ROAN BARBARY.

Timaru Herald, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 12898, 8 February 1906, Page 2

ROAN BARBARY.

(Continued.) On the day 'on which, the ball was to take place it was arranged that Treloar was cot to drive over, but oitat they were first to see each other at the Musgraves*. He had promised to watch for her entrance, which he had described as triumphant,., and. she had done her best to stop him in his highly exaggerated account of the effect she was sure to produce, -although she desired with- a foolish longing to listen to his words, extravagant as they were.

" You'll have to take the old grays, miss," Morris said, as she ordered "the carriage" for ten o'clock. "There's nothing else, as'you know, left in the stables."

" I know," she replied. / . " The. prices some .of them horses has gone for is a sliame," growled Morris. "Yes," said Cicely,- "but they had 'to be sold;" ■

" More's tlie pity " ; "then he continued, more clieersfully, "There'll be great goings on to-night, miss." . "I suppose it will be very fine," sighed Cicely.

"1 think I could find out the belie of the ball," Morris went on. "What do you mean?" "I mean yourself," he answered, unabashed. "An' I think Mr Treloar "11 be thinking so too." "Morris," said Cicely, severely, while she blushed slightly, ".you must not say such things. It is not becoming."

"Beg your pardon, misa; I didn't mean nothing, an.'' it just slipped out." " Now remember," said Cicely. "The grays in the" carriage at lent an' it's lucky got even tliem; tie stables never were' so empty since I've been oh the place' he paused, and qt.ickly went on, "They're savin' that Michaei Tharp is very low." Morris was always, in some' mysterious way, .more than well informed as to' any .pews' that there micjht and many a long gossip, unresenled by Cicely in her 'loneliness, :but put hiim -quite l at his ease. ■ "They say it's a; question'if he can live -for canother t wen ty-f d arbours;"; Morris' continued; v " The 'dtictor -was "rleft aii old woman he got• • from ?poAhouse to take tare of'ldmbut tiiere'3 littlebope." ' i.wohdw if- I <dUs^aEytHing'?^ She; had-oft«i -been called to iielp the -.si€fc§^-4^atei^brorgig y who bad ■not forgotten the time wlien 'the "Paysants <o'ere" and- traditional sort ofvrcjiy, ;lstilV. the- faniily for a6sistance..^v-Thfireforft r ihe idea'of per-. sonally. giving "aid to the dying man came easily and naturally.

:1 v _ him that robbed yojuvown father, ; ;Mjorris. " That should make" uo>.' difference," Tshe said, impulsively. "I am ,'at ones; you must come with me. ture thai.ftver Jived ; should. DQt be„iyf to die in Li .si' I'tf. It certainly, was a ..mlsetajale pice, and: as Cicely, followed by Morris, descended the rough pathaway, it seemed I tboher the mors awful from her knowledge-of - what ifr contained.' Making i«r way across the" rintidy--jOpeu space before the house. : she stood irresolutely gazing sn»all cracked door. "._ .. , v , . , " I told you not to ccme. Mis? • Cicely," wliiapered, Morris. - • r '> -. "But, norsr that- I; have corner.jTm ; not going back," spe ; answered, and-, knocked on the rough, lit tie: lie<sitat iilgl^ An old woman opened :a«iiv stared inquiringly at her. "I heard," murmufe<£\VfJicely,' ""jthat there was some one ill, and I came to see if I could ■•offer;<anyt^iito-T-^do^^sthing." "I guess/'/ answered 'the 'womiin, hoarsely,. "that he's past doin' for. All that's left for. him an easy deaths an' he ;.seenis*"going off "peaceable enough. "But you cap see, if you like." " f==«i She 1 jthrew djpen seen muqjf sickn|Ss in , inviting places to be 'easily immediately stepped boldly* ii£"while ifotris .lingered .at thp .tluesholdV' On a low bed, : covered with a Kudule of laya man. evidently 'Stejpy} weak-.-'but stHl'; perfectly' conscious, Cicely, "entered he slowly opened " and lialf- turned bis bead. bfl.s . '' "I hope," said' Cicely, ./".tliete is scniething ithat I can do i lieaid that yott were not well—"... ; " Who. are you?" asked the dj'ig man, feebly. r-.-- i , r,. -x.-i ~.. She hesitated a moment, and then answered' him. ." lam Cicely Paysjcit/' she 'v..;'; 4<< Kiyi«B®T' Ke . rarsmg- Sinisidft on "Bis elßow and looking " at? bSf' WliSffflyO with eyes. " Thei-? is onW' oW 'Pavsant?' 'feGSSCti'/yi. it. Hi'/'.-;--n -P»ys:tQt'si''fdaßghte!rv:V' -Asd you come here?" eaid Tharp, spea3ting with an inflection that in the tones of such a huihan- wreok- as it;dtd of better things—for a vives much, and is what he loses last in his downward'- ever •qrtltfe-htßeJj l l ft' at all.

"I.heard stthl4r.yOiivwere alor.e." she continued. "I thought ..that you might need aid."

" But. don't -.-you--know."- cried -Tharp, " that- your father and I are enemies—that for there has been nothing between us biit* I -.injured hwa. and—- " Do not think of that nowsaid Cicely; " you are. not strong. The exSitement cannot be for you." "What is good for me Or Bad-.can mat-' ter but little now. I cannot live—l know, it, I feel it. This is th& end—a different end from _what I expected in the • beginning, but it's the end. I shall die floor—die here like a rat in a hole, without a thought from any one. But w'iat is that to me? I've lived without- them.: I can die without them. I won't- have around me now. Not but. taut I couii'--not but that I could—"

It seemed as. if for a moment he h;i■; forgotten her and wfts talking to himself. "But can nothing to done?" asked Cicely. " Can. the doctor do nothing—" "Doctor'" exclaimed Tharp. '"I dc;f want one. I sent away the one who car:' He couldn't, help me," ;md it would me-i.: monev —money—"'

"Money, money," grumb'ed the old v-< - man, who had remained in the room. " ~ejins to think he's got it. An' I'd li!c* to know vhere my pay's to come from."

"Do what you can," whispered Cicely, " and I'll see that it is* all right." " I'm sure, miss, you're very kind," said the old woman, brightening visibly. " What are you saying there?" demanded Tharp, suspiciously. "It 'ou'd 'most seem he thought we'd come to rob him,'' sneered the old woman, contemptuously,' turning away. " I remember now," he went on, passing his hand across his forehead. " You said that you were Geoffrey Papsant's daughter, and that you had come because you heard—'" '

. '" Because I heard that you were not well," and all alone," -said Cicely, .as he paused. ■ , ' ;

''lt's very strange,'' he said, "very strange that it should be you. Do you know," he cried, with sudden fierceness, 'what happened in the past? Do you know that they say that- I robbed your father?"

"I know," answered Cice'y, "that whei you were in difficulties papa lest yoi money, and that you never paid him."* " And still you come here!" he said, curiously.

" I suppose that- you couldn't pay it. or you would. Certainly .if you had been able you would have given what you owed to the man who did what he could to help you, when you knew that he needed the monev."

He needed the money?" repeated Tharp, dully. "We have always needed it," continued Cicely, cheerfully. "We need it now more than ever; but that is no reason why I shouldn't come and try to be of some use at such a time as this." "When I am dying," he said, faintly, and evidently .exhausted by the unusual exertion ol the past months. " And you're the only oneof all of them to think of me. It wasn't always like this. I had friends once, and was respected, but they've all forgotten that time. What use could they have for a beggar like me? What could they expect to make out of a ragged pauper/ What had 1 to give them,?" .. He raised his voice ■ in. his excitement, and Ins strength for a moment returned, to him. "Nothing—nothing—as they thought; arrd so each of them stavs away, leaving me to ;die alone. But you come, where there could be-nothing to .get—you. Geoffrey -Paysaafs: daughter—the smu

He tried painfully to continae, but lus •voice died away, and he sank back upon, the squalid couch, gasping and powerless, .i "'ls—is-hd .dying?" whispered. Cicely, as the;old woman, advancing, bent over him " Not now, miss," —she —said, - unconcernedly. "His time isn't up yet; but he can't- last long. He's been taken like that sevenil times .before." ir* £ shall-.send Doctor Trcndaie. here,'.'-' said once." She turned to go£ ;. she said, "stay here and dof what -yoti can. I will go for the doctor rpyself, and when he comes, tell him that? T "say-you jiire. to 1 as long as' •you can be'of any use." ,r . only an angel like yourself, Mis» Cicely,' said Morris, " that 'd reconcile? me to she. J.ob of. looking after- that old devil that stole-what was yottiu." J " Husli * ; she said. - -.'"You sjiouldri'tj say sucji things.okpae who is is'" suiii distress," A . - 7 V, . » . ;He. isn't -the only i one that's -hi (Ms-' lieithpc," -Morris. "' But rl'.ll do what saji iUss Cicely, and now' do you; run und-ifetch. the doctor."

It was late when the Paysant driven by on& of the stable " boys." ea-tt-red the Musgrave gates. There wetej many reasons for this. Iu the first plaiie; Cicely had experienced several panics and; undergone numerous changes of mind. Site; had begun her the bull' w.ith some sense of pleasure and eachilaratson *\ but. she had advance^L N *Jihe h,«d become depressed, and at into deep ) despair. She would ' fdbk like a ; fright—she was sure she one .would dance with' her—they wouldn't.. At last she was ready,! or, as she assured, .herself, as ready j's' 'siio' ever -cbbrd'Tibpe' to be, and she steppwi--jbefore the _sxn!ill, jnijjror to view the Sinai i reu-Tult of all'lief She u-js! ibUge'drto 'confesa to'.lierseU etTect seejned to.be quite it was with a real pride that. stancUng?^.tiptoe, gazed at. her .reflection: v certain'v iiitii never looked 'better, and the couscicu-.s-aess yt her imquestionahle piettiness V gavc' h'er new heart. She would "do" ve:y weJl, sdie t'doaght,: aisd with a little h«igh!- • P? cplour And'., a ; »vf' b'piatK'v l! i ati mind. other's wOiild' tbiitk' s>o she would ; be' ti - Iv success " ; perhaps "he would see her-'the centre of an admiring] throng; perhaps—perhaps—in klios t, as; Cicely stood before the glass she thought; of .all bewildering, bewUfe&ng "per-J hapses-.that ■ haVe[-'filled tl@ro|tttoa anil' idazeled the eyes of so many they: liave. stood taking one before: the great worrd. Cicely smiled for an instftnt? with irrejiressible pleasure, and then", the fear that* .had been with her for days' and nights returned, and she was miserable. Shfr might be absolutely, radiantly beautiful. but" was she " all right was her' dress as it should be ; was all else as it .oughb.to. tje_? . ' "'He"- knew -ttb well, she rfeftected, and she was with sudden tremor; Pauline Musgrave, she realised, would be (to distinctly all that was fitting, and she was filled Vith-iiemay. She even cried a " dabbed" away carefully. At length she slipped from the room and hastily descended the stairs, intending to join Paysant in the "office," but as ehe reached the last step she saw Johnstone in the hall.

"Johnstone! Johnstone!" she cried, "I'm all readv for the ball. How do vou think I look?" " Johnstone's hand was c.n the knob of the door, but he turned immediately, and Cicely laughed outright as she saw the effect, of her appearance upon him.

" Miss Cicely." he said, in an awe whisper. "I trould have known you.'

" Do you think I am nice?'' she asked delightedly. " Miss Cicely," he said, turning anwalking slowly around her, " you're look ing beautiful—be-yutiful!" Then with ir repreasible enthusiasm, he added, "You'!

make all the rest of them sorry that tbev c;une." "Jolin3ione," exclaimed Cicely, "you're an angel. But where 5s papa?" "He isn't going," said Johnstone. '"Not going?" cried Cicely. "No." and Johnstone drew r,e.irer; "and I wouldn't insist upon his goin' if I was you." " Oh. Johnstone!" she exclaiaied. " No." he continued, slowlv; "he isn't feeling well, and he's bothered about business." "Then I won't go myself." " Now. Miss Cicely, don't do that. It would fret him thinking you were losing the pleasure, and only make trouble for him. Promise me you'll go, since it's best for liini." " I'll- see," she said. Before Johnstone could speak. Cicclv had fled, and was standing before Pavsautwhere he sat'bending ov-er a desk. " you coming ?'" she asked.' " No—no." he answered, slowly and wearily. " You must so alone. It mav not be quite regular. I riifuld. of course, be with you—but in the cour.tiy—and then Treloar will be there." Cicelv stood for a moment in doubt. "I should feel." he went.on, "that, if you do not go, I was depriving you of the pleasure."' "I'll go," interrupted Cicclv. desperately. " That s right, * he said, encouraging]v. "Go and enjoy youiself; and," lie continued, glancing at her, "there isn't any one that has a better right." " Do you believe that any one will look at me?" she asked.

"Everyone," he said, hopefully. "If I can remember anything about" a ballroom, I should say they wouldn't look at anv one else."

"But," she objected, "yoa haven't "been anywhere.for so—so long, and there is no one to tell me if I am right. , Oh, I wish it were all over!. If the carriage would only come."

" There - it is now," said Paysant. : " Go, for you are late." "If you we:e ocly coming!" moaned Cicely, tearfully, as she bent over to kiss him. , Therefore it was late when Cicely, assbtedby a lighted at the Musgrave • door.

" I'll wait in the carriage at the stable." he whispered to her. •Bat she did not heed him. In her excitement *slie was quite ■unercfcious cf 1m existence, or of the existence o; the carriage from which she had just descended. She saw the rows of lighted windows, she suddenly caught the quick burst of ihj» gay dance music, and her breath.c.mie in short tremulous gasps, while she slightly shivered. ' At the head of the little side stairway by; which* the guests war?' expected 16 a»cend_ she. was met by a maid, who ujjtcted

her to a rocm in which she was received by _ another, who took her wraps, and in impennnal and even forbidding manner assisted Keif- in-, final adjeatment of iier feown .-widj hair. . s . . j " Th«;fiist stair to. the the woman said. as.CTody stood prepared at last. She h&iihsdf-imconsciously expected to meet Trdriar; at- the very first moment of her and disconcerted her. "

< '" Yes,—- alie answered, meekly, and i«he left the rfom in what she felt was ;< sadly demoralised .condition.

At the- tap landihg of tlie stairs "on tl-.e right i" she paused and glanced r.vcr the balustrade. The hall, as in so of .the newer country houses, was the 4.«geet roonp iu house. and ft: was these was chiefly gocag. on. "As <she looked'--timidly down she saw-the tops |of as itlieyr wbfilfd :bejnoSfli lmL while «s!ie contiuuel htr inspect!tm' fhe waltz mnSic died aw.iy and 'the.'turnmjr couples came t<? a,standstilL .Her heart beat so violently tfrat involuntarily sh'e-'put up her bund. It had been bad enpugfi - to descend -the main stairway alone and before all the oceupaftts of the ball-rwom ! ♦ -