Chapter XXI.

Otago Witness, Issue 1499, 7 August 1880, Page 25

Chapter XXI.

By B. L. FAKJEON.

The writing in the Bible. T is a good thing I thought of concealing what I write between the pages of my Bible, for the woman who is given to me as a com* panion continues to watch my movements in an extraordinary manner. I asked her this morning whether she was paid for doing it, and she replied wilh'^etestable smiles, that she was only doing' what was for my good. This means so much that I shall speak to H,arold ab.out it. "'lhave spoken to Harold. I told him that the woman was watching me. He said surely not, and seemed to ask it as a question. I told him that I saw her Bearohing my clothes in the middle of the night, when she thought me to be asleep. He said that was sufficient ; the woman should be discharged ; and added : "If you wish it." When I replied that she naa&e ,me feel uncomfortable, he said that he would send her away immediately. "Is there, anything else you wish?" he asked; I answered, "Yes, I want my Bister Marguerite." A strange look of remonstrance came into his face — it is a handsome face, and no man, with the exception of my father, has ever behaved to- me with so much gentleness— as he said, " I will do everything in my power ; my only concern is that you shall be happy." He asked me if I could not be

happy without my sister. Happy without you Marguerite ! My tears answered him. " Write," he said, "to Marguerite ; do not conceal your thoughts ; tell her that she is neccessary to your happiness, and beg her to come to you at once. " You know where she is, then," I said ; " there is no occasion to write. Let me go to her." He answered that he did not know where you were, or he would take me to you ; that he would send a messenger with the letter to where he believed my master to be, and the messenger himselfshouldjput his answer.in my hands. He called a servant, and gave him instructions in my hearing, and a few moments after my btter was written, I saw, from my window, the man galloping away. It is all bo confusing that I do not know what to think. "'The woman has gone. She said some strange, bitter things to me before she left. She reproached me for having been the cause of her losing a good service, and said she knew well enough the reason why I wished to get rid of her. | " You will live to repent it," she said ; " I would have protected you. " She was not allowed to say more, for one of Har- 1 old's servants, coming in at the time, ordered her to be careful with her tongue. "My master is not to be trifled with," said the servant. "I know it," replied the woman, and turning to me said, with a sneering smile, " And so will you, my fine lady!" " 'What did she mean when she said she would have protected me? Protect me from whom 1 "'" ' Harold sent to know whether he might come and see me ; he never visits me in my room without asking permission. l"sent word back that he could oome if he wished. " ' His manners resemble those of my dear father 5 they are the manners of a polished gentleman. He is really one. " You will feel lonely," he said, "without a companion of your own sex. Shall we find you one till Marguerite returns?" How grateful I was for his considerate attention ! I accepted it gladly, and he then told me that a young woman was waiting for my approval. He went to the door and called her— a bright young creature— younger than I, whom I received gladly. Her name is Beatrice, "So now," said Harold gaily, " we shall live happy ever afterwards." " * A fortnight has passed since the man was sent with my letter to Marguerite. Daily have I asked Harold about him, and the only answer I receive is that he has not returned. Has Marguerite forgotten me 1 Had she sought me, surely she could have found me. There has been no secrecy in our movements. I find some comfort in that reflection ; we have travelled by the most frequented roads, and have stopped at the largest hotels. I have been entirely free. When Harold has had cause to suppose that I suspected him he has said, " Child, if there is any person you think you can trust better than you trust me, go to him ; I shall not detain you, although I shall grieve to Bay good-bye. If you and Marguerite were together, you would not hesitate to accept me as your friend." "No indeed," I have replied, with regret that I should have caused him pain, " but then it would be different." "It would be really different," he has said ; " but being alone, as you are, knowing no one, and without friends, is all the more reason why you should place faith in a gentleman of whom you could not ask a service he would not be eager to perform." I cannot but believe him ; indeed, situated as I am, I should be helpless without him. " ' Beading over what I have written, my heart aches to find that in the last few lines I have thrown out a reproach against Marguerite. Forgive me, beloved sister ! Too well do I know your truth, your faithfulness ! That I should throw a doubt upon you reflects shame upon me. You could not forget me ; nor can I you. Wherever you are may happiness and peace of mind be yours. I pray for you day and night ! "'At noon Beatrice brought me a message from Harold, requesting me to go to him ; his messenger had returned. I ran to him bo quickly that I almost fainted from the rapid beating of my heart. Harold caught me in his arms, and held me till I recovered. From his face, which was almost as white as my own, I knew that the news he had to tell me was bad news. ' ' Let me go," I said faintly, " and tell me the worst at once." But when he released me I trembled so that I could soarcely stand. Harold assisted me to a j seat, and leant over me. I was almost afraid to speak, and my fears grew stronger with every moment of silence. "Is Marguerite dead ?" I whispered. " We do not know that," replied Harold ; "all that we can learn is that the man you called your master has left the country, and has taken Marguerite with him. It is impossible to ascertain what part of the world they have gone to.' I seemed to hear in the air the words, " Marguerite is lost to you ; you will never see her more ! Tears streamed from my eyes, and almost blinded me, and when I could see, Harold was kneeling at my feet. "It breaks my heart," he said, " to see you in such grief. What can I do to comfort you?" "Find Marguerite," I sobbed ; " restore my siator to me." "If it is in man's power," he replied, "it shall be done. I swear it, by this kiss on your white hand !" I wiped the tears from my eyes, and looked into his face ; truth and honesty seemed to dwell there, but there was also an expression in it which brought blushes to my cheek. Ah, Marguerite ! Would that you were here to counsel me ! lam like a child groping in the dark, and I have no

one in the world to depend upon but Harold. " 'jHarold tells me he has sent out three messengers in different directions, to endeavour to track my master, and he begs me in the meantime to be easier in my mind ; in every possible way he strives to make the hours pass quickly. One thing he said which does not please me : "It is good sometimes to be able to forget. " I asked him if he meant it would be good for me to forget Marguerite. He answered, " Heaven forbid ; but that it were wiser not to allow our thoughts to dwell so constantly upon one subject, if it gave us pain ; and that we should not nurse our troubles. He said a great deal more to the same effect, and calledit philosophy. I can find no comfort in it ; I know that I suffer, and that the loss of my dear sister is the most dreadful blow that has ever fallen upon me. " ' Harold entreated me to go out more, and it seemed so ungrateful in me to say No again and again to everything he proposes, that I have consented to go to a theatre one evening this week. It is but a small thing to do in return for all his kindness. " ' I have just come from the theatre. The moment we entered our hotel, Harold and I, Beatrice my maid following us, I wished Harold good-night, and hurried to my room. Beatrice waited to help me undress ; I said I did not require her assistance, and sent her to bed ; her room is next to mine. " In the evening a dressmaker brought two large boxes into my room, a present from Barold. She opened them, and laid out gloves, and shoes, and opera-cloak, and the most beautiful dress I ever beheld ; it was altogether so sweet and attractive that I trembled to look at it, and. longed to put it on, and at the same time felfc as though my longing were a sin. Wheu I promised Harold to accompany him to the theatre, I did not think I should be compelled to dress so grandly. The dressmaker pointed out to me the beauties of this beautiful costume, the colours of which are what best become me. I asked her whether it would fit me, and she said that she had studied my figure, and that Beatrice had lent her a common dress of mine which had served as a guide. Time was flying, and Harold, I knew, would presently be waiting for me. I allowed the woman to dress me, and Beatrice, who was full of innocent admiration, arranged my hair, and sighed over me in ecstasy. I thought of the times when you, my darling Marguerite, used to take pride in decorating me, and of your fond words and loving ways as you proceeded in your task. Ah ! you loved your poor sister too well ; you cared not for yourself. This was for Clarice ; that was for Clarice ; Marguerite wanted nothingnothing but love ! I gave you that, dear ! but I can see now how selfish I was in comparison with you. "• My thoughts were still dwelling upon you when Beatrice and the dressmaker completed their taak. I looked at myself in the glase. " 'I waß almost ashamed of the pleasure I experienced, and felt as though my appearance were a wrong to you, dear Marguerite. But you would not have thought so ; you would have taken a greater pride in me than I did in myself. Why should I deceive myself or you ? I could not help feeling delighted, and the on ly thing I wanted in the world to make me completely happy was that you could see me, and kiss me, and whisper in my ear those sweet wishes for my future which I used to repeat to myself over and over again. My future ! what will it be like 1 And yours, Marguerite ! What will yours be?' " ( It was time for me to go to Harold ; his eyes seemed as though they would devour me when I presented myself. " You are dressed in a befitting manner, Clarice," he said ; " you do me great honour." And I had never seen Harold look so well.' " ' It was to the opera house we went. The threatre was crowded. The dresses of the ladies, the lights, the animation of every person, who behaved as though there were no unhappiness in the world, no misery, no poverty, no sorrow, no injustice, I did not think [of at the time ; it comes into my head only now. I thought only of the wonderful picture around me. ' " ' Harold and I were alone in the box, sitting in full view of the house. People stared at us from every part. " You are the prettiest flower in the bouquet," Harold whispered, and bowed to this person and that, and asked me whether I had any objection to his receiving the visits of his friends. What objection could I have ? The box was his, and I but a poor girl, almost like the heroine of the .opera, a gipsy, whose dress at one time was as grand but not so pretty as mine. How beautifully she sang ! And how tha audience applauded her ! Her voice was like a nightingale's, but not sweeter than yours, Marguerite. Never, never was a voice as sweet as my dear sister Marguerite's !' " ' I lost myself in the pleasure of the night ; I felt as though I had drank wine which intensified almost into pain the sense of enjoyment.' " ' Many of Harold's friends came into the box ; some of them are artists ; Harold himself is one, he says. He asked me in a whisper whether he should introduce me to his friends by my name, and I said no. I cannot tell why I did not wish it to be made common. He mentioned the names of his friends, but I did not distinctly hear one of them. They paid me a thousand compliments ; a •

queen could not have received greater attention.' " ' The night passed quickly ; the curtain fell. Harold hurried me out of the box into the carriage. Beatrice was there with a lovely fur cloak which she fastened round my neck. " 'I ,leant back, and closed my eyes, and as we drove to the hotel Harold held my hand in his. I tried to withdraw it, but he would not let me. He hoped it had been a pleasant evening, he said ; I answered, yes, and my voice seemed to die away in a whisper.' " ' So now I have written all that passed ; I have done no wrong, and yet I am oppressed by a feeling of deep uneasiness. More than ever do I need your presence and your counsel, my dear sister ; never more than now, never more than now !' " ' It seems as if I dared not write my thoughts. I push them from me.' " ' Suppose I ran away from this great hotel this very night, this very moment. In which direction should I fly 1 Who would come forward and help me 1 Do I not remember the night upon which Marguerite and I attempted to escape from our master? Even Marguerite, strong and brave as she is, had to give up the attempt in despair. And I, weak and irresolute as I am, with no one to guide me —could I expect to succeed where Marguerite failed 1 " Of what, then, am I afraid ? Next to Marguerite and my dear dead father, no man or woman in the world has behaved so kindly and with so much consideration as Harold has done. Do I fear his gentleness 1 Would it be better that he should beat and starve me than that he should strive by any means in his power to please and amuse me ? Then, indeed, if he were harsh to me, and made me feel my dependent position, I should have cause for tears j but as it is, treated as a lady Clarice, you are ungrateful. " ' Scattered about the room are the clothes and the flowers I have worn tonight. Marguerite, if she were to come in suddenly, would scarcely believe they were mine ; but she would be glad. It was what she always wished for me. Why, then, should I not be glad ? I will go to bed now, and pray. All will be well in time— all is well ! Father, that art in Heaven, my trust is in thee ! G-ood night, dear, dear Marguerite ! ■ . " ' I have been very uneasy in my mind. Until an hour ago I had not seen Harold for three days. He did not send me word or message. I asked Beatrice if she saw him, and Beatrice said Yes, and that he always enquired after me 1 Did he ■ no^ wish to see me ? I asked ; and Beatrice answered that he did not express the wish; Every day Beatrice and I have walkd out, and no person has accosted or molested us. In the hotel I am waited upon by servants who obey my slightest word. This absolute liberty jarred upon me, and Harold's avoidance of me made me uneasy. I sent Beatrice with a message to him, asking if he would see me ; she returned immediately, and said that Harold was waiting for me. When I entered his study my resolution left me ; I hardly knew what to say to him. Still I mustered courage to ask if I had offended him. "Child, " he answered, taking my hand ; "it is I who feared I had offended you." "In what way 1" I asked. "In no way," he answered, in a tone which seemed to express that a weight was lifted off his mind ; " if you cannot tell, I have been torturing myself unnecessarily. And we are really friends ?'' " Yes," I replied, but even as I spoke my voice deserted me again. Then he went on to tell me that he felt it a kind of reproach upon himself that he had been unable to obtain news of Marguerite, and that he feared it would take a longer time to find her than he expected. He spoke of other things, and I listened in silence ; he said it was necessary that he should pay a visit to an estate i a hundred miles away. " What will become of me ?" I thought. It was almost as if he divined what was passing in my mind, for he said that he had been thinking of me, and considering what was best to be done. Near his estate, to attend to which would occupy some months of his time, was a pretty cottage which he said I could live in if I wished with Beatrice and another servant or two j that if I accepted it would enable him to communicate to me without delay what news he might obtain of Marguerite. '* It might happen, " he said, " that one of my messengers will return with Marguerite, and then, knowing where you were, I could bring her to you at once." The joy of this possibility caused me instantly to accept his offer, and I thanked him with tears in my eyes. "What have I done to deserve such kindness ?" I asked. He held my two hands, and looked down into my face. " Child," he said, "you are never absent from my thoughts." " ' I have been in Harold's pretty cottage for a week. It is a most beautiful place, with a lovely garden around it ; if Marguerite were with me I could live happily here all my life. " ( Everything was ready when we arrived ; Harold must have seen to it beforehand. When I said as much to him he smiled, and said he hoped he had been able to please me. " You are queen here," he said. "Will you give me lodg' ment for the night V " Indeed," I said, laughing, and much perplexed, "I know nothing of the place. It is yours." " Nay," he said, " I assure you it is your own, to rule in as you please, and although I do not know where to find a roof for my head this night, I will not stay unless you bid me stay." "Of course you may stay," I said ; " but who

will show me what to do f " There ia a housekeeper here," he said, and he called a woman by name, an elderly woman, who showed me over the house, and pointed out spare rooms, in one of which Harold could sleep. My bedroom is the sweetest I have ever slept in ; it has windows on two sides, and seems to be embosomed in a very bower of flowers. " ' Harold left me the next morning, but came again in the evening to see how I was getting on. I was very excited, I had made so many discoveries during the day. There are stables and a little carriage, with a pair of ponies, and two saddlehorses. A groom explained that the ponies were for me to drive, and one of the saddle-horses was for me ; the other was Harold's. Two gardeners were busy in the garden. At the end of the garden is a streamlet, and a pretty bridge over it leads into the woods. It is like a fairy house. I cannot believe that it is mine, but Harold assures me repeatedly that it is so, and that if I like he will give me what he calls deeds. I told him I did not want them ; that I was happy as I was. He caught at my words. "And are you really happy at length ?" he asked. Then Marguerite, I thought of you, whom I reproach mysel? for forgetting sometimes, and I turned my head in sadness away. " ' Harold visits me daily. Yesterday was Sunday, and he came early with a friend. Within a mile of this cottage is a village church, and I was ready dreased for the morning service when Harold and his friend rode up. I told them I was going to church, and asked them to acoompany me ; they consented, laughing, saying they had had no Buch intention in their minds. We walked there, and our appearance excited the wonderment p£ the country people, who stared at us all through the service. Then for the first time I felt that a great • change had oome over me ? When my father was alive, and afterwards, when Marguerite and I were travelling with our master from village to village, I knew that I belonged to the people. I belong to them no longer j that is plain from their bearing towards me. It pains me to think that a tie in which there was so much that was pleasant is broken. The minister, an old man with white hair, paid no more attention to us than he did to the poorer members of his flock. We stood outside by the church door, observing the people, who, when they left the church, wended their way homewards in different directions. The last to come out was the minister. He turned his benevolent eyes upon us. Harold and his friend bowed j he returned their salutation, and perceiving that they evinced a desire to enter into conversation with him, waited a little until they spoke.