The Novelist.

Otago Witness, Issue 1395, 24 August 1878, Page 17

The Novelist.

TRUE NOBILITY.

(Written for the Otago Wittiest) By H. Oaeriok. Chapter VIII. — Despair. On the next morning Eliza received the following answer : — Bangor Castle, Satnrday Morning. Miss Russell,— I received your note late last night, but I am very sorry to inform you that it is entirely out of my power to comply with the request contained therein at present. I am so surrounded with friends, and have so many engagements to fulfil, that it will be some time before I can have the pleasure of calliDg on you. This will probably be some disappointment to you, and I can assure you it is a greater to mo. But circumstanced as we are, we must apply a little philosophy to the caso, and hope for a better time coming. I will call as soon as I possibly can. Yours truly, Edwabd Wabdodb. Miss Russell, Skipperstone Cottage. When Eliza received the note, her heart bounded with hope and joy ; but when she read it, she drooped her head upon the table, and the world became dark to her vision. For a considerable time she remained in that semi-conscious condition; but at length recovering a little, she by a desperate effort penned the following : — Skipperstone Cottage, Saturday Evening. My Own, Dear Edward,— For Heaven's sake explain the letter which I have just received from you. Surely I am mad, for I cannot understand it. Am I your wife or not ? and if not, what am I ? In mercy'B name, then, explain this dreadful note. But my mind must be wan: dering to ask such a foolish question, for you know, and others know, and Heaven knows, that I am thine and thou art mine. To think otherwise would kill me, which perhaps would be a blessing; but, oh! my poor father and mother — what of them ? But no, no, darling, it cannot be ; for I know that you are goodness itself, and would not see their gray hairs sink into the grave with shame. And then, love, my condition cannot be concealed much longer. Pardon me, my own, if I am writing foolishly, for I know not what to do ; and for the sake of the past, for father and mother's sake, for| your own sake, and for Heaven's sake, send an answer that will bring back hope to tho heart of Your loving wife, Eliza. Edward Wardour, Esq., Bangor Castle. When young Wardour read this letter, instead of it touching the better feelings of his nature, it stirred up the worst. He felt somewhat annoyed as he exclaimed, half audibly : " Ah-ha ! I see she's going to be troublesome. I'll let her know at once how she stands, and have done with the matter. I thought that six months would have driven me from her mind ; Ah ! well I must let her down as easily as I can, and do for the youngster. As for herself, I can do something/ for her handsome, if she's reasonable ; if not, she can go to the devil." In this frame of mind he sat down and wrote the following letter :—: — Bangor Castle, Sunday Morning. Madam,— In reply to yours of last night, I have to inform you that our marriage was not legal, as it turns out that the supposed clergyman was no clergyman at all, but an adventurer. As for the witnesses, it seems also that they were- not the parties of which we spoke. Of course, you will remember that they did not speak, and as it was rather dark, they could not be distinctly seen. Under these circumstancos, I hope you will see the necessity of abandoning the idea of your being my wife. And after all, it is better that it is so, and for this reason : I find that I am totally^ dopendant upon my father during his lifetime, and from what I overheard in a conversation lately, I know that he would discard me without a farthing, if I were to marry any one not to his liking. Had we been really tnai'ried, then, we would have been in a pretty fix, starting the world without a penny ; but as it is, I can and will make you comfortable. In regard to the coming stranger, you can keep your mind at peace, as I will see to his or her welfare I will take care that Dr Ritchie, whom I will send over to see you, will make that all right. He has always on hand a few excellent nurses. And now for your own future. I have an admirable young man as valet who will^ bo glad to marry you on my recommendation. Ho bears a good character, and would, I am sure, make a good husband. Then I could get my father to give you one of tho porter-lodges to keep, and as your husband would be sure of a permanent situation at the Castle, things would go smoothly enough with you. By this arrangement, too, we could often meet to talk over old times, and it would always be a pleasure for me to do you any little kindness in my power. I beg of you to think over this matter calmly, and I think you will see that I mean kindly towards you. If you love me, as you say, then you will bo guided by my advice, and make any little sacrifice that it may cost you in order that we may meet again; but if you refuse, then I must conclude that ambition, and not love, regulates your Iconduct. If you agrno to these arrangements, which I think arc both kind and generous, bfl good enough to let mo know, when I will at once take steps to carry them out. I remain, Yours, etc, Edwabd Wabdoub. Miss Eussell, Skipperstone Cottage. While this cruel and heartless letter is on its way to Eliza, we must go back a little to relate a conversation that took place in the Castle, and which throws pome light upon young Wardour's infamous conduct. One evening, about seven months before this time, he was seated with three compan'ons, respectively named Black- j wood, Stewart, and Hill, and who were all s?iona of tjie a,ri§tocracy. They were

enjoying themselves, as young bloods were wont to do in those days. They were engaged in the intellectual pastime of playing cards, sipping wine, and smoking. During a pause at the end of a game, young Blackwood remarked : "I say, Ned, how the devil are you getting along with that pretty little farmer's daughter that you used to tell us about ? I suppose it's all right by this time 1 Eh, old fellow V " Well, not exactly, Black. She's the hardest little nut to crack that ever I came across." " Ah ! a little devil, I dare say, that knows how to keep the devil at arm's length." ''You're mistaken there, Black. She is very innocent, and never so much as doubts my intentions. If there was more of the devil in her I could manage her better, I think. But she's so confiding, and yet so firm, that she perfectly unmans me." "It's all finesse, Ned," said young Hill ; you must make her a few valuable presents, that's all that's needed." " You are wrong there also, Arthur : for, would you believe it, she has refused every trinket and present that I have offered her, save one trifle in the shape of a little gold heart set with a few diamonds, which she wears concealed in her bosom and suspended by a guard which she made herself from a lock of my hair. No, no ; presents won't do." "I see," remarked Blackwood; "she is playing for a heavier stake. Innocent as you deem her, Ned, she's a devilish deal deeper than you are." "I do not believe it, Black. On the contrary, I think that she has got high notions of virtue, and all that sort of thing, quite uncommon with girls of her class. There is only one way of dealing with her." "And what's that?" asked young Stewart. " Why, marry her," saidj young Wardour. "In earnest," quizzed young Blaokwood.

" No, no, Black. ; I am not such a spooney as that. But I think that if you three lend me a hand, I pan manage to make her believe that she is married, and that will just do her as well, at least for a time."

" Capital," cried young Hill, ,"a glorious lark. You, Blackwood, will play the priest, as you are coming out in that line at anyrate, and Jack and I will be witnesses"

And so it was arranged after a good deal of banter and light talk. These four young scamps planned the ruin of an innocent girl with as little compunction as they would have set a trap for a fox ; and the reader already knows how artfully the plan was accomplished. What did they care for the feelings, or even the life of thiß poor victim ] Nothing. What was she, in their eyes, but one of the canaille, one of the base-born who were designed to minister to their pleasure.

Edward Wardour wrote his last letter to Eliza on Sunday morning, but as there was no delivery on that day, she did not receive it till mid- day on Monday. We will pass over the Bufferings of the poor creature during that Sabbath day. She complained of being unwell and kept her own room all day. Her mother felt very uneasy regarding her, as she saw that she was evidently unwell, but never for ono moment did the true nature of the cause cross her mind.

Eliza was watching for, and saw the messenger coming with the letter, and when she received it,' she turned, but with unsteady steps, into her own apart" ment, there to read, alone, her death warrant.

She read it over the first time in a kind of stupor, seeming unable to comprehend its meaning and purpose, and it was not until she had nearly read it the second time through, that its full intent flashed like [lightning through her mind, when, giving one piercing shriek, she fell senseless upon the floor. Her father, mother, and brother rushed into the room, for it was dinner-time and they were all in- doors, where they found her lying as one dead, the fatal letter grasped firmly in her hand. They placed her in bed, and applied all the restoratives they could think of, but it was long ere she began to breath again, and then but feebly. While her parents still lingered over her, watching with breathless anxiety — the slowly returning animation, her brother retired into the sitting room, and read the letter.

When he had done so, and fully comprehended its meaning, he groaned as if he had received a deadly blow. His father heard him and ran into the apartment where he was sitting, thinking that some dreadful calamity had also befallen him.

William, who looked more like a corpse than a living being, hauded the letter to his father in silence, and then sank into a chair.

It was wiih great difficulty that the old man could gather the full meaning of the hellish missive, and when at last he did, he fell upon his knees and holding ■ up his hands towards Heaven, ho exclaimed, " Oh ! God teach us how to bear this heavy chastisement." Then he laid hia grey head upon the table before him, and sobbed deep and bitterly.

William was much affected by the distress of hiß father, and lifting him into a seat, said,- -

"Do not take it so much to heart, father, perhaps matters are not so bad as they look, and if they be, by High Heaven, we will, ct least, nave vengeance." "Speak not of vengeance, my son, for itjis not purs, bus the Lord's. No, you.

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anusfc not think of that, come what may. Leave that to Him who only knows how justly to deal with ua." " But, father, are we to do nothing in eelf -defence ? Are we to submit tamely to this fearful outrage ? If the law gives niß no redress— and it gives us none, for -our laws are but the will of our oppressors' — must we bear this wrong humbly, and kiss the hand that strikes us 1 No, father, in all things have I obeyed you from my youth up, but in this I will take my own way, and as sure as yon sun shines in the heavens, so sure will not my sister's honour, perhaps her life, be sacrificed; unavenged." " William, your words are rash, and as foolish as they are rash. Tell me what good it will do, even if you could lay her betrayer dead, this moment, at our feet ? Would it restore your sister's honour, or your sister's life ? Would it bring comfort to the now desolate hearts of your mother and I ? No,, my son, it would not only bring more sorrow to us, but remorse to yourself.. Think not, I beseech you, of such a thing."

t( Father, weserfshave borne our burdens too longi It is fully time now that we shook them off. No longer can we bear a race of drones, who not only rob us of our means, but dishonour our homes and trample upon the most sacred instincts of our nature. No longer shall they claim, as a right, ' the pick of r our families' for domestic service.' No, by Heaven, and the fata of young 'Wardour shall be ah example to others and the beginning of the end." • ' 1 ". " Hush ! foolish boy, you must not speak so! As a Christian, ; I implore to abandon such a wicked purpose. No doubVour case is hard, and our oppression great, but any act of private vengeance on your part or that of 'others will npt break the chain, but rather rivet it more firmly. In the meantime we must 'bear "our cross, and leave the issue with Him, who in His own good time will avenge the innocent and oppressed." , , „ ' ' But ' notwithstanding all Iris father could say, William s remained determined 1 to avenge his sister's wrong, and it was with great reluctance that he promised not to do so for a period of one ..month. Thiß was the only concession he would make, but his father hoped that ere that time .elapsed some - event might occur' to, prevent him carrying out his purpose.

In {.tie, meantime EJLza hovered between life and death. Several times 'did .she open her eyes and stare around,, but. she seemed, to recognize no one. , When the dpctor^rriyed h£ pronounced her to be in a, very, critical condition. Later in the, eyening she gave premature birth, to. a little one, which, happily > f ok itself and others, never breathed.

All night the doctor and her mother sat by her. bed, watching every change in her appearance,' ;and dreading every moment thpt she would pass away. But' early mext morning her pulse began to beat rapidly, her face becoming highly flushed, which showed that fever had set in. The doctor after giving instructions as to the necessary care to be observed, said there was no danger of death, at least for a few days, and then left.

■ And ■ what a house • of sorrow he left behind him ! How sad, how hopeless, how dark- and desolate ; and oh ! how unlike that happy dwelling which had never known affliction before, but had rang for many years with the merry laugh and sweet songs of Eliza. But, alas ! such music will never gladden it again, for the pretty bird that sang lies dying, pierced to the heart by the hand of him who . had sworn to protect it ! Cruel, heartless villain, you have trifled with, trampled upon, and broken' the heart that loved but- you alone, in all its innocence and purity,, and all its strength. And what . 'crime had she committed towards you to merit such punishment ? Alas ! she loved you, and all who love such worthless, wretches as you must, sooner or later, reap in return, misery and disappointment.

When Mrs 1 Russell came to know all the particulars of' her, daughter's case she withstood the shock with more firmness than either her husband or son expected. She perceived that it had sank deep into their hearts, and in order to console them, flhe suppressed, as far as possible, the anguiah of her 'own. There are, many people of that 1 nature. ' Whatever their sufferings may be they will suffer in secret and alone, but they will bear a cheerful aspect towards others, so that they may, in some degree, lighten their affliction.

"Thank, Heaven," she said, "matters are not so bad as 1 they might have been.' At least, my child is innocent in indention. ' Her 'greatest' fault was that she did bot 'trust us'/"And'yet, God knows,.perhaps we have not treated her as kindly as we might, else she would not have withheld her confidence. All we can say iB that she has been betrayed, and a greater and a, purer than she has suffered the same' fate, even Jesus himself. But I will go this very day and see her destroyer. I will merit him face to face and fiee how he looks 'in mine. Yes) I must look at him once more and see if it be he who ate of my bread and drank of my cup.' I will know whether he be man or devil"; if man, I may touch his soul when I ask him to pity the stricken dove,' and if devil, I will know the worst." 1 So saying, she arose, and putting on her bonnet and shawl, proceeded towards the Castle.

* When she rang at tho great door of the .Castle, she was admitted by a gentleman who wore a powdered wig, a brown coat highly embroidered, plush breeches, white (stockings and unexceptionable calves.

"Is Master Wardour at homo," she enquired ? "" The gentleman's gentleman turned round and asked another gentleman, dressed nearly as superbly as himself, " Is your master at home 1 " " I will see," wasthe answer. Addressing Mrs Russell, " What name please 1 "

"Mrs Russell," was the quiet reply. When theae two worthies heard the name a peculiar look and, Binile passed between them, which did not altogether escape tho farmer's wife.' It produced within her mind an indefinite but painful feeling. She wondered if these menials knew aught, of her sorrow, or surmised anything as to the nature of her errrand. The thought of such a possibility was humiliating. After a little the servant returned, and said his master was engaged and could not be disturbed, but that he, hia master, would call on, or write to Mrs Russell in a few days. [ " Oh, Sir,' please tell him that my case is urgent, and that I must see him to-day. " ".Must? "said the valet. "I beg your pardon, but— but I wish greatly to see him to-day." ' "My master's orders are peremptory, ma'am, and muat be'obeyed." The gentleman with the calves now opened the door, and stood waiting till she would depart. \ She arose to do so, but her limbs refused to perform their office ; she was nearly falling, when Fanny came tripping up the steps, and on seeing- her sprang forward, and grasping her by the hands exclaimed — j " Oh,, Mrs Russell, what's the matter ? You look. dreadfully ill ;" then taking her by the arm she assisted the poor woman into the reception room.

{To be continued —Commenced in No. 1358.)