CHAPTER XXIII.

Te Aroha News, Volume I, Issue 16, 19 April 1884, Page 4

CHAPTER XXIII.

THEY MET BY CHANCE. We left Helena Yerrington in a most unfortunate and dangerous position, from which, indeed, it seemed an impossibility to extricate herself. She waited until profound silence reigned in the rude dwelling, and then she stole softly to the door, and found it barred on the other side, as her fears had assured her it would be. Next she cautiously examined the window, and there, also, was a heavy wooden shutter hooked inside, but when she unfastened the hook and tried to push the shutter open, she perceived that some one's care had secured it on the other side also. She sat down upon the rude bed and tried to calm her fears, to keep herself steady and cool, and discover some way in which there might still be a loop-hole of escape. Many plans darted through her mind. Should she set fire to her room and compel them to come to her rescue, and, standing ready, rush through the door the moment it was opened ? She was desperate enough to adopt this hazardous stratagem, but the faint hope of success it held out daunted her more than the danger. She was already worn out with unusual effort, and unnerved by a prolonged strain of excitement. What could she hope to do even if she made her egress from the house in this strange, wild country, when they started in pursuit ? "No," she said to herself, at last, " I can lo nothing to-night. My strongest weapon must be an impression made upon them that I am entirely unsuspicious of harm. Imust fortify myself by sleep and rest, and be ready to seize upon any chance that may offer itself to-morrow. Sleep is my first duty to-night. " And creeping back to the door, she tied its handle to the bedpost with her scarf, as a further security against invasion, and afterward threw herself upon the bed without removing her clothing. She could close her eyes, but to still her throbbing heart and silence the wild working of an excited brain was a more difficult feat. She turned restlessly at first, but afterward compelled herself to remain as quiet as possible. And presently the rest which had such soothing influence for the tired limbs reacted upon the brain, and sleep stole over her. She did not waken until far into the mornIng, and marvelled then at the sweet profound slumber, free from any troublous dreams, which had so revived and strengthened her. The creaking of the shutter opening from the outside had been the sound which wakened her, and when she saw the warm flood of sunshine which came streaming into the dingy room she somehow took heart, as if a friend had whispered courage. Slipping off of the bed, she hurried to the table and busied herself dressing her hair, taking from her portmanteau her own little dressing-case to find a looking-glass, for the rude apartment furnished none. Then she smoothed out her crumpled dress, put on her shawl and bonnet, and went to the window, throwing it up, as if solely to obtain a delicious draught of the sweet morning air. The man, even more repulsive-looking by daylight than when she first saw him, was lounging there in sight of the window. Almost at the same moment the bolt of her door was drawn softly, and she heard the woman's high, sharp voice, calling : " The leddy's breakfast is ready." Helena went out promptly, with as cheerful a face as she could assume. "Am I late? I slept very soundly. I hope I haven't missed the train." "Indeed,but there's no train till the morrow, so you'll need to be content, " answered the woman, promptly eying her furtively, while she set on the oatmeal mush and a pot of honey beside the little black teapot on the table. " That is unfortunate ; but I can get to the town all the same," returned Helena, carelessly. " Old Dobbin hurt hisself last night ; the master will be doctoring him to-day. He'll have him ready by morning though." " Well, one can walk, I suppose, if necessity compels," rejoined Helena, half in the tone of one talking to herself. But she watched the woman's face sharply, and saw the evil smile flash across it, as she said : "I don't think a bonny leddy like yourself had best to try it." "I understand you, cruel wicked creature !" was Helena's thought. "All my fears are verified. You will be a pitiless gaoler, and it would be vain to try to appeal to your compassion." Aloud she said, in a light, indifferent tone : "Well, I can consider that by-and-by. If there's no train it doesnt make much difference. I hope that I sha'n't put you to too much trouble. " She was sitting down to the table, and seeming to eat her breakfast with relish, when the man entered. His eye took a meaning glance at her bonnet, and the woman prompdy explained that the" leddy " was sorry to hear there was no train to-day, and that old Dobbin had such a bad time. Helena serenely informed him that she had no doubt her acquaintance had left her in good hands. She would spend the day in the fields. She was very fend of the air and the fields. But if he saw a chance to send her over to town he must be sure to let her know, for she really ought to make sure of a ticket in the first train. She saw the looks interchanged between the evil pair, but gave no sign of fear or uneasiness, talking on easily as she partook of the breakfast, now asking questions of them, and presently confiding some bit of her own history. The woman seemed curious to know about Hartmann's acquaintance with her, and Helena told as much as would appear to show confidence on her part. When she rose from the table she proceeded to her sleeping-room, and hastily set her portmanteau out of the open window into a clump of bushes, humming rather loudly, to lull their suspicion. Then, with her shawl on her arm, she strolled out into the room with them, thence carelessly to the door. She had settled upon one thing — she would keep on her bonnet, through one excuse or another ; the shawl she destined for a sacrifice, and threw it upon the rude settle in the kitchen. "I'll take a little stroll into the field yonder, and leave my shawl here, handy to catch up if you call me for a chance to ride to town/ she said, smiling sweetly, and

apparently in utter unconsciousness of his lowering looks. He made a step toward her with outstretched arms ; but the woman muttered something in a dialect she did not understand any more clearly than Hindostanee, and whatever it was, it changed his purpose. He let her pass out, and followed himself close at her neels. How Helena's heart beat! yet she lingered heedlessly over one lowly blossom, and then another, took a few sauntering steps, then paused, gazing around meditatively; then moved on a little farthor. How she longed to fly with frantic haste to the road ! Yet there he was close beside her. A single movement of his brawny arm, and he could obtain a clutch that her best efforts could not unloose. It was utterly hopeless while he kept this suspicious watch. She saw a fierce glimmer creep into his eyes, and understood its meaning when she heard the distant rumbling of approaching wheels. " Will he touch me ?" was her inward cry, while a cold shudder ran through her at the thought. "What would he do if I should scream?" But she forced her cold lips into a placid smile, and went back and sat down under a tree, playing idly with the weeds and grasses that grew around her. And though every nerve was quivering with suspense and agony, she never turned her head nor made a sound when the cart and driver came into view and went lumbering by. It was a grateful relief to see her gaoler's grim brow relax a little. He was evidently impressed with her indifference. He allowed himself to widen the distance between them enough to admit of his chopping at a little block with a pile of brushwood before it. Helena appeared to be entirely absorbed by the letter she had taken from her pocket, yet her alert ears caught a portion of the speech with which he greeted his wife when she came out a moment after. "There'll be no trouble. She'll bide peaceably. A baby couldn't be innocenter. " " Oh, to keep them to that opinion," was Helena's thought, " until another passer gives me the opportunity to fly." And to confirm it she walked on farther into the fields, out of sight of the road, and tried to be unconscious of his close pursuit. She gathered both hands full of the very common blossoms, and hung over them as if they had been rare exotics. Twiceafterward she heard passing wheels, and felt like a drowning wretch letting go the only plank of safety, but made no sign of interest or anxiety. After this he contented himself with keeping her in sight, only stopping from his work to look every now and then. A new idea came to her, and her heart bounded under its inspiration. She hurried down to the house again, said something about the dampness of the ground, and took her shawl as she returned, pausing by the man to ask what birds they were she could hear singing so blithely, and wondering if she could find their nests. In sauntering back she took a careful survey of the ground. Under a certain tree she would be visible to tho chopping- block, yet very near a low hedge of cedar. She selected that tree for her shelter, and with the shawl over her shoulders and her veil spread over her bonnet, she sat down with an open book conspicuously before her. The man worked on steadily, turning every other moment to look over to the quiet figure in the field. The woman also came every now and then from her work to glance over there and marvel at the "baby's" innocence. There still sat the quiet figure. They were plainly visible, the black and white shepherd's plaid shawl, the blue veil — the open book. They congratulated themselves on the ease with which they should win what seemed to them a magnificent sum. It was not till broad noonday that it wa3 deemed worth while to disturb this most accommodating quie ">cence. Then, as dinner was waiting, the w man herself stalked out over the field to call .»>r guest. Before she reamed the tree, as soon in fact as she had a clear view between the intervening bushes she gave a shrill cry and j beckoned to the man with frantic gestures. There the shawl was propped up by two dead limbs of the tree, the veil was cunningly tied above with a convenient hair ribbon, and the book lay on an arm formed of a second bough. The " innocent baby " had vanished ! Many bad names were launched after her, but Helena was not there to hear. She had crawled across the open field shielded by the bushes and out-cropping gorse, had gained the woods, and made triumphant way into the road some thirty rods behind the hut. Once there, she sped along with flying feet, carefully hiding herself when from a cross-road she heard a vehicie hurrying along. But when her cautious reconnoissance showed her a tall, overgrown boy driving a waggon, she hurried out of her concealment and beckoned to him eagerly. He uttered an exclamation of astonishment when she came hurrying up to him as he checked his horse, and Helena's heart sank at his words. "The little ma'm'selle from the inn !" said he. "You know me! Oh, will you refuse to help me ?" cried Helena, piteously. He shook his head vigorously, and gave her to understand that he had a deep interest in her, that all the servants at the inn pitied her. " Tom overheard the Frenchman talking to the other ma'm'selle last night, and it proved that it was all a plot to ruin you in the rich mistress's eyes," he said, eagerly. "We told the landlord so, but he is afraid of the Frenchman. What can Ido to save little ma'm'selle?" Helena told her story and her need, and the lad snapped his finger with a boy's delight at being the marplot of a villainous scheme. " Hi ! it's gude luck sent me to-day," he said ; "it's well that it's one o' our teams will get you out o' trouble. And no harm if I drive old Thorpe at the top o' her speed nither. We owe you the gude turn. Come, I'll take you to town, and to a good woman — our own laird's foster-mother. Helena sat down in the cart and cried heartily, and the {big lad eyed her with sheepish looks of pity and sympathy, which he could only express by whacking away at the horse, and setting him to the top of his speed, "I'll come back and get your luggage, now see if I don't," he declared, valiantly. "If it's in the bushes by the window now, I'll have it, and I know the chap will like the job of going back with me to fetch it to you." And thus Helena rode triumphantly into the town, and was safely given into an honest woman's care. And it was through the latter's help that her American gold was changed into a first-class ticket for London, for, as the good woman sagely observed, " it would never do for a young woman o' her looks to go alone in any other but the first-class coach with that night train " It was bad enough at the best, and she took pains to get a new veil to cover from insolent gaze the sweet, fair face of the friendless girl ; and was so kind and motherly that when Helena had been hurried by the guard into the nearest coach of the train which whizzed out of darkness, swooped her up, and then went tearing on again, she felt as if she had taken leave of her only friend. " Sorry, mum, that there ain't an empty

coach," the guard had mumbled, as he unlocked a door and thrußt her in; "if you ain't satisfied, I'll try to make a change at the next stopping." But Helena had scarcely heeded him or his words. Still dazed and giddy with her exciting adventures, she sank with a sigh of relief upon the luxuriously easy cushions, and scarcely gave a thought to the dark figure, wrapped in a voluminous cloak, occuping the seat at the other end of the apartment. She lay back among the velvet cushions, with veiled face, and eyes from which the tears would flow in spite of all her efforts. j She had escaped one danger, but what new one waited the spring upon her unprotected path ? How utterly alone she was ! Never had her own loneliness so appalled and [ grieved her. She thought of her guardian's jealous care with a new and homesick throb stirring within her heart. Of Conway Searle she dare not trust herself to think — that ecstatic vision of love and care, of faith and trust, had been swept away by a black cloud of horror. The most she dared to hope for now was a safe place in which to hide her grief, and honest work by which to learn patience with her lonely life. But what should she do in London ? To whom apply ? The pittance for which she held Mrs Inchbald's order would take her home to America. Should she go back to her guardian? She knew well what that would mean, how it would end. Forgetful of everything but her own bitter thoughts, Helena Yerrington clasped her hands to her face, and burst into a smothered fit of sobbing. The solitary companion of her coach turned his head at the sound, and pushed back the travelling cap from his forehead. He looked at her a moment in doubt, and then asked, respectfully. "Are you in trouble, madam? Is there anything I can do to help you ?" At the sound of his voice Helena started forward, and gave her first attention to him. The moment he finished she flung up her veil, exclaiming, sorrowfully, "Mr Earle." " Mis« Yerrington !" returned he, in utter amazement, rising from the seat, and coming towards her. "Is it possible I see you here alone, and in trouble, I fear. " There seems no end to my trouble," she cried out, bitterly stung by a new thought. "Now I shall not dare apply to Lady Mildmay. What will they think ? What will they say, to know that we came to London by this train, in the same coach ? They will never believe it came about in this accidental manner. Oh, how angry Lady Hortense will be !" A bitter look of pain curled his handsome mouth. "Lady Hortense is already engaged to Sir Frederic. She will trouble herself no longer with my movements. But tell me your grief, Miss Yerrington." Helena told the story with an eloquence she did not guess, and the pale face and pathetic eyes told more even than her trembling lips. His fine forehead darkened, his eyes flashed with indignation as he listened, but he did not interrupt her once. When she had finished he reached down and took her hand in his. "Miss Yerrington, it may be that two broken lives may be mended after such a fashion that at least a little piece and security from hostility may come. There seems a fatality in this meeting here tonight. You are right in thinking that evil comment would come of it. 1 presume nothing would convince Sir Frederic Mildmay, or that Harris, or Lady Hortense Mildmay even, that it was a purely innocent afiair on our part. What a satire the fact is upon our boasted system, our circumstantial evidence ! Let it pass. Miss Yerrington, will you be my wife? I can fina a clergyman before we reach the English border. We stop twice before that. You know that I respect and honour you. I solemnly promise to guard you from further insult and injury, to do my best to make you happy. If I succeed in that, there would be the satisfaction at least of knowing my life is not entirely thrown away." Helena heard him with dilating eyes all ashino through their tears. "Godblessyou for a chivalrous gentleman," said she, " But ah ! Mr Earle, you allow ycur generosity to run away with your judgment. "Things that are wrong will not turn out right. You do not love me, and I shall never love any other than Conway Searle. How can it be right for us to marry even though it might extricate me from a trying delemma ? No, no :do not mention such a thing — do not think of it. Love is sacred, if nothing else below is. We are both innocent, and we know it and Heaven sees it. Let us leave all the rest to come out as it will, but keep our own integrity secure." "God bless the grandest woman I have ever known," he said, impulsively, lifting her hand to his lips. And then he went back and began gathering up his parcels. "I shall call the guard at the first stopping-place," he said. "He will find me a place in some of the other coaches, and you shall have this to yourself. Rest content that I will watch over you with a brother's care, and when we arrive in London I will send the kind-hearted wife of your consul to be your guardian until you decide upon your plans. I pray Heaven to-night, Miss Yerrington, that this Con way Searle may come back to claim the pearl of price he has won. Ah, there is the breakingup signal. Good-night, Miss Yerrington. No one shall have these seats, be in no anxiety about it, for I will speak to the guard. And in London my own man shall attend to you." He turned with a parting smile as the train was stopping, and looked so like Conway Searle that Helena's eyes followed him wistfully as well as gratefully. " Poor Lady Hortense !" she murmured. "Ah me ! we hare trials — the rich and great as well as the poor and lowly. What must it be to love such as he — and to doubt?"