ROAN BARBARY.

Timaru Herald, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 12897, 7 February 1906, Page 2

ROAN BARBARY.

(Continued.)

" I don't think it is good for Mr Treloar to know that so many beautiful kulies are fighting about him," laughed JLiss Musgrave, "and I don't see that there's any ■way out of the difficulty but to toss up for it—heads and tails."

"Pauline," remonstrated her mother, j'"how absurd you are! Mr Treloar will imagine that you don't want him. to come fany more, than Miss Paysant wants him to •lemaiOi'aad then what could he do!"

"The only course open to him it hen," murmured Miss Musgrave. " would be for him to go to the village inn. and be thankful he wasn't torn limb from limb by the infuriated- mob."

"What ; nonsense!" said Mrs Musgrav9. ''Xo-w.'Mr Treloar, I-wili decide the matter... ■ 'I will" send over a trap for vou, and you can then come directly to our house. You need not say 'no.' for I will not listen to it, and I am going now s« that you will cot have a chance to back out."

She moved towards the door, accompanied by her husband and Pauline, the rest following.

I •'* % the way," she said, turning on the Verandah, " I'm going to have quite a party at the house, and 1 should not be at all surprised if we get up a You must be sure to come. Miss Paysant, and bring your father. I'll send you a note to let you know when it is."

Paysant walked down the steps, and stood bareheaded by the carriage af:er the Musgrave family had seated lhemsf!v«s within in and the footman had motmted to the box.

. '•'C4ood-bye," said Mrs Musgrave, and befoio Paysant could undertake the elaborate peroration he had planned, the carriage had departed. ' " She seems a well-meauing woman," com-mented-Paysant. "nor with the air of the great world, of ecurse, but still distinctly well-meaning." " How can you say that ?" crkd Cicely, indignantly. "I thiuk she is unbearable."

"Really, you are excessive," said Paysant, iu his stately way. "We should be more charitable' to riuwo whose early advantages were not the same as ours." Then turning to Treloar. " And so we are going to lose ycu." "I,don't know. I'm sure," said Treloar, helplessly. ..."I seem to jiave been disposed, of. without exactly having anything to do with it."

"I shall be sorry te have you go," said Paysant, "and hope that you will he able to return to us very so<»u." He departed, .still exevted by the calU which, in the life he had led for years, was a great social event, and pleased bv tis*;,eviction. that he had perfectly played the part of a grand seigneur. " Please say something," said Treloar, when he found himself alone with Cicely. "Why should I speak? What is there that I should, say ?" she answered, sternly. "I must go now. You will probably xrant to get ready. Johnstone will help you."

'■ Cicely," he cried, seizing her by the hand, " what could I do? I've had a vague;- idea- for .<.oine time that I ought Eot.U* stay so long, and when these people appeared with their invitation. I felt that I could reconcile going -away with seeing you for a day or two longer, for of course I shall drive.over regularly." "You interui to do that?" "Of course I did. And it will onlv be for a shot time, anyway—until I am well enough to g.-> to town. Bat of course if yoa-—"

'Please do uot tliinfc that for an. instant-. had any choice about what yoti did." she said coldly. • "No, no," he answered.' hurriedly, "I dop't suppose ytu did. That was just it. And then y<*u seemed so willing to gee lid of me. I just let them all settle it as they, pleased." ,

"Y-ou certainly didn't make any tions."

"I didn't want to.go. I don't want to go now—and I'll tell you what I'll do. if you'll all agree to keep me here. When they send o.yer for me I'll send back a note that I can't stand the ride, and won't come.'.'

."Really?" said the gill, and her face brigkteuecl.' .' \ "Really," answered Treloar. '','Yoaj can't suppose that I let them, go on fori any reason in the world except- the reasonl I have told you." "And you would-rather stay here?" - ! '• Much rather," he answered, with unmistakeable sincerity, " with all the 'rather' there is in the world. Cicely was sHaafc for a moment,; and as lie watched her > face he salr that her mood was chaugiri''. "No." K he said, at length.'"you must go. 'after all. I was very silly." I was jealousr-aiid I insist that* yon" shall go." She held out her hand for hfm to take. " As if they could make any difference now. I want you to go. I want to feel that there, in the kind of life you have always lived and known, you ore thinking of me. I w.uit .to that although lauline Musgrave imagine* she has y u \i there. 1 sea'iy have got* you here." Treloar "drove over" on the next day and the next, but on. the third ciav he did i:d|i come. ' :Gi; ..tl-e fourth, when, he arrived at :, ;!itr;e before noon—hi.s habit had oaen to' siun -iYuiu the ik-sgiaves" directly aiter luncheon :.r,d make the"five mile.-; th.ir separated I:lm l\»:n Waveriev in a sjood twenty-minutes. -Cicely tried to as if nothing had happened, but in spite ui' her -heroic endeavours her eves looked a quisHon her nuigue would not "utter. "A kit of the people were there, and I couldn't got away," he explained. "Yes." she answered, striving not to appear reproachful. "■They've begun to tier for the oance. a«d :ea!iy they're di>i.:i: ir verv weii. . 'Hie grounds. K.wnhviied and the liotiM- (iecoiaf? I. and th? hotel i:: the vi ; - l.'.u;- taken bodily aiv.l iixed op s'i>, the-c:-i-,vil thai ::re coaiinjj from awcy." "1 won't 2;-.:'" rcciaimed C'iceiy. '" )'v~ never beer, a- a ball hi n;y life, i-ml I wouldn't k::>.:-.v wUai {•• say <:;■ h-w to acr." ■" V'-r; ror.'r :" ceinr.iei.te 5 '!':;■'::::•. h\ anrivpii. e:!'. i positively." ."I. sh'-ahi lie frightened half I to death,'and wox'Ci'lsb so "stupid and a.vk-

ward that you would be ashamed of me. I never could bear it." The prospect* of the ball had filled Cicely with dismay. She longed to £o to it as eagerly and yet as timorously a* any young girl" longs "for her first ball--that ever-wonderful "first bill." where at last she is to realise the treasured fancies of years, where she feels there await adventures inconceivable, pleasures illimitable, sensations unrealizable: that "first ball." where will be music such as was never heard, flowers such as were never seen, and perhaps a lover or two such as no one ever had. .Cicely had lain awake many an hour trying to fancy what it would be like, and had tearfully made up her mind a hundred times that .she would .mn -appear at it. Iha* she had " unmade " her mind as many limes . more did not matter; or seem to make her decisions any the less real. What waaSrthe to wear*? That was the question that had presented itself with all its awful insistence.

" But you will—you must." cried Treloar, earnestly. <

" No," she replied. ' •*•" J"es —you must say yes." he urged. " Perhaps," she answered.

For the nest three days, and during* those hours when Treloar was not a**, the! In use. Cicely strayed listlessly from place to place, usually, however, concluding her aimless wanderings by a visit to the stables, where she spent much time in conversation with Johnstone, who had cheerfully confessed himself mistak*, and whom she had forgiven for bis suspicions ,iad remonstrances.

" Oh," she said, wearily, one moinkg as she stood watching that, invaluable functionary, as he prepared an undoubtedly salutary, but certainly not fragrant, mixture for an ailing horse, "it's awful to be poor." "There's worse things, and there's better things, Miss Cicely." said Johnstone. " But ain't you placed beyond such consideration for good and all? Aren't you going toi marry a millionaire; an' aren't you going to hold your head up with any of"them?" "Why," cried Cicely, as if the thought had just occurred to her, "do you suppose he is rich?"

" Will." chuckled Johnstone, " there isn't much saying what's rich nowadays, when steam-yachts is more plenty than carriages was once, but I think he'll do very well. I've been making inquiries of some of the Musgraves' men, and tbey tell me he's just about the best that there is. goin'." "Oh," cried Cicely, brcathlesslv. "what shall I do? I never thought aoou: that at all, and I'm such a pauper!" "1 don't sec what's the differ«ice." said Johnstone philosophically; "so long as he's got enough for two." "But—but—" began Cicely. "If things had gone the Vav that they ought to have," grumbled * Jchnstoac. "you'd have had all that any one would need. But oae thing's followed another, and I don't see what's to be the end of it."

"Is there anything new?" asksd Cicelv anxious!?*.

"It's uld and it's new." continued Jijn stone. "There's Milnes Avin-jer— M " Milnes Avißger?" said VlceU, quicklv. "Can he d<» acything?" "Xot now; but the time might he when he could. Do you know what ,i umrraas* is?"

"les." she said: "something y< u promise about something you've g«V s.» that some-<>ne else will give yr.u mon-»y." " Well, that's not it'exactly, but yon've got the idea." said Johnstone" with deliberation, and carefully pouring « few dnps from a small "bottle into the preparation m the dish before him. "But a mortgage on the _ place was the only thing .-dter Tharp failed—after getting your papa t« go on hh note with all his lyin? pmmlses about the money he was going to nnfce for him." -

''■ That was a long time ago," « a ;d Cicely.

"It was." responded Johnstone, "and Tharp's come to what he deserved."

" I saw him creeping through the village a few days ago." said Cicely. " His shoes would hardly hold together." and his clothes irere all torn. I was so scrty for him." "Sony for him!" exclaimed Johnstone, contemptuously. "It's scrry for yourself you should be. If it wasn't for that thief—that man like a iow cramp—things would, be comfortable enough -here. We'd have, the place free, anywav, and with that we could pull. through." With the twenty-two thousand dollars he stole from •us your papa might feel *.ure of the roof oyer Ids head: but now,;* Johnstone continued, with rising anger, "every time I pass that pen where he Lives over there by the river, in which I wouldn't put a mule, much less a horse, the sight of it does my eyes good." " Poor man I he must- suffer dreadfully in.that miserable hovel," she said. "But why couldn't papa get .the money?" "No viie ever questioned the 'claim, but what was the use of goin-- t<> law with a man that hadn't a penny?" "And he owes papa twenty-two thousand dollars ?"

" An's likely to owe them, for what conld that water-rat. living in ;• shuntv chat s<»ai» squati--" ;-. •.-•-»-.-,;■" *.• ~-",. * ~,

claiming. &., ,viih a auni li.Vc ii.,-; r i .-\a* to think he was once a man that kept his haises and had a hit of un.nev of his own •" "How ilid he lose it?"

"That's what nobody <-..<•;.* m.ikt out : but he was just one of those shifiiess beggars that never could do anvthing. money ju.*t slipped through his -i-iire*.*."" "But if he couldn't pav?" ::n*j.iiv v.ig. ge-teii Cicelv.

"I toll v«u." interiupte<: ,jV:sim ■ mr. .',- crdedly. "such men i>ugh: ;<= !h* si.ru nv. the w.y they tell m'e they «:,i-.- ».-.-iV. T'u-re'.-' n.» >en.>«? r..n- justice in : .". X'-.n st tins mortgage should iie f<>;v.'"<>svl " •■Wh.i;", ;i:,n'" .->\c'i Ciieiv. "Wfii. I; iiii.ifits t.. ;i,iviii- the «.!-»•.•

"" S, !,i ;*" >"..;. fxc^.'l-.-..?- : . •->■«■•." i;e .tn.swcrcti. 'wi.riMiJ »;>•■ ii.'.vij;» a:iy(i::;ig {., ,s,,v ,••«».•.!•! it. .\r-<! i'.rrvi* iru;:iri ',u> Avruge:'s o"r;.<Ti.*e.'* "He iv.iuid i»(tv i: ro?"

He's v. inv.i ir •"<■:; yi'jrs, f<-;' v.h.j 3:s- ---> ;< s n:i'a::um. ;■•< • w«th *!:<: c-udg*'

i*.;- -.v.-;.-. y..:ir ;,i;,"ie;. !;■•'! snap i" «]■ <Ji<i ":!ii ;t ir.:.. ( hotel. ,i:ni wo never usuM get ;c back, or it wjr.'ibj't be t:«s «,inia

to g«*t hzck if we caahl.*' •* He w«u3«3 dt*??'<-y WavetUsy ?" crisl Cicdy. "• 1 <wq\A at** bow than, a»4 « can't l»c jM.».*3b2c."' 4«»HJi*"«r,e .!«h/*«k hi* head **mvwwlx..

When Trelwar arrived h* »»«- thxt, Ckw3v bid *<» her mkwL Htr j«y a?- his appearance reem&i «canp«©(i with a curtain utMccaMrfffieii whmK&M. ao4 be fell irslinctivcly thai* there ***: *c*mc ttwate; «.!' im jwrtatK* about which *hc wished t*» speak i<s hitn. "What is it?" he *;aid. when tier «-«« a.W in Payvint* "ofSce." the wall* mf which were drcaraJted with the prctf* of gre*l_ racers of the past iwcnty-S*© year*, prominent among these, of txmtvc 'being the pktnren of " Roan Barb-try, the prw. perty ©f (»e«>Brey Paywact, E**|t*.'* " Y>:a. never told me that y*m ««t« rich.*' cried Cicely. reproachfully," aauj ««tiߣ down on a small bale of pamphlet* m whicb were described the b<*r*«e* to be faoad ojwo the WajrerJcy Stock Farm. "How extremely ibnaghtlew T he answticd. " But. then, you kn«w. Tin »<*?„" "Are you idling the trothV* «hc »*k*<l. looking at him doubtfully. "It all depends on what ywa call rich." he repHed. placing hiuuelf on the "wf-Scc" table. ,**nd pushing the papers ?ba.t coveted it into a wujmj confusion. "That's what JohniHone said."

"As a guide, philosopher, aad friend." commented Treloar. ■" Jmhtwiflße *c*m* a great success. I sgppate it «» W wh*» told y«»u that I was tichf

"Yes." she answered. "May Jr.b;i*lone—mind h»* ow« htOM jcess !"

" Do you o»s* about my SaUtics to hist? 1 won't. But he* ulic'rfiJy j»«*cin l"v<got that I can sspeafc l« about yae, and if I di«n't hiive hiai I'd jo*t have v» think and think."

** And do you thiafc oj mtV he a*JB*«S eagerly.

"Of course I d«*." «hc atuwerei. " I haven't got anything else t» d»." " But would you. anyway T" he itm*4e4. " I don't kacsw." »he began; ebea *eeiag the look of disappointment m'hi* face. *he hurried on : " Ye*, ye*; yea ktww I wovii, always and everywhere. Bow do y«m manage J« make me say such thiajpn? * 1 don't want to do it. *I want b» be arch and indifTcjcnt; bat t cao't. I uaJy »i«h I cou/d. I'm mrt xm'd like me ever m much better—if—if you hadn't be*o w *am from the first*"

m " I believe." said TreWr, critkaljy. " that there is a popular delusion tv> the effect that a man really <r»r*w for the woman who treat* faun ia a fa*hi<.ri in which she would not feel justified ia treating an intnudvc biH-collcctor. It'* a theory that's Wen floating «baat for «, 4ong time, but I fancy that, like a g***l many other ideas that have oomc from the g»i*vd old day*, it doc«:"l h<»24 now." ** l>«csr!'t it?"

" 1 should think not. If the wwmen «,f today Itied any of the bgt*tiatbg Hill* ways of the heroine* of the pa.*t. you'd just *es os g<ct up and dcjM2r„ with all the hast- «hat j«tiSii«ncs». woald allow."

" B-s-I," said Cicely, feeling that the «- vernation w?s bei%.ming too abstract, n<>t to say to be interesting, anc hint back with her asnal t*e»s t<« she witter in band, "yam hafe toM me."

"Oh. about my bcSr»g rich? Y<»a *ee. I'm ,v» Virv little rich t'jat 1 migh; ci*i!!y fosg?: to akentian it."

" I'm awfully—fearfully pc-or," she *>ai4.. " Did you kni-w it? Do you care?" " Terribly," he answered. Laughing. ** I'm only nwitying you for your m«»ey. aji<i of course, now that I know the truth. * all imisJ l>e nt an end between tw * — l believe th.it's what th*y alway* say." " Bui iiii^y.""

" But tnily." he said. "I'm twl ivh u<»*.v; bul then 1 m.'y be some dsty —that »*. if you'll make Uvc to Uncle Jim and win his old-gentlemanly heart." " Very rich?" she asked. " Vc*. very rich," he answerei, doubtfully. " I luvcr liioughl ol>ont it at all." the said : " and then to find you * millionaire 3 I feel as if I were getting you under fal»« pretences. Yes, leally. I'd rather y*»u hail been poor, jud had to work, and udl that."

" I wouldn't." answered TreJoar, decidedly, "if >«"« all the same to yr.u. 1M .much rather have it as it is. Still, if you think that my prosperity in any way detract* from any romantic charm I might otherwise have, ,I'H sec what I can d» about it. I might take to speculating, y«a know; in fntsi, thete are a down way* in which I might become an interesting pauper." " You know what I mean," *he impulsively. " t hate it that I'm -poor. I want to have everything to give you. I believe you think fm pretty, and 1 *c«n to amuse you—why, I don't understandbut I want to have everything, m» tb*t yon will be satisfied always." (To be continued.)