Chapter V.

Otago Witness, Issue 1727, 27 December 1884, Page 12

Chapter V.

Time rolled on. From the day her husband and son went away, Lady Raven had become a broken down woman — broken down in health and spirits. The secret shame had ctushed even the masterfulness out of her. Another inmate was added to her household. Toia was Ellen Pomeroy, the orphan child of her dead cousin — her dead uncle's only son. The girl had no other relations, no other home, and Lady Riven bad brought her to the castle p-nd welcomed her, at first, as a companion for Hilda ; afterwards, for her own sake. Ellen was a perfect gentlewoman — very accomplished, very beautiful, very graceful ; and her peculiar gracefulness was half the charm of her beauty. A great longing arose in Lady Raven's heart that Paul might love the girl and marry her ; and everything be so settled oomfortably without further fear' or dangar. But oha caw co sign that Ellen was auythiug

more to him than his sister Hilda. And then tidings arrived of the death of Lord Raven* and Bernard came home alone.

Lady Raven noted that at the very first greeting Bernard looked upon his brother witb no very cordial eyes ; and a few words that he uttered at supper threw her almost into a fever. ' I say, isn't it a burning shame that here, in England, one boy takes all because he happens to be a year older, and all the rest have next tonothing ?'

She sat herself to watch, with a terrible anxiety. To add to her dread, but a few days had elapsed after Bernard's return, when she saw that, as if like lightning, the flame had leapt up in them, and both the boys were madly in love with Ellen.

Then, it seemed the curse began to work, and the brothers to quarrel. They quarrelled over everything : their past, their present, their future ; their horses, their possessions, their love. They quarrelled morning, noon, and night. To do Paul justice, it. was not he who quarrelled. He did his utmost to parry tho angry speeches, and to turn aside the quarrels ; but thoy were forced upon him. And, as if fate wero against them, their mother, broken down as she was, caught cold and was confined to her room just when it was necessary she should be out of it, and the two girls were glad to take refuge with her from the stormy atmosv phero outside. \, Matters went from bad to worse between tha brothers, and they came to a crisis one morning when the young men were walking near the edge of the plateau. That ill-fated precipice seemed to have some evil bewitchment for them. It was so out of sight and hearing of the house ; and there, nobody could be disturbed by their bickerings* ' ' Bernard kept reiterating .* ' Paul had got everything— castle and lands, money and love.' • I can't help laws and wills, Bernard,' said Paul. ' I've told you already that I'm willing to share everything I can with you. What can Ido more ? If you can't agree with me better than this, why not go away for a bit ; at any rate till our mother gets better. 1 I I dare say ! You'd like that ! You'd lika never to set eyes on me again, I know ! You'd like me out of Ellen's way ; and you won't fight it ought, you coward !' 'No, I won't fight with you,' said Paul. ' We are brothers.' Bernard was furious. 1 Much you care for the brotherhood ! There then !' and he struck him a blow in tho face.

Paul put up bis hand, and stepped aside to ward off another blow ; and without another thought— they were so near that fatal edgehe went over.

Bernard, recalled to his senses in an instant, threw out his arms to catch hold of him, and nearly went over himself with the effort. Then his limbs seemed paralysed, and he sank to the ground For a moment a horror of great darkness fell upon him. With a great struggle he shook it off, and rose to his feet, and holding -on by the, trunk of a tree, he looked over. As culture and special training had softened down the old.time savagery of the race, so time and weather had crumbled away the edge of the precipice. ' Little by little, the soil had dribbled down to where the reeky face ' ribbed out,' and settled there. Little by little tiny bushes had taken root and grown there. And ivy had crept there and taken hold wherever it could find a crevice to cling to. Paul had not gone violently over, or he must have gona down to the whirlpool. He had rather rolled over and had come to a stop upon the tiny shelving ledge thus formed, and when Bernard looked over he was clinging, as best he could, to the frail bushes and ivy tendrils. God have mercy ! There was no strength in those tiny things, with there slender roots, to keep him there long! • Paul ! Paul !' cried Bernard ; but quietly, not to startle him. A groan was the only answer. ' Cheer up, old boy ! hold on ! I'll bring help in a minute. Hold on !' In an incredibly short time he was back with ropes and helpers. It- was a frightfully precarious affair, altogether ; dangerous not only to Paul, but to them likewise. They succeeded in getting him up, however, out of his perilous position ; carried him into the castle, and got him to bed. One knee was dislocated, and he was considerably bruised ; but Paul had never been in any danger before, and the shock to the system was a far greater injury than any physical hurt. .For some days he balanced between life and death. Then he began to mend, and sent for his brother. Barnard entered the room, gnawing his under lip, which was a trick with him when greatly moved. ' I know I'm a brute,' said he, * and I might have been a murderer ; but I'm not a liar, I shan't deny it, Paul.' ' ' What do you mean ?' said his brother. ' I suppose you've sent for me to denounce mo— to give me up to the law.' ' Not just yet,' said Paul, with a half smile. • Sit down. We must settle something ; things can't go on as they've been lately.' ' Na,' said Bernard, still gnawing his lip. ' Everything is at an end, as far as I am concerned. But, Paul, God is my witness I never 'meant it.' * I know,' said Paul. ' I knew it when I beard you call out over. But let me epeak. First, we must settle something about iv.lUya. Have you apoken to her ?' ~* 4 Yes,' was the reply. 1 What did she say ?' ' Nothing,' said Bernard ; * cried and looked frightened. Have you spoken ?' ' Yes.' 'I suppose you're accepted, then? 1 said Bernard.

1 No,' sa-'d Paul ; ' she did the same with me— cried and looked frightened. Perhaps she doesn't care for either of us, and doesn't like to hurt us by saying so,' ' Perhaps she's afraid of us and our family curse,' said Barnard ; ' that looks most like it, t-n ma ' ' *

1 Wait till I get better, and we'll apeak to her together — you and I— and we'll ace how it is.' 'Of course, she'll take you,' said Bernard, gruffly. • You have title and everything.' ' I'll manage that so that it shall have no influence in the matter, 9 said Paul. ' How will you do that ?' 'Trust it to me, Bernard. And you, will wait till we can speak to her together, won't you ?. You won't speak before ?' 'Of course I won't,' said Bernard. • I'm not quite a cad, whatever I may be else.' In a fortnight Paul was restored to his usual health. Then the two brothers sought Ellen and asked her to come to the library with them, that they wanted speech with her. Ellen' looked at them, trembled, and hesitated ; then went with them in silence. They placed her in a chair, and stood before her— Paul leaning his elbow on one end of the mantel, Bernard his on the other. Paul opened the subject. ' Ellen, my dear,' said he, • you know that we both love you very dearly. 1 El Inn trembled, but was silent, t 'Now, my dear, we have agreed — we two brothers— not to quarrel about you.' Elba looked up quickly, It eeemsd suob ac

odd thing to say after what had happened. Paul went on :

' We have agreed — we two brotherB — to apeak to you here, in this way, and ask you to decide between us which of us you will choose this day. If you choose neither of us, but have already chosen someone else, tell us plainly, and that will put an end to it, as far as we are concerned.'

Ellen trembled again, and a frightened look came over her face ; but she still kept silent.

' I mnßt tell you one thing, Ellen,' said Paul, * whichever you choose will be a poor man. If you choose me I give up everything that belongs to me as the elder son to Barnard, and I take simply tha portion that falls to him as the younger son.' 'I knew nothing about that, Ellen,' said Bernard, hastily. 'Paul,' said Ellen, speaking for the first time, and looking up into his face, 'do you think me worth such a sacrifice as that ?'

* Yes,' said he, ' you and my brother. Well, Ellen? 1 For an answer, she rose and placed her hand in his. He grasped it — held it tightly ; then, turning to his brother, he said :

' I suppose you will let me stay here a little, Bernard — till the legal formalities can be arranged, and I can take away my bride ?'

Muttering something that was undistinguiahable, and gnawing his lip savagely, Bernard strode out of the room. Next morning, at breakfast, a servant handed Paul a note. 'Mr Bernard went away last night, my lord, and he told me not to give you this till now. 1

The note was short. ' £ am not quite mean enough to take advantage of the arrangement you proposed. You may keep what you've got, and what you've won. My portion, as the younger son, being already in my hands, I will go to the Colonies, somewhere or other, and see what I can do with it there. When I have learned to forget, I may see you again. I suppose men do forget such things, Meantime, you ye swept away the family curse, and you deserve to be happy. Good-bye! I have seen my mother and Hilda ; but I couldn't see you and Ellen. again — not yet !'