TALES AND SKETCHES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5686, 3 October 1896, Page 1

TALES AND SKETCHES.

■} THE BROKEN FETTER. f j [By John K. Lets.] iuthor of "In the Toils," "The Lindsays/* y "On the Track of the Iron Horse/ "The Lawyer's Secret," &b. (All Rights Reserved.} Chapteb XIII. SAMSON AND DElltiAH. A day or two after his return Count Borovitchi called at Dollis Hall. , Maud was alone in the drawing-room •when he was shown into it; but before long Frank Bickersteth lounged in. After a few minutes' talk Maud rose, and taking a large ornamental card, plentifully begilt, from her workbasket, presented it to the Count with a mock curtsey. ' "What is this? An invitation? To a ball? lam honoured indeed !" He was greatly flattered, thinking that Maud had conferred a signal favonr upon him. Frank burst out laughing. "My dear fellow," he exclaimed, "you are not fully acquainted with the ways of the British benefactress when begging' for a charity. There is no wild beast inbre Tapacious. That gflt abomination is simply a stalking-horse. You are, as. a matter of fact, requested, or rather commanded, to: subscribe the sum of two guineas to the Aged Scavengers' Suatentation Fund." "The Aged Governesses," interrupted Maud, only half pleased with her cousin's chaff. " And yon need not be so satirical, Frank. There is no need for. the Count to take a ticket unless he chooses." ' " You will be there, I hope ?" said the Count, with a grave, politeness that he could assume very well when he chose. "Oh, yes, and papa, and Frank, and quite a number of our friends. But pray do not let that influence you." " I shall be delighted to take a ticket," said the Count; and producing his cheque book he wrote a cheque for two guineas, ■which Maud received with' a smile of thanks. After that some chat about the ball followed, and the Count - asked ; and received the promise of a dance. Frank loitered about the room, utterly ignoring the possibly of his being in anybodyfs way. Borovitchi cursed him for a booby in his heart, but it seemed hopeless to stay on the chance of having a tete-&-tpte with Maud, so most unwillingly .he rose^to go. ' ~ ' v ' ■"'■ ;.*■■■ - : " : Somewhat to his surprise Frank followed him downstairs, and drew him into a little morning-room on the ground floor.. " I say, old fellow," said the young man, blushing painfully, and ' avoiding his friend's eye, "do you think £t possible that the Baroness would accept a ticket for this ball?" " How can I tell, my dear boy ? Why ask me? If I am not" Smuch mistaken you should be a better authority on that point than I, or any other "man.. "I was afraid I might offend her. Do you think it would be against the etiquette of— of the societv she has been accustomed to?" " The Count had some difficulty in smothering a laugh. • " , " Well, perhaps it would be stretching a point/ he said, as if hesitating to give an opinion. " But, really, I can't say. Why not try ?" "You don't think' she would take it amiss, then, do you ?" " Oh, I don't think there's much fear of that. I've always found the Baroness very good-natured — quite^an exception to the tule that a beauty must be ill-tempered. You think her beautiful, I suppose ?" "She ie simply the most beautiful, and' altogether the.most perfect woman I have ever seen ; and if I were to live for a thousand years I should not see her equal," cried Frank. ' " Yes ; I'm told the lady has a host of admirers, and you seem to be one of them. Eh ? Don't deny it. Good-day. See you at the ball, I suppose?" and. with these ■words the Count went off, From Dollis Hall Borovitchi went straight to the small house in the semiaristocratic street in which the Baroness Toll Schoffer had taken up her abode. , b "The poor young man was all anxiety I lest, you should be offended by his offering fci ytjn a ticket for this ball — a ball attended by the best, that is, the 'wealthiest, of London middle-class families/ said the Count. . ■ He spoke with an air of scarcely veiled amusementand contempt ; and the Baroness "biting her lip, turned away her h^ad to conceal the expression of her face. "I should think you might land your fish that night if you play him properly," said Borovitchi. • ..... . . " I am not surethat'l shall go," answered the women tartly. "Not go!" „■■.■-.■.■•'■ "It is not safe. Some one might meet me who— who knew me." "Pooh! my dear Natalie, it is perfectly safe. These good, respectable, wealthy English folks do not know the very name 3 of the places that have witnessed your triumphs. You will be the most beautiful woman in the room/, he added; but the sop did not appear to have much mollifying influence. " Do you mean that I should marry that brainless young lamp-post ?" asked the lady tartly. , . ' . ' The Count opened his eyes. ' \ " Why, what do you suppose I brought him here for^bnt that you might swallow him ? I tell you, ybu are very lucky to get him so easily. He ia a first-rate, match. His uncle has n6s6n,andhe is a- banker, enormously wealthy. • I shall see you yet, Natalie, in a magnificent set of diamonds, going to be presented at Buckingham Palace." . . The sugared Tvords had no effect ; and the Count, nettled at the lady's ill-humou,-went on, " By the way, how do you represent yoiu-self to our young friend ? As the widow of a deceased von Schoffer. or as a Baroness in your own right ? You told me, but upon my word I forget." An angry light gleamed for a moment in Natalie's brown eyes. " Pietro," she said in a low voice, " do you know, there are times when I almost bate you." " I hope not."- --" But there are. You play with me, and mock me, and " Suddenly the woman's Voice : ceased. The next moment one great sob sho6k her from head to foot, and she buried her face in her handkerchief. The Count's face wore a look of annoyance. " There, there, Natalie, '' he said, in a (one that was meant to be " don't >c a little fool. You know well enough Hurt I cante marry you, But you inufct

have some one to pay for all this "—he glanced round the daintily-furnished little room — "and settle with your dressmaker. And what better match could you expect or desire than Frank Bickersteth ? I tell you, there are plenty of mothers' in England, ay, and women of title, who would give a year's income to hear that he had offered himself to* one of their daughters. And you grumble as if you thought your lot was a hard one!" Natalie dried her eyes and faced the Count. " Why did you put thi3 young . man in my way? Why are you so .anxious that I should marry him?" she demanded. ." Can you not give me credit for one good action ? What other motive could I have than a desire to see two of my friends happy?" t . •. - "Happy!" The Count rose to his feet. "As a matter of. fact," he said, "the young man fell in love with you at first sight— nothing surprising in that, for indeed, Natalie, you are prettier than ever —and asked for an introduction. I brought him here to oblige him — and you, .too, as 1 supposed. . And let me tell, you this, Natalie: if you don't strike while the iron's hot, if yon allow Frank Bickersteth to go home from that ball without being engaged to marry you — you willregret.it to the end of your life." The Count said this slowly and emphatically, and immediately left the room. ' The night of the "ball came, and Maud stepped into her father's carriage in her white ball dress, thinking, wondering to herself, whether that night would decide •her fate. She had a presentiment that it would. If Frank did not behave towards her as a lover now, when he was in a manner free to stay by her or leave Jier> she would be forced to conclude that he no longer cared. for her. Aimo3t'as soon as. she entered the ballroom she saw him. ■. He came up to her at once, and asked for. a dance as a matter of course. She gave him the nexV one— a set, of. Lancers. But she saw his eyes wandering from one group of dancers to another, as if looking for some one he expected to see. He was very silent; yet she noticed in hini signs of subdued excitement. When the dance was over, he did not ask for her programme, and scratch his initials on it in three or four places as. he had been accustomed to do, but after leading hqr round the ball-room, left her with her chaperon, murmuring something" about seeing her later in the evening. Maud felt much hurt, but her pride cataeto-lier aid; no- ono^^oxild have guessed from her face what the feelings of .her heart were, as she watched her. cousin moving hither and thither through the crowd, his fair handsome head conspicuous above the throng. Half ah hour later she met him almost face to face, but he- did not see her. A woman of striking appearance and great beauty was hanging on his arm. She was so beautiful that people turned to look at her, and half a dozen young fellows followed flier at'a little distance on the chance of obtaining an introduction. Maud's cheeks fltished in spite of herself. A good many things seemed plain to her now. Another hour passed, and she met them again — the two seemed almost inseparable. This time Frank saw her. He smiled, and paused as if he would stop and introduce his partner to his cousin. But something in Maud's face repelled him, and he moved on. The Baroness appeared to have noticed nothing. As soon as she decently could, Maud pleaded a headache, and begged her father to take her home. Bitter thoughts were in the girl's mind during the long, cold 'drive. Tfc was too soon for her to be conscious of more than this — that she had given the love of her virgin heart to one who did not want the gift. She felt bitterly humiliated ; and in spite of all she could do to master herself, the pain wa3 keener even than the shame. Frank and the Baroness danced together often- -too often, as men and women alike agreed. 4 When they parted, Frank hurried to the dressing-room. He was anxious to be gone — to be alone. He had not yet proposed to the Baroness, because he dared not trust himself to pour out what was in his heart in the presence of .others, and the crowd was So great that to find a vacant corner was impossible. He was hurrying 1 through tho inner vestibule on his way ont, when a pale face, looking out of a hood, lined with some snowy fur, attracted his attention. The lady was standing some little way apart — alone. He had no need to ' look a second time. It was the Baroness. In a moment he was by her side. "You here, Natalie!" he cried in a subdued whisper. "I thought yoti had gone by this time. Why are you alone ? Where are your friends?" "This comes of trusting to anyone but Oneself !" she exclaimed, in a mild tone, though her face had a vexed, ' puzzled expression. " Mrs Vavasour insisted that I should go home in her brougham ; and I suppose she has forgotten all about the arrangement. At any rate, I can't see her anywhere. I think I must ask you to get me a hansom." • ' . • ■ ■ Frank was gone like a flash. ; In an incredibly short space of time he wa3 back, and leading her down the steps. ■ • ■ ■ When he had put her into the .cab, he gave the driver tlie address, and put his . foot on the step. ' . ' r ..''.' 1 " No, no," said the Baroness; putting ont her hand, as 1 if 1 to hold him back. "It is quite unnecessary, and I am'af raid it would hardly be proper/ > ■„' ' ' .-' • Frank drew back, fearing le3t he should ,give offence.- The -Baroness -despised' him in her heart. "Besides," .she' added, "you" have" a long way to go, and I am quite near home:" He jumped into the' hansbin at dnoe, and they set off.- ' ' '. : '< l • They were alone, now, alone in the darkened street,' and clo3B together. ' . "Natalie," he began, in a voice that trembled. as hia voice had never trembled before— " Natalie, I can keep it back no longer. You must know thatr-P love you.' I love yon as I think no woman was ever loved before. Natalie, is there any hope for me?" ' . ' • . • He bent down and kissed her face. It was wet with tears/ ' ■ ■ • . • . - — - : - »"• ■ . Chapter XIV. .: A BAD QUARTER OF 'AN HOUR. ' ■••■ "But who is she?" This was & question that old Mr Bickersteth had put td his nephew more than Once. Frank had. told his uncle of his engagement one evening after dinner; and to his surprise and dissapointment the old man had manifested considerable annoyance. The fact was that the banker was very proud of his nephew, and proud of his own conduct with regard to that young man, He often

said to himself, that if Frank had been his own son he couldn't have done more for him, -which was perfectly true. And he intended that, in the fulness of time, Frank should marry Maud, enter the establishment in Cornhill, and carry on the firm of Bickersteth Brothers for another half- j century. He felt sure that the young fellow was good-hearted and not altogether brainless. He would make Maud an affec^ tionate husband, and would be as good as a son to himself. And now he wanted to marry some foreign woman — some idolatrous bigot, or painted Jezebel, no doubt, who. would spend his money, and wreck his happiness. The old man was, indeed excessively angry j but one can't very well quarrel with a man for not proposing tc marry one's daughter, so Mr Ed-> ward Bickersteth was forced to dissemble hia wrath. It exploded, however, every now and then, in the form of incredulous looks, sniffs, and disagreeable questions about the Baronesss : and of CQurse, Frank, to whom the lady and - everything connected with her -was sacred did nob like this at all. So, when his uncle, with a threatening look on his pink face, asked for the third time — " But who is she ? I want to know who this incomparable creature really is ? Who vouches for her ? Who knows anything about her?" he asked with some dignity — " She is the widow of " " A widow ! You, a young fellow barely out of your teens, marry a widow! Oh, good Lord I" This was very unpleasant : but the young man swallowed his wrath and remained silent till his uncle had ceased to chuckle. Then he went on — 1 " She is the widow of a distinguished banker, who " "A banker, eh? This is- something tangible. A banker of where?" • "Of Cracow." "Whew! CraeoV is a long way off. Never mind. You come and dine here this day fortnight. Meantime I'll make some inquiries " Frank's face was scarlet — his hands had clenched themselves. '• Inquiries — yes. Why not ?" asked the old man, with aggravating coolness. "You speak of making inquiries, as if the Baroness, a lady superior to— — " he was going to say, "to any woman I ever saw in this house," but stopped himself in time, and went on — " to the great majority of Englishwomen — how superior you cannot imagine till you have seen her — you speak of making inquiries about her as if she were a servant out of place, or a mendicant seeking relief ! " " Well, well ; perhaps I needn't have used the word. Never mind ; come, as said, this day fortnight, and I'll tell you then more definitely what I think of your Baroness." The day came, and Frank awaited the interview with some perturbation of spirit. Both he and his uncle were stiff and silent during dinner; and Maud, noticing that something was amiss between them, gave up her efforts to make things more cheerful. After dinner Frank followed, his uucle into the study and took a cigar, but forgot to light it. ." Well, Frank," said the old man, with a well pleased look on his face,, "I wrote to Cracow, as I said I would 5 and this is the angwej,". -.-.--:::.■,.,.-;.• ;.. r . ..:-.=•■•.,.•.-..■■..•..,....- •. He pulled a sheet of thin blue paper out of an envelope, and began to read — " ' As to Von Schoffer, there was a billdiscounter — not a regular banker — at Cracow of the name of Schoffer — no " von " in the case. Gluttonous old sinner. He died last spring. Never heard of his having been married; though, of course, he may have been. Anyhow, the widow did . not come forward to assert her claims, for the bill discounter's nephews and nieces shared his property among them. So we may take it that the late lamented Schoffer died a bachelor.' There ! What do you think of that, Frank ?" "Think! I think, and I know it is an infamous lie, sir !" " By private intuition, 1 presume ?" " I mean it is a lie, if anyone says that Herr Schoffer was not married, and that the Baroness was not married to him. She is a Baroness in her own right, and not through her late husband. And it is usual for widows who are ' born/ as they call it, to keep the 'yon' after their husbands' death." "Humph! I doubt it. But that is a point of secondary importance. I have given you ah impartial view of your beloved's first husband. If you care to succeed such a person in the affections of the Baroness, as you call herj that is your affair. But I will not have a person of such doubtful antecedents take the position of a daughter-in-law in my house. To me you have been like a son, Frank." " I know it, sir ; and I assure you I am very far from being ungrateful." "Prove it, then, by renouncing this woman." Frank shook his head. " I cannot do that, sir. It would not be honourable, for lam engaged to her. And I love her too well to give her up at anyone's bidding." " Very well; then it is my duty to do my best to prevent your ruining yourself for life ; and the only way I can put a stop to this insane project of yours is to cut off the supplies. Henceforth your allowance will be reduced to a hundred and fifty pounds . a year, besides the tent of your chambers! I don't think you will dare to marry upon that." The young man's face grew scarlet. For the first time in his life he realised that if a man without any fortune of his own will have all the good things of the world, he may be called on to pay for them in a very unpleasant way. What could he say? The . very pence in his pocket, the very clothes on his back, he owed to his uncle's generosity. The sense of dependence was so- bitter that ho there and then resolved that his first care must be to find some way of earning a living. But of this resolve he said nothing, since t6 his .uncle's ears it must savour of ingratitude. - . Frank's reflections kept him' silent for sometime, and the banker chose to 'think that his nephew's silence was due to sullenness. • '' It seems to me," lie said, "that if a young man is brought up and,treated as a ■son, he owes something like filial obedience." ' ' ; ' "True, sir," said Frank, rousing himself. -• • ■■ ■■ .•■■■■ ■ - .' " lam not unreasonable. I, do not seek to, force your inclinations, and make ybu marryagirl you do not love. . That I have always thought unreasonable. I merely decline to further a marriage I disapprove of." ' " Exactly so." ' "I think you might give up this fancy, Frank,' to please me," said the old man, with sudden feeling. ■ "I alii sorry, Buy but that is impossible." • "Just 6o. J The only point on which I ever, asked you to meet, my wishes ! It is ' impossible/ of course." , Frank made no answer; and the old man became yet more angry. "That is the reward a man gets who brings up another's son as his own. . Well, I suppose I must put up with it. But mind this, Frank : if you marry this German woman you mustn't bring her here. I don't choose'thafc my daughter •"■ " No fear of that, sir," said Frank; and for the first time his voice had a stern ring

in it. The old man resented his nephew's tone more than he had resented his silence. "And for the present," he said, " perhaps it would be as well that intercourse between us should cease." Frank started and stared at his uncle for a moment, then bowed gravely, and said, " Of course, I shall respect your wishes." " When you can tell me that you have definitely abandoned this foolish fancy, we will be glad to see you back at Dollis Hall." -i " I am afraid, sir, that will be never," said Frank, not without a touch of defiance in his voice. Then the two men shook hands very coldly, and parted. It was late at night when this conversation took place ; and next morning Frank delayed coming downstairs till he knew his uncle must have left for the city. Maud was rising from the breakfast table as he appeared. .■ " Well, this is pretty [conduct, sir — but what is the matter? Has anything happened?" she asked, with sisterly kindness. | ; " Oh, nothing. Only that lam forbidden the house." " Forbidden the house ! Frank, you are joking." " I assure you lam not. I took the liberty, yoti see, of falling in love out of my own head, without first, of all consulting my uncle. The lady is not fortunate enough to find favour in his sight — not that he has ever seen her; that is not necessary — and I am told to break my promise to her. I decline. Wherefore I am no longer fit for your company. Oh, yoii needn't look at me in that way, Maud, It is true enough. I, at least, have done nothing to be ashamed ■ of ! If your father " He stopped suddenly, remembering to. whom he was speaking. "I am sure papa would do what he thought was right," said Maud. Her tone was gentleness itself, but the sentiment was not one to carry conviction. Frank bounced up from his chair in a fury. "Of course !" he cried. " Whatever, papa does is right. Therefore, lam wrong. No matter how cruel and unjust — there, I am transgressing again. I had better go, or there's no saying- how I may shock you. Good bye." "Frank ! You are not going like that ? At least take some breakfast !" " I couldn't ; I couldn't eat. You don't xinderstand what this ,means to me. It is ruin. I can't go on drawing money from a man who tells me that I must not visit at his house." "Did papa tell you that?" asked the girl, her eyes and lips open with astonishment. "In so many words," said the young man, grimly.' Maud's elbows were resting on the table. She hid her face in her hands ; and soon the tears began to trickle through the fingera. " Maud, my dear, you must not grieve for me. lam not worth it. Perhaps — who knows ?— this banishment may be the best thing that could happen to me. I could not forswear myself ; I could not abandon the noblest and sweetest woman — Oh, Maud, if you only knew her! Will you come and see her ?" -_■ Without, uncoyeacg ib#c, fftce.. M&nd shook her head. "My father!" was all she could utter. "Yes; I see. That would not do. Well, you will know her some day, when she is my wife. Then you will acknowledge, and all the world will acknowledge, that I have won a queen among women. None can deny that she is beautiful ; and she is as good as she is lovely. She told me all about her early struggles, her unhappy home, her unfortunate marriage. She sacrificed herself for her family, and of course she had to pay the penalty. She has suffered much, poor darling ; and I had hoped that the end of her sufferings had come. But God only knows what is before us!" Maud was now leaning back in her chair, her face pale and motionless, her eyes on the ground. " You are very silent, Maud" he said after a pause. " And I confess I did expect a little sympathy from you. We have always been like brother and sister. But now, when trouble has come, and the future is dark " This was more than she could bear " Oh • don't — don't— don^'t be so cruel ! " she exclaimed. " I do sympathise with you. If I can do anything to make peace between you and papa, I will do it. What else can I do ? How can I congratulate you on your engagement with a lady I do not know, and of whom papa does not approve ?" " Maud, your cold, calculating words are worse than none. Can't you understand that I would value a message to her — even a sympathising word — more than anything else ? But women are all alike. There, we will say no more about it. I'm sorry I introduced the subject." Very little more was said between them; and immediately after he had swallowed a cup of tea Frank left the house. He thought Maud was doing herself an injustice, but he could not forgive her guarded language, her want of sympathy. Long after he had gone out of sight Maud stood at the window, not weeping — she was too proud and too sore for that now — but feeling as if the darkness of night had settled down on her life. Her lover was gone, thinking her cold \ and hard. She was nothing to him now < she saw very well — less than any male friend who would have spoken the few easilyitttered words of congratulation he wished, to hear. But at least she had kept her secret. (To be continued).

can be poured into the stomach and siphoned out again. To wash the blood is, of course, more difficult, as the water has to be injected into a vein. It is well known that the blood of a frog can be drawn off and the blood of another frog substituted without greatly inconveniencing the creature. It was then found that a salt water solution can be substituted instead of blood, to a con--1 siderable extent, at least, and the frog will live and be as sprightly as ever. This fact first gave the scientists the idea of injecting an artificial serum into the veins of a human being, either antemio or intoxicated. The new remedy is very simple in ite action, and can always, it is said, be employed with safety.