The Story Teller.

Wairoa Bell, Volume V, Issue 178, 30 December 1892, Page 7

The Story Teller.

HIS LITTLE GIRL ; OR WORKED OUT,

( Continued. ) When the quiet darkness of night bad settled down upon Fir hoi 6, the door of its master’s room opened sofciy. Treading as a thief in his own house, Mr Bawdon stole out. He glided, a small dark blot, through passages where a faint moonlight irom time to time illuminated his shrinking figure, until he reached the door of his daughter’s room.' He paused, listening. All was so quiet within, he ventured to turn the handle. The stillness told him that Ellinor was asleep. Treading on tip-toe tie stole across to the bed. There was sufficient light for him to see her face plainly, and, stoopingover her, he kissed her lightly on the forehead—for the last time. The poor little outcast was crying ; a tear was rolling down his cheek, but he wiped it away, lest it should fall upon her and waken her, following the light touch of his kiss. As it was she stirred a little in her sleep, and he drew back behind the curtain. He waited for a few moments, then, without venturing to touch her again, ho stole away out into the night. Early the next morning Mrs Montresor came to Ellinor’s room with a letter. She looked grave and anxious. Matthew Rawdon had written to her, begging her to be herself the beaver of a letter to his daughter, and to break the news of his departure. ‘ How is my father ? ’ asked Ellinor. ‘Has John been to see him—have you heard ? ’ ‘ Your father has been called away on business, dear child. He has written * here is his letter.’ ‘ What ! without telling- me ? And he was so ill last night! Matthew Rawdon, in writing for the Inst time to his daughter, had characteristically avoided much self-expansion. He spoke of his absence as necessary even for our own well-being, and begged her in the matter of her marriage to be guided by the wishes of Sir Arthur and Lady Peyton until his return. read his words in silence She felt that some heavy blow had fallen, although as yet she could not realize its ex teut or nature ; also she was wounded and amazed. Her father had already formed his plans and discussed them with Sir Arthur when she bade him good-night at his door, and had said no word to her. It seemed that he had purposely avoided seeing her. Had she known of his secret farewell, her pain would have been less. She might have turned to Mrs Montressor for comfort. Now she was silent and tearless. She had scarcely left the breakfast room when Lady Peyton arrived, Sir Arthur had taken his wife into his counsels, and she fully agreed in keeping such secrecy as might still be possible. It was a hard blow for her ; the sense of shame, of having been duped, added to the disappointment, the overthrow of all her plans, made it almost unbearable. She frankly expressed a wish that Mr Bawd on or Dawson might never he heard of again—might put an end to himself “it is the only thing left for the little wretch to do with any decency,” she explained. It was easy to induce the American to hold Iris tongue. He had done mischief enough already in satisfying a feeling of personal animosity. He had no wish to see the doors of a society he was eager to enter closed against him, as Sir Arthur assured him would infallibly be the case did he bring down further scandal upon his present hosts. It was clear that the breaking off of the engagement must come from Ellinor—there was no knowing what Guy’s chivalrous notions might lead him into doing—and Lady Peyton drove over to Firholt in the morning, while her son thought her still in her room. Her visit was a short one.

She entreated Ellinor for her own sake not to seek to know the reasons of her father’s conduct ; she told her that his last express wishes, left with Sir Arthur, had been that the marriage should be put off until his return, and implored her, for Guy’s sake to be guided by them. * And his return —when will that be V asked the girl with blanched face, * I—-no one, I think, exactly knows,’

And is it for Guy’s sake you ask me tin's ?’

• Indeed it is—to save him from the consequences of a fatal mistake—from an irreparable wrong.’ ! And this mistake—it was my father’s ?’ ‘ Yes,’

Ellinor walked to the window. Was she to lose everything at one blow—father, lover —all that life held for her ? £ You are sure ? This is best for Guy—is it to save him ?’ she asked again at last. £ I am quite sure,’ The girl walked over to the writing-table without another word. ‘ You will know that my father has left me suddenly,’ she wrote. ‘ I believe Sir Arthur and Lady Peyton know more of the cause than I—l learn that it is his wish that our marriage should be delayed until his return. No one knows when that will be. For your own sake I write to give you your freedom. I was mad to ask of you what I did last night—forget it Guy. Do you think I am cold-hearted that I write so ? I think I am dead—l can feci nothing.’

When she had finished Lady Peyton was prepared to leave, * I will send this,’ Ellinor said ■ ‘ John shall ride over at once. £ You are a brave woman, Ellinor.’ She kissed the girl’s cheek. It occurred to her that there were things even more potent that wealth to wipe out inherited stain, Sir Arthur had purposely detained his son that morning, talking over matters totally unconnected with the topic uppermost in both minds. Guy had just escaped and was mounting to ride over to Firholt when Ellinor’s letter was put into his hand. He was thunderstruck and furiously angry. Although perfectly aware that something had gone seriously wrong - , lie had waited, determined that his father should take the initiative, and equally determined that nothing should induce him to give up Ellinor, What he was not prepared for was that his mother should get the start of him, and deal the blow through the hand of his love. He went straight to Sir Arthur, the letter in his hand. ‘ You knew of this, sir ? My mother has seen Ellinor this morning.’ The elder man felt uncomfortable. There was an unpleasant look of conspiracy about the affair; but Ellinor having proved reasonable, secrecy was no longer an object, and be told bis son simply the whole story. Carefully as he detailed his own action in the matter, it was not difficult to read between the lines. The anger of the younger man deepened. ‘ Very well, sir,’ he said, when his father paused. ‘ 1 more than half guessed the truth last night. In the face of it I renewed my word to Miss Rawdon. Y r ou have thought fit to hound away hr-r father, to treat me like a child, and to coerce Ellinor into breaking with me, working on her sense of honour. I can only say—if she will not marry me, I will marry no woman alive Then he took his hat and went out, over to Firholt. Ellinor came down to him, a haggard, white-faced woman. ‘ Ellinor, what do you mean— —? ’ s Yon know what I mean.’ ‘ Don’t you knew it is simply impossible to separate yourself from me ? ’ £ "You must not marry me.’ ‘ Nonsense, I mean to marry you.’ She clasped her hands and rested the open palms on his shoulder, looking into his face, her strained, tired eyes meeting his. ‘ Guy, I must find him—find my father.’ ‘ Do you love him best ? ’ ‘ No, but if 1 married you, even if your father and mother consented, if I could escape from doing you shameful injury, he would keep away, thinking that so we might be happy. 1 should have liis long pain, perhaps his death, upon my heart.’ £ Dear love, I will find him ; then we will go away together, he and you and i.’ £ No, no, it is impossible Your mother would be heart broken ; and she trusts me.’

* She did wrong to appeal to you If we had been married, they must have accepted everything ; there would have been no alternative, and it is the same thing,’ ‘ Guy, what has he done r ’ £ Nothing, love, that has not long ago been wiped out,’ But Ellinor kept her word. Guy must go and she would wait for her father’s home coming.

Guy also kept his word. He told her that he held himself bound, that be would

seek Matthew Rawdon through the woil M

and bring him back. In the meantime Ellinor refused to receive his letters or write to him. The months went by, and Matthew Rawdon did not come, nor Guy, Lady Peyton and Sir Arthur began to console themselves with the thought that the little man must he dead, and to weary for their son. Ellinor advertised, sought the aid of private inquiry offices, ail to no avail. She lived on quietly at Firholt with Mrs Montresor, seldom going into society. She had grown into a grave, slightly reserved woman. Every evening she went down to a path she loved, shadowed in spring by lilacs, laburnums, and guelder-roses : behind these a plantation of laurels. On the other side it was open to the park. She used to fancy that some evening in the dusk her waiting would be ended, and she could see her father coming. After two years someone came ; not her father, but Guy* He had been to the house first, and took , her unawares. Until she saw him she did not know the exceeding bitterness of her loneliness and longing ; she stretched out her arms with a cry. £ Sweetheart,’ he said presently, ‘ there must be no more parting between you and me My people can’t stand out any longer, the loneliness of the old place has been too much for them. I will not stay here without you. and they arc ready to welcome you.’ ! But my father. If he came back would they welcome him ? And, until he does, how can I break my word ?’ 1 Listen love—they think, we all think— Nell, I have tried every means to find him, and failed,’ There was a rustling among the laurel leaves. ‘lt is only a bird,’ said Guy, feeling that she started. * You think,’ she almost whispered, 5 that he is—dead ?—without saying good bye—without a word to me ? Oh, Guy, whatever he has done I loved him. How can I be happy in the fruit of his pain.—to die deserted and alone ?’ He tried to comfort her. Would not the greatest wish, the one keen desire of the lest man’s heart be fulfilled if she were beloved and happy ? Together they walked towards the house ; when they were out of sight the laurels rustled once more, and in the dusk there crept out a small, dark figure, unshaven, ragged, and forlorn. A beggar, surely 1 And the beggar knelt and kissed the dust which the ycung girl’s feet had trodden. In the morning one of the gardeners ca no up to the house with a grave face, and asked to see Mrs Montresor. ‘lf you please, ma’am, there’s a man, a tramp, he looks like ; a poor half starved creature, lie’s lying dead among the laurels down by the shrubbery walk, ‘ Good God ! The poor man ! Who can he be V The man’s face was working ; he was twirling’ his cap in his hands. He leaned forward and whispered—- ‘ Ma’am, I think, I al—most think—it’s the master, Mr Rawdon.’ So for a second time the master of Firholt came home. They carried the small, light figure to the house, to his own room, a strange contrast to its luxurious fittings. There Ellinor went to him and shut the door. ‘ Father ! father ! Oh, why will you not speak to me ? Say once more, ‘My little girl.’ ’ But Matthew Rawdon, the forger, would never speak again. Medical examination showed that he had been dead for many hours, the immediate cause of death being an old and deeply-seated heart disease, increased by suffering and want. He seemed to have been leading the life of a vagrant, but how and where he had succeeded in so completely hiding himself never came to light. The story of his death was hushed up, as had been that of his crime, Lady Peyton carefully talked of him as 1 highly eccentric,’ and explained that it was entirely owing to his eccentricity that her son’s marriage had been postponed. The odd little man had started off in such an unaccountable manner, and Ellinor had been so resolute in abiding by his wish that, she should await his return. Well, he had come, and he was dead, and there was an end of it. No one had much interest in ferreting out the truth of his story. I V I n the days of her mourning were ended, j JLiliu-jc married very quietly

Sometimes in the summer evenings she takes her children to her father’s grave, hoping that lie is in some way conscious of the fidelity of her recollection. She knows what was Ins crime—surely long ago worked out —and prays that its shadows may never fall upon those she loves.

[the end,]