THE NOVELIST.

Otago Witness, Issue 1506, 25 September 1880, Page 24

THE NOVELIST.

. : j&t in a Jft\m Shy. ■ ♦ The usual batch of MSS. of Mr Farjeon's ' ' tale did not come to band by last mail, and we shall consequently have to beg,' our readers indulgence for a week or two.

mm.

' • ♦ By A. M. M. 3^ Chapter XXIII. -' Reginald's Letter. 'Xo2lifs&£i^ dear Elphinatne, — fflffHlß^M 'We only arrived afc aJSaBKBiPE our J ourne y's end a week . fSjSwlejl AS 0 * c a( i * fair *®65iS§8®H passage over, but, as is usual in these steamers, jSWalwcgf there was a good "»3t"* I^*' crowd on board, which, certainly .was a drawback. However, some of them were very nice sort of people, and we got on very well together. In the cabin next mine was a baby, good enough in the daytime — its parents said i t was always a good baby, but rather troublesome at night — but every night between eleven and twelve that baby began to exercise its lungs, and did not •top for fifteen: consecutive minutes until it was time to get up in the morning. Then it rested, and recuperated its weary lungs for the next night, and hardly ever gave out a single squall during the daytime. For three nights I lay awake, but tretended I was asleep— a consummation tried hard >to accomplish, but unsuccessfully. The fourth night, which was wonderfully still and quiet except for my young neighbour's noise, I did not attempt to sleep, but spent the time thinking how to have the child, or myself, removed to another place. 'A young fellow named Hart was in the cabin with me, but the noise that ' -child made seemed to lull him off to sleep, and keep him so more effectually than anything else could have done. However, on this fourth night Hart did not want to sleep — he wanted to talk ; and as the crying of this ohild made him sleepy, he began to get angry with it, Be threw inijcbrmjiei, niippew, boot*,

against the partition, and every time anything came with a sharp thud, that child stopped for nearly a whole minute, and then .resumed its vocal exercise.

'I wondered at the time why the parents did not remonstrate, but supposed they were both-asleep. - ' Next day I asked the mother — a palefaced girl of about twenty — if there was nothing the matter with her baby. She said no, and then we had a little conversation, in the course of which she told me she could never sleep at nights without morphia, or some such drug ; that her husband, who suffered very much from sea-sickness, had slept on deck each night.

'So I told her the baby cried every night, and she was sorry, and promised to take no morphia that night. I think she kept her promise, for when at the usual time the child began she was awake, and hushed it quiet. 'The father I could not understand, but the mother, without doubt, was very unhappy ; so my sister Caroline, of whom you may remember hearing me speak, tried to cheer her up a bit. But it was no use. Carry said she cried bitterly when asked, but would tell nothing. At last she said that eighteen months ago she had run away from her parents in order to marry this husband of hers, and that he was a confirmed drunkard. She had tried her best to get him to change, and to alter his ways, but it was no good. She had sold every bit of jewellery in order to pay their passage to America, and that now she really had not five shillings, and did not know where on earth to go when they landed. But before that time came she was a widow, for her husband contrived to fall overboard and get drowned. She was nearly frantic with grief, because spite of all she loved him still. :

'We were convinced that he had illtreated her, although she never said so, and yet she could not forget that she had loved him very much.

' My mother and sister looked after her then, and now I don't know what they are going to do for her ; but lam always requested to help them with my counsel. I never could give advice, and can't; now. I told them they wanted you, but Carry said they only wanted me. Is it not a strange thing that the less you do for good women, the more they seem to care for you ? I often think what a most lazy, good-for-nothing son and brother I have been, and fully intend to alter. I have been trying, but it is hard work ;to be energetic after having such a sweet spell of loafing as I had up-country this last time. ;

1 However, I have really been reading ; and here is a bad pieoe of news]: the more I think of the vocation in life which my father has set his heart on having me fill, the less dd I' care for the prospect. The Church seems to me no more than a ! poor . imitation of the Romish Gtiurch, and wanting even in that energy and vitality which Koman Catholicism! possesses. Sometimes I feel afraid that if circumstances were favourable, I would go over to Rome ; but then I remember it would be. a great blow to my father and mother, and to Caroline, too. You may be sure, Elphinstone, from what 'U have , -*ld you, that I shall, never, unless I jv- "k differently, take orders in a Church jjj,' i almost despise. «I h a ." rr © Baid / 1 nothing to anyone but yourself ou this " tt S ieCt l^ Cc *> h * ve t" "£" Tt, *we had, more than one conreligion, whilst JV hh ° ld "F f ** her » £ wish I could say my c/ wn '.f. f< * hw sake )- He always gets the best of "> or Wl*W 1 * j always. ' •Whatwouldmyiriends— yo xu^ on 8 8t them—say were Ito go over ? x • denoy of the age seems to be to.^ ar . ds Roman Catholicism, and can we won« ncr ? at it ? We have introduced into our live^ luxury of all kinds ; our houses are more luxurious than were the houses of fifty years ago ; the getting of knowledge even is more easy, and can be obtained with much more gratification to the senses than it then could be obtained. Can we wonder, then, that brought up as this generation is brought up, it should crave for more pomp and display connected with spiritual teaching ? The Church of England bows here and there to; the vox populi, and introduces into . her ritual many an observance at which" our grandi fathers -would have held up their handa in horror.- Does it matter in what -way, according to what formula, we serve God ? We all believe in the Deity : why should we not then pray to Him and worship Him in the way our own consciences can best do so ?

'You must be wearied with this long letter, but I have nearly finished. I would, not have bored you so with my own affairs, but that I have not another friend to whom I can so freely pour out Day mind as I can to you. I want you, when you write, to refute these ideas of mine.

' I expect you are very busy now. Is it likely that I shall hear of you taking unto yourself a wife some of these fine days ? Spite of what you told me, I think you and Miss Olive are admirably suited for each other. If I were you I should persevere. Ladies change their minds, and one so young and charming as Miis Olive may well be excused foi not allowing herself to be easily won. Remember me to her, also to her father and mother, when you see them.

' Don't forget that you promised to tell me any news about the Halfords. * Unless my opinions change, I shall come back gQQne; thin W&* <9f merjy in-

tended, and get some work" to dp — something to exert my brain. ' With best wishes for your health and prosperity, 'lam, • Yours truly, 4 Reginald Hearn.'

This, amongst other letters, was found by Elphinstone when he returned home with his young bride. He pushed it aside, and as he did so his wife's gaze fell on it, and Bhe knew the handwriting. If Elphinstone had not been very much absorbed in some business communications which he had just opened, he muat have noticed how Edith started, changed colour, and did not lift her eyes from the letter he had so carelessly pushed aside. That handwriting raised wild tumultuous feelings in Edith's bosom as she looked at it. It recalled the past too, too vividly. She could no longer bear to be in the presence of her husband, but rcse to leave the room by the open French door. Elphinstone raised his eyes from his letter, and, looking at her, asked : ' What are you going away for ? ' ' I am so dreadfully hot.' ' You said it was cooler iv here than anywhere else, only a minute ago,' said Elphinstone, coldly, looking straight at Edith as he spoke. Her eyelids drooped until the long dark lashes rested on her burning cheek. She did not know what to say. Unfortunately, just before, when her husband began sorting his letters, Edith had said, ' How nice and cool it is here, to what it is outside ! ' ' Didn't you 1 ' was the impatientlyrepeated question, as his wife did not answer. In desperation Edith answered : ( I thought it was then, but I feel the heat because I have nothing to, do. 9 ' ' Well, here is a letter from Hearn. You can read that.' * I don't care to, Albert.' 'You don't know your, own mind, child,' was the sternly-spoken, contemptuous reply, at which the tears came' into Edith's eyes ; and Elphinstone continued — ' It's no use crying. I'm too old to be affected by tears ; they only make me angry. Now, I don't want you to go away until I have answered a letter or two. I shan't be long.' Edith seated herself on the sofa, and leaning her face on the head of it, sobbed quietly — at her husband's unkindness, as she tried to think — in reality because the sight of that letter had been too much for her. The moment he. saw he had made his wife .miserable Elphinstone wished he had not spoken as he had done, but would not tell her so ; and for some time Edith cried on. o ' If you are not more sociable, Edith, I shall answer all these things straight oft* ■ • . Edith felt far too guilty to try and excuse the minor fault of unsociability. At that moment : she heartily wished she had never, seen Hearn — or her present husband either. She felt that she had wronged her husband by marrying him when her heart was another's, and did not answer — as she otherwise might have done, and with truth, too — that Elphinstone himself was very unsociable, even to herself, and that. he did not talk much to, nor try and interest her in his affairs ; that therefore it was hot to be wondered at if she sometimes were rather unsociable too. ; They had only been married one short week, but in that brief period Edith had found out that she had, to say the least, made a mistake in thinking that after marriage love would come. Her husband was very kind to her, according to his ideas. He bought her all kinds of pretty things when they were in Melbourne, took -her to the theatre and opera, and wherever he thought' she would like to go.

. r But even to his , girl- wife Elphinstone di v ' not spare his sarcastic, sharp, faultfindii?*? remarks, nor did he try to curb his baa temper ; and the consequence was that '!»»' early in their married life Edith was ha"lf afraid of him. Edith dried her eyes, and answered, not without some trepidation, lest her voice should betray a tenth part of what she felt: . 'I don't want to be unsociable. ' Then, my dear girl, don't cry and fret about nothing, beoauae you haven't anything else to do. When it begins to get cool this afternoon I will take you to see your mother. Of course you are tired, being in that hot, close railway carriage for so long, but you will forget it and be yourself to-morrow. * As he spoke Elphinstone put his arm round his wife's waist, and drawing her to himself, kissed her pretty troubled face.

Edith let her tired head rest on his shoulder, whilst his hand toyed with her long, flowing hair as he read Hearn's letter to her. She listened intently, and managed to suppress all emotion. But more than once Edith felt as though she were choking, and as if she must cry out to her husband to stop reading and throw the letter away, unless he wished her to go mad. At last he finished, and slipping it into his pocket-book, exclaimed : ' Just like Heara ! One of the best fellows one could meet anywhere, but he has no steadiness of aim. He can't keep to one thing. . I know he wrote ' that letter at two sittings, and in the first he was mightily interested in this poor woman he writes of ; next time 'he had forgotten her existence, and does not explain why he wjrofce about her *t all,

Perhaps he may teil me the end of It on" his next letter:' Edith did not reply, and the subject dropped:

Chapter XXIV. Brenda reflects.

A few days after Edith had been installed in her new home, Brenda and her mother called to see her, and then afterwards drove into town to make other calls. Mrs Frank Grey was at home when they came, and was anxious to know if Brenda had seen Edith since her return, and if so, whether they seemed happy. ' What a question ! ' said Brenda, slightly elevating her eyebrows as he spoke. 'Of course they seem happy. You would never think, however, that they had not been married a fortnight. They behave to each other just as if they had always been husband and wife. I did not know she could look so pretty as she did when mamma and I called.' ° I am glad she is not ugly, because I cannot get on with ugly people. It makes me feel uncomfortable to look at them, and Mr Elphinstone might not like it if we were less friendly than before he married. However, I think Mrs Elphinstone and myself will become very friendly.' ' I received a letter from my brother-in-law the other day,' said Mrs Grey, ' and he said he had met them once or twice in Melbourne, and that Edith' was looking remarkably well.' 'Is he going to stay in Melbourne long 1 ' was Brenda's carelessly-asked question. 'Oh yes ! He is not coming back at all, he says, and so I suppose he will not. Mortimer nearly always does what he says he will do.' ' Then he must be unlike other people. They usually do exactly the opposite of what they say they will,' said Brehda, wondering if he still cared for her, and if she were really the cause of his selfbanishment from his brother's hospitable roof. She half wished it were, and now that he was gone she of course wished him back again. - j Did she now care for him ? No. -But Brenda was annoyed that he should, since her refusal, have so completely ignored the fact that any words other than what usually pass between acquaintances had passed between herself and Mortimer. She wanted to forgive him, and lull her conscience to rest by being very kind and friendly to him, and he had never once given her the chance. So Brenda i was. annoyed with him, and much niore with' herself that she should trouble her pretty head about what he thought of, heir, or. how he acted towards her. She herself,, as we know, had been, penitent for her share in making him to love her,: and she had expected him to be penitent for doing so. 1 ) r , But no; never once, by word or look, had Mortimer attempted to remind' her of what had passed, and from the; fact that ha still remained with his, brother, Brenda had almost come to the conclusion that Mortimer had never really cared for her, and that consequently she; had nothing to feel remorseful about. ' ; Although Brenda did not know it ■ yet her 'waking up to life' had begun on that New Year's Eve, when Mortimer, had pleaded bo hard for what she could not give him. Since then she had more than once thought, half wonderingly, if it were so wrong to lead a life with no higher aim in it than her own prejaent gratification. She had not. thought enough about the matter to come to' any decision, but her idea* were beginning to change slightly as to her own pre-eminent goodness, and the right she possessed to live for herself alone. ' ' ■' •■' i . No one, apparently, had ever had! the least suspicion of what had taken, place between herself and Mortimer; and although Brenda was resentful of ! - the contemptuous way in which he had, since writing to her, ignored the fact that he had told her he loved her, and met. her as if she were not of the least importance to him, she was very glad that no 'one knew or guessed why he had stayed so long, nor why he had now gone away. After a pause of a few moments, Rosie Grey answered Brenda'a last remark with— ! 'You are right when you say he is different to other people — I suppose, because he had a great deal of trouble when he was young, and that sobered him down ; though, from what Frank says, I should imagine he was always rather 1 soberly inclined. Ever since about Christmas time he has seemed as if he had more trouble, but I suppose it is because he has had all his old trouble brought back to his mind, by going through a lot of business referring to what happened then.' Brenda knew better what his last trouble was, and for one moment the carnation hue stole into her face. But Mra Grey did not notice, and went on : ' You would not guess the last eccentric thing he has done ? ' ' Then if. I could not guess, tell me.' ' He had a lot of money left to him by some one he did not care for, and because of that he has made it all over to differ rent charities. Did you ever hear of such a thing V 'Did he expect to, have the money, or did it come unexpectedly ? ' . . ■ ' I don't know whether he ever thought about it until she died.' ' Was it a relation who left it to him, or a friend V ■ ' A relation.' 'Then I think he ought to have used it just as he liked. I suppose his relation had no one else to leave it to, and so loffc it to Mr Mortimer Grey, Perhaps

there are* very few who wbuld-nbt have used it for their own private purposes, even if the departed relative had been their bitterest enemy. Very few men have any idea of honour.'

' Would a woman in sucha case ? ' ' I hope so, but don't know. I never knew anyone placed" in such a position. It is. the kind of thing which people in novels are so fond of doing.' 'Mortimer would do for the hero in the first-volume of a novel, but he would have to be married happily to some one he really loved to end- the book— rand I don't think that is very likely to happen. And yet' — Mrs Grey's voice took a regretful tone as she spoke, for she thought of how she had once hoped that Mortimer might fall in love with Edith— ' and yet, you know, Brenda, I did think that even that was going to happen not so very long ago— and I firmly believe it would have— but that Mr Elphinstone came upon the scene at that time, and spoilt all my plans.'' Brenda listened to what her friend had to say, whilst the carnation deepened in her cheeks ; but now all the colour left, and she was whiter than usual. j > She knew, as if by instinct, that Mrs Grey referred to Edith as the one' Mortimer might have been very happy yrilh, and a quick jealous thought shot through her brain as she asked :• ' ,t, t -. * And who did you mean to give him for his wife? Not Mrs Elphinstone, surely?' • * Yes ; I did' mean him to have her. But it was no use.' He could not. fall in love with her, . and , then Elphinstone came across her path, and must needs fall in love with Edith, and she to accept him. If she does not repent of her hasty marriage, it will be a wonder to 1 more than myself.' ... ' J reaU y tWnk Mr Elphinstone is more likely to repent than she. , She has made an exceedingly good match, and if she has sense will know- it too, and be very glad she has done so well. " I dare say she tried hard for.him, and congratulates herself on her speedy successful campaign. ', Br ?^?. ' How ca^you say such an unkind thing other? the is incapable of behaving so.*' T ' ; .s.v is--'Then-she must be very silte If I had been. in her place, my father badly off as hers is, and he had. chosen to oav me any attentions, I should haveencoi raged him*' ■ ■ . ; ;, f 'And then jilted him. That is what you would' have done. ; r ' -<?~> I tt B m d »' kkgn g^ ed a «old f little<laufeh, as she replied! -ow ro {(J ? ' < *° do better than r by niarrying l biin .if t thought that^&ost certWy^lJdiould ,h£ve done so, but then she, is different. She .did not have. anothe^chan^, 'so took the bes£ and,.as it happened, she was in love wi^um. r One can see .they care for each other.' , ; ; < ,- .- p, . ;,:, j " Mrs Gr.ey.waa; rather -disgusted at the Way vi which Brenda discussed 'her dear friend, so would not continue the conversation, but ended-it by saying •• "■'•'" 'lim going up toseeherfemorrow, and then, if yjbulike.Twill'couxe andsee yourmamma^o. I wish she/hadicome !*! * "' J Such a number of calls- to^ make, besides shopping j and you knQw mamma never wdl come out unless we havea nice day. We. shall soon have cool weather now— m another^ month— and then you will see moreof^her. And; mind, when you do go up 4b see Mrs 1 Efphinstone, that you don't stay with' her^ntil it £ so ; late that you have" no time to come and see us.' '• ■ '>-<•-' "*° Mrs Grey walked^ to- the "gate with Brenda, and at parting, as usual; the two kissed eaoh other,, but -Rosier Grey's kiss was very, undemonstrative, iorr she was rather vexed at^ the way Brenda had spoken .both^of. Mortimer and of Edith However, she promised ahe^ would cerl mana S e to spend a short time with Isrenda when she went to'see Edith, i 1 J\ fulfilmen < ; <rf her promise Mrs Grey left home sopn. after breakfast the next morning, and reached Mr Olive's hquae a little paat eleven. Since parting from her Bosie had made the usual, excuse for Brenda— it was the fault of her bringinff up that she did not care forothersmore and for herself less— and ;<had> quite forgiven -her for what she had said. She did not know that what she 'herself had I said regarding Mortimer had hurt Brenda for she could not know; not being. aware of Mortimer's infatuation for^herr All the way home Brenda Scarcely spoke to her mother, but was .absorbed in hi* own contemplations. • I wish we had never met, she said; to herself more than once. Cold, girl of the world as she was, she could not help admiring her lover for his conscient.ous scruples about appropriating that money to his own use. . She knew she would hot have acted so bravely herself, but she admired him* for the way he had acted. 'Money is mori«jyj : however it cornea,' soliloquised 'she, >c and most men would not have troubled-them-selves, about the fact that they: had not been friendly with one wiho.jeffcjthem some, but would have .kept it torthemselves. We all want as much money as we can get.' - ■ 0 ,,„'., * When she reached home Brenda was in a very self-reproachful frairig •okmind but vexed with everyone • else; ido;' « And yet, so soon as I thought he ;ieally' Wed for me, .left oS beiig 'iiic'r U I ?^i m-i.m -i. ?. P^pe-and. ye^rl'Wt think it altogether my fault M, he wwt B °Txi n ? * Melbourne to whom he wUI transfer his . affeotioM. Men always^ do >that kind of, thing. I mustr not thinj&rwr much^>S %

wonder if I really was in love with anyone else ;if so, it did not last long. I suppose I am incapable of getting desperately in love with anyone, as I have not done so yet, and am over twenty. I suppose, too, that somewhere in the universe iB a man with whom I am destined to be in love. If so, I wonder what he is like, and whether he will love me, and marry me, and whether we shall be happy. I'm rather afraid that our neighbour, Elphinstone, has made a mistake in marrying aa he has done, because although I told Mrs Grey that she seemed very happy, I don't believe she vs. and he looked a little blacker than usual And Mrs Grey is very uncertain, and has been all along, that her friend was doing right to marry, and now she wishes them, to make the beat of it. It wonld only have troubled her to tell her half 1 think. Besides, after doing as I have always done, I suppose I have no right to find fault with Mrs Elphinstone for doing the opposite — not but what I do think if she had had the chance she would have flirted worse than I ever did. I think now that I have had the last flirtation I shall ever have. Burnt children are supposed to shun the fire ; I think I must have burnt myself, I feel such a dislike to that kind of amusement now.'

Brenda was very glad to have Mra Grey as a companion. The time hung so very heavily on her hands sometimes, {hat she was fast becoming wearied of the place, and heartily wished herself somewhere where there was more excitement and novelty. They were going to Melbourne for a few months, late in the autumn, and Brenda waß eagerly looking forward to that time. She chatted to Mrs Grey about what they should do when she was in town, and on many other topics she talked, until Brenda was quite her old self again, and had forgotten that lately she had been troubling her head about herself so much. After lunch she walked half way through the paddocks with Mra Grey on her way to see Mrs Elphinstone, and then the two took leave of each other.

lo be continued— Commenced in No. 1494 )