Chapter XXIII. MRS. STANDEN IS INCONSISTENT.

Otago Witness, Issue 1157, 31 January 1874, Page 24

Chapter XXIII. MRS. STANDEN IS INCONSISTENT.

Sylvia sai.l not a word to her father about Sir Aubrey's offer during the drive home. Nor had Mr. Carew the faintest suspicion that the affair had reached a crisis. He had been supremely satisfied to note the main fact that Sir Aubrey admired his daughter, and had trusted that time might ripen admiration so decided into love. But that the Lord of the Manor would offer his hand and fortune to this obscure maiden after having seen her only four times was something beyond Mr. Carew's wildest dream. And here the schoolmaster may have shown himself somewhat deficient in knowledge of human nature. For, to give Sir Aubrey time for the ripening of his fascination into affection would have been also to give him time for those prudent reflections which must occur to the matured mind of middle J age. It was only while the glamor was upon him that Sir Aubrey was liable to forget rank and race for the sake of this new fancy. And the glamor was strongest while the fancy was newest.

Satisfied with what he deemed the Bteady progress of Sir Aubrey's flame, Mr. Carew forbore from questioning his daughter. They drove home a'most in silence, and Sylvia left her father in the parlour with a brief good night. Once safe in her own little room, she flung herself beside the bed, where her wretched mother had knelt two nights before, and for the first time in her life wept a flood of passionate tears. The sense of her treason had come upon her in all its fulness during the silent homeward drive. She felt herself the basest and falsest of women. She was half inclined to think that all the splendour this earth could give would be worthless to her without Edmund. Yet, through all, she never conreinplited the possibility of retracing the step which she had taken — of asking Sir Aubrey to give her back the rash promise of to-night.

No — she wept for her absent lover, and wept for her own intidelity — but she meant to be Lady Perriam all the time. Remorse gnawed her heart, but she held steadily to the new purpose of her life. She would reign in triumph over the people who hid slighted her. She would win all that made life worth having. Broken and feverish were her dreams that night, during brief snatches of slumber. One moment her lover's reproachful face was before her, and in the next the stately front of Perriam Place. She was standing in the Italian garden, under a starlit sky, but it was Edmund Standen, and not Sir Aubrey, who stood beside her.

She awoke from such a dream as this, with an iniquitous thought. " Sir Aubrey is almost an old man. He may die before many years are over, and J may marry Edmund after all."

What pride, what happiness, to make Edmund I>rd of Perriam \ She forgot that family estates are apt t > be entailed. She fanci' d herself sole mistress of Sir Aubrey's lands and wealth, giving all to her first lover. And cradled by this bright dream Sylvia sank into peaceful slumbers just as the birds were beginning to sing. She awoke in a frame of mind that was almost cheerful, though that haunting image of her jilted lover still pursued her. " After all, it was better for him." for that was the argument with which she strove to pacify the Eumenides of conscience. "He may marry Miss Rochdale," Bhe said to herself once, but that idea was too keen a torment. She could not entertain it.

" No, he will bo in no hurry to marry," I »he thought, " but ho will Uvq with hja '

mother, and be a country gentleman. He is made for that. To reduce him to a clerk's position wovild be a shameful cruelty. It would be selfishness in me to accept the sacrifice his generosity rates so lightly. And how can I doubt that our marriage would result in unhappiness? He would regret the sacrifice when it was too late. And after an absence of three months his love will have cooled a little perhaps," she reflected, with a regretful sigh. "Altogether, what has happened must be better for both of us, hoAvever dearly we may have loved each other. Papa is right. Fortune comes to a woman only once in her life. She must be worse than foolish if she rejects it. " It was Sunday. Sylvia hated Sundays. The perpetual church and Sunday school had no charm for her. She knew the Bible history by heart, and was beyond measure weary of those Bible stories whose unsurpassable grandeur is somewhat lowered in the minds of those who hear the sacred volume droned through Sunday after Sunday by the harsh voice of school children, in a level high-pitched bawl. And then Sunday exposed Miss Carew to some mortification from the exhibition of new gowns and bonnets on the part of young lady teachers. Those young ladies seemed to have something new every Sunday. If they could not dazzle the gaze with a new bonnet, they could generally exhibit a new ribbon, a pair of cuffs, a parasol, or a collar, which had been on view in Ganzlein's window a day or two before. Sylvia only saw those splendours from the outside of Ganzlein's plate glass. For her Sunday never meant new cluthes. But to-day how different would be her feelings wheri those insolent Hedinghamites flounced past her in their Sabbath finery. How proudly she would return their scornful looks, strong in the thought of the new dresses that she would wear as Lady Perriam. Looked at from this point of view, her elevation seemed almost too bright a dream ever to be realised. In the face of that little Hedingham world she became altogether worldly. The Eumenid^s ceased to torment her with Edmund Standen's image. She thought of nothing but her triumph over Hedingham. It was on this subject that her thoughts ran all through the morning service — the dresses she would wear, the parties she would give, the Continental tours, all those glories of rank and state which might be hers as Sir Aubrey's wife. The service, which generally seemed long to this impatient spirit, seemed brief to-day, so splendid were those visions of the future. " I shall come to Hedingham Church on Sunday mornings when 1 am married," she said to herself. "It is all very well to have a church in one's own park. But I should like the Hedingham people to see my dresses. " A little thrill of remorse or compunction stirred her heart at the sight of the Dean House pew, where she had been wont to see her lover's tall figure and handsome head every Sunday. Many a look had she stolen in that direction in the Sabbath days that were gone ; many a tender thought had she sent towards that faithful lover, and now her love was a thing of the past. With one sudden wrench she had plucked it out of her heart. But even in the first flush of triumph her heart seemed empty without that banished love. There sat Mrs. Standen in her accustomed seat, with Miss Rochdale at her side, both dressed with that extreme correctness which is apt to irritate the temper of less happy females who are conscious of various imperfections in their attire. Mrs. Standen s rich siik dress, Maltese lace shawl, and white bonnet with spotless plumage, were provokingly new and neat looking. Her Honiton collar was adjusted to perfection, her pale lavender gloves had not a wrinkle, even her prayer book looked as if it had just come from the binder's hands. And Miss Rochdale's costume had the same vexatious neatness. The fresh looking white and mauve muslin, the fashionable sash, the dainty little white tulle bonnet with mauve pansies. Sylvia L-cked her lips with that resolute look of hers as she thought how she would qnench the modest light of the provincial toilets when she was mistress of Perriam. " It is worth while breaking my heart i to be revenged upon them all," she said to herself, as a little choking sensation came into her throat at sight of Edmund's empty place. She was sitting by the open window afti-r church, listlessly turning the leaves of Werter, and thinking how Edmund had told her that his love for her was as sudden and as strong as the passion of that unfortunate young German, when she heard the rustle of a silk gown and the click of the garden gate. She started up from her Beat, feeling that something was going to happen, and with a shrewd guess as to what that something was. She had been paler than, usual all that morning, but she grew paler still at the thought o? what was comincr.

Yes, she had not been mistaken. It I the girl my son has chosen for his wife, was Mrs. Standen who had opened the ' And if time should show me that I have garden gate. She was sailing up the been altogether wrong in my ideas, I shall little path, in her spreading silk dress, be too proud to change my mind, and to followed by Esther Rochdale. make a fair division of the estate which Sylvia fancied there was a condesending I now think of bequeathing entirely to air in their very walk. They looked like my daughter. " a queen and princess who had come to "A fair division," thought Sylvia, with visit a peasant girl. Her face, ashy pale supreme scorn. " That means seven hunjust now, flashed crimson as the door dredayear. Genteel beggary as compared opened, and Mrs. Standen and she stood Sir Aubrey's income. And that only face to face. on condition that I give satisfaction to " I saw you at the window, Miss Carew, Mrs. Standen— and suffer myself to be so I didn't knock, " said Edmund s mother, dictated to by Mrs. Standen for the next in a tone that had a certain stately kind- twenty years of my life." ne ™'j.i. a a it. • i jj. ii, i, a Sylvia's idea of a competence had exEsther went to the girl and took her hand, J ed { hth ht * fift hundred and would have kissed her had there been £ « the faintest encouragement in Sylvias face. ' , •„-,,, But there was none The blush died away, Mr " ktanden s mother thought she had and left the face pale once more. Sylvia ™ de , a , B™** concession by this speech, drew a chair for Mrs. Standen, but uttered f he lo °^ for some token of gratitude no word of welcome. f ™ m Sylvia, but there was none. The " I thought you would like to hear our f rl sat for a fe 7i7 i m ° men *f t A 1 ? kl i ng d l ep : latest news of my son," said Mrs. Standen, lv - J * **&***■ J° her that the time had looking keenly at that alabaster face, come in {which she could creditably with"but perhaps you have had a letter by draw from an engagement which had now the same post that brought me one from become embarrassing. It is rather an Southampton. We can hear no more till f^kward thing to be engaged to two genwe hear from St. Thomas. Edmund will * le . men , at ° n <f > and ev e n Sylvia's wellwrite from there before he goes on to De- glanced mind was hardly equal to the merara in the intercolonial steamer." situation. Mrs. Standen was not displeased by that , Y ?. u are very good, Mrs. Standen," pale look in the girl's face. She had deep *} c Bald > *** wonderful self-possession, feeling at any rate. And Mrs. Standen and J ara £ lad J° find you can act more reproached herself, remembering how she generously than I had supposed youcapahad condemned this girl as shallow and ble of ac ti ng , after what your son told me. frivolous . no * you thmk that an engagement "Yes," said Sylvia, "I had a letter w^ c . h fan never give more than partial from Southampton. " satisfaction to you-which interferes with Dear letter ! Her first love letter ! She Z°™> form f r PP ans » . a . brle f glance at had shed happy tears over its pages. And £? her T ' and wlnch J^ 1 " 3™3 ™ loBS J?. already she tad betrayed the writer. A Edm ™ d ' ad m " cl L bett^ be broken off ?" deep sense of guilt and shame came upon . What ? cried Mrs. Standen, with an her as she stood before these two- - her ncredulous look. But Sylvia went on "I*ll fl CT£*Q T^PT 1 il *l T"IQ \scvi,xxiljr * if Pray sit' down," said Mrs. Standen, ' ' While Edmund was here his influence with lofty kindness, " I came on purpose wa T s stron g enough to govern all my ideas to have a little talk with you. I promised ~ \ co * ld only see things as he saw them. Edmund that I would come and see you ff ut ? m f, c . he has been gone I have had while he was away. " time think dispassionately. I told him "You are too good," replied Sylvia, more than once that our engagement was sitting down and picking up " Werter," an ™lucky one for both of us. I am which had fallen to the ground just now. very sure of it now And so, Mrs. "You were reading when we came in," Standen, with many thanks for the hope said Esther, who felt the conversation was V^ ich you are g° od enough to hold out of Doming to a dead-lock. * utu J e clemency, I return you your son's «Yes" freedom." "I hope you have some nice Sunday " ?°y° u cu mean this > Miss Oarew?" books," remarked Mrs. Standen, directing a ?^ ed Mrs : Standen, now as pale as the * suspicious look at "Werter," who had 6*l herself. She was as angry with Sylvia not a Sabbatarian aspect. J or * hls readiness to give up her lover as " I hate Sunday books," replied Sylvia for her capture of him. frankly, "or at least most of them. I „ " No > . she . d .°<» not mean it," cried rather like Ecce Homo. Edmund lent it Esther impulsively. "She would not to me a little while ago. " !> reak Edmund s heart, and it is bound up Mrs. Standen cast a horrified look at ™ ? ers \ S !} e loves him as he deserves to Esther. They had both heard of that be loved ; JJ » false pnde or mistaken book, and read paragraphs about it in the generosity that urges her to surrender tiewspapers ; and were dimly aware that £ im : She cannot help loving him when it was not orthodox. And that Edmund J e _ love A s J er so deari y- You are too should have lent an unorthodox book to hard with her, auntie. Speak the truth, his betrothed was enough to curdle their S yj yia - Confess that you love him " blood " J do, answered the girl, with pas"lam sorry my son reads books of wpnate emphasis, " but I wiU never marry that kind, still more sorry that he should 1Tn \ l ™$- not enter a family that lend them to you," said Mrs. Standen. despises me. "I will send you some nice books to-mor- , 5° ° ne despises you. Auntie, tell row. Is that a novel in your hand ? " her that you don * des Pl3eP 13e h er. "It is a story," replied Sylvia, "a "I should despise her if she were false German story." to my son," said the mother, sternly. "Oh," said Mrs. Standen, concluding All thoiight of her own prejudice, her that a German story must be some harm- own instinct, was for the moment banished. less tale of the hobgoblin species. " That She thought only of Edmund and the 13 hardly a nice book for Sunday. Edmund wrong done to him. ought to have been more careful in pro- " I will not enter a family that would viding you with really nice books." receive me on sufferance. I will not be " 1 had finished my education before I the means of impoverishing the man 1 had the honour to make Mr. Standen's love." acquaintance," said Sylvia, with scornful ." You will not marry an impoverished lip. She was not going to be lectured like man," said Mrs. Standen. "You had one of the Hedingham schoolchildren, better state the case correctly, Misa She, the future Lady Pe-riam ! How Carew." she could crush this domineering woman ' ' You have always chosen to think by the simple announcement of her en- badly of me, Mrs. Standen," returned gagement to Sir Aubrey. But she felt Sylvia, without flinching ; " you v ill, no that any statement of that fact to-day doubt, continue to do so, even though the would be premature. She had to retire decision I have arrived at is one that must from the old engagement with dignity be- cause you satisfaction. You have opposed fore she acknowledged the new one. this engagement with all your might. I "Itia a common error for young people now release your son from it. What to think they have finished their educa- more can you wish ?" fcion when they have acquired a smattering ' ' I could wish you had a better heart, of a few subjects," Mrs. Standen said Miss Carew." severely. "In my time education was " Have I a bad heart because I refuse more solid. We learned slowly, but we to accept your son's sacrifice ? " learned well." "If you loved him you would think f ylvia gave an impatient sigh. Had only of his happiness, which is, most^ unthey come here to catechise her 'I fortunately, dependent uponyour caprice." " However, I did not come here to talk ' ' There is no caprice in what lam doing, about education, "continued Mrs. Standen, Poverty is a hard master, and has taught as if divining the meaning of that sigh, me to know the world better than your son. " I came for a little really friendly talk. lam wibo enough to know that he would I have no doubt you are aware, Miss repent his self-sacrifice by-and-by when it Carew, that I have been strongly opposed ' would be too late. My father refused fco this engagement between you and . his consent to our marriage the day EdEdmund." mund left. I thought him cruel and un- " Yes. Mr. Standen told me so." just then ; 1 know better now." "A time has come, however, when I "And pray what has brought you so feel that further opposition would be both much wisdom, Miss Carew ?" said Mrs. unkind and futile. I do not say that I Standen, who had risen and drawn near revoke my decision as to the disposal of the door, and stood there in a haughty his father's fortune." | attitude ready to depart. Esther lingered Sylvia's heart gave a sudden flutter, by Sylvia with a friendly hand stretched What was coming now ? | out to her now and then, as if to restrain " But," continued Mrs. Standen, " I the rash impulse that might destroy *U wish to feel as kindly aa possible towards her hopes,

"Reflection," answered Sylvia without a blush. " And am I to write and tell my poor son your heroic decision '? Am Ito tell him that you have chosen the very moment in which I had reconciled myself to this union for your renunciation of him?" " You need tell him nothing," answered Sylvia, with a strangled sob, "I will write to him myself." '•Then I have nothing more to do than to wish you good morning^ My first and last visit to you is ended." "Sylvia," cried Esther, entreatingly, " you do not mean this ; you are acting from passion, from false foolish pride. You do not know how good and true Mrs. Standen is, how well her love is worth winning, even if it must be slowly won w For your own sake, for Edmund's, unsay your rash words. You own that you love him." •-, a i • "With all my heart," said Sylvia, white to the lips. # " Then you cannot mean to give him up. ( ' Ido mean it. It is the best and wisest for us both. Ido mean it." " Then I have done with you," said Esther, with more passion than was common to that gentle nature. " I leave you to be happy in your own way." They left her, and Sylvia stood like a statue, staring blankly at the ground, and with those last words sounding in her ears. (To be continued.)