EDRIE’S LEGACY.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 29, Issue 40, 25 May 1917, Page 7

EDRIE’S LEGACY.

COPYRIGHT.

By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, Author of '-‘That Dowdy of a Girl,” &c, &c.

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS PARTS

Mrs. Campbell and her daughter Helena Sturtevant rescue a young girl, who calls herself Brown Edrie, from the clutches of a woman who is unmercifully beating the child. They take her home, where she is installed as waiting-maid. Mrs. Campbell was a widow with two children, Helena and Harold, when she married Mr. Daniel Campbell, a coarse, uneducated, but immensely wealthy man. When Mr. Campbell sees Edric for the first time, and learns her name, he receives a great shock, for she brings back memories to him that he would rather forget. Professor Gortz, Helena’s music teacher, hears Edrie singing in the garden ; ho prevails upon Mrs. Campbell to allow' him to teach her, as he predicts a brilliant) future for her. Just at this time Harold Sturtevant is home from college, and makes the acquaintance of Edrie. , A few years slip by. during which Edrie makes wonderful progress, till it seems that she - is sure to make a groat name lor herself.

PART -1 .-CHAPTER V.~(Contd.)

Everylliing was delightful until Lhe last week of Harold’s sojourn, vhen he suddenly began to grow jale and nbscntmlnded, and seemed lo have some mental trouble. His mother insisted that he was ill, but he affirmed that he was not, md her anxiety and solicitude eviiently fretted and .annoyed him. "Are you getting tired of college, [Tarold ? Do you dislike to go back ?” she asked, the last evening of his stay, and wondering if this might not be the solution to his strange mood. "No, I must finish my course," he replied, with a frown and an impatient gesture ; "only I wish that it was over, and that I could begin the real business of life." “It soon will be. my son ; yeffl have only one year more.” "But a great deal may happen in „ year," he answered, with a swift glance at Edrie, who was at the piano playing softly in the twilight. "Of course,” Mrs. Campbell said, regarding him curiously ; "but what especial affliction do you apprehend during the coming year?" "I do not know that I fear anything, really, only one gets impatient sometimes over the uncertainties of Tifo." the young man returned, rising and going to the window, where he stood looking moodily out upon the sea. Shortly after Edrie stole from the room, and, throwing a light shawl over her shoulders, wandered .»ut into tho moonlight, and finally sat down upon a great rock at the foot of the grounds, to watch tho silvery sheen upon the waters.

She, too, had been feeling sad and depressed all day, while somehow the thought of the farewells to be said on the morrow made her heart sink with a strange sense of loneliness and desolation.

It is a calm, lovely night ; the ocean is like a great ‘-'ea of glass, reflecting the silvery whiteness that everywhere pervades the vault above.

Edrlo situ there silent and motionless, thinking over her past, of the sad, miserable existence that she was leading only a few years ago, of her wonderf’.’l rescue from the dreadful 1 ask-mistress who had nearly crushed all spirit out of her nature by her cruelty, and of the great and good and strange events that have been crowded into her life since then. All at once she is conscious, as sometimes people arc conscious without any visible outward sign, of a presence near her, and looking up with a start and an inward thrill, she sees Harold Sturtevant standing close beside her.

"I did not hear you coming, Mr. Sturtevant,” she said, with some constraint in her tone, hut making room fo'- him to ait upon the rock beside her.

“No, Miss Brown, so I perceived,” he replied, with a slightly sarcastic emphasis upon the name ; "you were so absorbed in the past, present, or future, that you were unconscious of aught else. In which particular air-castle were you dwelling at that moment ?" Edrie laughed, though she shot a curious glance at him ; she did not understand him of late in his strange moods. “I never inhabit air-castles ; indeed, I try never to build such unsatisfactory things,” she replied, half seriously, half playfully. “My early life was so full of sharp-cor-nered facts that i have never had much to encourage the indulgence of sentiment.” “But now, of late, you do look forward to the future ; you do speculate and dream over it sometimes, do you not ? You can hardly help it in view of what everybody prophesies for you,” Harold persisted. "Of course I hope that I shall do credit 'to myself and to those - who have been so kind to me, Edrie said, earnestly. ‘‘lt would be ungrateful in me not to wish and strive to reward the expectations of my friends. Still”— "Well ?”

"From what I read about public life and public characters, I imagine that the career of a prima donna—if 1 ever attain to such an honourwill not be altogether a flowery one. ;T imagine that ray few years with Mrs, Campbell will prove to be the jhappiest of my life. I judge there

are a great many temptations and trials in the life of a public singer.” “Yes ; but, Edrie, would you he willing to relinguish your purpose to become one, under any conditions?” Harold asked, in a low, eager tone.

••Would 1 give it up?” she returned, wonderingly. “Of course not ! Why ' there is nothing else before me—it is what I have boon destined for—of course I cannot give it up.” She thought it was very strange that he should have asked her such a question, and her tone expressed as much.

Harold smiled to himself. He saw that she had no suspicion of the feelings that had prompted his inquiry. “Yes ; I know that you have been fitting yourself for that kind of life, and I have no doubt that a brilliant future awaits you ; but, Edrie, do you never look forward to a home of your own—to a spot and a life that will be dearer than all else to you, and where you will be loved and cherished by some one worthy of you ? Woman's holiest mission, you know, is to be a wife and mother.

Edrie’s heart gave a wild bound in her bosom, and then stood still at this question, and, for the first time, her eyes .were opened, and she knew that such a life, such a homo as he had spoken of, with him to love and cherish her, would be the crowning joy of her future ; for such a prospect she knew that she could readily surrender all thought of fame,

But he was Harold Sturtevant, the proud descendant of an equally proud father and mother ; while she was but a nameless waif taken from the streets. It was not likely that he had once thought of her in connection with himself, and yet her pulses thrilled as they had never thrilled before.

For a moment she could not speak ; then, with a mighty effort, she controlled her now wildly-beating heart, and said :

"No, I have never planned any such destiny for myself; such a life Is not for me ; it is for those who have been reared in homes of their own,who have had parents and kind friends to educate and-fit them for wifehood and motherhood ; ft is for those whose birth and parentage aie not shrouded in mystery—who have a honourable name and 'position.” There was a ring of pain in her voice that was almost passionate as she concluded.

Harold Sturtevant trembled at the sound.

For several weeks past he had realised that life to him would hold nothing worth living for unless he could win the love of this remarkable girl. He had given her the first strong,, passionate affection of his noble heart, and this knowledge, together with the fact that he had still another year before him at college before he could begin the world for himself and win a home to offer her, sorely chafed and fretted him. Ho had never allowed himself to cherish any expectations of wealth from his stepfather ; he was far too proud for that, and had always intended to start out for himself just as soon as his college course should be completed ; but it would be a long while before he could win a competence, and he had felt, dearly as he loved Edrie, that it would be wrong to hamper her with pledges to him, when the future might offer her so muchPmore than he co'uld ever hope to give her, for a long time at least. Still, something in her tone, in the regretful words she had just uttered, made him hope that she was not indifferent to him. “Do not let that trouble you,” he feaid, bending eagerly towards her. “The mystery you so deplore is through no fault of your own ; it cannot affect you personally, and— Edrie—if I—might hope”

‘‘Ahem ! Well, here you are, my boy. This is a grand night, isn’t it, eh ?” said a cold, hard voice close beside them.

With a start Harold and Edrie looked up, to find Mr. Campbell standing just behind them, and Edrie shivered as from a. sudden chill, as she met his glittering, stcel-like glance fixed full upon her. ‘‘Yes, sir,” Harold respectfully replied, though he was keenly disappointed at this inopportune interruption ; “we seldom have such a perfect night.”

“It’s damp, though,” Mr. Campbell continued, “and it’s careless to sit out here while such a heavy dew is falling. By the way, you go back to Harvard to-morrow, don’t you ?” “Yes, sir ; I begin another year—the last, as perhaps you know.”-

“Hum ! That is so. You’re pretty young to be so near through college, though.” “I am twenty, sir,”

“Twenty !” repeated Mr. Campbell, reflectively. “How time does slip by! But can you spare a few minutes ? I want to talk over a little matter with you.”

“Certainly,” responded Harold ; and Edrie, taking the broad hint, immediately arose to return to the house.

Daniel Campbell had not addressed one word to her, but she had been conscious that 'his malicious glance had never left her face while he was

speaking to his stepson. 'She was always oppressed when in his presence, and doubly so to-night. Both gentlemen walked back td the house with Her, when she went directly to her own room, while they sat down upon the verandah, to "talk over the piatter" of which Mr. Campbell had spoken to Harold. CHAPTER VI. THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. Mr. Campbell had nothing very important to say to Harold, after all.

He asked a few questions about his return (o college, made a few remarks regarding his own plans for the coming winter, then, rising, he handed him a cheque for a handsome amount, bade liim good night, and retreated to his own room.

Harold did not know whether to he glad or sorry that he had been interrupted in his impulsive declaration to Edrie. He loved her, and he meant to win her some time to be his wife, but he was not yet ready to ask any woman to pledge herself to him ; he had nothing to offer her but an empty hand with his heart, and ho felt that would be taking an unfair advantage of her. Still, a year was n long while ..to wait, and much might happen during that time, as he haxi told his mother.

Much did happen before the and of that time.

The next morning the young lover left for college, and he was heavyhearted enough as he took leave .if the family ; but Edrie did not soon forget the lingering pressure of his hand as he hade her farewell. The Campbells remained at their summer villa until the Ist of October, and then returned to Hollyhurst, where very little occurred to interrupt their quiet life until Christmas, when Mrs. Campbell and Helena had arranged for a grand reunion of some of their Western friends whom they had not seen for long years.

It was a project which they had entertained for a great while, but which they had not seen their way to carry out until now, and they had spared no effort, no expense, to render the occasion a most delightful one.

The guests began to arrive several days before Christmas, and by the 24th the house was filled to its utmost capacity.

There were children, youth, middleaged, and old in the company ; every face wore its most joyous aspect, and the fine old mansion rang with merriment from early morning till late at night. Both Helena and Edrie were in their element, for both loved children, and gave themselves up to the pleasant task of entertaining them.

On Christmas tEve there was a magnificent tree in the drawingroom, which was beautifully decorated and laden with everything that was both useful and lovely. Then came the supper, after which the dining-room was cleared and a little dance arranged, in which both old and young participated. It was a jovial time which no one ever forgot, and which, too, was in such Striking contrast to the sad time that followed so close upon it. When the dancing was over Edrie was asked to sing, and she rendered some of her choicest selections for the entertainment of the friends of her dear benefactors.

“Now sing something especially for the children,” said Helena, as Edrie concluded a difficult air from some ’opera, and was about to turn away from tho piano.

“I am afraid I do not know any children's songs,” Edrie thoughtfully responded. Then she started slightly, and shot a swift glance around the room.

“Hang up the baby’s stocking,” had suggested itself to her as being very appropriate for the occasion , but she shrank from singing it, for she had never forgotten how Mr. Campbell had once been irritated by it, and ordered her never to let him hear it again.

But that one swift glance had told her that Mr. Campbell was not in the room ; the noise of the children had been too much for him, and when they had begun to dance he had withdrawn from the room to have a comfortable smoke by himself.

| Edrie looked flushed and anxious. I She half feared to sing the forbidj den song, and yet she longed to oblige the children, who had gather- ' ed around her and were now pleading for ‘‘just one little song for us, I please, Miss .Brown.” She turned over her music hurried!y. ‘‘l have nothing but this, she ysaid, placing the tabooed ballad upon the rack before Helena, who had been playing her accompaniments. ‘‘What could you desire better ? It Is just khe thing to please them most,”-Helena replied, as she ran through the prelude. Edrie was standing beside a window over which, through some neglect, the curtains had not been drawn. It opened upon a balcony overlooking the lawn, and the young girl made a conspicuous figure, both Uo those within the brilliantly-light-ed room and to any one who might chance to be without.

But she had no thought of being observed by any one save the happy company within the pleasant room, and, casting her fear of Mr. Campbell to the winds, she thought of nothing save giving pleasure to the children.

The song was still very dear to her, for she firmly believed that her mother had taught it to her when .she was a little child ; and when she had once burst forth into the familiar strains she forgot everything else, and sang it with her whole heart.

She was just beginning the last verse, when the draperies at the farther end of the drawing-room parted, and Mr. Campbell entered. His eyes instantly fastened themselves upon Edrie, and . a scowl of anger disfigured his face as he recognised the forbidden song. Then, all at once, his gaze was attracted by something beyond her, and concealed by her form from the company, who were sitting; had they also been standing they could not have failed to see it, too.

What could it be to make him suddenly grow ghastly white and sway like a drunken man, while his eyes seemed almost to protrude ft om their sockets ?

What could it be that should make so strong a man tremble and quiver like a frightened child ? Only one other person was conscious of this extreme agitation of the master of Holly hurst, and that was Harold Sturtevant, who happened to be standing upon the other side of the window as his stepfather had entered the room.

He had noticed the look of anger and hatred in the man’s) eyes they fell u'pon Edrie ; then ho had seen the sudden and startling change in him when his , glance was attracted beyond her. His own had followed it, and Harold, too, was startled to behold a face at the window near which he himself stood.

It was a ghastly, emaciated face, with pale, pinched lips and great staring, sunken eyes, that were fixed as if fastened upon the .sweet singer by the piano, The instant she ceased the face at the window disappeared as if by magic, At the same moment Daniel Campbell turned and staggered from the room, a cold sweat standing, like great beads of glass, upon his swarthy brow. He seemed as if stricken with partial blindness, for he gro'ped his way stumblingly through the hall to the outer door, which he opened, and passing out, closed it immediately after him.

The keen air without appeared to restore him somewhat, for he drew in a deep breath, which, however, sounded' more like a groan ; then, wiping his clammy brow, he passed swiftly around the verandah to the window where he had seen the startling apparition. There were tracks in the snow all about the spot, showing plainly that some one had been there, but no person was now visible. Daniel Campbell made a circuit of the mansion, glancing sharply all about him as he went ; but not a soul was to be seen.

Shivering with cold, and perhaps with something of nervousness as well, he opened a side door and entered the house again.

He encountered Edrie in the hall. She was just going up a back stairway to get - something for the children.

All the passion in the man’s nature seemed to blaze forth at the sight of her. _ _ __ “Here, you !” he called o'ut sharply to her. Edrie turned to look back at him, one slim, pretty foot resting on the lower stair, an expression of astonishment on her bright face at the coarseness and violence of his address.

Daniel Campbell strode up to her and laid a heavy hand upon her shoulder.

“You have dared to sing that—song again, when you know I hate it ; when I have forbidden it. What do you mean ?” Edrie flushed, then grew pale, as she drew herself away from his hand. “I was asked to sing something to please the children, and I had nothing else,” she replied, quietly and respectfully. “The children be” he began, passionately, then suddenly checked himself.

“Sir !’’ said the young girl, with grave dignity, drawing her slight figure to its full height, and lesenting what she knew to be an intended oath.

“Sir !’’ he repeated, with increasing anger. “You proud little beggar, none of your airs with me ! I detest the very sight of you. Keep out of my way after this, or X will crush you as I would crush a spider !” He pushed her from him with vindictive force, ihen, turning, strode into a small sitting-room near by, and slammed the door violently after him.

A servant, passing through the hall at that moment, saw the act, caught the latter part of his sentence, and bent a look of surprise upon the girl. Edrie was amazed by this unexampled violence. For a moment she could not move, but stood staring 'after the master of Hollyhurst, a blank, frightened look on her face, which was as white as the spotless cashmere scarf thrown across her shoulders.

Then an indignant flush mounted to her brow, as she recalled his abusive language and the humiliating epithet which he had applied to her. “A beggar!” Was that the light in which he regarded her ? She knew that he had never liked her. but she did not suppose that he entertained quite so much malice towards her os his recent words betrayed. Was he really so bitterly opposed to the kindness which his wife had always shown her ? Rid he look upon her as an interloper in his house? Was she, indeed, so hateful in his sight ? If so, why ? There must be some secret reason for it ; for she knew she had only observed the utmost respect towards him from the very first. Why, then, this unaccountable dislike and malice ? These and many other like questions flashed through her brain as she stood there, stricken with consternation by" this violent and humiliating interview. Then she sank, weak and faint, upon the lower stair, to try to think what was right and best for her to do. CHAPTER VII. EDRIE MUST GO. Edrie was very proud, in Spite of her apparently dependent position.

She was keenly sensitive, also, and Mho felt that she could not remain another day a pensioner upon the bounty of Daniel Campbell’s wife, if her presence there was so distasteful to the master of the house.

Again the outer door opened and closed, and Harold Sturtevant entered.

He had quietly followed Mr. Campbell from the house, and watched his movements while without ; then he had stopped a while longer, to push his own investigations a little further ; but he had made no discover* ies regarding the face at the window and had now returned to the mansion.

He had been very curious to ascertain who that haggard wretch could be whose face he had distinctly seen peering at Edrie from the balcony window.

But he forgot that and everything else now as he came suddenly upon Edrie, and found her looking so white, and miserable.

"Edrie, what is it ?" he cried, an anxious look upon his face. "Are you ill —faint ?" "No," she answered, looking up at him with agonised eyes, as she suddenly realised how much she must give up if she went away from Hollyhurst.

"What is it, Edrie? I never saw you look like this before. Have you been hurt—frightened ?" He bent down and gathered her cold hands in his as he spoke, and gazed into her face with a fond yet troubled look.

Before he could say anything more, or Edrie repiy, Mr. Campbell stalked from the room into which he had shut himself a few moments previous. He took in the situation at a glance ; for Harold had not even had time to drop the fair girl's hands, and, stopping short, he glared almost savagely from one to the other.

Edrie flushed hotly, a wretched feeling of embarrassment stealing over her ; while Harold bit his lips with vexation as he remembered how once on a previous occasion his stepfather had interrupted a similar interview.

But he stood his ground this time, and the man, flashing a venomous look upon Edrie, passed by the pair without a word, and entered the library.

Harold noticed the look ; he saw that Edrie shrank and shivered before it, and a suspicion of the truth came to him.

“Did he have anything to do with the cause of srour5 r our trouble, Edrie ?” he asked, keenly searching her pale face.

“I cannot tell you,” she replied, meeting his earnest glance for a moment, then dropping her eyes. “Do not ask me,” she pleaded, rising wearily, and turning as if to mount the stairs. "I am not feeling quite well, and I think I will not go back to the company again, if you will kindly excuse me to Mrs. Campbell should she inquire for me.” "I will do anything you wish,only, Edrie, wait,” Harold urged, burning to tell her something of the tenderness which she had aroused in his heart, and to get some word of hope from her.

“Please do not detain me,” she said, anxious to prevent him from saying anything more ; for she re' alised that it could bring only unhappiness to them both while Mr. Campbell regarded her with such feelings of animosity.

The young man saw that she was trembling with nervousness, and he yielded to her entreaty.

“No, I will not ; but, dear, I must see you alone to-morrow. There, go now and try to get a good night’s rest after your long, hard day. Good night and pleasant dreams,” he concluded, tenderly, as he bent and kissed one of the hands that he still held.

Edrie turned and went slowly up stairs, while Harold went back to the drawing-room, wondering what could have passed between her and his stepfather to have upset her so. He knew that she was not a favourite with Mr, Campbell, but he did not suspect a tithe of the man’s bitterness against her,

It seemed to Edrie, as she toiled wearily up stairs, that she had never been quite so wretched as she was at that moment, in spite of the blissful knowledge that Harold loved her, and she felt that she must go away somewhere by herself where she could give vent to her full heart She was to share her room that night with one of the children, and, fearing to be caught in the midst of her wretchedness if she repaired thither, she slipped into the sewingroom, and, creeping into a corner behind a screen, she threw herself into a chair, and burying her face in her hands, tried to think. What could it mean - this violent and sudden anger on the part of Mr. Campbell ?

Surely the simple fact of her singing that little song, in opposition to a command expressed so long ago could not have been sufficient offence to arouse him to such a white-heat of passion. She tried to think if she had said or done anything during the day to irritate him ; but no, she had scarcely seen him —except at a distance —she had not once addressed him —she could recall nothing that would warrant such an explosion of wrath, and yet something dreadful was the matter, she was sure.

He had bidden her keep out of his way, or he would crush her as ho could crush a spider.

There was only one way In which she could do this, and that was by leaving Hollyhurst altogether. The thought made her heart sink. (To be Continued.)