AN OLD MAN'S DARLING

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 17, Issue 3, 13 January 1903, Page 7

AN OLD MAN'S DARLING

BY MRS. ALEX. MILLER,

CHAPTER XlV. —(continued.) “Mercy, Pel iso, how you startled me!” she exclaimed. “I had just got to such an exciting part where the heroine was just about to be murdered by her jealous rival when in you come with your long hair and trailing white wrapper, like Lady Macbeth walking in her sleep. 1 almost expected to hear you exclaim: "'Here’s the smell of the blood still; all the perfumes of Arabia will not s\ eelen this little hand!’ ”

. “You are quite dramatic to-night, mother—your novel must be an exciting one,” said Felise, with a slight, sneer. She came forward and sat down in a large easy-chair opposite her mother. She looked pale, and her eyes burned with repressed excitement. "It is,” said Mrs. Arnold, “the most thrilling book I have read lately. But what were you saying when you came in and frightened me so?” “f said that, Bonnihel had refused Colonel Carlyle,” repealed Felise, distinctly.

Mrs. Arnold sat up with her fingers between the pages of her book, whose interesting perusal she felt loth to stop. She said, half stupidly: "Oh, she has. has she? Well, it had to come to that, sooner or later, you know, my Jove.” “Indeed?” answered Felise, shortly.

“Well, you know we hove been expecting it some time, Felise, ever since Colonel Carlyle lost his heart about her. I must say his conduct to you has not been that of a gentleman, my dear.” “I quite agree with you,” said Felise dryly.

She was very qjjjet, but her small bauds were tightly clenched. She seemed “to hold passion in a leash” by a strong effort of will. “Hut how did you find it out?” inquired her mother, thinking that Felise was taking it quite calmly, after all. “As I find 5 out most things—by keeping ray eyes and ears open!” retort rd her daughter, tartly. "When did it happen?”

“This afternoon while you were out culling on the Trevertons.” “Was the old fool much cu/t up about it?” inquired Mrs. Arnold, inelegantly. “He would not take no for a® answer,” said Felise. “Ho wanted her to take time to think of all the advantages lie offered her, and lie is coining in a week to hear her decision.”

“The silly old dotard!” ejaculated her mother. “Well, all he can get by his persistence is a second refusal.”

Felise Herbert straightened herself in her chair, and looked at her mother with a strange smile on her face.

"I do not intend that he shall get a second refusal!” she sail! in a low voice that was very firm and incisive. Mrs. Arnold staved at her daughter In blank surprise and incredulity. “Why, Felise, what can you mean?” she inquired, “1 mean that Bonnibel Vero shall marry Colonel Carlyle!” her daughter answered, in the same low, determined voice.

“Why, my dear, you know it cannot be when she already has a husband! Besides, I diil not know that yon wanted them to marry- 1 thought—l thought —” said Mrs. Arnold, stopping short because surprise had overpowered her. She looked at the white figure sitting so quietly there in the arm-chair, with some apprehension. Had Felise's disappointment impaired her reason? “You need mot look at me so strangely, mother,” said Felise. “I assure you I am not mad, as your eyes imply. I am as sane as you are; but I have said that Bonnibel Yere shall marry my recreant lover, and I mean to keep my word. She has stolen him from me, and now she shall marry him and get out of my way! Or perhaps you would prefer to keep her here to spoil the next eligible chance I get," said Felise, looking at her mother with burning eyes.

“I don’t see how you can bring her to consent to such a thing, even if you are in earnest, my dear.”

“Yon have got to help me, mother. You shall tell her that you will not allow her to refuse Colonel Carlyle—that she shall become his wife, and that if she does not revoke her rejection you will turn her instantly into the street I”

“Felise, will you tell me why you are Bo determined upon their marriage? I supposed you were unwilling to it—it would be only natural for yon to oppose it—hut you seem as anxious for it as Colonel Curlyle himself. Again, I ask you why?” “Mother, I told you I would take a terrible revenge upon my rival. This is a part of my revenge. Their marriage will be the first act'ln the drama. I) i not ask me how 1 am going to proceedLet me Avork out my revenge in my own way. I OAve them both a score. Never fear but I will pay it off with interest!’’ “But,, Pelise, you must knoAV that Bonnibel Avould sooner declare her secret marriage than be -forced into another one. I can turn her into the street Tf you are determined upon it; but 1 knoAV I cannot make u girl as truthful and pure as Bonnibel Vero knowingly become (ho Avife of two husbands.”

“I fully admit your inability to do that, mother. I do not intend to insist on yc.’ur perloivaanee of impossibilities. As t'o'r Leslie Dane, look here!”

She straightened out a folded paper she had carried in her bosom, and leaning lonvard pointed out a small paragraph to her mother.

Mrs.. Arnold read the brief paragraph with starting eyes, then turned and !o dced at her daughter. She no longer kept her finger luff ween the pages of her novel. It had slipped down upon the floor. She was getting absorbed in this tragedy in mil life.

“Is it possible?” she exclaimed. "FtT h.e, can it be true?”

"Why not?” was the cool interrogatory. "Such things happen often—don’t they?”

* ‘Every minute dies « man, Every minute one is born.’ "

“Let me see the date,” Mrs. Arnold said, bending forward. “Ah! it is very recent. Well, I am surprised. But yet It is a very fortunate occurrence, is it not? Of course it is genuine.” “Why. of course if is,” said Felise, with a short, dry laugh. “How else could it be in the paper? They don’t put simh things in for sport, I snppos?.” "Of course not; hut it came upon mo so suddenly I felt quite incredulous at first. Well, this puts a new face upon the matter, does it not, my dear?" "Certainly, mother. I will show her • this paper, uiul she cannot have any

pretext for repeating her refusal In the face of the alternative with which yon shall threaten her. I suppose any girl in her senses would marry Colonel Carlyle and his millions rather than he turned out homeless into the street.” She sat still a moment staring before her into futurity with lurid eyes that saw her revenge already, and curling lips that began to taste ita sweetness in anticipation.

“When must I tell her, Felise?” inquired Mrs. Arnold- “ To-morrow, mother. There is no use in delaying matters. Let us bring the marriage about as speedily as possible. You will tell her to-morrow what she has to do, and I will be on hand with tha paper.”

She rose slowly. “Well, I will go, and leave you to finish your novel,” she said, “but if you take my advice you will retire instead. It is grown# late. Good-night.”

my love, and pleasant dreams,” her mother answered.

She went out as quietly as she had entered, her dark hair flying wildly over her shoulders and her white robes tr riling noiselessly after her. She was twist ing her hands together, and again Mrs. Arnold thought of Lady Macbeth washing her hands and crying in her sleep, "Out, damned spot!” Ah, Felise Herbert! There was a stain on your soul as red as that on Lady Macbeth's hand!

CHAPTER XV. The morning after the rejection of Colonel Carlyle. Bonnihel Yore sat alone in a pleasant little morning-room that was thrown out from the main residence as a wing. It was daintily furnished in blue plush and walnut, and had douole glass doors that looked out upon a lovely little garden, that in -this pleasant May season was glowing with bloom and fragrance.

Bonnibel had been trying to rend, but in the perturbed state of her mind she cculd not fix her attention upon the book. It bad fallen from her lap upon the floor, and as she sat in the luxir ious arm-chair she leaned forward with Per little chin buried iu one pink palm and her blue eyes gazing into vacancy, as if lost in thought. She looked very fair and sweet sitting there in a cool, white morning dress, trimmed in lace, and dotted about with several bows of black ribbon. Her beautiful hair, which was growing long and thick again, fell upon her shoulders in loose curls, like glints of sunshine She had broken a spray of white hyacinth and pinned it on her bosom, and she looked us pure and sweet as the flower itself.

“I am very sorry,” she was thinking to herself, “that I was so unfortunate as to win Colonel Carlyle’s affection. I certainly never dreamed of such a thing, and a year ago I should have laughed in the face of any old man who dared propose to me, and have told him I did not wise to marry my grandfather. Heigh-ho! I have grown graver now, and do not turn everything into a jest as I did then- Still, I wish it had not happened. I liked him simply as my father’s friend, and I thought he liked me just as papa’s daughter.” She sighed heavily. “1 think I understand some things now that have puzzled me all the winter,” she mused. “He was Fdise's lover when I first came, and I have unci i.sciously rivaled her. She hates me for it, and Aunt Arnold hates me, tooAh! if they knew all that I know they need not be afraid. Felise is welcome to him, and I will try to induce him to return to her. I never thought that Colonel Carlyle could have acted so basely toward her, as it seems he has—”

Mrs. Arnold’s sudden entrance into the room interrupted her meditations. She looked so angry and overbearing that Bonnibel rose and was about leaving the room when she was recalled abruptly. “Stay, Bonnibel, I wish to speak with you. Resume your scat, if you please.” Flushing with resentment at the insolent authority of the tone. Bonnibel turned and faced the lady with a gleim of pride shining in her blue eyes- “ Pardon me,” she answered, coldly, “I Avail hear Avhat you have to say slrnding.”

“As you please,” said Mrs, Arnold, with a sneer “Perhaps your strength may not stand the ordeal, hoAvever- ’ Bonnibel stared at her in silent surprise.

“You have refused an offer of marriage from Colonel Carlyle,” sajd Mrs. Arnold in a tone of deep displeasureBonnibel's fair cheeks deepened their color ever so slightly.

“Yes, madam, I have,” she gusAvered after a moment’s thought. “But I am ignorant of the moans by which you became cognizant of the fact.” “It does not matter,” Mrs. Arnold replied, flushing to a dark red under the dear pure eyes bent upomher. “Perhaps he told me himself. One would think that even so elderly a lover would consult a young lady’s guardian and protector before addressing her! But no matter how I come by my information, you admit its truth,” “Certainly, madam,” Bonnibel answered quietly, but Avondering Avithin herself AAhat all this fencing meant- She avus groAving slightly neiwous. The fair hands trembled slightly as they hung lightly clasped before her, and the white and red rose triumphed alternately in her cheek.

Mrs. Arnold stood resting her folded arms on the back of a chair, regarding the lovely young creature as if she hud been a culprit before the bar of justice.

“May I ask what were your reasons for declining the honor Colonel Carlyle offered you?” she inquired in measured tones.

Bo mi ib el was half-tempted to deny Mrs. Arnold’s right to ask such a question. With an effort she fought down •the quick impulse, and answered in a voice as gentle us the other’s was rude and self-assertive;

I did not love him, Aunt Arnold!”

“Love! Love!” sneered the widow o>ntemptuously. “What had love to do with the matter? Yo;i, a poor, penniless, dependent creature, to prate of love when such a man as Colonel Carlyle lays his millions at your feet! You should have jumped at the chance and thanked him for his condecension!” The listener regarded her with horror and amazement. Her delicate lips qimvriug with feeling, and her eyes were misty with unshed tears. “Surely, Aunt Arnold,” she said, questioniiigly, “you would not have had me accept Colonel Carlyle simply for his gold?” "Yes, I would, though,” answered Mrs. Arnold, roughly, “ami what is more, I intend that you shall accent him, Bonnibel Vere! Oirl, you mu t have been mad to dream of refusing such a splendid offer. When Colonel Carlyle returns for his final answer yoa

will tell him that your first refusal was only a girlish freak of coquetry, to try his love, and that you accept his offer gratefully.”

Bounihel’s cheeks turned as white as her dross, a mist rose before her eyes, shutting out the sight of her aunt’s angry face. .She staggered and put out her hand to steady herself by a chair. Mrs. Arnold regarded her with an air of cold insolence-

“I thought you would find it rather beyond your strength to stand before our conversation was over,” she remarked. with slight sarcasm.

Bonmibol did not seem to hear trie list shaft of malice. She answered the preceding words in a voice that she strove to Tender steady and controlled. “I cannot recognize your right to dictate to me in a matter that concerns myself alone, madam.” Mrs. Arnold listened to the proud, calm tones in furious wrath.

if You defy my authority? You refuse to obey me?” she broke out angrily. “Your violence leave me no other alternative, Aunt Arnold,” said the young girl, trying hard to speak calmly. “I do not wish to marry yet, and the man whom you wish me to accept at a husband could never be the choice of my heart. I cannot understand why you should wish to force me into a marriage so unsuitable.” The graceful, womanly dignity of the young girl’s words and manner ruede rip impression on the coarse woman's nature. She only saw- before her the girl she had hated ever since her innocent babyhood, the girl whose peerless beauty had come between Felise and her brilliant prospects. She broke out in a passionate resentment:

“Because 1 want to be rid of yoa, girl! You have been a stumbling-block in my path your whole life, and I hate the very sight of your baby-face! But I took pity on you and cared for you when poverty came upon you. In return for my kindness you stole my daughter’s lover! Now you shall marry him and get out of her way. It is the only reparation you can make her. Do you t,bink I will allow you. to refuse Colonel Carlyle, and remain here to cheat her out of the next eligible chance that offers? Never!” •

It was hard work for the listener to be so fiercely assailed by this worn in and not break out into the angry remonstrances that were swelling in her heart. But Bonnibel had learned the ditliculty art of self-control lately. She reflected to herself that it was but nituial that Mrs. Arnold should feel sore over the disappointment and humiliation of her clever, handsome daughter. “I am very sorry to hear that you hate me so much,” she said, a little sadly, “I have hud no one to love, me since Uncle Francis died, and I hoped I might win a little place in bis wife’s heart. But you wrong me, indeed, iu charging me with stealing Felise’s lover. J never dreamed of winning him away from her; I w-as deceived by his interest in me, thinking it was simply because he had been a friend and comrade of my dear papa. I might have known better, you say. Perhaps I might, but I was blinded by private troubles of my own, and scarcely heeded what went on around me- 1 am very sorry I have been the innocent cause of pain to Felise.”

“Spare me the additional mortification of your sympathy." was the ironical answer. "I think she can boar the old dotard’s desertion. She does not desire your regrets, and I believe I have maned the only reparation possible for you.” “And that?” sai dthe girl, slowly.

“Is to marry Colonel Carlyle and get out of her way,” was the harsh reply. “I cannot do that,” said Bonnibel, hurriedly. “It is impossible for me to marry Colonel Carlyle—there are many reasons why I should not. As to the other, I will ” She was about to add, “I will go away from here,” but a sickening thought hashed across her. Where could she go? She had no relative to fly to in her trouble. She did not know how to work and take care of herself. She had never learned anything useful, and her education had been mostly limited to those showy, superficial accomplishments in vogue in the fashionable world. She had five hundred fashionable friends, but not one to whom she could turn for comfort in this her dark hour- “ You say you cannot marry Colonel Carlyle,” said Mrs. Arnold, breaking in on- her troubled silence. “Listen to the only alternative that is left you--1 give yon ftntil he returns for his answer to decide in. If you do not then accept him yon shall no longer have the shelter of my roof. Yes, in the very hour that you refuse Carlyle’s milliens, I will turn ycCu out homeless into the streets!” Into the streets! How the words grated on the girl’e horrified hearing. She had seen them take up a dead girl from the street once, a girl as young and fair almost as herself.

They said she had poisoned herself because she had no home. They look her away to the Morgue, but Bonnibel had never forgotten that fair, still face as it lay cold in death. She recalled it uoav with a shiver.

Some cue had turned the poor girl into the streets to die. Would that be hei fate? A deadly weakness stole over her. She dropped into a chair like one shot, and Mrs- Arnold as she stood near her could hear the loud, wild beating of her heart. Her little white hands trembled, and her cheeks and lips turned white as marble. “Aunt Arnold,” she said looking up at the cruel, relentless woman, “you would not do that, surely? I should have nowhere to go, and I am so terribly afraid of the night and the darkness in the dreadful streets of the city!” “No matter,” sneered the listener. “You can go to one of the finest houses in the city if yon like, and have every luxury that wealth can command—but if you refuse that, out you go from under the shelter of this roof?"

There was the sound of some one singing in the flower-garden outside.

It was Felise. She came in with one haul full of hoses, while the other held a newspaper, which she was studying with thoughtful brow. “Bonnibel.” se said, abruptly, “do you recollect that young artist, Leslie Dane, who used to visit at Sea Vieiv last summer?”

A wave of color drifted into the girl’s white cheek. She looked tip quickly into the thoughtful fate of Felise. "Yes,” she answered. "What of him, Felise?”

"Did he not go to Rome to study painting?” inquired the artful girl. “That was his intention, I believe,” said Bonnibel, wondering what was coming now.

(TO BE CONTINUED,)