Hugh Gretton's Secret.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8466, 17 June 1907, Page 2

Hugh Gretton's Secret.

By EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS. Author of "Selina'N Love Story," "A Si*lendid Heart," "Brave Barbara," "The Temptation of Mary Bar," "lite Interloper," etc., etc.

CHAPTER 1.-Continued. ' . The peasant woman who had carried her thither had absolutely no facta to give about the child, save that its mother, or possibly its nurse, no onu could tell which, had died suddenly at a little village inn some half-dozen miles away, while evidently on a hurried journey, and that as no one had come to attend the burial, or make claim to the child, the innkeeper's wife had thought the best plan would be to take the little waif to the mother superior, and ♦ lay its case before her tender and wise judgment. Sigrid, when she was old enough to understand the matter, was taught all thero was to know about herself and her history. She was not depressed or haunted by the sad fact that she was, so far as could be ascertained, quite alone in the world. She was so very, very happy with her dear sisters that the meaning of mother or father had fallen with no real value on her ears. She had listened to all that the sisters had to tell her with deep interest. Vaguely she had felt sad and sorry for the poor little baby left alone in the in the world when that Englishwoman had died so suddenly. She had woven tender dreams about the possible story of that child; but the loneliness, the emptiness, and the pathos of the orphan's lot never came to her comprehension as an individual cause for sorrow. How could it? She had morß than a dozen mothers; she was the loved child of the convent. Her beauty, both of mind and body, seemed to give her a sovereignty which everybody, even the other girls, her playmates and fellow students, recognized quite contentedly, and she was happy—oh, so happyli , ,' . The years glided on golden wheels, and Sigrid grew to girlhood almost unconsciously. She had been named by a young sister, who had been the first to hold her in her arms on her arrival at the convent, and who had pleaded and obtained permission to constitute herself chief guardian of the baby. Sister Theresa had conceived the idea of christening the child Sigrid. "Her skin is so white and her hair so golden, she looks as if she had come from the land of the sun," she had said. | So Sigrid was the name by which the child was known, although she had several names of saints given her in her baptism. The surname of Carleton was added for the simple reason that an envelope, empty and unaddressed, had been found crumpled in the pocket of the woman who had died, and across this envelope had been scribbled in pencil a word which the nuns had deciphered as being Carleton. They added, therefore, this strange English name to the others they had bestowed on. their loved Jittld one. Sigrid possessed this same crumpled envelope to this day, when she was sitting looking out over the gray* ocean, thinking yearningly of those dear, lost days of her childhood". She had alflj all the clothin and the money that had belonge' the dead woman. They had jealously guarded by the nuns, in case they might be valuable as clues to any possible i discovery of her parentage; but Sigrid had never valued them. Unlike most natures, she had never wished to dive beyond the happy time which was now so treasured a remembrance to her. Where others would have been inquisitive, : and naturally so, she had been always indifferent about herself or her parentage. . "You have.been my mother, and you—rand you—and you!" she had cried to the sisters when the d y came that had parted her from them. "What father, or mother, or friends, could have been as good to me as you have all been?" She wept her first tears at leaving them—she would have gladly lived all the days of her life even as they lived—-but the choice was taken from her. For all at once, after having grown up a lovely child, in a veil of mystery, there came a voice and a hand from outside the mystery to tear aside at least a little of the veil. Sigrid was called one day to the private room of the mother superior, and there she was presented to a tall, middle-aged Englishwoman, whom she.had never seen before, and who scrutinized her in a way that made the girl blush. The result of this meeting was communicated to her a day or two later, of which Sigrid understood nothing, except the final fact thatjshe was to leave the convent, and leave it almost immediately. It was as nothing to her that some portion of her mother's history had been traced out; she was almost' defiantly indifferent to the news that she had been found by relations or friends of her dead mother. Her life, her home, her happiness, were within the convent; to this doar place she clung with all the suddenly awakened passion of her nature, and pleaded with fervent prayers to be allowed to remain in it all her life. It was in vain, however. The proofs of relationship put forward by this quiet, stern-looking Englishwoman were not to be gainsaid. Though the hearts of the good sisters might be riven in twain, at parting with their child, they could not let their love interfere with their duty; and so it came to pass that Hannah Carleton, maid of many years' standing in an honourable English family, was allowed to claim and carry away with her the girl with the suu-kiosed curls, the exquisite features, the lithe, slender form, who was, she said, quietly and grimly, her own niece, child of her dead sister, Ellen Anne Carleton—child, alas, of.that dead sister's sorrowful story of sin and shame!

Even now, at this moment, as Sigrid sat lost in her sombre thoughts, utterly unconscious of the interest her beauty had awakened in John Bynge's heart, she could never tell, even to herself, accurately all that passed when she journeyed away from the fragrant, picturesque French country to the cold, strange, unlovely land that was to be her home. Her i young heart was almost broken. The | tears that Sister Therese had shed on her cheeks had been swept away by her own most passionate tears. She was dimly grateful that her newfound relation had left Jher utterly to herself. She shrank intuitively from the grim, hard, middle-class woman. She felt, she knew not why , that Hannah Carleton's heart was against her, and unconsciously her nature recoiled from the thought of kin with this woman; but she kept the thought to herself. She was far too unhappy to conjecture, to ponder, or to determine; she wept tears from her heart, and she was utterly exhausted when the journey came to an end at last and she was told the story of what her future was to be. She was to be a travelling companion to her aunt's mistress; not a maid, yet not an equal. The accomplishments she had been taught at the convent woujd all find their place in her new life. "My lady w/jll travel a great deal; she is not strong. She will expect you to be always cheerful and bright. She is taking you in my place; she is good to you simply because you belong to me. Remember, this is a great honour something more than you could ever have expected. There are many girls, much better in every way than you are, who would be glad to change places with you and have your good forj| tune." So Hannah Carleton had said to the girl in the beginning, and in those words had lain the sting of a bitterness that was destined to blight the life of the young creature to whom she spoke. , That time had been three years ago, and Sigrid had grown from sixteen to nineteen, becoming, as each year had slipped away, more and more beautiful, utterly unfit for the life of servitude which daily companionship with Lady Althea Yelyertoun and her autocratic and most selfish will signified. She had become apathetically resigned now to her fate, but her whole 'nature had rebelled against the life set for herj in the commencement. She had had many little scenes then with her aunt, Hannah Carleton. "You hate me!" she had cried once to the woman, the truth rushing from her impetuously. "You cannot deny that you hate me. Why did you come and spoil my life? Why did you not leave me where I had been left for so many years? What had I done to you that you should have robbed me of my happiness? I deny your right to change and order my life. I will not obey you, or serve yo istresa. I will go back to my o , where I shall pray I may er see you nor hear of you again 1" Alas! poor, little sixteen-year-old Sigrid! She soon taught herself the wisdom of silence, for she soon learned the utter futility of words. For some strange reason of fate she was destined to be the bondchild of this hard, plebeian woman, and to rebel was but, to. have her life made harder. She had heaved one deep sigh of relief when the time came that separated her from her aunt; but there had beeri, f many, many moments in the days that, followed when Sigrid had to herself that Bhe preferred Hannflh'Carleton's harsh, forbidding nature to . the nature whose'- whims, and; wishes, land egotism it was her lot to minister to. CHAPTER 11. THE RECOGNITION. John Bynge was still lost in the pleasure of watching Sigrid's beauti- ( ful, wistful facte, when Christine came hurrying back again. It was evident she was heralding the approach of some one else, for her manner was changed; instead of chatting volubly, she only whispered a few words to Sigrid. John Bynge noticed that a tiny flush of colour dyed the girl's cheeks as she rose from her chair. Would she recognise him now? was the thought that flashed eagerly through, his mind, and he moved so as to-at-tract her attention. Bat Sigrid evidently had no intention of looking at him. She was tall and slender, and even graceful, despite her thick brown ulster, and her eyes were fixed down the deck, quite away from him. (To be Continued.)