MANTRAP MANOR.

Otago Witness, Issue 2805, 18 December 1907, Page 70

MANTRAP MANOR.

2ty GUY THORN E t

Ajitkor <»f "When It Waa Dark," "Had* in, His Image," " First It Wa* Oft. i*uasd," "A Lost Game," etc., *t*.

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CHAPTER X.— DEFINITE STATEMENT BY AN AMERICAN GIRL.

HILE Mr Edward Woople wa» beginning to enjoy an tinusual experience of feminine attractions upon the moor, Gilbert Atherton, his chief, was sitting alone in his >oom. in the vast dingy' ■works by the river. Twa workmen had all gone home ; the great buildings were almost deserted save for a small night shift of men who kept in the furnace fires, and three watchmen who patrolled the place all night long, Th» blinds were down in Gilbert's zoom, though, as yet, it was not dark. But he had wished to shot out the dingy vista of the courtyard, which seemed prison-like with the glowing sunset sky above. Accordingly he ha<f drawn th« blinds and. curtain* and switched on th« electrio lights. The correspondence for the day was all over and done; bis secretary hod tidied th» big writing table and rolled up the great sheet* of drawings which had been submitted to .Gilbert for final approval; the whole place wore an ordered, almost holiday look, like a loom out of use — a workroom at rest. On the table in front of Gilbert was a large copper bowl filled with deep crimson roees. As he leant back in his chair, with an attitude of waiting and expectation, be stretched out a hand", took one of the roses from the bowl, ancF inhaled its fragrance. Then he kissed the jpetals of the flower and set it back. Be knew well from where those roses had come and whose hands bad sent them—the roses in the consexratory at CUure» mont House had won a deserved repnt** iion in Moorchester.

He waited thus for some little time. once or twice lighting a cigarette and then throwing it impatiently away alter tfc* first few whiffs* when bis £atheris£. i***

pcttenee culminated in movement. He lose from, his chair and began to pace the room, every now -and "then listening intently. If the letter came — and be felt ■toe there would be a letter, or, at any rate, a note would be dropped through the «lit in the big- outside gates of the work* — the gatekeeper had instructions to bring it to him at once. Why did the letter not come? He felt bo sure that there would be one. She had hinted on the day before -that there might he a letter for him during the early evening at the works. If it had not been for that hist he would long ago have been away over -the moor to Abnash Croft, where Ms father was even now expecting him home to dine and wondering what .had detained him. • 'Gilbert heard footsteps. He ran to the door, and threw it open. It was not the gatekeeper, however, but one of the watchmen, who was trying the doors of the offices down the corridor. The man seemed surprised to see his chief. '"Anything I can do, «ir?" he said. "Did you want' -me?" -**Oh, no, no," Gilbert answered jqniekly. " "Its nothing," Williams I was only expecting A message, which I told Braitliiraite to bring, me/ -'^There's someone -a comin' aow, sir," the man said, turning . his head towards the end of the corridor. "I expect that will be Braithwaite." As he spoke the gatekeeper .came into -view. He- was an old man, ut<) -vraihi-oA •lowly. Gilbert went impatiently to meet him, took the note which was banded to him, thanked the man, and returned to his own room, shutting the door. The watchman looked at the gatekeeper with a grin, the gatekeeper winked at the watchman, and -with a low whittle of comprehension both went about their wayß. It was .from her ! The square white envelope with the firm, bold, and yet utterly feminine writing — yes, by now he- knew it we!L - " He took a penknife from his pocket and delicately opened the envelope, fie was onwilling to tear it open rudely and violently — did it not come from her? These were the words of the .note: — Father and Senor de Toros are away for the evening. I wonder if you wiii' Iring -me that library book you promised? lam dying to read it. — S. .Gilbert put the letter back in its envelope; he Idesed the -paper passionately without a thought of absurdity, and placed it in the breast pocket of his -coat, as if he were handling something ineffably and wonderfully sacred. Two months, before,- when the young man occasionally picked up a novel in which some such action as this was described, he was always tremendously amused. He would chuckle to himself as he eat in the old Dutch garden at Abnash Croft wricking a. cigar and reading a romance of the day. "Good heavens!" he would say, "wn»t a. -*illy ass this Johnny in the «tory is, kissing a letter, putting ajglove under his pillow. Good Lord ! why «tnH fellowa w!k> write the -stories tfrite something » little more lifelike. What man in Ais senses would play childish and monkey tricks like this?" Thai was Gilbert* attitude eight or nine iboTt -week* before. ISow 'he had no time to read romances any more or to think •bout the ineptitude of their authors. He - was living in » -romnce, and it seemed to him that there never liad been a romance like '-this before In the history of the .worltl.

In -two minutes more the young man iiad left the worta and was toiling up through the slum quarter towards Church street. The sun was going to set, and it threw long shafts of gold and crimson light over the mean houses, -the children who played about the doorsteps, the the heavy purple unoite which still coiled itself in the middle air.

Every now and then as he progressed towards the higher ground some man jrould stop him and make a request. A workman wanted his eon taken on as a half-timer, a woman wanted a "hospital recommend" from Sir William for her sick daughter, the minister of the Congregational Chapel in the lower part of the town reminded Sir Atherton that this waß the time when a subscription for the choir picnic would be welcome. And though his steps were winged with excitement and hone, and he had '"but one purpose in life — to get to Claremont House as .soon as possible — the 7K>ung man stopped and listened .patiently to every one, granted all they asked, and regarded them with the smeular and well-known sweetness of bis smile.

Perhaps in all Manchester — in. all industrial Moorchester, at least — there was no one so beloved and trusted as this tall, kind young man. He was quite unlike all the other— rich manufacturers' sons — ha was generous almost to a fault, though even then discriminating in his generosity. He took a real interest in all those whom he employed — he regarded them as brethren and as human beings. And one and all knew that they could depend upon him in a time of stress, when he was kind, tender, upright, and just. "Ah !" said the woman to whom he had promised the hospital recommendation to Mr Hancock, the pastor of the Gongregational Chapel — "ah, yen's a gradely lad as ever walked i' Moorchaster, and folk <lo say as 'ow Ws gone sweet on th' American lass, t'ould Wilshire's girl, an,' a proper fine young woman, too." "Mr Atherton," said the minister, *'ia a noble young man, but I should not talk about his private affairs, Mary, if T were yon. Hia name may be coupled with this .young lady or that, but it is nothing to do with you ajadi me after all. Well, we 6hall have otir choir picnic in -a fortnight now. Mr Gilbert's just made up the money wanted — five pounds. You ca» tell yoOT Tommy; he will be glad to hear it." . . .

In ' 6even minutes Gilbert openedi the lodge sates of Qaremont House, strolled down the drive, and rang the bell. He noticed jnib-cansciously, though without formulating the thought in big brain ,

that the 3oor was opened by another maid, one whom he had never seen before. He asked if Miss • Wilshire- was athome.

He was taken into the drawing room. It was a great room panelled in "white to within a yard of the ceiling," where a dark brown beading of oak ran round the walls, and above there was a frieze of canary-coloured! yellow upon which w-jre hung plates of a deep china blue. There was very little in the room ; it was not encumbered with the superfluous in any way. But among the Chippendale and tb,e light settees of blue linen great cacti rose with their broad fat fans glistening in tie electric light as if they ha^t- been cunningly japanned. At the far end of the drawing room there was a little white and gold piano, and as Gilbert -entered there was a shower of high liquid notes ending in a diminuendo which suggested the death of a fountain at Versailles.

Then Sadie rose and came towards him. She wore a long tea gown of olive green, with Indian embroidery round the neck and sleeves — a thing of perfect lines winch hung and fell round the tall and orachnis figure of the girl as ' if "what she wie was not an attribute but an incarnaiion of her splendid personality. She came over the white carpet towards him with outstretched hands -from which the full sleeves fell away and showed "the firm -whit« wrists _axtd arms.

"Ah!" she said; "so you have broiujl:t me the library bo©k." Gilbert looked at her -for a nion.«it wiJnouf replying. His eyes drank in i>c«t majesty of form, that certainty of beaut;/ which was so lovely in its sere.ne unconsciousness. He saw the great ina it.es of dark red hair which framed the oval flower-like contour of the face, the pailed lips like a cleft pomegranate, the ,jn>st living amethysts which were the eyes of the lady he.lovjed 1 . When he answered her, hie voice came thickly and from him ; it sounded as a tiling far away in his own ears : it was like the music t&at -the beating hearts of the lotus-eaters made in their dim consciousness. It -was like *. distant organ heard far away in a wood by one who sleeps there.. And yet' all .he said was : "No ; I have not brought the book." She put her hands behind her, and nodded at him in her -quick, vivacious, transatlantic way. "My," she said, 'though .the tremor in her voice belied the sprightlineas that she assumed, "I guess you are getting forgetful in your old age, Mr Gilbert Atherton."

She nodded and smiled at him, looking so lovely and provocative — that no mortal man, -certainly not this youth 'who stood before her — could resist tiie challenge. Yes! the moment had come. The moment of all moments! Here, jk>w, at this evenine hour, in. tlus white, silent room with its .gleaming lights and lovely mistress, the words were to be said wliich should bind him to her for ever and a day, or end the currents ot bis life and stop the wild jjassion of bis being. Here and now !

He took two steps towards her. "Dear," he «aid, with a swift, passionate utterance, "I have come to-mght to see you, and I have come to say just one thing." He captured her hands and held them in his— oak and ivory, ivory and oak 1 — and looked cfeeply througn the windows of her soul, those flashing, teardimmed, bright and purple windows, down to the very home and Inmost part of all she was.

"Dear," he said, "all these summer daye, these weeks that I have known you, since you came among us from your far western horne — all these days have been but " as chords -preliminary, to one great harmonic, they have been all cumulative, coming together until the moment should arrive in which T should tell you — tell you — this." And with that he bent forward and • drew her to him, *od held her, hert to heart, drooping -to him.

In his arms lay the pearl, the very pcaTl, of .girls, the flower of ladies, tie very dearest, the most -dear — the wife and helpmeet that was to be, now t for ever, in this world and in the next.

Her glorious head drooped upon his shoulder ; lie looked down upon the mass of scented flame-like hair, and felt her litue body thrill to his passion in surrender and in sacred trust.

It was a moment in which no word was spoken — nothing «aid. Their beating hearts made music in the silence, a music which welled and grew until it seemed to burst the confines of the great white room and spread) and spread in a wild ecstasy of sound until it was lost far away in the futnre and rolled on to the gates of Paradise itself— which surely must be heard by the saints and angels thronging there. And yet, in that room, there was an earthly and*, material silence. Those chords the man and. maiden heard sang only within the brain and heart, where, indeed:, all divine harmonies are heard.

He held her, andi his eyes went bravely out into the room, looking, as it were, for something upon which they might fasten to bring him down from the heights in -which he was to a realisation of his supreme happiness. And his eyes fell upon a picture. It -was a simple scene painted at evening. One of those delicate and beautiful expressions of personality which. Arderne Clarence sends from his .studio to the homes and lovers of beauty. A great tower rose in the background — an old mediaeval tower it seemed to be, and at its base was a girl in the old quaint Flemish costume standing hand in hand with a tall young man in a blue blouse and wooden shoes. They were looking fd, «ach other, and the girl's band was

raised pointing upwards to where the old Gothic lines of the belfry sprang up into the soft grey evening light and carried the eye with it, and the hearts of the lovers, to those upper regions where no man troubled, and the middle air was full of the incommunicable peace and aloofness of coming night.

With his right arm round her Gilbert led Sadie to the picture.

"Look!" he said, "lady and love, here is a beautiful thing. It seems to me, my eye has just fallen upon -it, to epitomise what our lore shall be now and always. Dearest and best, shall we not always stand together hand in hand? And though we must always stand upon the earth, yet shall we l>e.able in our union to take great flights into the njystical and the unknown, to catch hands with God, to sweep along the empyrean that Milton has sung of so sweetly."

Tbey stood hand in hand before the picture for a moment. And then the high and spiritual ecstasy of that marvellous moment of fusion fled, and was no more than a memory which remained with them for «11 their Jives, and which, at certain moments years afterwards, they were able to reconstruct.

"iNow, as was well "fitting, and right, they were human and earthly lovers. She put her arms .round his neck and kissed him, and her lips were like the petals of the queen rose -which grows ( in the gardens -of -rive T?«rsiaxt -TC-JTig.

Her arms around his neck were warm and soft ; the little laced hands behind his head .made the sweetest yoke which turned his blood to flame. And those great violet -eyes were close now, ah, so close! that he kissed them as over them the black fringed curtains fell in the joy of their warm surrender.

At that he Beamed) turned into -a whirl-wind-of passion and of flame. He caught her to him strongly, -savagely, and strained her to his breast, holding her with -all the force »nd power of -strong arms in' one great' inarticulate expression of the' fierce male impulse; "you are mine, mine, mine !"

The hot hard flame of ecstasy is mercifully a transient thing, or whose mind and body would be strong enough to endure? In half an hour more they were seated together upon the conch hand .in hand, and with a calm radiance of love, avowed and mutual, shining from their young, honest eyes. "And now, dear,". Gilbert said at_ length, "comes the question of your father. When I go home to-Tiight I Bhall "tell my father of my .great, great happiness. I know that it will make him veryTiappy,^ too, to know that I have found the love of my life, and that she has consented to be mine. I think, perhaps, my father had better .speak to yours before I do. Don't . you think it will be Ihejbest -way? It is a little formal, perhaps, but -then you. know, dearest, it is not &b if there were not "very many things to consider in the question of a marriage between people like you and me. As you know, my father ,is a very wealthy man, and — oh, well, you can understand that perhaps it would be best if he were to come to yours with a formal proposal for your hand for me."

Sadie gave her lover's arm a little squeeze. "Most potent, grave, andi reverend signor," she quoted with a little laugh ; "don't look bo stern and thoughtful it isn't the time to be like that ! But still, dearest," she added with a swift change of mood, "indeed .1 think you are right, and -there is a great -deal more to be faced than you know of." Her voice had sunk, and a nqte almost of apprehension crept into it, a note which he had never heard from, her before.

"What is it, dear?" he said "Why, what do you mean? What obstacle can there be? We are free people, you and I, our social positions are equal, there, there is plenty of money— then why " "Ah, you don't know," she continued. "But I will tell you exactly. Tlou don't realise, dear "

"And that is "

"Well, not to put too fine a point x»n it," she replied with a little dry and mirthless laugh, "poppa wants me to marry Senor Ramon de Toros." Gilbert jnmped up from the settee as if he had been shot.

"What?" he said in a loud voice, with a deep frown of auger furrowing his brow, and in cohji resolute tones, ''marry that — that " words failed him. "Good heavens," he I>urst out in « moment, "you marry that -strutting, yellow-faced ape of a man with his scent and his diamonds and his general filthy beastliness? Why, your father must be mad." She looked ap at him in his anger, and her whole being was thrilled by a senee of force and -power which radiated from him. "Ah," she thought in a quick flash, ".here is a man indee'd — a man worthy to be the master of any girl."

All she Bjaidi, however, was— "Now sit down, dear, and let us talk it over quietly. There is no needs to get excited. "For some reason or other — what it is I don't know — poppa seems determined that I shall, marry Ramon."

"Don't call him Ramon," he burst in ; "what right has a beast like that to have you call him by his Christian name?" She shook him by the shoulders.

"He is an old friend -and it means nothing, silly boy," she said. "But it is a doughnut to a circumstance that poppa has set his heart on it."

'■But I cannot understand it," Gilbert answered ; "a man like your father, a man with his intellect and position, wanting to marry you to this litile squat Portuguese, or wnatever he is."

"Well," Sadie answered, in a contemplative voice and with a also, "I guess it has puzzled me some. You know, dear, poppa's ulways been good and kind to me is, bis own way, but he has never

been like 6ome fathers are to their daughters. It was very different always when I went to stay with my girl friends in Father lets me have anything I want in this world, of course, and I guess he likes to see me enjoy myself, but he doesn't take parental responsibilities very seriously. I mean I don't seem to be as much to him as other girls to their dads. I never have felt that. I don't think, you know, that poppa is one of the men who could feel .any great affection for anybody. He was ! just the same with my mother ; ne was kind to her — as far as I know they never had a word of disagreement. But he always seemed on the top of the tower, and I could never figure out that .he cared for her in the same way some husbands care for their wives, and it has been just the same with me. Therefore, you see, dear, I don't think lie regards my point of view as of much importance in the question of marriage."

"But when he spoke to you on the subject what on earth did you say?" Gilbert asked rapidly. "Well," she answered, with a. charming and provoking little drawl, '1 guess I troubled poppa some." Gilbert laughed rather grimly. "A good thing, too," he «aid ; "not tliat I ought to soy a. word to yon; darling, against your father, but still such a preposterous idea as that would certainly require a downright answer. Well', at. any rate, that's nothing we need bother about I- am sore. If yom fatter has any reasons .for wanting you to marry this man you have every reason for sot marrying ham, and after all you are your own mistress."

"I expect I could hold my otto," she said demurely, and she looked so sweet and yet so mischievous at the swords that once more he folded her in his arms and kissed her rapturously. "Oh, you dear!" he said — "you little dear! There is nobody like you in the world — nobody at all." "That is no reason why .you should crumple me up," she replied. "But now, Gilbert -deaT, whatever may happen between Sir William Atherton and ponpa — and I am sure I hope it will be all right — I want to warn you of de Toros." "How do you mean warn me?" he said, a little haughtily, not with her, but at the idea which she suggested. "Well," she said, "he hatea you to begin with." "Yesterday afternoon," Gilbert answered, "I was coming along the moor when I saw a dirty little speckled adder — nearly trod on it, in fact. It got up and tried to bite me, -but I had a pair of 'shooting boots on, and, of course, it could not reach hieh enough. I 'broke its hack just before it scuttled off into the gorse. Now, I have no manner of doubt that that beastly little venomous creature hated me, but I can assure you that I didn't give its hatred a seconu thought, and even if I had not been able to kill it I don't think it would hare actually disturbed my night's rest."

"That's all yery well," she said, "but at the same time there is no more fatal mistake than underrating your enemy. I guess in any fair and honourable contest you'd come out right on top, but you most remember that a man like Ramon de Toros would do things that you wouldn't 40. Sakes ! Why, in the Argentine gentlemen of that sort knife each other round corners or -send natives to wait with Winchester repeaters for their enemy as he walks home at night." "Thank goodness, we are not in the Argentine," Gilbert said. "I don't think you end I need trouble ourselves very much about Senor de Toros. We are m England now, dearest, and a man Jike that could not do such a thing, however much he wanted to."

"All I know is," die Teplied, still more earnestly, "that he hates you. "He has suspected for some time *that " She hesitated to finish the sentence, and a little flush mantled her cheeks.

"That I was in love with you, darling?" he said joyously, completing her words, "Or I with you," she whispered. Once more there was an interlude in this interesting conversation. "I know also," she said as coon as she was able to, "that he is a man that will stick at nothing, so all I can say is, do be careful how you cross his path." 'Tor twopence," said Mr Gilbert Atherton, "I would wring the nasty little creature's neck."

(To be continued.)