CHAPTER II.

Tuapeka Times, Volume XXIV, Issue 1869, 6 February 1892, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER 11.

PAX IN BELIO. A golden morning, and such a one as one only sees about half-a-dozen times during a New Zealand autumn. The sun, glinting in upon the large dining-hall at Fernbrook, flashed back a thousand fold reflections from picture and mirror and from the costly glassware and plate scattered profusely over the table. It is a noble hall, and of vast dimensions. Its fittings and furniture are mostly of Maori woods, dark in hue, but massive in their character, and polished like English oak. Looking round this apartment, the idea comes to you that the architect who built Fernbrook had erected a feudal castle and supplied it with all the modern improvements and embellishments of the nineteenth century. A glorious morning, indeed, the warm sunlight illuminating spacious courts and galleries with its mellow glow. Out on yonder balcony— where a regiment of the live might parade with ease— what a view ! Beneath, sward and lake, and giant Kauri forest, dim and dark, and set in the midst of a sea of sapphires. East, west and south, ocean aud mountain, and overhead the deep blue arch of heaven. Within a grand chamber, leading from the balcony, and known as the drawingroom at Fernbrook, several persons were assembled on this fine autumnal morning. Iheroom itself was a long, wide ap-rt-menfc worthy of a palace. Bay windows, sleep and roomy as the embrasures of a fort, and curtained with maroon velvet. Rare pictures on the walls. Exquisite statuettes, in bronze and Parian marble. Silken couches, exhibiting elegant taste in the blending of colors. In short, all that could charm the eye, educate the taste, or give comfort to aesthetic senses, found an appropriate place here. Near to an open window, upon the sill of which rested a tiny silver cage, a lady was employed feeding a canary. She *r*M a superbly beautiful woman not more

than twenty-three years of age. tall, and commanding in her proportions, she appeared the breathing personification of that lovely dream sculptured by the famous Iliratn Power. Her face was the splendid, passionate, glowing face of a Cleopatra, and there was that in the well-shaped brow, eyes, mouth, and lip which betokened mind and culture of a very high order. Magnificent in person, lovely in face, Lady Blanche Trevor was ako as fascinating in manner as one of the fabled sirens of old. Within the folding doorway, close by, stood the lady's father, the Hon. Major Bob Irevor, M.'P. The major had been twenty years in the Colony, was a member of the Ministry, owned many broad acres, and a fine country residence on the Wiiikato. Men said that the Honorable Robert Trevor was haughty and distant, even to hia most intimate friends, but it was conceded at the same time, that the major had a kind, sympathetic soul underlying his reserve of manner. Standing here in the full glow of the sunlight, the member for We3t Auckland presented the appearance of a tall, otately soldier, handsome yet, though sixty years had passed him. On the opposite side of the room, and almost hid by the thick drap. ry of the window, stood a young Maori girl, gazing out, upon the landscape beyond. It would have bsen difficult, perhaps even in Maoriland, where the female form retains in an eminent degree the faultless outline and exquisite roundness of the primeval race, to have paralleled a form so beautifully perfect. She was adorned m a costume, which lont additional grace to her dark and resplendent beauty. Eacirding her glossy raven hair a chaplet of wild flowers shaded the oval features, delicate and pure as those of a Spanish gipsy. A loose robe, woven from the finest Mecca flax, girded at tho waist with a girdle of shells, gave the girl a picturesque appearance, when contrasted wiih the costly morning robe worn by Lady Blanche Trevor. It was not the costume, however, which engaged your attention. It was the face Poet nor painter ever dreamed of anything so spirituelle, so gentle, meek and tender. It was the face of a beautiful woman unconscious of her heauty, and with eyes through which the soul seemed to be gazing for the first time in much amazement and surprise at this wondrous, but wicked world For the information of those who are about to visit Europe, let them go to the Moorish city of Tangiers. Within the walls of the Dclgardo tiiey wiii see a picture of Isa Del de Masquin, the famous beauty, and the heroine of Tdba. Here, it appeared as if that old painting had walked out of its gilded frame, and stood transformed in tho living breathing image of Te Coro, th« niece of Rita, the dark, stern house keeper, afc Fernbrook. The Maori girl j had never known any parent but her aunt. Te Papa, her father, a renowned chieftain, had lost his lands and his life together in an uprising against tho Pakeha. The orphan baby had been brought to the Barrior Rock by a trusty messenger from Ihe shattered tribe of the slain chief. She was only two years old then, but tho close, reserved Ri'.a loved the wee thing for the saku of f .he unfortunate brother. At sixteen Te Coro was not only beautiful in person, but, thanks to her relative, cultured in mind. She early showed a passion for music, which was indulged to the utmost extent by her friend 3, Lndy Blanche Trevor and her father among the number. Strange to say, the beautiful Maori could not be induced to adopt the Pakeha fashion of dress, though she was English in everything else save blood and name. Perhaps the aunt had influenced the niece to the contrary. Who shall say ?" Dark, cool, and inscrutable sat the tall figure of the Maori nurse by the huge fire-placp; Three parts of a century had she seen ; and, although it had whitened her once thick black hair, and had left deep wrinkles all over her strong face, it had not dimmed the latent fire of the dark eyes, or retarded tho freedom of her movements. Rita had nursed Mrs. Fernbrook when a baby, had held tho colonel's wife in her arms when Hilton Fernbrook first saw the light of day, and when that dread catastrophe came, which deprived the youth of both hia parents, Rita had vowed in her heart to watch over him to the death. Over by the piano yonder lounges that same Hilton Fernbrook> toying with the long ears of my Lady Trevor's King Charlie. He was a trifle turned tw-nity-one when he started on le grand tour, and he has been absent five years, come the twenty-first of next month — so the major says — who has a good memory for dates. Looking attentively at the young man, you obsprve he is the dpad image of that splendid portrait in oil, hanging on the opposite wall. The painting was executed ere Hilton Fernbrook lpffc for hi* trip abroad ; but there is no mistaking the likeness. Over the face of the prodigal the lines are beginning to show clearly, and the deep black moustache is much fuller than in the porlrait. Nevertheless, it is the same face. No second glance is needed to determine that. A face once seen not to bo easily forgotten. In fill — a very handsome man ; dark certainly, with his strain of Maori blood — yet, with the form and the thews of an athiete In his very ease there is intellectual predominance, born of that self-reliance which an unusual degree of physical power is apt to bestow. Something there had been, mental labour perchance, or sickness, which had evidently left its mark upon him ; but it had in no way diminished liis rare muscular force. A man preeminently to be selected from hia fellows for feacs of activity and strength. Y^u could see the sense of a robust and -» > \<t individuality — strong alike i-.i d - • -Mined reason and animal vigor, p 'rvade his every movement. A man habituated to aid others, needing no aid for himself. It was not the strong, supple form of this young man that engaged your attention so much as his face. The Brat thing noticeable in it, as a whole, was the unmisiakiable sign of a will in-xorable N\» one gazing at his eyes could deny their power of attraction. Large, aright, and

when roused into action — scintillating, like those of some wild animal — it was their very fascination which drew you, as a loadstone, to the man, spite of either antipathy or hate. A disciple of Mesmer or Puyaegur would have acknowledged in the master of Fernbrook, a mighty clairvoyant, gifted abundantly with magnetic influence, and that subtle foroo which holds the will of others in complete subjuction/ Watch him lounging in cosy indolence. The brute he is toying with shows its dislike and its white teeth together, but it does not bite him, nor move from his reach, Why ? because it cannot. See, when he raises his full arched eye to that bright young form by the window 1 Te Coro i» fully twenty paces from him, with her gaze fixed in quite the opposite direction ; but she turns suddenly, and meets the magnetizing glance, only to dye the soft cheek with a maidenly blush. The mysterious force ia so strong in him that even the colonel — schooled as he is in the art of j sang fro'ul— feels its power, must fidget, turn, and gaze at his young friend with a curious gleam in his look, puff more fiercely at his cheroot, and conduct himself altogether foreign to the quiet gentlemanly fashion for which he is so famed. There is another person present, however, who does not appear in any way disturbed by the magnetic power of Hilton Fernbrook. Iset him turn his swift glances upon old Rita as he may, they have no effect upon her. The M.iori dame sits quietly knitting. It is almost her sole occupation now. Betimes she raises her stately head to look hits way, and as she does so, the smile fades from her withered face, and the black eyes grow hard and cold. The breakfast bell peals out by and by, and the guests prepare to descend to the dining hall beneath. There had been that quiet pause amongst the company which usually preceds either of the chief meals of the day, and especially if the party happen to be hungry. Hilton Fernbrook rises and goes to the window, where Te Coro stands, and offers the Maori hia arm. With a shy, upward glanca at his dark smiling face, the girl accepts the proffered courtsey, and the pair go down the broad stairway together, the others following them. "Don't you think there is a marked change in Mr Fernbrook, Dad ?" whispers the Lady Blanche to the Major, on whose arm she is leaning. The father pauses and looks steadily at his daughter. "My dear Blanche, Mr is rather a cold term to apply to one who was your schoolfellow, and is to be your husband," he answers in the same tone. "In what manner is our young friend changed ?" " I cannottell you, sir, but there is a difference in the Hilton Fernbrook who left New Zealand five years ago, and this gentleman who has returned to us/ she replies gravely. " You ask where is the change ? In what ? That, I repeat, I cannot tell you ; but it is there to me plainly enough," "Tut, a woman's whim," says the Major, moving forward. "Your ladyship was always crotchety, from a babyI see no difference in the son of my old friend, save, perhaps, that he has grown more manly, and that five years travel and study has improved both the inner and the outer man in a surprising degree." "Dear dad. I did nob mfan to infer that our newly returned host isotherthan Hilton Fernbrook," she answers with a smile. " What Ido mean is that the youth who left this rock five years ago has changed his nature, without having altered either in face or form. When 1 look at him it seems to me as if other and sinister eyes gazed back at me through tho face of my young friend and playmate. Do you understand V '* In good sooth I do not," responded the Hon. Bob, somewhat testily. " Early rising evidently does not agree with you, Blanche. Try a cutlet and a cup of cocoa. Fasting is not good. It brings in its train all sorts and conditions of morbid fancies. Come to me after breakfast, and then we can talk the matter over." , A npble dining hall, truly. At the head of the massive table stood a high backed chair, carved in Maori fashion. Above all other races on the known globe the New Zealanders are undoubtedly the premiers in the art, Te Waito, the sire of the famous Rewi, spent three houi'3 a day, on the average, for a period of twenty years, on a figure of wood, now in the hands of , the interpreter. Many years must have been spent on the grotesque lines and fine tracery exhibited on this chair, ere it came into the possession of Colonel Fernbrook. It was a gift from a friendly chieftain year 3 ngo, and had neither joint nor nail iv its construction. For just one instant the son of Colonel Fernbrook paused before he took his seat therein — paused irresolutely, as if in doubt, or fear, or both. The hungry company needea no such trivial circumstance, but began a vigorous attack upon the good things before them. There were not wanting toasts and neat, speeches in honor of the wanderer's return, even at the early meal. If cordiiil greetings and flattering words of welcome went for anything, then the Master of Fernbrook had cause to be proud of such favorable tokens of good will from his friends and neighbours. Those, by the way, had received intimation of iiis coming a week previously, and I were congrpgated at the Barrier to give him welcome. The r- cipient of all these courtesies took them very coolly. He performed flic honors of the tilile with perfect ease and dignity. Travel had certainly changed the man in this respect, inasmuch as Hilton Fernbrook at nineteen was both awk «yard in manner and as shy in disposition as any unsophisticated village wench, There were many amongst the guests as-embled to do honor to the owner of Ff rnbrook. who had been on the most intimate terms with him, beside the Major and his charming daughter.

Foremost was Ralph Warne, son of Thos. Warne and Co., bankers. The estate of the Warne's joined the Barrier Rook, hence the two boys had been inseparable friends from childhood. A fine, strapping fellow this young Warno, and of the true Saxon breed. He had been a term or two at Anckland, and returned quite a masher of the first-class. To stare at you through an eye-glass — though it were doubtful if he could see at all — to drawl and lisp with exquisite slowness when speaking, and to decorate hia handsome person after the manner of my Lord Chesterfield on State days, appeared his sole aim and occupation. Illnatured people said he was a foolish coxcomb, with more money than brains ; but ill-natured people do not always utter the truth. It was certainly true that the banker's heir had 110 idea of the value of money. He would have been a plump pigeon for any wurldly Captain Hawk to pluck ; but there were very few of that ilk in the vicinity of the Barrier. Nevertheless, a keen reader of men would have ruled that beneath the outer network of affectation, young Warne was not such a fool as he looked. The rich coxcomb had done some trifling good with hie money, betimes, if the testimony of the gentleman seated opposite to him is to be credited, Alton Lyndhuret is a poet and novelist, Lord help him. He haa a faded look, as of having grown pale for lack of daylight. He looks as if he had worked by night, and lived by night, and as if the sunshine and fresh air were a new sensation to him. He has well cut features, but the outline of his face is too sharp for beauty — no sculpter would choose him for Appollo or Antinous. Large hazel eyeu, bright and clear, full of vivacity and expression, redeem the defec'sof his mobile countenance On the whole there is a charm in his face from the infinite variety of light and shade to be observed thereon. He is a man about whom people rarely make up their minds all at once ; a man who improves upon closer acquaintance, says his friend Ralph Warno. Time was when young Lyndhurst had to support a widowed mother, writing articles for newspapers and magazines. It proved a pitiful struggle, for the colony was not a reading one by any means. By the strictest economy mother and son managed to exist, however, and the poor disciple of letters found time to bend his genius to more ambitious work. He became the author of a new novel. In this effort, in which every hour devoted to its construction has been a sacrifice, the author has striven to rise out of his old familiar snlf to something better. Alas for the faithful work and the lofty aspirations ! The book is a failure, and the kindly publisher who sent it forth to the world is almost ruined by its publication. The Wellington Exterminator, in a slashing article three columns long, falls athwart the ill fated work hip and thigh. Other journals of less magtiitude follow in the same strain, while one or two damn the volume with faint praise. By some means the disgraced book finds its way into the hands of Ralph Warne, who reads it with interest. Some of the scenes therein depicted are, as it were, a faithful record of his own gay life. From that moment the cloud is lifted from the life of the unfortunate Lyndhursc. Unknown to the writer the banker's son purchases a whole edition of the work for distribution amongst his friends. It finds favor now, because it lias had the stamp of fashion set upon it. The newspapers may rail and condemn as they please. The fiat haa gone forth. People who never read a romance in their lives read this one, and find therein much that is true, 30 true indeed that some parts of it fit in with their own existence to a " t." The book brings the author money, and what is infinitely more dear to him — fame. Great and wealthy alike are proud to have him amongst th^m. " Who is your friend ?" asks Mrs Morgan Hardrith, a widow of forty or thereabouts, who has just returned fiom a visit to her late husband's relations in Wales. The exquisite sprig brings his eye-glass to bear on the fair one, and replies in his slow measured accents — " Oh, ha ! That gentleman is Lyndhurst." " What, Mr Alton, the author V "Ya-aa." " I have read his book. How goodnatured he looks." " Haw. Did you expect— a — to meet a laughing hyena beneath a frock coat, madam ?" " I don't know what I expected. He wiii es like a man who despises the world he lives in, yet there is no mistaking the broad view of sympathy in every sentiment. Young Warne stares at the widow almost rudely. " 1 know nothing of sentiment," he drawls. "Itis a trick ot the trade, no doubt, with writers to preach sympathy. It does no harm, however, and it pleases the ladiis." "He is very young," says Mrs Hardrith, adjusting her gold glasses on the bridge of her Roman shaped nose. "Old enough to prove interesting, as the case may be," mutters her companion. " Introduce me." " With plo-shaw." The conversation becomes general. . Hereto'ore the heir of Fernbrook has been the focu9 of 'the party. With wellbred hints and questions pounding in upon him, he has been compelled to give a brief resume of his five years' wanderings, and he has done his task to their apparent satisfaction. There are people here as his guests who are delightful butterfl es. Women whose fetish is fashion, and whose religion is dress. Women with whom to waste a summer's afternoon at kettledrum ; with whom to dawdle away long evenings in a country house, discussing fashionable scandal, or tho last nev» thing in robei. Women, in fact, of no distinctive soul o* personality,— —l*© ie Continued, FIP 8