the best books on finance and the economy of banking aa I came through London, and am going in seriously for study on the voyage out. I hope to have made myself, in theory at least, a good banker by the time I get back to England, so that I may present myself to the directors of Monkhampton with the double advantage of my father's name and my own knowledge."

This was the only business-like paragraph in the letter. The rest was all the lover's talk of that rose-coloured future— that almost celestial felicity with which youth's fond credulity invests an earthly lot. But there was not a line which did not go straight home to Sylvia's heart. He trusted her so entirely. Not a thought of doubt breathed in that letter. _ It was written to a woman whom the writer believed above suspicion. " I shoiild be the worst and basest of women if I betrayed such affection," thought Sylvia, with a sigh, as she at last laid down that clear letter. "Yet I see nothing but difficulties in our path." She had bef < >re the eyes of her mmd — those eyes which see s« many things as the weaver of dreams sits in her quiet chamber — another path which was beset by no perils — a path which seemed to be strewed with roses. Only on this path the genius of domestic love shed not her starry light. There were the roses of worldly prosperity — the honour and reverence of mankind — the splendour of a great triumph. But Love stood with averted face in the background of that picture, and cried, " Here I have no place." " No," cried Sylvia, "I cannot be false to him."

Unhappily when a woman tells hersel f she cannot betray, it is a sure sign that she has contemplated the possibility of treachery.

Mr. Carew was particularly civil to his daughter all this day. There was an altered tone which puzzled Sylvia. She did not know that this novel courtesy was shown to the future Lady Perriam.

"Do Y on want a new bonnet, or anything, to make you tidy this evening ? " he asked, during the mid-day calm, while the schoolboys had gone home to their dinners.

" I want lots of things, papa," the girl answered quickly. " But if you can give me a pound, that will do." "A pound!" exclaimed Mr. Carew, "do you think I am made of money'? Here, you can have this half-sovereign. It will be hard enough for us to rub on till next quarter, but we must manage somehow."

" Thank you, papa ; half-a-sovereign ia better than nothing."

" Be sure you look your best this evening. "Why, papa? Do you suppose that two old gentlemen like Sir Aubrey and Mr. Perriam will notice my looks ? " "Sir Aubrey is a gentleman in the prime of life. Don't let me hear you call him old any more. " When afternoon school had begun, and Mr. Carew was again absorbed by his.

uncongenial duties, Sylvia opened her desk and directed an envelope to Mrs. Carford, care- of Mrs. Wood, Bell Alley, Fetter Lane. She wrote only one line on a sheet of paper. "I send a little help— all I have to send." No signature— no word more. In this sheet of paper she folded the half sovereigh, and carefully enclosed her little packet in the envelope. This done, she went to the village post-office, registered her letter, and posted it. " I am sending my little bit of pocket money to my old nurse," she said to Mr. Prosser, the chemist, in explanation of this unusual proceeding. People who live in a village are expected to explain themselves, if they deviate ever so little from the beaten track of life. Perhaps this one small piece of selfsacrifice was the first good action that Sylvia had ever done in her life. Destiny might also intend it to be the last. She gave a little sigh as she dropped the letter in the box, thinking of the Monkhampton draper's, and the sash and neck ribbons the might have bought with those ten shillings— ribbons that would have given colour and brightness to that shabby plain muslin dress, which she was to iron this afternoon. Cleanliness was the only luxury Miss Carew could afford herself, and for this she was dependent upon her own industry. Yet, when half. past six o'clock came, and Sylvia was dressed for the visit to Perriam, no ribbon seemed wanting to set off that beauty whose highest charms was its spirituality— not the mere sensuous beauty of a lovely soulless image, but the changeful loveliness of an intellectual being. That still loftier charm of nobility of nature might seem wanting to the keen eye of the acute physiognomist ; but acute physiognomists are happily rare, and those who looked at Sylvia for the most part saw intellect and beauty, and took goodness for granted. Mr. Carew seemed to his daughter almost a new man, as they walked across the fields, sometimes by a broad sweep of purple clover, sometimes in the narrow path between tall boundaries of wheat ripe for the sickle, sometimes by a green lane where belated birds chirruped among the darkening leaves of oak and elm. He talked, and with amazing cheerfulness, praised Sir Aubrey's elegant appearance and perfect manners, remarking, in passing, that there was no position upon this lower world more agreeable than the position of a country gentleman with an unencumbered estate, harped upon the well-known wealth of the Perriams, their quiet manner of living, whereby that wealth must have gathered bulk from year to year, like a rolling snow-ball. Sylvia heard and sighed regretfully, and thought of that dear letter locked in her desk at home. "I wish Edmund had never loved me," she thought, her mind dwelling upon the writer of that letter, while the schoolmaster talked of Sir Aubrey. "It might have been happier for both of us." Perriam was built in a valley, after the manner of our forefathers, who preferred shelter from bleak winds to the splendour of an elevate position, and, save for aggression or defensive purposes, seldom planted their habitation upon the heights. Around Perriam Place spread some of the most fertile meadows in the county — meadows so richly timbered and parklike, that one could scarcely tell where the park ended and the home farm began, indeed the park proper was not large, but borrowed dignity from the length of a double avenue, in which the tall old elms, set far back from the road, left space for an inner line of silver firs, said to be the finest in England. A stately stone archway, with a lodge on either side, formed the entrance to this avenue.

Mr. Carew and his daughter did not approach Perriam by this chief entrance. At the edge of the Park there was a little old church in a dell, enclosed by a crumbling old stone wall, in whose interstices hares-tongue ferns throve abundantly, find accessible by a narrow lane with a turnstile, through which one came straight into the park itself. The raised terrace of the Italian garden almost touched the wall within whoso boundary the Perriams lay buried, in a narrow graveyard which held nothing but Perriams. And the level of the garden being considerably above the level of the churchyard, Sir Aubrey had the advantage of surveying his slumbering anoostors from an eminence, a spectacle conducive to meditation, and reflections of an Horation character upon the brevity of life, and the mutability of things in general. The little church, an appendage of Perriam, the graveyard exclusively devoted to Perriams, improssed Sylvia with a sense of grandeur which all the gold of the Rothchilds, taken merely as gold, could not have inspired. That family distinction which comes foom long establishment in the land, the deep-rootod family tree which has grown and flourished and spread its branches over the samo spot almost from the beginning of recorded time aa i

were, is a kind of renown which seems peculiarly dazzling to the waifs and strays of humanity. Sylvia, who knew nothing of her father's history except his dishonour, felt this impression keenly ; and Sir Aubrey, who in the apple orchard had seemed no more than a courteous elderly gentleman, acquired on his own domain an almost princely character. The schoolmaster and his daughter crossed a stretch of level turf, and entered the avenue within a hundred yards of the house. Sylvia had , never before been so near that stately pile. She had only seen it from the distance, grand and gloomy standing aloof from the elms and beeches of the park, the cedars and maples of the lawn— on an island of barren gravel and turf laid out stiffly in the Italian style, with a Faunus and a Dryad, a Pan and a Syren, simpering on their pedestals at the angles of the walks. The hall door stood open, but for ceremony Mr. Carew rang a bell, which made noise enough to have startled the establishment of a Sleeping Beatity. He had scarcely done so when he beheld a gentleman crossing the hall, a gentleman in a coat of somewhat antique cut. " Good evening, Sir Aubrey," he said. " You see we are very punctual."

Sylvia pulled her father's sleeve. " Papa, how can you be so stupid," she whispered, while the gentleman stood smiling inanely, with a look of considerable embarrassment. The woman's quick eye had noted the difference of dress, of style, between the two brothers. The faces bore a marked resemblance, a likeness which in the halflight of the hall had been strong enough to deceive the schoolmaster. " I beg your pardon," faltered Mordred Perriam. "you mistake me for my brother. We are generally considered alike. Pray walk in. Sir Aubrey expects you." Sir Aubrey opened the dining-room door at this moment, and came out to welcome his visitors. Yes, there was a wide difference between the two men, but it was a difference of dress and style. The elder brother was as studious in his person as a French marquis of the old regime ; while Mordred Perriam's high limp shirt collar, cambric frill, watered black ribbon and double eye-glass, nankeen waistcoat, and chocolate-coloured coat, ill-cut hair, and shaggy eye-brows, bespoke the book-worm's indifference to the mutations of fashion, or the decay of his good looks. Even that chocolate coat was a mark of respect to his_ brother, Mr. Perriam was never _ happier than when loosely enveloped in a dressinggown which age had rendered dear to him. "How do you do ?" cried Sir Aubrey. "So good of you to come. My brother, Mr. Perriam, Mis 3 Carew— Mr. Carew, Mr. Perriam. Shall we take tea before we walk round the gardens? Perhaps we had better. Miss Carew must want a little refreshment after her walk, and ladies are generally fond of tea. There will be light enough for the gardens afterwards. I have no floricultural specimens to show you ; I leave the cultivation of curious plants to foolish old ladies, who want to spend their money. Perriam could only be Perriam if I squandered a fortune on orchards."

Mr. Carew murmured his acquiescence with a proposition which seemed incontrovertible, and Sir Aubrey led the way to the saloon, where tea had been prepared for the visitors on an oval table in the semi-circular bay, or alcove, at the end of the room. The china was Indian, and the silver tray and tea-kettle were specimens of that famous period which still takes highest rank among the connoisseurs of the silversmith's art. Some dry biscuits in a silver basket and a dish of early plums from the southern wall composed the somewhat unsubstantial meal ; but the schoolmaster had not come to Perriam to eat or drink, and sipped his tea out of the crimson and gold dragon china with supreme contentment. The baronet had placed Sylvia before the tray, with a ceremonious request that she would pour out the tea. " I do it myself when my brother and I are alone," he said, "but it seems much more natural, as well as much more agreeable, to see a lady in that place." Sylvia smiled. She felt an almost childish pleasure in handling those splendid tea-cnps, that antique tea-pot, and the curious old tea-kettle, mounted high upon four slim legs. Never before tonight had she poured tea out of a silver tea-pot ; never before to-night touched such costly china. And then theso tilings had a peculiar charm of their own, which lifted them above the common - place splendours of the Monkhampton shop windows. They possessed the double charm of age and rarity. They lingered a little over that simple banquet while the dusk deepened yonder on the cedar shadowed lawn, and the butler, always slow to bring lamps and candles, left them to enjoy the gloaming. Sir Aubrey was in no hurry to break the apell that bound him. Ho was sitting by Sylvia, watching lior white hands as they

hovered about the tea things with such light gracious movements. Why should he not have her always to pour out his tea, if he chose 1 There was no one to question his will. He was supreme master of his life and actions. Only destiny coxild interpose to prevent his being happy after his own fashion. Musing thus, Sir Aubrey fell into a deep silence which no other member of that small assembly ventured to break. They were there as as his vassals, even Mordred, and if the prince were silent, who among them should dare to speak? Nor was that stillness uncongenial to the summer dusk, or the splendid gloom of that spacious apartment. Sylvia's keen eyes wandered here and there in the gloom. Why, the room was as large as Hedingham Church. That lofty ceiling, that florid cornice, impressed herwith anunspeakable sense of grandeur. She thought of the schoolhouse parlour, with its low ceiling, sustained by a clumsy white-washed beam, in which a rusty iron hook or two, which no mortal hand seemed strong enough to extract, marked where ruder generations had hung their bacon to dry in the reek of the household hearth. What a contrast between those two rooms ! The carpet here was like the turf on the Vicarage lawn, deep and soft, and silent beneath the heaviest footfall. The vast room, void of pictures, mirrors, and frippery of all kinds, had an almost awful look in the dusk. An Egyptian temple could have hardly been more solemn. , , "Come," said Sir Aubrey, suddenly rousing himself from that long reverie, "We shall have very little light for the gardens ; but you must come again, and see them better. Yes," with a desperate plunge, "you must come and dine with us some day next week." f Sir Aubrey heard his brother s startled movement in the dusk yonder. It was the slightest possible movement ; an involuntary action, like the start which some people give at a vivid flash of lightning ; but Sir Aubrey understood it. He knew that there was a wide difference between asking this schoolmaster and his daughter to tea. in a purely patronising way, as befitted the lord of the manor, and inviting them to dinner as if they were his equals. ' < What would the county say ? thought Mordred, in mute horror. He saw very little of the county himself, and in the serene retirement of his kitchen garden, cared very little what the county thought of him. But he had a fixed idea that his brother was bound to defer to the opinion of the county, and, if he ever married at all, to marry in accordance with the expectations of the county. Sir Aubrey had been engaged to a duke's daughter ; and the county would be slow to forgive himthedisgrace of a discreditable alliance. But Sir Aubrey had cast the die, and be«*an to feel reckless. " After all, a man should live for himself," he thought. " Shall I have a vinegar-faced spinster to pour out my tea for the sake of the quarterings on her father's shield? At my age a man is bound to make the most of his life." They went out into the garden, this being part of the programme, and a thing to be done as it were. Here, in the cool dusk, Sir Aubrey led his visitors along the stiff walks of the Italian garden, to that wide terrace from which, looking downward, they saw Perriam Church sheltered in its green dell, and the tombs of the Perriams shewed greyish white against the surrounding foliage— such a quiot, half -hidden little church and graveyard. Here verily death must be a peaceful slumberer ; no jar of city traffic to stir the sleeper, no roar of steam engine to shake the mouldering dust. Mr. Carew quoted Horace, involuntarily. Mr. Perriam, delighted at the opportunity, began a long story of a Venetian Horace which he had acquired— a wondrous bargain, only one volume being awanting from a bookseller in Glasgow. Full of his story Mr. Perriam hooked his arm through the schoolmaster's and trotted him up and down the terrace, at his kitchen-garden pace, and thus, placidly unconscious of | the mischief he might be doing, left Sir Aubrey and Sylvia alone together. The stars were out in the clear summer heaven, and the girl's face looking up at that silver light seemed divinely beautiful, for all lovely things take new loveliness from the light of moon and stars. It was the face of one of Raphael's young Madonnas, serenely pensive, with lips half-parted in a thoughtful smile, as if those doeply-dark eyes looked beyond the landscape they seemed to rest on, to some fairer spirit land. Sir Aubrey contemplated the girl's face in silent admiration as she stood leaning a little against the sculptured vase, at an angle of the balustrade. Could anything so lovely be otherwise than good '/ he asked hiraaelf, with little doubt as to tho answer. It seemed to him that this outward perfecttion implied a corresponding beauty in the spiritual nature. And indeed it is possiblo that in the soul that belonged to this perfect form

there had onoe been all the elements of goodness, needing only training for their development. Some natures are selfsustaining, like yonder cedar ; others ar« but plants of a parasite growth, which need to be directed by the judicious hand of the gardener.

(To be continued.)