DEFIANT DIANA.

Otago Witness, Issue 3040, 19 June 1912, Page 71

DEFIANT DIANA.

THE NOVELIST.

[Published by Special Arrangement.J

By E. Everett-Green, Author of "A Queen of Hearts," "The Lady of the Bungalow," "The Marriage of Marcia," "Married in Haste, etc., etc.

[COPTBIGHT.] SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTERS I AND ll.—The old Spuir© of Idylburst having left his property heavily charged, his orphan children are compelled to dispose of much of it, including the Hall, and retire to the Manor Farm. There are Godfrey, the bead of the family; Irvine, general peacemaker, and curate to a neighbouring rector; Norman, an impetuous subaltern, just back from India; and' Diana, the heroine of the story. When Richard Durham, the new Squire, takes up residence, A>iana, defiantly hostile, swears eternal hatred to "the interloper." She plans with Norman to carry on a feud. They arrive at the Manor Farm, where they are met by Muriel Hurst, their father's much younger halfsister, who had looked after them since their father's death. Richard Durham meets David Quayle, the rector, who was an old chum of his. They discuss the position of afiairs, and the rector tenders advice to the interloper, which Durham scarcely heeds. At the Quarry, the quarrymen decide to hold their own against the newcomer. CHAPTER lII.—HALL AND RECTORY. tDYLHURST Hall stood well.' It was backed by splendid beechwoods; surrounded by gardens and noble parklands. A tawny-coloured stream tore through the grounds to leap down a series of steps, part natural, part artificial, and so into a deep inlet of the eea which bit deep into the land, and ran within a quarter of a mile of the house itself. It stood, a great picturesque pile of buildings, some few - portions of great antiquity, but for the most part a jumble of the three last centuries, where each owner in turn had sought to enlarge his borders by an oriel here, a tower there, and chapel in yonder corner, a billiard room to balance it at the opposite end. Kind Nature had thrown a mantle of delicate greenery over the irregular frontages and clothed the hoary or squarecornered ' walls with a tender care and infinite grace of colour and form. In summer the place was a riot of wietana, magnolia, rose, clematis, and jessamine. Just now onlv splendid splashes of crimson marked the" triumph of pyrus japonica over all other climbers, and seemed to make promise of glories to come. As David Quayle approached the place in company with the new owner, he did not wonder that Durham's eyes were alight with appreciative content. "A fine old place, Dick. You mean to live here, I suppose. It needs a big income to keep it up as it used to be kept, and it wants a good deal of pulling round. It's been a white elephant on the Hursts for a good while now. Are you by way of being a bit of a millionaire, if one may ask?" "Not exacty that. But I had luck myself, and I caine in for more unexpectedly. I think I'll be able to pull the place round, and make something out of it. The trouble will be with all the rubbish these good Hursts leave behind 'em." "Live rubbish?"

"That'B it. Old servants; gamekeepers who sell the game and put it on poachers. Woodmen, who don't know their craft, and have let the woods go anyhow. Gardeners —and look at the state the plflce is in. And young Hurst hoped I would keep on as many of them as I could. I'd like to make a' clean sweep of the whole lot to-morrow. Not pure that I shan't have to do it some day. Other people's treasured 6ervante don't happen to be the sort of treasure I covet."

The clergyman laughed. He could imagine the kind of reception that the new man was getting from the staff who had grown up in the easy-going ways of the Hurste, all of whom have inherited a good many characteristics from on Irish mother, and had preferred the life easy to the life ptrenuous—to wink at abuses rather than to put them down. "You see Godfrey has had hip hands full outside. Irvine, who is my curate, looks after parish matters, and was away for years at school, college, and a first curacy in London. Miss Di has ruled the house her own way. All the people here ac!ore her: but her methods of rule are rather original, I believe. She lias got good service out of their retainers; but I doubt whether any successor will do the same. But to send them all packing—won't that be rather a strong measure to take?"

Durham very slightly raised his shoulders. The shell of his reserve was not easily penetrated. David Quayle felt that his new parishioner would go his own way without paying over much heed to counsel or remonstrance. He would be master in

his own house, whether his world approved his methods or not. Suddenly, as they were passing on their way, David laid a hand upon his friend's arm. Both men suddenly paused. "Do" you want to see the Quarry Queen?" whispered the first; and Durham nodded gravely. They were traversing a part of the grounds which overlooked a picturesque, grassy hollow, where a big fish pond turned a dreamy face up to the sky, ringed about by small meadows used as paddocks. By looking down over the low boundary wall they could see into these paddocks, and thus it was that the picture of Diana Hurst was first revealed to the eyes of Richard Durham.

She was standing beside an old horse, who had dropped his soft nose in her hand, and was rubbing it up and down in a rapture of recognition. What Durham saw was a girlish figure, instinct with grace and vigour, standing with an arm about the neck of the horse, whilst with head erect and great dark eyes filled to the brim with complex emotions, she gazed about her with a strange smile upon her face. That the face was beautiful, passionate, proud, mutinous, the keen strong sight of the man took in at a glance. That here was a young queen dethroned and exiled, her whole attitude and expression betrayed. Near to her, with his back towards the pair of gazere, was a tall man in flannels, bare-headed, finelooking, soldierly, looking away towards the sea.

"That must be the youngest brother from India ; they were expecting him back. I suppose he wanted to see the old place once more, and nobody knows that you are here."

"Technicallv I am not here. But I wanted to take a run down to 6ee to a few things before I take up my abode." His eyes were still fixed upon Diana, as she stood below "him, evidently speaking to the brother who had acompanied her here. He could almost fancy from their gestures, and the expression upon her face, that they were discussing him, and in no friendly spirit. He moved away with a queer smile on his 'lips and a gleam in his eyes.

"So that is the lady you wish me to play Benedict to. She will scarcely be an easy Beatrice to tackle, I should say." "Don't you call her handsome?" "Very, so far as I can judge." "Of course, she will detest you at the outset. But is ft little aversion altogether bad? What lam really afraid of is the influence of Lilian Rossiter, Lady Braithwaite's widowed daughter. The Braithwaites are cousins of mine, and -gave me the living. But Lilian has had a rather tragic history, and it has turned her bitterly against all .man. She will be your enemy, I fear." Had David been looking at his friend's face instead of down into the paddock below, he might have observed a slight tightening of the lips, accompanied by a gleam in the deep-set eyes. "Rossiter? Do you mean the man who was killed five years ago in Paris—the case that made a talk at the time?" " That's it: a bit of a scandal that was hushed up. It's never talked of here, of course. I came about the time that Lilian returned as a widow. She has never spoken of the past to me, but she may confide in Diana perhaps. They are by way of being great friends." Durham took his friend's arm and turned in his tracks.

" I shan't go up to the house now. If those two have come for a last look round, let them have the place to themselves. I want to see your home and your mother, Quayle. Take me instead to the rectory, and give me a snack before I go back to town." With all my heart. I suppose Norman—the Indian army brother—has a fancy to see the old place. I don't know him. I imagine he and Miss Di are birds of a feather to some extent."

David Quayle paused, for he was aware that Durham was not listening. They were making their way through a shady nut-walk in the direction of church and rectory, both of which buildings lay within a stone's throw of one of the entrance gates to Idylhurst Hall. Suddenly Durham spoke, looking straight before him. "I was in Paris when that thine; happened. I was in some measure brought into it —never mind how. I believe that Lady Lilian considers me to blame. I had to meet her once. I am sorry that I am to be her near neighbour here. What a small place the world is! I certainly had not expected our paths to cross again." David would have like to know more: but would not ask. His friend would tell him what he wished him to know. Apparently that was all. Certainly it might be a complication if Diana's chiefest woman friend had a bad opinion of Durham—whether well merited or no.

The rectory looked like a fragment of ,«ome old ecclesiastical building. The rector's mother was a charming old lady of a type almost extinct. Her blindness, now of twenty years' standing, had seemed to set a seal of peace upon her brow. She wore a quaker-like garb of grey, which she was able to don and doff without assistance, and the fashion of which never changed. Her waving white hair was dimply parted under* a nun-like coif, and her fingers were seldom idle, as they plied knitting needle or crochet hook with an exquisite precision and skill.

The new squire was a personage of immense interest to her. It was extremely satisfactory to her that her son's hope had been realised, and that this was indeed the Dick Durham of whom David had had much to say of late. Durham sat beside her and told her tales of their schooldays, and of the days of adventure in the far west. The sweet old blind face, which never looked blind, quivered and sparkled by turns as she b'stencd; and when after having partaken of their simple hospitality he left mother and son together,

Mrs Quayle turned a smiling glance upon David, and said : "I think that is going to be a just and good man." "A good fellow, and a white man and square," spoke the other, "and as just and fearless as they're made. In one way that's part of the trouble. You won't get him to budge an inch from his path; and that path is likely to be a pretty thorny one."

The old face looked very sweet and rather thoughtful. "The thorny path is often the one which leads us upward and onward to the highest goal, my son." "True, mother mine. That part of it is all right. But old Dick may chance to get some ugly scratches and wounds before he reaches his goal." ''Do you believe in reaching any worthy goal without, my boy?" asked the mother gently, and David laughed and swung off to his nearest duty with a sense of quickened interest permeating all the life about him.

CHAPTER IV.—THE "QUARRY QUEEN." Diana was dressed for the saddle. Although her hunter had passed, together with many other cherished possessions, into the hands of the hated interloper, there were still mounts at the Manor Farm, including a clever little cob she had trained herself, and who carried her pluckily over all sorts of places which might have puzzled a first-class hunter. The girl looked singularly handsome. Her dark eyes Hashed and glowed; there was a damask flush in her cheeks. Anger and defiance were alike expressed by the mutinous expression of her lips, together with a fierce disdain which seemed to radiate from her whole personality, and caused Norman to look up as she passed through the dim raftered hall, and put a fraternal question. "Out on the war path, eh, Di? Whose scalp are you after now? Our friend Durham's ?" "He is a brute. He has turned off lots of our people already, after promising Godfrey to keep them on " "To give them a trial," amended Godfrey, at that moment appearing from his office or study. "And he's done that " "For three weeks, isn't it? A fine trial. He meant all along to make a clean sweep. I told you so; though you would not listen. Men always think they know best what other men will do. I took the measure of that interloper from the first." "My dear girl, you haven't seen him yet." "I have; an ugly beetle-browed man, with a mouth like a rat-trap; just the sort I knew he would be."

"I mean that you have not spoken to him."

"And don't- mean to," flashed forth Diana.

"Exactly, my dear; you don't know him or mean to know him. Of course, I'm sorry about the old servants. But really, Di, it's a little bit your fault—it really is. You would go about vituperating the new man, making up all sorts of imaginary iales about him, and really inciting.the people to take up an unuleasant and defiant attitude towards him. One can't expect a master to nut up with that sort of cheek for other men's old servants. You would not do it yourself, my dear, and it's a bit unreasonable." Diana waited to hear no more. Holding her head very high, she passed through the hall and out into the pleasant freshness and sunshine of the April morning. It was the kind of joyous day which sets the blood of young things racing, ond fills the air with the thrill and throb of bird son? and the joy of life. In spite of the turbulence of her mood, Diana felt the call of the springtide, and, mounted on her handsome little cob. was soon cantering across green meadows to the first triad tentative call of the cuckoo.

Laughingly she turned a silver coin in her /pocket. "Confusion to the Interloper!" she cried aloud, as she set her horse at a low hedge, with a drop on the other side into the lane which bounded the Manor Farm property. Over went the clever little horse with a neat bound, and landed snorting not two yards from a horseman proceeding on his way between the budding hedges. "I beg your par " she instinctively began ; but pulled up with the word bitten in half, for she found that .she was addressing the Interloper himself, and the angry red flamed up to her brow, whilst her hie: eyes sparkled and glowed.

Durham raised his hat ceremoniously. That he was mounted upon one of their own handsome horses, who reached towards Di with a whinny of recognition, did but fan the flame of her wrath.

"Good morning," spoke the man in quiet,'level tones. "I hope I have not alarmed you." And he reined back his horse from too close an approach to the former mistress he was eager to greet. "I am never alarmed. I did not expect to find anyone in the lane. But I suppose everything will be changed now. Don't saw his mouih like that. If you are going to play tyrant amongst our old servants, you can at least try and behave decently to our animals," and wheeling her cob away from him, Diana shot away up the narrow lane, whilst Durham sat looking; after her, a somewhat inscrutable smile in his eyes.

" I a.m not sure," he said 6oftly to himself, "whether the pursuit of that quarry would not prove rather an exciting and agreeable pastime. Old David thought it would be a good plan if I were to marry Diana Hurst. Suppose I do." Meantime Diana, with burning heart and excited eyes, was making straight for the breezy uplands, where ene could ctill gallop her horse to the accompaniment of the cries of the wheeling gulls and the singing of the sea-wind hi her ears. It might be Durham's property, but it was unenclosed land from which none could be excluded. The sea shimmered below her, and away to a high horizon line. Beneath her. deep hidden in the earth, lav those quarries, of which from childhood

she had been dubbed the queen. She knew the devious downward path which t a 'j an ancient ehalt, little used now. Indeed, save aa an emergency exit, in case of some sudden inrush of the sea, the old shaft had fallen into complete disuse, and the lifting tackle was in parlous condition.

All the stone was brought by a trolley to the flat-bottomed boats which waited in the cave, and supplied the small vessels which came across the wide bay to fetch the rough-hewn blocks. The number ol blocks was checked by an old man who went by the name of' the manager. - But the real management of the place lav in the hands of a colony of brawny fellows whose small huts clustered together beneath the cliff, and fringed a rough and narrow road down which Diana's clever little cob was presently picking its way, with a. sure-footed ease that betokened familiarity with the track. As she passed, bare-headed women, bronzed and hardy, dropped curtseys and smiled at her, whilst small children, playing in the gutter, jumped up and ran alongside, forming a voluntary guard of honour. Diana threw small, round sweets amongst them, for which they scrambled and laughed ; and she left them crunching and munching, as she turned the last zig-zag and came upon the level of the shining bay.

It was a beautiful place, and Diana loved it. The green translucent water, frosted with tiny white ripples and crossed by wavering blue tidelinea, was rendered almost mysterious by the overshadowing of the great Avhite cliff, in the heart of which ran the great cavern, whose magnificent arch was plainly to be seen from the point where Diana stood. Here was the landing-stage for the quarry boats; here the arm of the miniature inner bay which guarded the mouth of the cavern. And here the hut of old "Gipsy Devenish," as she was invariably called, and who, Diana often thought, deserved the name of "Quarrv Queen" more than she did herself.

At sound of the horse's feet the old woman came forth, and greeted the visitor with a sibylline smile. Her figure was a notable one, full six feet high, with white elfin locks tied beneath a crimson kerchief, and a face brown and wrinkled by seventy years' exposure to sun and wind at all seasons, yet retaining much grandeur and some beauty, and expressive of an indomitable will power. She was the head of the clan of Devenish, and practically of the also, the two families having intermarried till they had become welded into one. Diana looked smilingly into the old woman's face as she stepped forth, and reached her gauntletted hand to clasp the other's wrinkled one.

"The Queen comes to visit her subjects." sr>oke the old woman with a tender lighting of the eye."*, though the face in rest was sternly austere, "and she is ever welcome."

"Ah! but Gipsy, I am no longer a queen. You have a king now " "Never! —never! —never! The old nam for us, and the old faces. Let him \ ware who comes to us, a stranger wirv, strange ways. Let him beware, for we will have none of him." Diana felt her heart swell with sympathy and delight. Surely here was the promisS that Durham was not going to ride roughshod over all his servants, as he was doms; over sundrv of the keepers and the household staff. *Yes. in the independent spirits of the quarrymen he would find his match. "Has he come here yet?" asked the girl, eagerly. . • "He has no call as yet, nor no rights, the old woman answered with slumbering fierceness. "Quarry is leased to the Devenishes same as the Hursts always leased it. And they have dealt fair by them. Never a load put across the bay without it's paid its tally. No trouble, no bad blood, all fair and square. We want no foreigners and their interfering ways, and, my queen, vou had best tell him so. We Devenishes have worked too long one way to take new ones. There's only one voice amongst the boys—if any stv.-mger dares to interfere. You'd best tell him so, my ladybird, if so be as you care to warn him." _ , „ . "I'm not sure that I do ;) He is an interloper and an enemy—" . , , "Ah! and didn't I say that that is what our queen would be saying. It's proud and joyful the boys will be to hear it. ' "Of course I hate him. Of course, I am on your'side. But is he gome to interfere?" and the girl's dark eyes shone and sparkled with excitement and sense of coming strife. "That's what we're all of us asking. He can't lie coming here yet. The lease doesn't run out till Michaelmas; but it does then—bad cess to it. And we must get it made afresh; and maybe he'll be for making trouble, that young man. Oh, lie came down and saw us—he spoke fair and quiet, but the eyes of an was what I looked at—and that shaven jaw of his—square and strong —the face and the eyes of a fighter, if ever there was one. Well, I'm thinkin' that if it pome to a fight, my boys will give a good account of themselves. And if you'd care to be tellin' him so, darlint —well, maybe it would save 6ome trouble." "I'll think about it," said Di as she, sat gazing into the green lights and shadows of the water. A booming noise teemed to reverberate along the cliffs, and out from the cave men came pouring. It "was the signal for the noontide meal j and as soon as Diana and her horse were seen, she was surrounded by an eager and excited crowd. acclaiming devotion to her, asking heated questions, and calling down anathemas upon the umirper and the interloper. (To be continued.)