Brownebrook.

Otago Witness, Issue 1188, 5 September 1874, Page 19

Brownebrook.

A STORY OP COLONIAL LIFE.* , Chapter IV. The- next morning while dressing, I cogitated upon the best way of finding out whether the contemplation of Mary Raynor's pei'fections had really turned- John's head or not ; but I could think of no fixed plan, I was not good at finessing, and besides I was rendered diffident by the feeling that my suspicions and conjectures might after all prove to be groundless.; I had really, nothing whatever to go upon,, and indeed, on thinking it over, I felt quite angry with myself. ' ' Here you are, " I soliloquised, " imagining all sorts of things merely because you have a favourite brother, and are afraid of his falling in love with anybody not good enough |for him. It is all your jealous disposition, and you have- no ground for it, except the fact that there is a pretty, a very pretty, young woman in the same house with this darling brother of yours. Well, if there is anything to find out, some opportunity will no doubt present itself, and I shall then make every poaaible use of my powers of observation." • ' • { \ In a short time we were all assembled round the breakfast table, and while 'my mother poured out the coffee, I said, ] " What a very strange-looking person that Miss Wyle. is, mamma, she quite frightened me last night." " She may be strange looking," an- j swered my mother, as she went on pour- ! ing out the coffee, " but she is all / can wish for, and I often wonder now how I could have managed .with Fanny Davis so long. Wyle is nearly perfect." j "Poor Davis," I said, mentally and totally denying the inference thus drawn, • to the manifest disparagement of Agnes Wyle's predecessor. "Poor Davis! one look of her comely, good-natured face, was worth all the extra work that horridlooking creature gives you, mamma ; I don't think I ever saw such a disagreeable set of features as those Miss Wyle has the misfortune to possess." • " Her features are nothing to me, Laura," replied my mother, in her dignified manner. " She reads beautifully, and writes- notes, arid cuts out, and makes up \ crips and laces, and does everything else ten times better than Davis ever did; and she is very quiet,, and understands her duties and her place thoroughly. ' I have no fault whatever to find with her." "Poor Davis," was again all I could ejaculate, and then I bethought me. of asking by whom Miss Wyle was recommended, and where she had come from. " Her history is rather a sad one," said my mother. "She is the daughter of a medical man who used to live at Hartsleigh, and who was really very clever, but had committed the irretrievable mistake of marrying beneath him. (I glanced at John, he had raised a cup of hot coffee to his lips, and was swallowing it quickly. Was ifc this that made his face look crimson?) "As an almost natural consequence, Mr. Wyle drank himself to death; his wife, I believe, followed his example ; and this girl, their only child, was brought up at the orphanage, near Landbourne. Mrs. Senior of Landbourne took her when she was about sixteen, and had ■ her well educated as a governess ; but 'Copyright of this Story is reserved.

somehow or other she never got on with children, and prefers a situation like the one she now has. She came to me last summer, just after you left, and I have every reason to congratulate myself on having a person who so thoroughly comprehends her duties." "My dear Laura," said Wilfred, with a comical twinkle in his eye, " you never put your foot into it more completely than when you ventured on any derogatory remarks concerning Miss Wyle. We 1 * are all, I assure you, deeply penetrated with a sense of her transcendant merits ; and I, for one, value my own peace of mind too much to think of breathing a word respecting her which does not imply unqualified praise." " Come, come, Wilfred, don't talk nonsense," said my mother, with a little frown; and then a pause ensued, which I, acting on a sudden impulse, broke by saying, "And that other new acquisition of yours, Mary Raynor, how very pretty she is ; but pretty is not the word for her, for I never had my ideas of perfect loveliness satisfied, until I saw her last night. She might be a duchess, a princess, and even then would be remarkable for her extraordinary beauty." Speaking thus, Hooked straight at John. His face, which before had been rather flushed, now turned deadly pale, and his hand, which he had suddenly stretched out, as if to help himself to something on the table, shook perceptibly. His eyes met mine with an imploring expression, and ( in them I read his secret. AH my conjectures were true, and this dear brother of mine had really given his heart away — away from us all — to that beautiful girl of low birth. It is needless to say that the discovery of this, the consequence of my mother's fatal short-seeing kindness, alarmed me greatly, and in my mind's eye, I saw a long train of misfortunes following in the wake of any possible step John might take. "It must be," thought I, " put a stop to at once, It oan never come to anything. Mamma woiild die of the disgrace." How little did I anticipate the way in whioh it never did come to anything ! Meantime, I remained silent, and merely cast a look round the table, to see if John's agitation had been observed. I was thankful to perceive that no one had noticed it. Wilfred, the only other person who had condescended to listen to what I had been saying, merely murmured, "Yes, very pretty, very pretty," as he broke the top of his egg with perfect composure. My mother, enshrined amidst the silver paraphernalia of tea and coffee services, was intent on the perusal of a note from some Landbourne tradesman, about things ordered for Emmeline ; while EmmeHne herself, with a bright pre-occupied smile on her sweet face, had, just commenced to read what was evidently a billet-doux from her beloved major. So far, well ; and with my mind relieved' on that score, I proceeded quietly with my breakfast — not once looking in the direction of John — until my mother had finished reading her note. The conversation then took an animated turn on the subject of the said note, and. waa only ended by her declaring an early expedition to, Landbourne necessary, in order: to choose some jewellery which had just arrived from London— to be a present from Wilfred to Emraeline. The carriage was ordered for eleven o'clock, and it was arranged that Wilfred should accompany them ; but I begged my mother to excuse my going, pleading fatigue and headache, from which I was really suffering. As soon as breakfast was over, I went upstairs to my room, and pencilling the words, "Meet me in the Round Walk at half-past eleven— l have something particular to say," came down and managed to slip the paper into John's hand , as , he was passing through the hall. His nod was a sufficient answer; so I turned, and spent the rest of the time in Emmeline's room—my own in days gone by — in chatting with- her' over the bridesmaids, and in listening to eulogiums. on "dear Harry" — in whom excellence of every kindseemed to have begun and ended — the same old story. Eleven o'clock came ; the carriage and it's occupants drove off in the direction of Landbourne ; and I went again up-stairs to fetch my garden hat. As I passed through the upper hall I saw Mary Raynor standing at a table, arranging some hothouse flowers in a large vase. She wore a , light dress, and looked very lovely. Her beaiitiful golden hair rose in wavy masses high above her forehead, and her soft grey eyes were turned toward me as I approached with what I thought a mournful expression. I bade her good morning ; she answered me respectfully, in the same low sweet tones I had heard the previous evening, and I passed on— not, I must confess, without a strong desire to have some insight into the girl's character, by speaking to her without betraying myself; but that was impossible. Punctually at half-past eleven I went into the shrubbery, and bent my steps in the direction of the Round Walk. It was a lovely spring morning — one of those we sometimes have in England before March comes with her cold blustering winds. The air was soft and warm, and filled with the Bcent of the fresh earth ; and the birds were singing loudly in the bright sunshine. The lauristine bushes were covered with pinkish waxy-like blossoms. ; the flower beds were dotted with little clumps of crocus, snowdrops, primroses, and other early spring flowers ; and the laurel and rhododendron leaves shone and quivered in the light air with glossy brightness. Everything out of doors on that morning waa beautiful, buj; my heart felt, I knew

not why, too heavy, and my mind too i anxious to enjoy it as Ishoxildhave done. ; The Round Walk was a large circular i space in the centre of a maze of footpaths, | of which several led into and irom it, and ■ here I found John pacing backwards and ; forwards, awaiting my arrival. | Although I was determined to take < strong measures with John, I was as yet '. undecided how to begin. Again, however, i I spoke on the impulse of the moment, '. and walking up to him quickly, took hold " of both his hands, ana looking him full in i the face, said, i "John, you can't hide anything from ■ me — you are in love with ihat girl Mary ■ Raynor ; I saw it all this morning ! " j "I am not going to hide anythirg from | you, Laura," returned John, bending i down, and speaking in a quiet but earnest ■ tone. " Come, let us ait down here ;we shall : have a good deal to say to each other." i We sat down in a small recess, cut out i of the thick growing evergi'eens, and in * which a garden chair had been placed ; ; seated there, we were almost hidden from view by the branching shrubs, and anyone < nuVht pass close by us without either j seeing or being seen. It was certainly a ■ capital place for a confidential talk, and there was apparently no chance whatever ; of our being disturbed or overheard. i "Well, Laura, if I do confess to you, : that I am not only in love with Mary < Raynor, but that she knows it, and loves < me in return, you will surely not despise i either of us, but like the good dear sister : you always were, help and advise me, and < be kind to her for my sake." '. His dark eyes filled with tears, his voice i trembled as he spoke, and his dear kind : face looked in mine so lovingly, that I « must have been made of stone to resist i him. But I restrained myself, and merely i said, taking one of his hands in mine, "Tell me all about it." < The stibstance of what he now confided i to me, in tones and words spoken from his heart, and in language which shewed : me that this love of his for the boautiful ; Mary Raynor was true love, if ever man's i was, I will here repeat as briefly and con- < cisely as possible :—: — i Mary Raynor came to Lane Court exactly three months before this, and although John had heard of her arrival, i and of the circumstances which led to it, < he had paid but little attention at the ' time, such an event not being one in which he could be supposed to take any interest. However, a day or two afterwar Is, he had encountered Mary in the hall, where she was engaged, as she had been when I saw ! her there, in arranging flowers ; and was struck with amazement and delight at the unexpected appearance of so much beauty and grace. He soon contrived frequent opportunities of seeing and speaking to : I her, and thus, gradually, but no less , surely, was the transition made from < admiration to love, the deepest and most | sincere. i Had Mary been a scheming flirt, instead of the upright and simple-minded being she was, she could not have "managed" better than she did, so as to bring John I to her feet with a proposal of marriage. Reared by her parents in the greatest seolusion, ■ John was the first, the only man she had ever met who had ventured to whisper words of admiration or love in her ears ; but although she loved him in : return with all the strength and devotion : of her nature, her innate good sense and feeling, aided by her gratitude to my mother, and her knowledge that such a step as her marriage with Mr. John Talbot '. would in all probability sever him for ever from the other members of his family — all these formed the strongest : reasons possible for her refusing to listen to him. She had, it is true, received his protestations of love and his offer of marriage, without attempting to conceal her own feelings for him ; but at the same time she told him that, as it was impos- : | sible they could ever be united, she would : leave Lane Court immediately, and seek for employment as governess in some distant place. B\it John told her that, go wherever she might, he would follow her and find her j that he would make it the business of his life to do so, and that ! he was firmly resolved nothing on earth, should part them. The interview between them ended at last in her consenting not to take any steps towards leaving Lane Court until all the excitement attendant on Emmeline's marriage was over ; and she was the more easily induced to wait, i from the knowledge that she was of great assistance to my mother, and that much \ inconvenience would result from her leaving suddenly at such a time ; not to speak ' of the confusion and dismay which would be caused by any movement on her part which would lead to the • discovery of John's feelings towards her. "Such, my dear Laura, is the state of i affairs as they are at present," said John ; "and I throw myself wholly on your sisterly love, to stand by Mary and me in | all the trouble and opposition which I foresee we shall have to encounter from ; my mother and Wilfred. Nothing shall : change my determination to marry Mary Raynor ; but you have great influence with my mother, and some calm reasoning . on your part, when the first shock of the news is over, would do more than anything «• else towards reconcilingher to what is inevit- 1 able. My plan is, to wait until I come of age — in three months irom this time — and then to tell my mother everything. Should she ultimately give her consent, and bestow , on me the sum which we all know she* intends for me on my coming of age, and ■ which, with accumulated interest, cannot ' be much less than ten thousand pounds, Mary and I shall, immediately after our marriage, go to reside on the Continent for a period of several years. "We shall . live very quietly, and Mary shall have

masters, and every advantage for improving her education and acquiring accomplishments. She has no mannerisms to get rid of. As she is, she might go anywhere ; but she is very young, and a few years spent in studying music and languages will not be lost time. When we come back, I intend that we shall go to London, where Mary shall appear in society under you?' auspices, my dear Laura. Thus introduced, and with her wonderful beauty, she will be, I predict, a complete success ; and not even the most inquisitive Dowager in Mayfair will think of enquiring into, or of grubbing lip, the history of her ancestry." "My dear John, you are too, too sanguine," said I, almost in despair; " do not for a moment imagine that my mother would give her consent to such a connection. Only think of Crippeta ! Why, it is perfectly monstrous ! If you carry out your intentions, I doubt if mamma will ever be induced to relent towards you." " Should she refuse her consent, I am equally determined to act without it ; although all I shall have are the two thousand pounds left me by Aunt Janet. With this sum I can still carry out my plan of going abroad ; and I am confident that my university education will stand me in good stead, by enabling me to obtain an English tutorship or something of that sort in one of the colleges or large schools in Germany. I have no fears of not getting on," added he, with a bright determined air. "I don't consider that I am disgracing myself by marrying Mary ; and (although my mother and Wilfred may banish me from Lane Court, they cannot banish me from their hearts. In a few years, I hope, we shall all be friends again." John spoke with all the enthusiastic confidence of youth and love ; and what could I say to him ? The whole thing had now gone too far for me to interfere in or hinder ; and I, who had begun the interview firmly resolved that John's love affair, if there was one, must at once be put a stop to, now stood pledged to do all I could ; consistent with my duty, to assist them. Come what might, I decided to act a sister's part, and I had no doubt whatever of being able to persuade my husband to countenance mo in doing ao. . (To he continued, J