THROUGH WIND AND RAIN.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 2629, 28 August 1876, Page 3

THROUGH WIND AND RAIN.

by maby oboizi eat, at7thob 07 " old myddblton's monby." i Yob, that's the portrait of the present Squire. Handsome ? No ; I don't think we old servants ever call him handsome. I dare say you ore right, though, and if we'd known him less we might have spoken of his being handsome. We only know him as the kindest master and the tenderest son in all the world. Yet I dare say you are right, for when I'm here by myself ameng the portraits (the servants wondering why their old housekeeper wanders over the house so much alone) it is always to bis faoe I turn with the beet memories, and there is nothing then to dim my speotaoles, as there is when my eyes rest upon the portraits opposite— you see them ? the portraits of his father ana grandfather. It was just euoh a night as this that ushered in the new year five and twenty years ago; and even now that evening is as clear in my ' memory as this has. been, though Wesmede to-day is filled with gueita and gaiety, and the old house echoes music ana laughter, instead of that one strange cry. Promised to tell yon did I P Come nearer to the fire, then, and throw on Another log* Many •

night r?e sat jut here to see the old year die. Sometime* in that wonderful sfleao* of the starshine s sometimes in brilliant moct> light, when that line of heath road bejoni the park laj like a broad white ribbon on the) brown, and sometimes, as it doet to night and did upon that other night jnat five-and« -, twenty jean ago— panting for it* breath and flying in passionate, tears. Too can cc« now how the poplars, far away againct the sky there, bend like reeds, aad when the hurrying clouds fly by and leave the young moon on* opvered, you can trace that bridle path aeroai the heath, glistening like a ehaUow brook. J cut anoh a night m this it was, wild. we*. and gusty, when the old Squire and I stood watching Bat how's this ? I ought not to be in the middle of my story before I begin. Let as see— there's another New Year's Ere that I can remember, fifty years ago, when tha Squire held his new-born infant in his arm*, with such a smile as we had nerer seen npom his face before, aad stood there in a dream until they roused him to tell him that hit young wife oonld not foe. All in all was the boy to his father from that very night, yet at first ther) m sometimes a fancy among us t^H our master**; great affection for bis son oame second to bit pride in his heir. He was growing old, yon • see, and of (Murse there must have been tunei when he feared that the proud old name would die, and the plaoe he loved so well go to that distant branch of the Capletons, of which Captain Warder was the living representative) —ft cold, middle-aged man, whom the oil Squire never had liked. But now that the son and heir was born, Mr Oapletoo (with some new feeling) turned round and seemed to grow fond of his heir presumptive— as thaw called him. But we didn't, and them wM ■ conviction among us that whenever he ***** to Wesmede it was because he either wanted . money in a hurry or had nowhere else to go. For years after the little heir was bora. Captain Warder didn't come to Wesmede at all. He might have been too angry, or he might have been really abroad, as ifc wti i— ported. Bat gradually his visits resumed, and then, year after year, they grew longer and more frequent. At Wesmede everything went smoothly and happily for the Squire through his son's boyhood; for, though of course Mr WM get into trouble sometimes, as schoolboys will, the troubles never lasted j for the boy was gentle and true-hearted, even if he bad » share of his father's self -will.

So the time went on* uata within s> few days of Mr Will's leering ooQege— when he was to oome home for a few weeks, then join a party of friends and travel for a year before settling at Westmede and taking the Squire's duties upon him. Just as we were dreading lest Mr CapletOß should fret through his son's long absence, • distant connection of his died, leavmg an only daughter unprovided for. So the Bquire, when he heard this, went off at once to Scotland and brought back the orphan gM with him.

Her portrait here? Of course, for she was one of the Oapletons, you know, though she) was so poor that Fre Men hex turn the bows of ribbon oa her dreM, and patoh the pages of her mane. Beautiful? I don't know, because I*Te heard so many different faoM called beanlif nL At first the servants called her " puny ;" then I noticed that the maids grew to imitate her, and dropped their yokes when they spoke of her. As for me, from the tery first moment that my eye* rested on her I saw what won my heart. Her faoe was nsnow and delicate, yet there was a sweat and steadfast light upon it which made it beautiful beyond what I had em befers understood of the word.

How well I remember the day that Mr Will came home from college and found her stand* ing shyly at his father's side waiting for him. Such a glance came into his eye* that, though I'd known them all his life, I felt I'd never seen them properly till then. Of oourse,l oould only guess how he spent that evening, the first through which he had ever had a girl companion at home, but before a week had passed I had seen what made me sad enough. "If Agnes does her duty, Will," I heard the Squire say one nv*»«"*"g, while Mr WQI stood against the low oak chimney-piece ia the hall, with his faoe bent, « l shalljiv* her a wedding portion and marry her to Warder. I shall be doing both of them a good turn. And that reminds me, Will, Luxleigb tells me his daughter returns from Paris next year to take bis place at the head of his house. 1 * No answer from Mr Will, but the Squire didn't notice it, and went on in a pleasant, satisfied tone.

" I've never kept 70a in the dark mto my intentions, Will, have I? You've always been folly *ware of the good fortune in store for you. Luxleigh's estate and Luxleigh's daughter go together, and the prize is to be jours on your return} always supposing, Will, that you act your own part like a gentleman and— a iorer." "AndifldontP* The Squire's laugh rang out with a merriment which had not a grain of suspicion in it. " If you lose your reason during the next year— put it that way, Will." i When Mr Will looked np 1 was passing him in tearing the hall, and I remember wondering how it wai the Squire could be so unsuspecting. When I reached my own room, still thinking over that expression on my young master's face, I found Miss Agnes standing at the window, looking out into the park as she waited for me. When we had held our usual morning discussion she turned to the window again before leavingthe room. "If you are looking for Mr Will, Miss Agnes," said I, standing with my back to her, and speaking easily what, with my oLi- | fashioned notions, I fancied it would be wise to say, "he's in the halL The master has , been talking to him of bis wedding with Mis* Luxleigh. I was re-arranging the curtains, and the master told me not to go, so I heard ' them." - f j She was facing me now, innocently and wistfully meeting my eyes, so my next word* almost choked me. " For years this has been an understood thing, Mus Agnes. Did you never hear it ? You see the Luxleigh property touohes Wesmede North, South, and East. Of course, it will be a wise marriage." She was looking at me still, and the old light was within her eyes and the gentle smile upon her lips, but, oh, the whiteness of her faoe! "I dare say, Mill Agnes," said I, bendm* over my fire. " that you had nerer eren heard of it." •-• . When she went away from the room so quietly, of course I wished I hadn't said s> word, but still I'd done it with the fancy that it might be kinder to do it at once. Somehow it never seemed to enter the Squire's head I that there could be danger to his plans in the dose intimacy between ibia| son jand |Mi*»

Agne»,or in the>harm to Mr Will of suoh a >«?•«* gVI companion in the home in whioh brd netrer known a mother or a sister. As for Mr Will/ 1 don't think ho even tried to feel that Mts« Agnes was like a sister to him, for from tho first he had loved her as brothers aoVt love, and— yes, after all these years I oan say it as confidently as I said it then— firmly as Mr Oaploton'a heart was set upon that projeoted marriogo for hie son, everything would have ended happily for Miss Agnes and Mr Will, if it had not been for Captain Warder. No j even yet I oannot tell how, but I feel as sure of it as I am that that's the wind fobbing on its way across the hoath. When the day oame for Mr Will to leave home ao one saw his parting with Misa Agnes ; but two hours after I had watohed the carriage out of sight, I found her stand* ing at the window with hor eyes fixed on the •pot where it had disappeared, and though they were filled with tears I never saw that triwiful look upon hor faoo ao trustful as it was «t that minute.

I think that Miss Agnes had made a determination that, ac far as she possibly oould, one/would be son and daughter to Mr Oapleton in his son's absence, and it was prettier than any picture to see thorn together — always together. She would walk with him round the eetate, discussing alterations and improve* ments juet as his son would havo done ; his arm' in hers, and always tho brightest interest in her face. She would drive him for hours among his tenants, romemboring everything for him and doing as much in her gentle, qutflt way, to win their hearts as he oould do with all his wealth and powor. She would ride beside him into Exeter on his weekly visits, and the two horses, by forco of habit, icept so oloßely together that it became a proverb there. She would go with him to the heavy county dinner, leaning on his arm MMb own daughter would have done, and so grateful to him for her plain white dress (and making so much of it m her pleasant way) that often when I've watohed them off, ray «ye* have been too full to moot hers — the idea «f it! Tears, beoaußo sho lovod tho old man •owell.

(To be continued.)