A DISGRACE TO HER FAMILY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 6989, 18 October 1890, Page 1

A DISGRACE TO HER FAMILY.

(Beljravia.) (Concluded. I bate family reciprocities, having never been used to them. Looking round desperately for something pleasant to talk about, I observe a curious mark, like a finger pointing downward, impressed upon the pane of glass near which I am sitting. "What is thia curious mark ?" I ask, looking up. Arthur and Sarah exchange j meaning glances, I feel myself growing hot j and cold by turns, and wonder what uncomfortable topic I have started now ? The fateß seem against me this afternoon. "My dear child, " says Arthur with mock solemnity, "yon seem bent on digging up all our family skeletons. I begin to feel quite afraid of you. Thia is the boss of them all, or rather its fingermark. The terrace below has been dug up again and again by superstitious members of the family, in hopes of finding the bones, but with no result whatever " "It 18 not a subject for laughter or light conversation, Arthur. You know perfectly well that whatever is done to the window the fingure-marke always return to the same pane. We are accustomed to it, but " " Oh, don't mind me !" I cry, inclined by this time almost to apologize for existing. "You are precisely the person that is to be minded/ cries Arthur, ringing the bell and ordering hot water, soap, soda, flannels and brushes ad libitum. And we soap and scrub, and sponge and dry at that pane, inside and out, till we are tired, with the unique result of bringing the downward-pointing finger-mark into still stronger relief. " Without doubt it is no accidental thing, but a sign fraught with meaniug. Has the dining-room below been examined P" I ask. "Yes; and the explorers were rewarded by the discovery of several nests of mice and a dead rat ; after that the planks of the dining-room floor were replaced, and enterprise fell asleep." "Then they have never looked under this floor?" " No, not in my day $ but, by Jove, Dot, it's not half a bad idea I" " I have no doubt proper search has been made, though we do not remember it. I do not suppose Eva is the first person who has thought of such a very simple and evident place to look in as the flooring — right under the finger-mark." We both hasten to assure Sarah that this time she is in all probability right — doubtlesß the same idea struck everybody who had given the uncanny matter a thought. Mollified by this flattery, she goes downstairs to make afternoon tea, which she wisely never allowed a servant to touch. As soon as she is gone I say to Arthur, with a curious kind of shiver running ■down my back, "If there is anything in the air I feel convinced it will unfold itself to me ; nobody can possibly be more matter-of-fact than I am in my waking moments, but to make up for it I dream." " You a Beer P" cries Arthur incredulously, "I should as soon have expected j to hear a kitten lay claim to second sight, j Pray did you see me in the glass laßt All Hallow'aEve?" " No ; I didn't, but I saw myself looking exactly like somebody else — and wondered. Why, it was you, of course !" The next morning waß the hist of my visit to Hawkesworth as Eva Howard. Everybody waß in the unnecessary state of flurry which, in country houses, so often precedes the departure of a guest by an early train. I It was only when I had taken my seat j by Arthur's side in his dogcart, and he •waa rapidly driving me toward the station, that I found an opportunity of telling him what I had dreamed that night. " I dreamt I waa sitting in the Ladieß' Bower, just as we were doing yesterday, when suddenly I heard the lost bride calling, 'Eva, Eva, come to me.' I looked around and listened, but could not discover where her voice came from. Finally I tossed down a coin that was lying near at hand in hopes that it might fall in the direction from which the voice proceeded; it rolled near the window-seat, just where you trod on that loose board, Arthur— -and then something woke me." "My dear Dot, you have been telling me the merest jumble of the events of the day; that isn't worth calling a dream," said he in his most superior manner, which was just the least bit like Sarah's, and consequently grated on my nerves. " I am going to write it down in your pocket-book all the. same," I returned, taking the reins while he hunted in various pockets for the tiny volume, wherein I wrote down my vision in rather a spidery manner, owing to the rolling of the wheels, and returned it to him again with a sigh of relief, as if the act of recording the dream had lifted some weight from my mind. Twice, in the course of a few months, it has recurred to me, but, apparently, nothing more is to come of it, so I have kept my own counsel and given Arthur no more sybilline warnings. * * * # * Behold me installed at Hawkesworth after my honeymoon as supreme mistress of the Ladies' Bower, the only spot on earth in which lam resolved to be "monarch of all I survey," and never, never, never, submit to Sarah's jurisdiction. The ugly old sprawly-patterned carpet has been sent to Limbo, and replaced by a handsome, Persian rug, laid in the centre of the room, leaving the good oak boards visible all round its edges, Sarah calls them "Beautiful boards, as firm as a rock. OE courae Arthur must have imagined one of them was loose, it is all of a piece with the ridiculous dream that you wrote down in his pocket-book." "You don't mean to say he told you that I" I cry indignantly. " No, he did not, but I always make a point of looking over his accounts for him, or he would be continually cheated. I was hunting in his pocket for a memorandum, if you must know how I happened to see it," snapped Sarah. "You are very kind, I am sure. I cannot even keep accounts as well as Arthur," I reply, feeling crushed. Superstition is at a discount at Hawkesworth, the matter-of-fact would reign comfortably in all our minds, were it not for that weird finger-mark, always pointing downward. We nave returned home in good time for the chase of the red deer, of which my husband is a devoted follower. As for me, I find what Whyte Melville used to call riding at stag hounds has become a less absorbing pursuit than it used to be when it was my - only chance of meeting Arthur without his sisters, and am content to hunt twice a week, or «yen once, if I ride to the meet with him in the morning. I thoroughly enjoy a quiet afternoon at my silk embroidery in the Ladies' Bower, but there are generally half a dozen interruptions just at the most interesting part of my pattern — the most pleasant being from a dear old, tawny. St Bernard dog, Tiger by name. He belonged to Arthur before we were married, but has taken a great love for me. He knows Sarah does not allow him npstaira, so spends half his lime in trying

to circumvent her and pay his ponderous respects to me in my own room. The formality never varies — first he insinuates a paw, and then his person through the doorway, having, as I very well know, previously pushed against it with all his weight, as he has discovered that the latch gives way to pressure. Then he advances joyfully, and scrapes my dress down with his huge paw, next lays his head on my knee expecting a pat, and says in dog language, " Mauf," which I take to mean "Glad to see you." After this he sighs contentedly, as if his mission in life were accomplished, and lies down in the furthest confer of the room with head in his paws, placidly watching me. I am not at all sure that Arthur will return to-night, as the meet has been at a distance, and if the stag has taken a particular line, which we generally calculate on his doing when roused in Farfield covers, Arthur will sleep at a friend's house instead o£ riding home among thoße dangerous bogs. I have ordered five o'clock tea in the bower instead of the drawingroom, and invited Milly and Sarah to come up and drink it with me for the sake of a change. At about a quarter to five I put away my work and draw a round table toward the window, taking a heavy desk off it, which I deposit on the boards at my feet. Of the events of the next few minutes I can give no coherent description. The ground suddenly gives way beneath my feet, and I fall heavily after the desk; I know not where. 1 My first impulse is to look up. Above my head are the substantial rafters under the floor of the bower, and a trap-door closed by a spring, which I must have started in stooping to place the desk on the ground. A dim light fills the room from what is evidently the bottom of the Ladies' Bowet window. We have always known that the glass was continued to the level of the floor, though hidden by the window-seat, but no one ever discovered that it went a few inches further. Under this bar of dusky light is seated — a thing — unspeakably awful, robed in dark silk and Venetian point, rings and a thimble are on its skeleton fingers, a piece of work, once white, now yellow with age, lies in its lap. long tresses of dark, silky hair, that have gone on growing after all other life became extinct, fill softly to the very ground. I perceive, as soon as I can collect my senses, that I am in the presence of the " disgrace to the family." "Oh, my poor innocent," I whisper, "must I share your terrible fate? Why did not God deliver you P" My attention' is distracted by sounds above me, I can hear the tea-tray being placed on the table, noises of combat between Sarah and Tiger, who scratches at the trap-door, whining piteously, then the snufEng and scratching cease. I conclude that Sarah, has triumphed, and dragged him out of the room by the scruff of his neck. I have co often caught hold of the loose soft folds of his well-furred skin in order to see Mm bravely endeavour to tug me up some very steep bit of hill, that a little feeling of indignation creeps into my mind and rouses my stunned faculties. I comprehend that as my best friend haa been banished with contumely, I must endeavour to help myself. Standing under the trap-door I call as loudly as I can : ."Sarah— Sarah I Milly, I am down here — right below you !" bat T receive no answer. It seems as if my voice were stifled among the dust of centuries. I picture them waiting indignantly for tea, and at last pouring out their own, with sisterly comments on the rudeness of my absence. £ daresay Sarah is finding fault with the teapot, as it is new-fashioned — a wedding present. I resolve to try the effect of an inarticulate shout, to attract their attention, and putting both hands to my mouth to concentrate the sonnd, I strive to emulate Arthur's "view" to the best of my small power. I have the satisfaction of hearing both girla rise and fly from the room. Now I understand the fate of the lost bride. It was not the will of God, but the cowardice and stupidity of man, that left her to die by inches of hunger and despair. Her cries for help must have terrified the superstitious household instead of bringing succour. For myself, I cherish hopes of escape on Arthur's return ; he may remember my strange, three times repeated dream, and couple it with Tiger's futile attempts at a rescue ; for I feel sure the faithful brute will come back to the trap-door, in spite of Sarah. Most likely a whole night and the greater part of the next day must be sent in this horrible place. I pray that through the long hours of darkness I may be permitted to retain my reason. Else better I should die, than that Arthur should be chained to an imbecile for the rest of his days. I picture myself dead and forgotten, like the poor wreck beside me, the innocent maligned creature, who seemed to have met death while putting, with her failing strength, a few last stitches to the wifely piece of needlework in her hand. Feeling perhaps the same kind of comfort in it that Marie Antoinette managed to extract from knitting up the wool of her ravelled piece of carpet, I think, with almo3t a smile, of the brave lieutenant who in his strange woodland prison combed his wig on his knee. Alas ! my hair is my own, and my work is above, in the bower. Perhaps after all the greatest mercy that can befall me will be death in the night, and then— then, why perhaps Arthur will marry Miss Muckleworth.! Ah ! What Sarah calls my undisciplined spirit rises in rebellion at the thought. I determine not to die till I have endured to the uttermost extremity of endurance. Oh, that I could find some occupation, but there is nothing in this terrible place that I can touch. My heart sinks lower as it grows darker and darker. At last I speak, to comfort myaelf by the sound of my own voice. " Marry Miss Muckleworth— no, he shall not!" Suddenly I hear a mighty sound of voices, barking, rushing, hammering. The trap-door springs backward, and Arthur's spUM, all over mud splashes from the bog, appear in the opening, swiftly followed by his person. "Arthur!" " Dot ! I will never leave you alone in such a house full of idiots again ! " " No, not till the next meet, dear husband! " But my troubles were over, and the" Disgraoe to her Family " vindicated at last !