RODERICK STUTELEY’S TRUST

Taranaki Herald, Volume LIX, Issue 143550, 15 July 1911, Page 5

RODERICK STUTELEY’S TRUST

Or, "THE SQUIRE OF WESTHAM,” By EDITH C. KENYON, Author of "The Hero of the Black Shalo Mine,” "Sir Claude Mannerly,” "tiove’a Golden Thread,” CHAPTER. XVll.—Continued. TURNED OUT OF THE HOUSE. "You shouldn’t have come back,” said Bates to John, in a low, significant voice, when they were outside, in the drive. "Yes. I know. You look very different. Still ” John turned on the butler fiercely. "D —n youl”. he cried, in a lone and manner so like Mr, Stuteley’s, that the man felt all his former suspicions confirmed. "Since you know who I am, I'll trouble you to 'tell me why you sent md off across the Atlantic on a fool’s errand?” Bates shook his head., Alarmed, he was about to turn away and return to the house, but John seized him by the collar. “Speak." he cried. "Tell me, you miserable scamp, or I’ll shake all tire breath out of your body.” "It was the master," muttered Bates; ‘lie said I was to send you off. He couldn’t-bear the.sight of you.” "And why hot?” cried John, with exceeding bitterness, for oyeTy minute he was really realising more keenly that ho had lost .Margery, perchance for ever. "Why not’?” "That’s more than I can say, sir,” said the butler, shaking his head again. John could get nothing more out of him, nor could Beckett, who tried hard to gain further information from him about the reason of his master’s vehement dislike to his friend. ‘ _ 1 They were obliged to allow him to return to the house at last, and went away, hugely disgusted with the turn events had taken. As for Mr. Stutoley, the butler found him ipoohcrently repeating again and again; “He’ll be - the death of me! He’ll be'the death of me I” while Margery, in" no little distress, endeavoured to pacify him. , V ; _ : chapter" XVII. A FATAL SHOT. "How wretched it all is!” said Margery Stuteley miserably to herself, Into that evening, as in the privacy of her own bedroom she abandoned herself to tears, after having kept up bravely in the presence, of ner rather'and the servants 'all the evening, ever since John had been so unceremoniously turned out.:. "It could not well be worse. Papa is in such a wretched state of excitement, rage, and. shall I say it?--fear, that ho is almost off his head. And he declares, and Bates says so, too, that my dear one, my beloved John is !,ho same individual as, a'hands ome servant-lad we used to have years ago. A young gardener!. And the worst of it is—really the worst of it is, that non- they have pointed it out, I, too, see th« resemblance. I wonder that I did not see it before. He lias the same yellow hair, the same well-cut mouth, the large hazel eyes,, the same complexion, the same tall, upright' figure—only, now, his carriage is better, and his manner loaves nothing desired. But 1 do believe they were right—and that, he is the same man, the very same. And I love him, oil, 1 do love him with all my heart! /How tenderly he drew mfl into his arms, and kissed me 1 How sweet his kisses were!” Closing her eyes ■she lived again in thought those blissful moments. "How fervently he said ho loved me! He had never loved anyone but me. It was so wonderful that, amongst all the scores and hundreds of girls he has met, he loved no one but me. How I do love hiip for it! How I do love him still I And yet—-yet—-can I love a gardener? Is it possible? Gardeners are rough working men—usually at least—they eat with their knife, they misplace their ‘h’s’ or ignore them ‘altogether. Could 1 love such a man?" T, the highly educated, nobly born, Margery Stuteley, the last of her race, the future representative of the family, the heiress of Westham ? Is it not natural that papa should be angry at' the idea?- Oh, but John is not a gardener now. He is highly .educated, a cultured .and most clever artist. Mr. Beckett says ho will' be- a H.A. some day. Mr. Beckett thinks no' end- of him. -AVlmt a nice man Mr. Beckett is! I could almost love him. Great credit-is due to John for having such a friend." They are both good men and true. True? AVas it true of Join) to conceal his past from me? Ought he not to have told me what a very differentposition he had once been in, before making love to mo? Of course he should have done so. But he was impulsive—carried away by his passion for me.” , ’ . , , . Margery sank back in her armchair bv the bright little fire in her bedroom, and folding her dressing-gown of pale blue cashmere about hey more closely fell into a long reverie, wherein John and his love for her, and her love for him’, largely predominated. How Tong she sat there, lost in these thoughts, she never knew. Lovers are oblivious of time. It grew very late. The; house was wrapped in silence Every light in it was put out except' Alargery’s, which could not be seen from outside because of her thick window curtains. Outside, a young, pale moon and countless stars gave a soft and shadowy light. The groat watch-dogs m the yard seemed restless, and occasionally clanked their chains, and uttered short, sharp barks. Gradually, . however, they became quite still. The Squire, tossing on his bed in the room next Margery’s, could not sleep. Again .and again he wcighed the pros and cons of different modes of action. He had been surprised that day into violent repudiation of his nephew, and

in his fear of him had driven the young man rudely, insolently out-of the house. He had been taken by surprise, and had acted 'without duo thought. Should he act very differently on the morrow? Should he send for John, tell him who he was, make a full confession to him, and give up everything into his hands? John loved Margery. For her consent ho might consent to keep the whole affair a profound secret, and simply take the estate as a gift coming to him from her father with her hand. But no, there would bo John's name. How proud the humble ex-gardener would bo to bear the tin.c-honourcd name of Stuteley! Johp was proud and independent. He wmild never consent to take as a gift the goodly heritage which wns his lawful birth-right. No, No!, That would never do. Exposure would follow confession as surely fts night follows day. Everything would become known. Roderick Stuteley would be proclaimed a rogue and villian. His own daughter would shrink from him with loathing. His servants would despise him. Business men would scorn him inexpressibly, The county would cry sham© on him. Young John would justly refuse to marry the daughter or so base.a.man. Margery’s heart would be broken. They would have to leave Westham and go out poor and stripped of all their worldly possessions into the hard cold world. And it was not as. if they could take good characters with them, and mutual love to lighten all their troubles. No. TV ho would employ so dishonourable a man as Roderick Stuteley? His daughter would be quite unable to love him any more. There was nothing to he done, concluded the sleepless man, but continue in the course he had that day begun. John must bo refused admittance. Margery must not be alio-. -d to sec him, or write to him. It would be as well to take her away to France or Italy or even a trip to America for a little while until John had gone back to his own country. Yes. that waft the only -thing to he done. The girl would fret for a time. But she would still have her father to love and honour. And she was young. She might fall m love with someone else. . f What* was that? Mr.. Stuteley thought he heard footsteps in the corridor outside liis team. He listened for a little while. But. hearing no more, concluded that ho had bccmmistaken. .. He was just beginning to feel as it he might scon be able to go to sleep, when he heard another sound in the hall below; but-bo determined to take no notice, for he longed for sleep to free him for a time from his burden of sin and cave. But now .there was a scream in the corridor. Another and another from the servants’ quarters. “Papa!” cried Margery’s voice. “Help! help! Burglars! burglars!” (To be continued.)