CHAPTER II.—(Continued.)

Tuapeka Times, Volume XXIII, Issue 1672, 8 March 1890, Page 5 (Supplement)

CHAPTER ll.— (Continued.)

" When Roy comes home," resumed Sylvia, after a pause, " I shall take an early occasion to let him know that I consider our engagement binding; and I shall hurry up the marrage." " You can't hurry it up too much to suit me," declared her brother, with sudden earnestness. •• lam beset with creditors. I want mouey, and I sought you to-day in the hope of being able to borrow a tew pounds."

•• I am nearly out of money myself. When I become Lady Chetwynd I will settle a handsome annuity upon you, Gilbert. As it is, my poor little income is hard run upon by bjth of us."

The sound of horse's hoofs on the avenue caught Gilbert Monk's attention. He looked in that direction.

11 The steward is come with the mail-bag." he exclaimed. •• See 1 he waves his hat. He must have the long-expected letter from Chetwynd. Good-news, Sylvia. Your lover is on his way home at la3t. I'll bring you your letter."

He ran along the terrace like a boy and bounded dewn the massive flight of steps, iiurrying toward the avenue. The steward came up, delivered to him the locked poatbag, an 1 rode around to the stables. Monk returned to his sister.

Sylvia had retreated to a low marble bench batweun two potted orange trees, and was avrailii>s him with agitation and anxiety. The key of the post-bag hun^ upon her w.itch-chain. She unlocked the bag with eager and trembling fingers, and plunged in both hands in quest of the expecced j[uiz«*.

Several newspapers, a balf-dozen dunning letters addressed to Gilbert Monk, were with Irawn and flung to the ground, and then, last of all, came the letter Lord Chetwyn.l had sent from Edinburgh announcing hi* marriage.

Sylvia caught up this missive, recognised the handwriting, and pressed it to her lip'-

•'It is addressed to me," she whispered. "It is postmarked Edinburgh.. See the date. He is coming home. Oh, Roy, my love", ray love 1"

" Would it not be better to postpone all this frantic joy until you discover what he says ?' asked Monk, cynically. "Of course he writes as a lover, but consider my impa- ' tienoe to learn the fact. I am anxious to know if I am to be bxother-in-law to a marquis or not," Tne girl tore open the letter, and her gleaming eyes sought to devour its contents '• ' My dear brother and sister,' " she read. *■ Brother and sister 1 What does that m mn ? ' •■ We can probably ascertain by reading farther. The letter is addressed to you, yet Biiems to have the air of a family communication. Perhaps he's been wrecked or sick, ilrtad on.'' •' ' Jl,v dear brother and sister.' Oh, that U so strange! How dare he call me his sister -I who am his betrothed wife?" ' G.vemethe letter. We shall never get •in At this rate. And the letter is written as i- cit?me as to you. Let me read it." M <n!c seized the closely written sheet, and to read it aloud in an impetuous •' ' You must have wondered at my long absence,- and more still at my long silence. But I have been beyond the reach of Her Majesty's postal facilities. I wrote you from Ji'crway, informing you of my then whereabouts. Leaving Norway, I visited the Bhetland Isles, and while there fell in with a Scottish clergyman, who urged me to pay a visit to the romantic island of St. Kilda, a mere rock in the Atlantic, a hundrsd miles to the westward of the-Hebridean Island of Lewis. This clergyman, who had, strangely enough, known my father in their early manhood, gave me a letter of introduction Jo his sister and brother-in-law, Mrs. and the Rev. David Gwell&n, the latter being pastor of St. Kilda. Longing for a dash of idventure, and caring little whither I went, I sailed for St. Kilda, arriving there early in August. I remained there until last week. As the island is inhabited by one of the most primitive people in the world, you will wonder what attraction held me there for two months. How can I explain without teeming to you fickle ani inconstant ? But lince Sylvia so generously gave me back my troth-plight, declaring that we were not juited to each other, I need not hesitate to avow the troth. The Rev. David Gwellan has an adopted daughter—' "

••Ah I" interpolated Miss Monk, in a fierce sibilant whisper. " A daughter ! And he Cell in love with her ! Oh, Heaven 1 But be shall not marry her, /swear it !"

Gilbert Monk looked curiously at the lowbrowed, swarthy face, from which the glow - was slowly fading, and then resumed : " ' An adopted daughter, about seventeen yews old, a pure, bright, lovely girl, well educated, well bred— in short, a perfect lady. Sylvia was right. Oar betrothal, entered into at the entreaty' o£ my dying mother, and adhered to by her and me from a sense of duty, has been all wrong. Sylvia and I love each other as brother and sister, and while I live Sylvia shall be to me as my own sister, with a sister's right in my home and a Bister's place in my heart. I made use of my newly acquired freedom to woo this lovely island girl. I could not bare to come away and leave her. And so, my dear J»?»ibaj ajad flits?— do feu not f out tie

truth ? — Bernice and I were married at St. Kilda last Thursday, and my bride is with , me now at Edinburgh, ard I raise my eyes ! from this paper to look upon her dear face-" " Married !" saiu Miss Monk, with a stifled ahuek. " Married !" •' Married !" echoed Gilbert Monk, in a sort of stupefaction, looking down upon the shaking paper in his hands. •' He says married. I—l can't believe it I" 11 Married — to a baby of seventeen ! He is fooling us." She arose and tottered to the balustrade, gasping for air. Her dark face was livid and gray, and the look of agony in her fiery eyes and the contraction of her beetling brows showed the awful tempest that" raged in her soul. She loved Roy Lord Chetwynd with all her soul, all the strength of her strong nature. All her ambitions, too, and they were many, were bound up in her intended marriage with him. And now, at oue fell blow, love and ambitions were rendered alike vain. The man for whom she would i have given her soul was married to another 1 "I felt so sure of him I" she said in a choked voice. " I was vain of my power. I never dreamed he would really take me at my word and leave me. Does he say nothing more, Gilbert? Read on." •' There is but little more," said Monk. 11 He is stopping in Edinburgh to show his bride the sights, and to fit up her wardrobe. He is coming home within a week — will telegraph in advance — would like me to come to meet him. Here is something especially to you, He says you have no doubt destroyed his letters, and he begs you to forga*. all the past, and your duty betrothal to him. He has not told Lady Chetwynd of that engagement, out of delicacy and respect to you. Bernice — that's her name — is prepared to love you, and he begs you to be a dear elder sister to his little girl. And, in conclusion, he wants us to prepare a grand reception for his bride's home-coming — to ring the joy-bells, rouse up the tenantry, and so on. And, yes— Bernice sends her love. That's all." Gilbert Monk crushed the letter in his hands, uttering a series of curses so terrible as to rouse even his despairing sister. " So end my hopes of a rich marriage, and so end yours!" he ejaculated. "My Lady Chetwynd will send me adrift at an early date. But you will be allowed to remain, my proud Sylvia, as the poor dependent, to humor my lady's whim, to dance attendance on her spoiled child notions, to teach her propriety and the customs of civilised life. An adopted daughter of an island pastor — a mere nobody— the child of some rude fisher or fowler of St. Kilda, perhaps— a nobody, in truth, since her own parentage is not mentioned. Think of a chit of seventeen ruling at Chetwynd Park ! She will consider you venerable at twenty-two. And she has only to say a > word to Chetwynd to set' him against you. Curse her 1 Ten thousand curses on her 1" Sylvia Monk drooped her heavy lids over i her red and glittering eyes. Her gray face looked ten years older, with all the color stricken from it. Her low forehead was shadowed with a thunder- cloud of rage and hatred. "He says he has not told Bernice— is that her name? — of our former betrothal, 1 ' Miss Monk said, hoarsely. "He keeps the secret from chivalrous regard for me. He does not care to have his bride know that he could \ liave married me had he chosen, and that I wear the willow for bis sake. I appreciate his delicacy. I wonder what- Lady Chetwynd would say if she were to see hia letters to me? If she has a spark of woman nature in her childish heart. I can drive her mad wiih jealousy. Shall I suffer alone? I will embitter her life and his, and i he shall never suspect my agency. I will — | Why, there's murder in my heart I" and sbe | struck at her bosom with one jewelled hand and her eyes were full of evil glow. '» An hour ago, and I was full of dreams and plans of what I should do when I should become Lady Chetwynd. And now I am bat the poor dependent. Should Lady Chetwynd choose to drive me Irence, I have no horne — must intvitably become a governess, or sink into some cheap obscurity on my hundred p Minds a year. Dt you think I will endure this? I tell you there's an awkward demon within me that cries for revenge — revenge !" and she dwelt upon the word in a prolonged sibilant whisper, as if it sounded sweet to her. " Revenge 1 Bah ! Will revenge give you a brilliant position like this your mad folly threw away 1 Revenge I You had batter talk of retreating to a nunnery, or get a situation to teach in a girls' school. You might have been a marchioness, but you flung your chance away. Shall we go away from Chetwynd Fark like two discharged servants before my lord and my lady come home ? I think it might be better to hasten our retreat into the obscurity to which we shall henceforth belong." "I do not. I shall stay at Chetywnd Park until I become its mistress. You atare, I told you that you do not know me. No nameless chit shall rob me of my love. Oh, Roy ! do you think I will tamely allow her to stand between me and the goal of my love and ambition?" " What will you do, then ?" A change came over Miss Monk's face— a look so strange, so fierce, so deadly, so menacing, that even Gilbert started back in affright. 11 What I shall do remains to be seen," she answered, in a serpent-like hiss. "I shall not take you too deeply into my secrets, Gilbert. Old Ragee, my Hindu nurse, is all the friend I need. But of one thing you may rest assured—my plaus of grandeur are not frustrated, only delayed. I swear to you that in fifteen months from this very day I shall be the second Lady Chetwynd." " Bur how? I can't understand — " She interrupted him with an imperative gesture, and a look ttmt showed her to be the more daring soul and the leading mind of the two. " Ask me no questions, but obey me implicitly, and your prosperity is assured with miue. We must prepare a grand reception for our happy pair, and you must go to meet them at Edinburgh, You must win the friendship of my lady ;"' and Miss Monk sneered. "Go to them, and leave all the rest to me. Make your arrangements at once for their reception. Give orders to the bailiff, the steward, the butler. I will summon the housekeeper, to a conference. And when all is ready, teltegraph to Lord Chetwynd and be off to Scotland, leaving me in charge here. That is all, I tbinls. I will leave yon now, and you can impart to the household the happy news of the marquis' 3 marriage."

She turned away and swept across the terrace swiftly, but still with sinuous, serpent like rush, mounted the grand ascent of marble steps, and disappeared within the house.

" I wouldn't stand in Sylvia Monk's way for a fortune," said Gilbert Mont to himself, gazing after his sister, and civing an involuntary shudder. " Sylvia has been so long under old Ragee's tutelage that she sets no value whatever on human life, except it is her own. What is she going to do? She means mischief, that is plain. In India, among the natives, human life is held as cheap as rush-light, and Sylvia has imbibed from her old nurse many of the peculiar ideas of old Ragee. €an it be— But it's none of my concern. Sylvia shall manage her affairs to suit herself without my interference, although 1 shall be ready to share the profits. Only I would not insure the life of Bernice Lady Ohetwynd at any risk. And now to do as I am told — to call together the servants and tell them that Lord Chetwynd is married— and not to Sylvia."

He straightened out the crumpled letter and went into the hoitse.

He called together the steward and the butler, and briefly t()\i them the important news. The household at the Park had fcttftWD of the ecagef ent of. mamace that

I bad existed between the marquis and Miss I Hunk, and had not been told that that enI .casement bad been broken. The surprise, j therefore, of the ruling servitorß, on being told of the marriage of his lordship to a lady of whom they had never even heard, may be imagined, and their curious glances etung Gildert Monk into a sort of sullen fury, which he concealed as best he might under an exaggeration of his usual boyish, off-baud manner. . ' He went to the house of the bailiff, and communicated to him also the news. _ j He gave orc'.ors that a grand reception should be prepared for the home-coming of the marquis and marchioness, and superin- ! tended the arrangements himself. The next day he went up to London, and proceeded by an early train to Scotland, telegmphing, as we have seen, to Lord Ohetwynd that he was on hia way northward. " I may as well seem friendly and congratulatory, and all that," he thought, as he neared his destination. " Better mask one's real feelings especially when they are such as mine. 1 can safely leave Sylvia to avenge her wrongs and retrieve her lost position. By George ! I wish I knew exactly what she's plotting. But one thing I do know : Better for Bernice Gwellan had she lived and died at St. Kilda I Her marriage with Lord Chetwynd will prove fatal to her 111I 11