Chapter XX.

Otago Witness, Issue 2044, 27 April 1893, Page 39

Chapter XX.

The Dowager's Duty.

Before Miriam went down dressed for dinner Sir James rapped at her room door and brought her in a bunch of freshly-cut creamcoloured roses.

" I've- been to the conservatory to get you a posie, dear," he said, in his kindly way. •• We've got a visitor to-day," he added, with a laugh ; " the funniest old chap, who dines here every Thursday, and has dined here every Thursday as loag as I can remember." " Who is it 1 " answered Miriam, turning round and looking at him with a smile.

" The Rev. David Young, the minister of the parish," answered Sir James. 'J. He'll make you laugh, my dear, and I want to see you laugh." 11 Very well," said Miriam, still smiling ; " I am ready now, James, and we can go down together." " Oome along then, and I shall introduce you to the Rev. David," said Sir James, drawing her hand through his arm and looking and feeling very proud of his handsome young wife ; and" Ford, who had been dressing her lady, looked after them both with great admiration. 11 Well, be is fond of her," she thought to herself ; " Miss Miriam's done a very good thing for herself after all, but I hope she'll take care."

Ford's sense of propriety, indeed, had received a slight shock during the time when she had been dressing Miriam, for nervously and uneasily Miriam had asked her to receive a letter again for her. " A letter will come here for me addressed to yon, I expect, daring the next two days," she had said, with downcast eyes and trembling lipa. " I— l don'c want them to know here that I receive it; ; will you bring it to me quietly 1 " "Of course, raj lady," replied Ford; but she felt her lad; was acting unwisely, and

she thought that she was very foolish to ran such a risk.

" No man is worth it," reflected the lady's maid, "and if it's that private fellow, well, it is a pity." In the meanwhile Miriam was going down the broad oak staircase leaning on her husband's arm, and presently they reached the drawing room, where they found a long lanky parson in rusty black, who rose awkwardly as they entered.

" This is my wife, Mr Young," said Sir James, upon which the lanky parson made a dismal bow.

He was an extraordinary looking creature, with a parchment-coloured ekiu, lantern jaws, and sunken dark eyes. Yet absolutely he bad at one time aspired to become the second husband of the Dowager Lady MacKennon. How he ever had the courage to do this was a marvel, but it was nevertheless afact. He had certainly dined with her each week on the Thursdays for many years before he made any advances at all. Then be began trying to come twice a week, but here Lady MacKennon snubbed him.

" I'm expecting you on the Thursdays, not the Tuesdays, Mr Young," she said to him when he ventured to appear too soon, and he had the sense to take the hint. But one Thursday, after a second glass of grog, hi 3 tongue was loosened. " Life's a lang, lonely journey for singlo folks like you and me, don't ye think, Lady MacKennon 7 " said the minister, rolling bis sunken eyes at his hostess. " &.y, but my eyes are fixed on the rest beyond," replied" Lady MacKennon. "Nae doubt, nae doubt; but ye're not there yet, Lndy Mackennon, and a fellow traveller to guide yer steps wad nae doubt be a help and comfort." "My steps do not falter," replied the dowager, with a dignified satisfaction in her own righteousness. "Ay, but we're poor weak creatures at best, and if ye were to stumble I wad like to ba nigh to pick ye up." •• I have no fear, Mr Young." " Ye hae been a lang time a widow, Lady MacKennon, and it's a lonsesome state," said the minister insinuatingly.

" And I'll be one when they carry me to my long home. Don'D talk any more, Mr Young; old folks like you and me should know better; I don't mean to change my state, so let that end it." The minister was therefore silenced, but this conversation did not prevent him appearing on the following Thursday at dinner-time and on every Thursday afterwards with unvarying regularity. The dowager dined at seven, and at seven the Rev. David arrived, and he would tell her in his slow way all the little bits of gossip of the neighbouring hamlets. And after Sir James had introduced Miriam to him be fixed his lack-lustre eyes on her fair face, wondering dimly at its beauty. But his thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of the dowager, who came into the room looking very stern and severe, and during the dinner that followed she never once addressed a word to her son's young wife. Miriam did not notice this, but Sir James did, and it made himymcomfortable. He had hoped that his mother would in her reserved way become attached to her new daughter-in-law, but he was afraid it did not look very like it at preseat. It was, in fact, an extremely dull evening, and Sir James was glad when it was over. But just as he was leaving the room for the night, after the minister had taken his departure and Miriam had gone upstairs, bis mother rose and laid a cold trembling hand upon his arm.

"James, I have something to tell you," she said, not flinching in her hard purpose, yefe Borry, perhaps, to inflict pain on her son though she believed it to be her duty to do so. " Well, what is it, mother 1 " he answered pleasantly. " Nothing serious, I hope 1 " " It's a sad and terrible thing,- James ; I have doubted her from the first; but the wife you have brought into this house is unworthy of her place here." " Mother ! what do you mean 1 " exclaimed Sir James, with a sudden change of countenance and manner.

"It's a sore and bitter thing to tell you, but my duty lies plain before me, and I must not shirk it. James, I vas in the front drawing, room to-day when General Oonray came to see this woman you have brought here, and I overheard him speak such words to her that they will bring my grey hair with sorrow to the grave." " Mother, are you mad ? " cried Sir James, who had now grown pale to the very lips, "General Conray?" 11 No, my son, I am not mad, but I beard this General Oonray tell the woman you call your wife all about her past life, and the terrible sin and shame of it. I heard her say she had been out with some lover the night he was murdered, and General Oonray said another lover of hers had done the accursed deed. He said "

" Mother, I wou'i believe a word of it ! " now ciied Sir James, interruptirg her "I won't believe a word against Miriam ; I believe she is good and pure as an angel; you're dreaming; you're fancying things; you must not insult my wife, I won't stand it, I won't hear it, so good night, and I hope you will have come to yonr senses by the morning." Lady MacKennon's only reply was a groan, but Sir James did not wait to hear any more. He hastily left the drawing room and went to the smoking room, and began to smoke, telling himself once more that his mother had undoubtedly taken leave of her senses. He told himself this again and again; yet her words left a sting. As a rule he knew she was a rigidly truthful woman, but prejudiced and narrow minded. She had taken a dislike to poor Miriam tbc-n and wanted to turn him against her, he began to think, and she might have heard General Oonray talking of things that sbe did not understand, and that could have no connection with Miriam whatever. "Out with a lover the night he was murdered ! How absurd 1 " laughed Sir James, and yet the laugh had an uncertain and dreary ring in it. He had known nothing of her past life he presently remembered ; nothing till he met her at a ball at Halstone, and had fallen in love with her and wooed her. Then he remembered also that she had been cold and coy about fixing their wedding— that she had put it off.

" Good heavens 1 " cried Sir James, starting to his feet, " all sorts oE horrible things are coming into my mind— am I growing as mad as mother ? lam ashamed of myself — ashamed of myself for a moment to let such thoughts creep into my brain. They are contemptible about Miriam, about my pure, sweet love— l will think of them no more."

And he tried not. He went upstairs presently, and found Miriam asleep, and he stood looking at her, and these horrid doubts again stole into his mind. It ia wonderful the harm that evil words can do. Their poison lingers against our wills, turning fitter too often the sweetness of our lives. •Sir James had had perfect trust and confidence in Miriam; it had never dawned upon his mind to have any other feelings towards her until his mother had done what she called her duty. " She was agitated^bout General Conray's visit when I met her to-day certainly," he now began thinking, looking at his sleeping wife, "and why did she go out to post a letter at Strathloe instead of putting it in the letter bag here 2 But what folly ! She was agitated, of course, about her sister's iliess, and thought, poor darling, a letter would reach her mother more quickly if she posted it herself at the village. I won't think about it any more; I think we had better go from here till all this folly blows over."

And he actually proposed to Miriam on the following morning that they should leave Kintore.

" Would you like to go to see your sister, dear 1 " he said.

11 1 think we had better wait a day or two, until I hear' from mother," answered Miriam.

"Well, juet as you like. By-the-bye, Miriam, did you ever stay with Mrs Oonray it their house? What is it called ? Ob, yes, Tyeford." "Yes," answered Miriam, and Sir James •could not but notice that she grew a little pale, and that her lips quivered as she made this brief answer.

" Not since I have known you 1 " he said,

" No, before — two years ago. How fine it is to-day, James ! I wonder if it is too cold to row on the loch 1 "

So she changed the conversation, and the two went out to row and then to drive, and Sir James would have forgotten all his mother had said if it had not been for her stern, unbending manner to Miriam. She scarcely spoke to her, and Miriam began to perceive there -was something very much amiss with her mother-in-law. She asked her husband, and he answered with affected carelessness :

" She takes odd ideas into her head sometimes. Oh, she'll be all right presently."

As for Lady MacKennon, she made no further attempt 1 to renew the coavereation with her son about his wife. She wa3 satisfied that she had done right to warn him, and she was satisfied also that some day things would become plainer in his eyes. And a little incident which occurred the second day after General Oonray's visit to Kintore made her more certain of this still.

It was at breakfast time, and wben the locked letter bag was brought in by the butler, Lady MacKennon's keen eyes happened to be fixed on Miriam's face, and she saw at once the strange look of anxiety there as Sir James proceeded leisurely to unlock and open the bag. "Here is one for you, dear," he said, handing a letter to Miriam, who held it unopened for a moment in her hand with her gaze still fixed on the letter bag. Then she opened her letter, but still her eyes were on the different letters that Sir James was drawing carelessly out. "It is from mother," she said a moment later ; " Joan is a little better ," and then she suddenly stopped, and her breath came short.

For Sir James was looking attentively and smilingly at a letter he' held in his hand. All the letters for the household at Kintore — and they were not numerous— came in the family letter bag, and Sir James used to lay those aside that were not for himself, his mother, or his wife and they were carried downstairs by the butler.

" This is for that swell young woman of yours, Miriam," he said, still smiling— "Miss Ford, care of Lady MacKennon, and her correspondent writes very well; it's like a gentleman's handwriting." Then the dowager again fixed her eyes on Miriam's face, and saw it had absolutely grown white and clammy, and the expression of her eyes was full of fear. "Give it to me, James," said Miriam, huskily, " and I will give it to Ford." And the dowager watched her as she took the letter in her trembling hand, as she put it beneath her own letter, as she tried to speak indifferently, and could not. She noticed, too, that she ate no breakfast, and that her hand shook as she raised her teacup to her pale lips. "She is hiding something," thought Lady MacKennon, sternly ; " the letter to her maid probably contains a letter to herself ; it is shameful."

" You are not eaticg anything, dear," said Sir James, kindly, now also looking at his young wife. "Your letters seem to have upset you," remarked the dowager, grimlr. Then Miriam tried to pull herself together. "No, my f-isfer is a little better," she said, " bul it naturally makes one feel cervous getting letters when anyone is iery il!." "Of course it doe<y' said Sir James. " lam so glad, dear, that Mrs Oonray is better." Miriam tried to smile gratefully at her husband, but it was a, vary painful effort. Then Sir James begs»» to read little pieces of news from the 1 apt>rs, and at laat the breakfast was over and Miriam was free to go upstairs with her two letter?, and she went. She almost ran up the staircase and hurried to her roiHi, and found two housemaids there arranging it. " You can go ; you can return afterwards," she said, and in a few momenta later she was alone. Then _ she tore open tie letter addressed to EWd, and read it with bated breath and parted lips.

" I scarcely know how to thank yon," it began in Hugh Ferrars's well-known handwriting, "and your warning has coma in time. I have obtained a v/eek's furlough, find leave Newborough-on-Lhe-Eoa ad I am posting this, never to return. lam going way— out of England; but feefoie Igo I

wish to see you once more. Do not refuse my last request, dear Miriam, for the sake of the old love which in my heart at least will never grow cold. I shall go, therefore, to Scotland, to the neighbourhood of Kintore, and will write to you when I atrive there, addressing my letter as usual to your maid Ford. Arrange to meet me wherever and at any hour you please, and I shall be there. But do not refuse to gee me for the last, last time. H. F." This letter was at once a relief and a terror to Miriam. At all events, he was going away ; going to leave England, and Joan's secret would be safe. But how could she meet him ? She was afraid, and yet could she refuse ? Poor Hugh, whose life had been wrecked all through his fond, passionate love for her. Yes, she would see him at last she decided ; see him to bid him farewell — to bid him God speed to the land where he must begin his new life, and she would always afterwards try to do her duty and make her husband happy. She did not think of meeting Hugh Ferrars now with the same thoughts and feelings as she had done at Newborough-on-the-Sea. She was a wife n,ow, bound to James MacKennon, and she meant to keep true to these bonds, but still she wished to bid her old friend good-bye. The difficulty was how to do it without endangering his safety. But he had obtained a week's furlough, and no one would know where he was. So she must wait, Miriam told herself ; wait until she heard from him, and then for a few moments— only for a fe,w moments — they would meet. She hid away his letter, and placed £200 ready in an envelope to give him. And then, having made these preparations, she went down to the breakfast room and sat beside her husband. She thought he looked a little strange when she entered the room, and there wasaflush on his brown cheeks which was not usually there. The truth was the dowagsr had once more been doing her best to make him miserable ; for Miriam had scarcely left the room with the two letters when Lady MacKennon had remarked in a sepulchral voice :

" James, did you remark anything extraordinary in the manner with which your wife received that letter addressed to her maid 1 "

11 No, I did not," answored Sir James, testily enough. " I did, then ; she was agitated ; she was uneasy ; it is your duty as her basband to make her show you the contents of that letter."

"Show me the contents of her maid's letter I" said Sir James scornfully ; "really, mother, your ideas are most extraordinary."

" You will see," replied Lady MacKennon grimly, and naturally Sir James felt exceedingly annoyed. Bat he tried not to show this to Miriam. They had planned to pay a visit to the wife of one of the neighbouring lairds in the afternoon, and now he asked her to go out with him to inspect the kennels and the horses. Miriam was fond of animals, and she therefore went at once to put on her hat to go with him, and Sir James never hinted to her how bis mother had disturbed him. He felt, however, so angry with the dowager that he determined to stay no longer at Kintore.

" I think we have had about enough of this, little one," he said in the afternoon as they drove by loch and brae and mists crept round them. " The truth is November is not the season for the Highlands, and I think we would be jollier at Halstone with the regiment." "When do you think of going, then, James 1 " answered Miriam.

"Well, we must give the old lady some notice or it would be a dire offence. Suppose we say the beginning of next week ? " " Very well, I shall be quite ready," smiled Miriam.

They then talked over their plans, and spoke of the house they meant to take at Halstone as long as Sir James's regiment was quartered there, and Sir James's spirits rose at the idea of a change. His mother had depressed- and worried him, and he was glad to go away from her. He was very cheerf nl at dinner in spite of the sour looks which Lady MacKennon continually directed at Miriam, and Miriam sang and played to him during the evening, and Sir James felt quite happy as he hung over the piano and turned the pages of her music. Lady MacKennon sat reading in her easy chair, and presently Sir James went up to her and told her that they intended to leave Kintore on the following week. The dowager's thin blue lips quivered as she received this communication, but for a moment or two she made no comment.

" I suppose it's not gay enough for you here," she said bitterly.

" Oh, it's not that, mother, but I have to go on duty." "I thought you had two months' leave, James," replied Lady MacKennon. 11 At all events we are going next week," said Sir James, who was not unwilling to show his mother how deeply she had annoyed him about his wife, and Lady MacKennon made no further remark on their leaving. But the next morning at breakfast, when Sir James was as usual opening the letter bag and drawing out the letter*, he thoughtlessly gave a little exclamation of surprise as he lifted oue in his hand and looked at the address. He. had at the moment forgotten what his mother had said thn morning before, or he probably would have made no remaik. " Why, Miriam, here's another letter," he said, " for that maid of yours, in the same handwriting as the one she got yesterday, an( j — y ep> actually it has been posted at S'.rathloe. Her yonng man mast have followed her here." ' As he said this he looked at his wife, and he saw that Mirhm had suddenly grown very pale, and in an instant his mother's insinuations recurred to him. He glanced quickly and uneasily at the dowager, aod she looked at him in return, and then at Miriam's agitated face. There was a sor!. of grim triumph in her expression, and her looks said very plainly—" I told you so."

(To be continued.)