THE MYSTERY OF MORDAUNT HALL.'

Thames Star, Volume XXVII, Issue 8323, 14 April 1896, Page 1

THE MYSTERY OF MORDAUNT HALL.'

(Concluded.) CHAPfER XXX. MISB FEHKLEIQH'S LAST.

Laid in a rude pine coffin, without shrive or shroud, they buried he' 1, in the twilight of the same day, in the dreary prison burial ground. And among all who had admired the brilliant widow, there was not one to look hu last on her how, or mown over that unhallowed grave.

And a week later, a long and stately procession followed the plumed hearso that bore General Clifford to his last resting place, in the vaults of tbe old monastic church. And the lion of the day—the talk of the country—this modern hero of romance, Edward Clifford, fo lowed as chief mourner, looking unspeakably handsome and patrician in his sables—a corsair or a lord to the life.

There had been still a third funeral —a very quiet one—and General Clifford's younger son,so foully murdered, was also laid in his long home. It was a grievesome week with its three funerals ; and straightway they were buried and out of sight, people set themselves to the task of forgetting as rapidly as might be. It was the old sublime lesson of life over again—your fate and mine, some day —told in three words— Dead and forgotten. Perhaps of all who remembered, there was none felt the pain or loss mor« acutely than Sir Everard Fernleigh. His astonishment, his indignation, his disgust, were altogether unutterable. And he had been so awfully near making a donkey of himself too,

' Thank heaven, I never asked the woman to be my wife !' was his first fervent aspiration. *To think of her being so stupid as to let herself be found out!'

But he missed her terribly. Like Lady Clara Vere de Vere, the * languid light of his proud eyes grew weary of the rolling hours,' and like that high-bred beauty, he sickened of a vague disease'—the horrible disease of ennui —more horribly than hydrophobia itself. The long September and October days were endless; no one to amuse,, him—to play witching little games of harte— to sing him to sleep —to read to him in a voice that was as the music of the spheres—to write his notes—to arrange his pillows and footstools. Sir Everard fel a prey to green and yellow melancholy, and * man delighted him not, nor woman either. 1 But Adeline was happy—emancipated Adeline. Free to ride into Dareport,and over the purple hills and golden downs, and shingly shore, with her dark-eyed Adonis, bound in the royal scarlet and gold of the service. Free to make love to him, and bring him to the point, and elope with him, if he chose. But Algernon did not choose—he was a great deal too lazy for any such exertion. He stroked his brown moustache, and resigned himself to be petted and made much of with a gentle resignation touching to see, but he didn't reciprocrate— not much. But Adeline saw him every day, and all of every day that parade and mess dinners, &c, didn't take up, and Adeline's cup of bliss was full.

There were other beautiful people in the world, too, and, perhaps Blanche Grey and her lover led the list. Don't ask me to tell you how happy they were. As if I could do it! You have been that way yourself, I daresay, and more than once, and if you multiply your emotions tenfold, you will about hit the mark. The nuptials were fixed for May; Blanche would not hear of anything sooner. • We are very happy as we are, my co'onel his fiancee said, hitting him with a rose spray. ' How do I know I shall be half as happy when a humdrum Mrs Clifford V Besides, I shall wear my mourning for a year. Ah, Edward, he was very good to me—the dear old general. Surely that tribute to his memory is the least we can pay him ? Cousin Edward acquiesced, of course. What command of his dashing little superior officer would he not have acquiesced in 1 And he was so happy—so unutterably blessed as it was. The Hermitage was still his home, and Bill was still his faithful henchman, though a more skilled valet has late y been imported. He was very busy, and very happy. fl he old priory, so long left to desolation and decay, wa-* being repaired and fitted up Workmen, upholsterers, landscape gardeners, hosts of hands, were at work to make Mot-daunt bloom as a rose. When bride and bridegroom returned from their blissful wedding tour neit autumn it would be Mordaunt Waste no more, and the • tide of waswl, tb*» bl«z« nf t»nW wnu'' "■'gn i?> ha^ls nr\f.p ngrs-'n , '- > ; '* rpues iifi- airiw garments, <*"v -~

most magnificanfc trousseaux wa«i ready, themarriagesettlementssigned. tbe bridesmaids named, and the guests bidden to the marriage feast-

And it came, that cloudless morning in May—fairest month of all the year—and tbe very birds in the grand romantic old woods seemed splitting their throats, ringing out their songs of joy. The silver chimes of the oldchurch rang jubilant peals and wedding anthems, and tbe charity children strewed the road with flowcri, and robed in white, chanted canticles of joy ('amentablv flat by-the-by). And Blanche—La Princesse—beautiful, stately Blanche, with her violet eyes and mignonne face—the virginal blushes coming and going beneath that priceless bridal veil. ' Ah ! if I could immortalize myself by painting her! « Blissful Bride of a Blissful Heir,' as Mr Tennyson remarks of another high-born couplenothing short of a poet laureate could possibly do her justice^ As for Maclean—nay, let us beg his pardon - Edward Clifferd—he looked as he alwa*s looked—grand enough, royal enough, and handsome enough for a king. Well, they were married, and kissed and congratulated, as I hope we all will be gome day, and the nuptial feast was eaten, and the healths drunk, and toasts made and responded to, and Lady Grey and the first bridesmaid, Miss Fernleigh, wept copiously in clouds of Honiton—Miss Fernleigb, probably, because it was riot herself and Algernon, and my lady becanse it was the correct thing to do. And Harry beamed serenely and ineffably calm in society, and thought the whole thing extremely Billy and in • superably stupid. And the bridegroom chaffed horribly, as the impatient wretched are prone to do, and could have seen the whole of the speechmakers and toast-drinkers at the bottom of the English Channel with all the pleasure of life. . But it ended at last, and travelling gear was donned, and Edward Clifford handed his bride into the carriage, and sprang in after her, with a' Goodbye, old fellows,' and they were off and away.

Side by side thpy sat —it was two months later—watching the sun oE

Palermo go down behind the peaks ot Etna. Wbndrou ly lovely looked th ;t Palermo landscape, lit by the finking sun, and wondrously lovely also looked Mrs Kdward Clifford gazing out ujou it with dark, dreamy eyes.

The English mail had just arrived— and Edward sat, or rather lounged beside her, sorting le'tears, papers, books. H-* took up a volume, clothed lettered, very neat, and cheap !>t 3s, 6d.

' Here, we are, Mrs Clifford,' he eaid removing his cigar to make the remark —there are v cea that even tlie all purifying influence of the nuptial kr,ot cannot break - 'here we are—your husband's Infest liter-iry effort, neatly bound in cloth ' The Beauty of Bangvil'e, fir-t edition,by Kenneth Maclean. ll!nst>tC(l by Brmvne. Front'spioce of the au'h r. Cnmplimenta'Y notices of th>: \-r< s?. Wish to see it, mad^me ?'

Blanche pi.unced upon it with n lit le cry of del'ght. ' How nice ! Wh»t a cbarmincr fnrtraif, Edward ! Only—not half h rjdsome enough !' A profound salaam from iho nvi'h n\ ' I always thought I should like to miriy a Ut<;iary man ;:nd see hmv the drearc)S of my 'ifo come true ! Vy Ed ■ward, my h-?rr., ray author ! I won >v i^s any one in th'-'wiJe'world ha f s happy is I. When will you bcpi'i ano her, '- ousieur Kenneth M ci-i 1

' Shan't wiite auy more,' said h?r husband, lying back andle'ttrig iime^t' be canssed wi h the gi^nd norcliaLuico o£ lord'y mao, *I'm going in for the dokefar nlenle after thi", and yoi.r duly be it to see th'it none cf my r»so leaves are crumpled, whilst you sit a* your Icrd\s feet and wave your per'irmfd fan. I've heen es=ayig , magiiz;QP hack drama 1 ist. storytell t, long Piiougb, I'll wrap myself in the le yes of the lot'is for the future, livo in Tif-ct«r 'md ambrosi.i, and my wife's fini-ep, 'idl t the world slid"--!'

' "Xou'll do nothing of the sor% sir !' Blanche r-plied. • Your wife's s-inil-a will be few and far between if you arov/ fatandhzy. No, sir-I married that ' disiinguished author, Keunr-tli M »cl«jn and that' dis'ingui^hed autnor ' hn fimst remain to the end of the eh per. llp must eclipse DisrjieM-^—nut-Hfp >d Hemd —or Lori Penzmca will i-suo divorce i'

• Very well, you fin ill am zh;, d t < nrage yourself. A yt.!ii:sg for n q i t life. What are husbands goad fi>r *_-1«t Ito ob'y 'heir wives V And rkh'r he-* — en passant —l may remark, tJ»r,t •Kenneth Macl-an has gone in for literature once again. * Maclean , is decidedly given to allitrratro i, y«m mu.-t have rond in tho "• M -trn-ng M: ufchy.' If you ba^'a't and £ you have any '»fto for dashing and very l'glfe lits«nt"ir.-. I strongly recommend yr-u to p ?ms '; on "c. '}* '■ f-n . ' ')■'■'

crossedj»nd recro93ed. Aad ihis is what Mis 3 Fet nleigh had to say, in the strongest .italics and capitals— 4My Dearest, Dearest, Dearest Blanche,—ls the honeymoon over, and h*ve ,y< v recovered your sense 3 sufficiently t"> hearken to anything fo cold as mere friendship ? If f?o, O friend of my soul hearken unto me ! I, too, am going to be rn<Tried ! • i he rr.urder is ont nnd I may go on. Yes my own belivad Blanche, in spite of kdw»r<l Clifford, Algernon and I are about. *o wed ! Oh, blissful thought. He wouldn't pr post 1, and us for encourf.g'raent g.md havens! the amountof encouragement I've ihr wn away upon Algernon would make the very hair of your chignon rise 1 And then came the awful news, a week you Ift-hia regimor.t ih« ~ th i oya! Artillery, was ordetel to Gibraltar ! To Gibraltar! Fancy my feelins/s ! I never said a word to anybody. . I t«ok a bint from my late prcceptres3—l loaded a pistol with coffee beam, mounted Flash of Lighrnins, and rode off to conquer a- die ! I had no mamma to make him declare his intentions, and papa, ever since the loss of Mrs R. has been moping like an old hen with the distemper. I rode straight to the barracks, demanded to see Lieutenant Duff, ordered him to mount and ride with me, and once out of sight and hearing of everybody, I drew forth my deadly weapon and presented ifc full at his fourth waistcoat button!

' * Now, then, Lieutenant Algernon de Courcy Duff,' I said in, that hoarse, Sepulchral voice in which Ristori plays Lady Macbeth ' you have trifled with my affections long; enough ! The —th are ordered to Gibraltar. Algernon Duff, you will never go to Gibraltar alive!' 1 Good Ged! Miss Fer—Eernleigh, •^ha —what do you mean ?' he said, ■with chattering teeth. * What I say, falsest of men 1' I responded, in deeper bass still, '. ' Have you not devoted yourself to me for the past eighteen months ? Have you not been my escort everywhere—riding, dining, walking, sailing, dancing, singing, erenin eating ? Ha v 1 n't you, I ask ? Didn't the Dareport Morning Scalpel announce in its fashionable column, the rumored engagement of the • dashing and gallant Lieutenant A g -r—n D——f, to the beautiful and accomplished heiress of Sir E d F h?' Didn't ifc, I demand 1 And now you're off to Gibraltar, and I'm to stay behind with a broken heart —a mark for the finger of scorn to poke fun at! Never !by the manes of the Fernleighs! Learn, basest of mankind, how a young and innocent girl avenges the wrongs of traitorous man! Prepare to meet thy doom !'

And tb^n I cr.ckel the pistol a little more. You remember, Blanche, how poor Desde-mona iooks when thnt blackavisfid [Moor growls, in a voice like the double-distilled essence of tbnnder, ' Have yen prayed to-night, Desdemona V , Well, ,* lgy lonk^d like that. He was white as a shee<-, upon my sicrei honor!

' Good Ged ! Wan Femlaigh— Adeline—dearest Adelioe! dent do anything r;ish \> ('le w<s thinking of Air? River-", you see). ' I l'>ve you—l adore you ! u-on my soul I do! and I'll sell out of the —th. and marry you tomorrow, if you likp. Only, tV>r Ged'a sake, put up tbat horrid pistol, and listen to reason !'

•I put up the pistol, and listened. And the result is, we are to be married next week, When I gat home that d»y, I sat down, ;<nd I laughed, and I laughed, and I hugged, uatil Sir Bverard, s<*nt up a man with his complimeuts to kn--w if I had gone nv»d, Algy has fl"ld out of the Artil'ery, and is on'mg straight to Paradise with ms, instead 5 cf to Gibraltar with the regiment. He i-i to clnnge his name, too, and become a Fernldu-h. Pity he can't inherit the till", isn't it 1 Lady Algernon de C utcy Duff Fernleigh wouldn't a- und so badly, would ii ? • Papa has pgieed to everything—ns I told yon, he hasu't the spirit o£ a turoip tinse the loss of Mrs Rivers * Marry every man in the Artillery— butchers, buk-rJ,and cnndl< stick makers! that's what lift to me when I told him "f the affair and asked my own hand ia marriacrr.—for poor dear Algy h ida't courage—« only for heaven's sake let him alonf 1' 11 J ia ve let him alone, and he has given me carte blanche, and my fr v seau ?a almost equal t > yours, and I hve ten bridesmaids—five- in pir.k and five in straw color—and I have no time fco write more, but live in hope of nieptia«: you in Paris next Octobpr. Meantime, deares', dearest dearest,. BlancV, «

sign mys If, for the kst time, devotedly thine, * Adeline Fernl^tgf. P.s.-—How is darling little Flo and your husband V TKE END.