Chapter III.

Otago Witness, Issue 1191, 26 September 1874, Page 19

Chapter III.

THE ENEMY OUTFLANKED.

Mid-harvest and shortening twilights ; grand red-gold moons, calmly ruling the soft, scented autumn nights as the southwest breeze came up, purring and kissing, from the thickening channel mists. The Hon. Mark Wylde and his wife were disturbed in their minds as they sat out on a balcony in the " Royal," and gazed on the throbbing waves. A distant relative, a Major Ralston, had been staying down at the Marine Hotel on the beach for some few days past, but it was only this evening that they knew of his even being in England. He had just left them, and in the course of conversation had imparted to the parents some information, partly true, partly mero Seasurf gossip, that made them thoughtful. The upshot of their discussion was that Tottie was to have— for about the first time in her life —a serious "talking to" the following morning. Eddie Keiller was lounging, the next day about noon, out on the lawn, wondering lazily what he should do with himself after lunch. His arm was nearly all right again now, and there were many amusements open to him, but they were all encumbered with one objection — company, and the man wanted to be alone. Only a month or six weeks ago, he would have bounded with delight at the company —that of Carry Hall — which he now dreaded. In fact, a revulsion of feeling had set in, and Keiller was vexy unsettled in his mind, and very unhappy. He could not account for it ; he had from the first hour he saw her hungered and thirsted after the love of this splendid woman ; and now that he seemed to have attained it, it turned to bitter husks in his mouth. Had the winning been too easy ? He had stuck to his absurd bargain with Tottie through pique and feverish instability aa much as for any other reason, and now his darling little cousin seemed hopelessly lost to him — absorbed in that swaggering dragoon, with his bravado, his crimsonbrown face, his uncouth oaths, and his horrible bonhomie. The whole business since the accident seemed strangely unfortunate, and all was at sixes and sevens. He was out of sorts~-had been for some time past— perplexed, miserable, and he almost wished he had never seen the mesmerising Cany Hall. A soft warm hand on his shoulder, ft low rich voice at his ear— " In the blues I" " Yes, in the bluest of blues !" he answered a little harshly, as he turned and met the searching play of the deep dark eyes of Carry Hall. "You are hipped, my poor fellow; bored to death at this stupid hole. You want a change — excitement. Let us stroll on the beach, and talk of it. Oome." There. was magic in those eyes, allurement in those tones, that Eddie (beginning to tire of them a little though he was) could not resist, and he went away down with her. On the way he wanted to smoke, but he had forgotten his fusee-box, and almost swore, so irritable was he. Carry bought a box of common lucifera in a sweet-stuff shop just on the verge of the shore, and when they sat down on the shingle to talk, Eddie tried to light his cigar, b\it failed, through the wind puffing the matches out one after the other. "Try a piece of paper," suggested Carry, who knew the soothing power of tobacco on the system of irritated man, pulling two or three scraps from a little tatting-case she toyed with. But the last match he tried did light ; and he was soon exaling clouds of perfumed smoke in comfort. " Some of Sam's mems.," she idly said, tossing the scraps away. One fell close to the arm with which Eddie was supporting his head. " What is it ? Not English, surely ?" _ " Arabic character. He always keeps his private notes in it for secrecy." "Rum Arabic," said the other, picking up the pencilled scrap, and examining it. " Why, it's short-hand ! — 'Dear Captain Hall, — I have something very particular to tell you.' Hallo ! that's warm, isn't it ?" " Do go on," entreated Carry ; and he, with changing colour (for he had caught the signature) and a forgetfulness of honour that would have been inexcusable under other circumstances, or in another man, read rapidly on as follows :—: — "'Something I heard to-day from mamma that I am afraid will put an end to all our jolly walks and fun together. I am so sorry, you dear old fellow ; but matters must come to a crisis soon ; and then — but here's that teasing Jack to take me to sketch the ruined chapel at Burcombe. He will wander off while lam drawing, and then you can come up, and we will settle everything. Not a second to spare. — Yourn ever, "'Tot.'"

Eddie Keiller's face turned a deeP scarlet as he translated the note ; Carry Hall became deadly pale. She rose hastily. He had bounded up to his feet at the first few lines. " I must stop this. I did not know my brother could act so disgracefully." She spoke in a passion, but very determinedly. Eddie, too, was in a passion— a turmoil of many conflicting passions rather — and scarce knew what he said. There was a seaside pony-chaise standing for hire at the end of the lane they had just come down. " She is my cousin — a mere child — and her fafcher does not know of this," he muttered hoarsely, as he made towards it, followed closely by Carry. "To Burcombe — quick as you can," said Eddie to the sunburnt boy who squeezed in between them to drive — thus preventing, happily, any further conversation on the note — and away they went. The ruined chapel at Burcombe, a couple of miles or so from Seasurf, stands picturesquely at the sea end of a lovely dell, well wooded, well flowered, well watered by a sparkling trout stream, and very well known as a trysting spot for lovers with art proclivities. It was called a "chapel," but in reality the shattered ruins of a good sized monastery occupied the lovely spot ; and it was not by any means easy to find any person who might be wanted amidst the numerous blocks of decaying buildings that crowded the undulating ground. " So they've found us out at last, have they'?" laughed out Sam Hall's jolly voice, as he wiped his heated forehead and sat down on a stone in an arched recess of the old ruin, close by where Tottie was making a pretence of sketching. (Her brother Jack had wandered away, boy like, down on the beach.) " Hush ! there may be people about ; don't speak so loud," warned the girl, as she toyed with the dainty hat she had just taken off. "All right. But what have they said about me? — anytlung awful ?" "Oh, no. Only I'm forbidden to see yoxi any more in private. They found that out somehow. People do talk so. And I should not have been here to-day, only Jack and I had arranged it long ago. Mamma looked very odd when I told her I was going ; and I shouldn't wonder a bit if she followed me, she seems so queer about it." "About what?" he asked, lighting a cigar, and making himself comfortable by tinbuttoning his waistcoat. "Well, about our — 'absurd lovemaking,' she called it :" Tottie fairly burst out laughing, and Sam joined in with a boisterous guffaw. " But what do you intend for the next move?" he inquired, when he had half choked between tobacco smoke and laughter. " I don't know, I'm sure. Everything seems to go wrong and thwart us," she replied, meditatively, and a gathering gloom creeping over her fair young face like a thunderstorm rising on a fair April day : " What can we do 1 We can't well run away — elope." She smiled again, but only a little, at the word. " Why not ? Jove, just the right thing. Post-chaise to Farpoint — train — express, if you like — cross-country route — splendid ! — bring them all to their bearings — old Eddie and all— in no time .'" The dragoon was quite carried away with the enthusiasm the idea evolved in his romantic brain. " Hush— oh, do hush — you — well, dear old fool ! there ! People may hear you — and — " " Well, but it woiild really be our best plan ; wouldn't it now ? Jove, it would stir the jolly old boy up though ! Be after us like a shot — " "And your sister?" put in Tottie, quietly. She was flushed with the eager conflict going on in her mind, but she spoke calmly ; "what would she say of it? and, above all, what would she think of poor me after running away with her brother V " Oh, Oar be hanged ! she can console herself with some fellow — old Eddie Kei— " _ Captain Samuel Hall never finished that sentence ; his sister and Edwin burst out on them from behind the turret. " She would think you a very brazenfaced girl, Miss Wylde, to run away with a married man, as my brother is !" So Cany Hall. " ' Some fellow,' as you're pleased to call him, will put a stopper on pour game, Captain Hall," cried Edwin, in a towering passion, going towards Tottie, who had bounded to her feet at the interruption, and now looked the picture of dismay. " Oh, by Jove ! here's the d—ld — I to pay, and no pitch hot !" groaned out the Captain, who was thunderstruck at the sudden appearance and words of his sister — he j did not notice Keiller — just when he had expressed (in most uncomplimentary terms) his views on her future prospects. "Do you mean to say that your brother ia really married, MiBS Hall ?" asked Eddie. "Really," she answered, flushing all over, as the bitter memory of a sad mesalliance came over her mind. " You hear that, Tottie ? The man is "Stop !" shouted Sam Hall, before the other could utter the word ; " Miss Wylde became aware I was married a week or two after sho first knew me. Did you not ?" " I did," answered Tottie, simply. She was regaining her calmness now, and her own darling Eddie had her hand once more in his with the old warm grasp that sent a thrill through her. "And I knew it, too!" said Master

Jack, who had come up during the scene. " Why, Tottie, and I, and Captain Hall ■were only serving you out in your own coin, when you went off on the high stilts after your tumble down hill !" ' ' And you never told me your brother was married, Miss Hall !" said Eddie, in a rage at being deceived in so barefaced a manner. Carry Hall drew herself up to the full extent of her stately figure as she answered him with great dignity mixed with scorn (for she had well noted of late how his temporary passion for her was waning), " I am not in the habit of gossiping about my brother's affairs, Mr. Koiller !" She made him a stately courtesy, turned on her heel, and left them with all the dignity of an injured queen — three minutes afterwards they heard the rattle of the pony-chaise, and knew she was driving into Seasurf. Then, and on the walk back, and in the pleasant family rooms at the " Royal" in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Wylde, the whole business came out by degrees. Tottie, in the simplicity of her trusting nature, had turned Sam Hall from a flirting admirer into a friend, by disclosing to him her passion for her cousin Eddie ; while he, on his side, told of his marriage, and between them they concocted a plot of sham love-making to pique the latter into returning to his allegiance — Tottie 's maid and Jack taking an active part in the performance by slyly mentioning before Keiller the various places where the pseudo lovers were about to meet. Sam, of course, dared not tell his sister, because she held the secret of his wedded misery, and he did not wish it spread all over the place — for he knew her temper when roused — and, as he justly remarked, "Car can pick up a good fellow anywhere — one spoon more or less will be nothing to her !" But when Major Ralston, who knew the Halls well, so unexpectedly turned up, and informed Mr, and Mrs. Wylde of all the gossip he heard at the Marine Hotel about their daughter and Captain Hall (at whose marriage Ralston had actually been present) the Avhole plan fell to the ground, and hence the meeting at Burcombe Chapel, that eventuated so differently from what had been expected. There is no Tottie Wylde now ; but should you this season visit that very excellent hostelry, the "Royal" at Seasurf, you would find plenty of people to tell you of her "device" to win back her cousin-lover — " which her name is Keiller now, sir !" as the staid head-chambermaid said to us only the other day when narrating the little romance. S. J. MacKenna.