Our Novelettes.

Western Star, Issue 969, 1 August 1885, Page 1 (Supplement)

Our Novelettes.

MiUD,

Chapteb YI. Sir Arthur Denver sat in his library on the following morning, when the rest of the family had gone to church, with a look of deep thought on his pale face, and the lines round his close, firm mouth deeper than usual. Frank Dayrell was still alive and in some measure sensible, but the doctor gave no hope of his recovery. Mrs Payroll had arrived at midnight, and her voice and presence seemed to soothe the wounded man like magic; she was a pale, fair woman, exceedingly like her son, dressed in mourning and with a look of irrepressible sadness on her still. beautiful face. Maud yet lingered, though her mother had sent her a peremptory message to return home immediately ; but Sir Arthur, hearing the message as he left the breakfast-table, had returned for answer that he was keeping his niece, and she was left undisturbed to sit hour after hour in the room adjoining poor Frank’s, listening to the sounds within, and starting forward each time the door opened to ask how he was.

An oppressive stillness reigned through the house, in which the ticking of the great clock in the hall sounded startingly loud. Sir Arthur sat by the open window in his great arm-chair, gazing thoughtfully out at the bright flower-beds and smooth turf, with their background of stately elms, and started as if he had been struck when a gentle tap sounded on the door. “Cone in!” he cried, impatiently ; and Mrs Dayrell entered the room. With a low cry the Baronet rose from his chair, a deathly pallor spreading over his features, and his eyes dilating as they rested on the pale, beautiful features before him. “ Melaine, you here 1” he exclaimed, in stern accents, while his voice trembled with intense emotion. “ Have you dared to enter my house P” “ Yes, Arthur,” she replied in tones of unutterable sadness, “to sea my boy die. Nothing short of that would have brought me here. The one tie that held me to life, that has kept me from madness, is about to be broken - , and 1 feel that I shall not long survive him. Arthur, over our boy’s death-bed, you surely can forgive his wretched mother. I have suffered enough to appease even your auger. Oh, Arthur, forgive me—say you forgive me before I wander away in my loneliness to die 1” She sank on her knees at his foefc, and lifted her white quivering face to his; but he made no reply. Trembling from head to foot he leant aginnst the wall. “Found only to lose him again!” he whispered, hoarsely. “My boy, my son! Oh, woman, why did you take him with you when you fled ? By what right did you rob me of my son when you blighted my life and disgraced my name ? How oan I forgive such injuries as yours?” She clacped her hands tightly together and wrung them bitterly, “I have been punished,” she moaned—'*! am punished 1 My boy, my darling, the only living creature I have had to love or to love me through these long, long years—he is going from me! He died—the man for whom I brought all this upon me and you—a few months after our guilty flight, and I have had no thought in life for five-and-twenty years but for Frank. How can I live without him? But, oh, Arthur, my husband, say you forgive mo before I go! Forgive, as you hope to be forgiven.” But he turned away, clenching his hand fiercely. “ I cannot 1 ’ he cried, hoarsely. ** Go! Leave me and return to the son you have robbed me of, who shrinks from me on his death-bed—the father he has never known. Go I Oan I forgive you at such a moment as this?”

She made no reply, but, staggering from the room, groped along the passage like one blind, and Sir Arthur was left alone onoe more. Eestlessly, hurriedly, he strode backwards and forwards, now and then pausing to listen at the half-open door, then pacing up and down onoe more like a caged animal. How slowly tlie hours dragged on—the hours that were fraught with suspense about his son! How every hour struck on the tenselystrung nerves of the miserable man, as he listened for the ory of grief that would tell him his one hope of happiness was gone! Why had known it P Why had this woman —his faithless wife —come to tell him that it was his own son who lay dying in his house, murdered, it mighs be, by his cousin P Why had she come to tear open afresh the wounds Chat bled for such long, long years P He remained in his solitude, the wondering family attributing it to sorrow for the disgrace that was likely to fall upon his name, or some new freak in his morbid nature. Still Frank did not die, and when the eminent'surgeon telegraphed for from London at Sir Arthur’s desire arrived, he did not take quite a hopeless view. It was a terrible wound, he said, but no vital part was injured, and he was not prepared to say that it would prove fatal. It was the first ray of hope, and the aehing, anxious hearts snatched eagerly at it } and, as each hour it broadened and deepened, Sir Arthur grew more restless and uneasy, going again and again to listen at the door of the room he dared not enter. Youth and an iron constitution were fighting desperately with the King of Terrors, and by slow degrees achieving a victory. For three long days and nights Frank Dayrell hovered between life and death, conscious of nothing but his mother’s presence and his own sufferings 5 and then the London surgeon told Sir Arthur that he considered the patient so far out of danger that there would be no further need of his services—care, and the treatment he had ordered, would do the rest. Sir Arthur Denver listened In silence, a momentary twitch of the mouth alone betraying his interest, and then sought his study, to leave it no more that day. Frank’s first question, when he had recovered his senses fully and knew whore he was and what had happened, was—- “ Where is Maud ? I want to see her.”

Mrs Dayrell sought the trembling, anxious girl she had already learnt to love, and asked her if she would come to her son.” “He has asked for you,” she said j “ and I think it is better to gratify his wish, if you will command yourself and not betray any excitement.”

“ Oh, I will be very quiet!” she promised, eagerly, “I will not speak if I may only see him once again ”

Thus it was that Mr Horace Denver, when he came that evening to inquire after the invalid, perceiving, to his intense horror, through the open door, his niece Maud, the heiress of Sir Henry’s money, the future wife of his son, as he still fondly hoped, sitting by the bedside of the wounded man, with his hand in her own. Utterly unable to cope with such a spirit of opposition, self-will, and unmaidenly forwardness, he hastened to report to Lady Denver how matters were progressing at Paytons. That lady’s indignation and wrath knew no bounds.

“This is Sir Arthur’s doing I” she ex« claimed, angrily, “ And he shall answer to me for its, The young map, will reooyw, and

it will be spread abroad that my daughter a Denver—has been in his sick-room nursing him and waiting upon him! She shall not stay there another hour. I will fetch her home myself, if I have to take her by force from his bedside; and she shall never, never see him again 1 Bitterly shall the obstinate eirl rue the day she first dared to disobey me!” . Full of indignation, Lady Denver hurried to Paytons, quite unconscious of Mr Horace Denver’s entreaties that she would not in culpate him. ■ “Tell my daughter I want her directly, she said peremptorily to the footman who opened (he door. He had been her servant when she had reigned at Paytons, and Lady Denver had not succeeded in winning the love of those beneath her. “ Miss Denver is in Mr Dayrell s room, replied the man, “ and I may not go to the door.” Lady Denver nearly dropped with rage. To be told by a servant that her daughter was in this man’s room, and might not be fetched from it 1 “ You refuse to take my message, man! she exclaimed. “ Then I will fetch her myself 1” And with a quick step she approached the stairs; but before rho reached them Sir Arthur opened his study-door. “ Come in here,” be said, quietly. “ You must not go upstairs.” “But I will!" returned the wrathful lady. “ Come in here,” repeated Sir Arthur, in a tone that she ’.did not dare to withstand; and the door closed behind the two. “ What is. the meaning of all this, may I ask?” she cried, facing him with glittering eyes. “Do you know that my daughter is now in that man’s room, and that she has refused to marry Arthur through this scamp’s artifices ? Am Ito allow this to go on any longer? I let her remain at your wish when they told me he was dying, though I believe it was all a wicked trick to assist them in their folly; but it shall not be. Maud shall never be his wife 1”

“ Stop, Lady Denver,” said Sir Arthur, lifting his hand authoritatively. “You do not know what you are saying. Has it not been the wish of your heart for many years that Maud should marry my heir ?” " Of course it has,” replied that lady j and Sir Arthur continued —

“ Then go home and let matters take their course. The young mau she lovss—whom you have said she shall not marry, and I say she shall, if they both wish it—is my only son, the future Sir Francis Denver of Paytons, and she whom they call Mrs Dayrell is my wife. Does that alter your determination to take Maud home with you?”

But Lady Denver did not hear his question. "Tour son? Your wife?” she gasped, gazing with wide-open eyes at him, ** Are you mad, Sir Arthur, or is this another way of tricking me ?” “ I am not mad, Lady Denver,” he replied, coldly, “ nor am I tricking you. I did not hnow till the other day that he paused, and then added quickly—“ that Maud loved ' im. Nobody knows of this yet but your self; but, as soon as he is a little better, I shall announce it. May I ask you therefore to make no noise as you pass out ? I believe Maud’s presence to be the best medicine he can have, and so I must beg of you to leave her here for the present. His mother is with them, and, as they will probably be married as soon as he is well enough, you need not fear what the world will say. 1 presume you do not mean to oppose the marriage?” ,f Oh, no!” replied Lady Denver, promptly. "But lam so utterly astounded. Why hare wo never known of this wife and son ?” " That is my affair," answered Sir Arthur, coldly. “My wife and I parted for reasons best known to - ourselves, and I intend to give no information on the subject. You will oblige me by never asking me any more questions upon the matter, and I shall tell them to answer none. Ido not care for my private affairs to be the gossip of the county.” Lady Denver acquiesced, and was soon wending her way across the pork to her own house, in a very different frame of mind from that in which she had traversed the same path half an hour before. Half-way she encountered Mr Horace Denver, who had been anxiously awaiting her return. "Well,” he said, “has that disobedient girl refused to come ?” » I have not asked her,” replied Lady Denver, coldly. “ I have withdrawn my refusal to let her marry this young man, and, if she wishes to stay and nurse him, she is welcome to do so j” and, before her horrified companion could utter a word, she had swept on aud left him standing alone. Sir Arthur sought tie sick room on the following day, and entered it for the first ime. Frank lay back on his pillows, his eyes closed and encircled by dark shadows, and his handsome features pale and drawn. By his eide sat Maud on a low ohair, her hands clasped by the thin white fingers, and her gaze resting sadly on the pale face of the sufferer. Mrs Dayi'e'l was standing by her} but she drew back as Sir Arthur entered, and with a flush on her features that restored to them for a moment the rare beauty of her youth. Sir Arthur saw it, and a spasm of pain eontraoted his brow as the memory of how he had idolised this woman rushed upon him. «< Your mother was here yesterday evening, Maud,” he said, in a low tone. “She wanted to take you home with her j but I induced her to let you remain until this poor fellow is better.” “ Thank you, dear undo Arthur,” returned Maud, earnestly; and Frank opened his eyes and smiled iaiutiy. _ .-to* “You are very kind,” he said to Sir Arthur. “ I think I should soon die if Maud left me; and I must try to live for my poor mother’s sake, even if I dare not hope for Maud.”

“Bub why should you not hope for Maud ?” inquired the Baronet, kindly. “ I have great influence with her mother, as you can see; and, if you think you would get well the sooner for the promise, I will tell you that I have every hope of inducing her to consent to your marriage,” Mrs Dayrell clasped her hands together, and an expression of intense pain orosse I her features ; but Frank, in his joy, did not see “ Heaven bless you for that 1” he exclaimed, extending his hand to Sir Arthur. “ I’ll get well iu a week if the old lady will give me Maud.” Sir Arthur shook as he felt tho wasted hand in his, the hand of his long-lost son, but his iron self-control did not desert him. “ Then make haste about it,” he said, quietly, “ I shall come and see you every day now, and, if I don’t see a change for the better each time, X shall take Maud away from you. Don’t let him talk, Maud. He must lie still and think for the present. Happiness is a good medicine.” He pressed Frank’s hand and left the room, never once glancing towards his wife, who mood near the window, great tears of silent agony coursing down her cheeks. For separation from her son and banishment from her husband loomed plainly before her in the near future. “ And I deserve it ali i” she murmured, as she leant out of the window to hide her fast i falling teafts,

Chapter YII., and Last. Sir Arthur proved a true prophet. With hope and happiness Frank made more rapid progress towards recovery. The Baronet came daily to sea him, and so winning were the kind voice and rare smile of the stern, grave man that his son learned to look with pleasure for his visit. Maud looked on with astonishment. That her moody, silent uncle should take an interest in anybody was strange enough; but his tone and manner to this young officer evinced more affection than he had even shown to herself. His whole nature seemed changed; the settled melancholy and sternness had given way to a restless, uneasy mood that made him utterly unlike himself. To Mrs Dayrell he never vouchsafed a single word that actual civility did not require; bub Frank saw him more than once fix his dark eyes on her with a look that made him remark one day to Maud, half jokingly—«l say, Maud, I have a sort of notion that your uncle is smitten by my mother. I don’t wonder at it, for she’s prettier and more charming now at forty-five than most girls of half her age.” “ Nonsense, 1 "I returned Maud, smiling. “ Sweet and charming as your mother is, uncle Arthur is nob very likely to fall in love now, after having held out for so many years; and I’m quite sure she would not return his love if he did. She quite shrinks from him. Frank, how sad she always looks 1 And she sighs so heavily. Was she so devoted to your father ?”

‘'Yes,” was Frank’s reply. “She can’t bear to hear his name even from me. I know nothing of him, except that he died in Sicily when I was quite a baby. Ah, Maud, there never was a more perfect mother than mine.” “ Frank, Frank, my boy, do nob say that!” And Mrs Dayrell, who had approached unperceived, sank on her knees by his couch, and rested her head on his shoulder. “ Oh, my darling, you will hate and despise me when you know all! But I have loved you, Frank, as few children are loved.”

She pressed a lingering kiss on his cheek, while her hot tears fell fast, and, rising, hurried from the room before he could speak, With a rapid, unsteady step she passed along the passage and down the broad stairs, and entered, Sir Arthur’s study. He, was sitting in the evening sunlight, wrapped in thought, and rose to his feet with a start as she entered.

"What is the matter ?” he cried, eagerly. " Prank is not worse ?”

" No, not worse,” she answered, drearily. " He is out of all danger now, and can spare me. . You gave me leave to stay in your house only while his life was in danger ; and now lam come to bid you farewell. I know you mean to keep him and tell him the dreadful tale that will part him from me for ever. I do not murmur, I have deserved it all, and to give you up my one treasure now is the only reparation I can make. I feel that it will kill me; but what matters my lifeP t, when my last hour comes, and I send for him, let him— if he will—come and close my eyes. It is ail I ask, Arthur—a little boon—oh, do not refuse it!” She paused, for her trembling aooente had died away to a whisper, and she could say no more. Sir Arthur’s face was ashy-pale, and his whole form trembling with strong emotion j but with a great effort he controlled his voice to say coldly—“I will promise you that.” <« Heaven bless you for it!” she returned, clasping her hands tightly together. "I am going now, Arthur. I dare not ask you for one word of forgiveness to take witn me in my loneliness—l have wronged you too deeply. But my punishment has been very, Very severe. When that wild infatuation passed away, my love for you returned, and has added a poignancy to my shame and grief during these long, long years of which you can' know nothing. Farewell, Arthur—be both father and mother to my boy, and may Heaven be to you what you are to him 1” She turned, and tottered to the door. Sir Arthur’s lips opened to speak, but no sound came, and the door closed behind her. Than he cried aloud, “ Melaine, my wife!” But she did not hear, and ha rushed to the door to call her back. She lay as the threshold, still and senseless, and, lifting her in his arms, he laid her on the couch, and, looking the door, knelt down by her. Melaine, speak to mel he oned, hoarsely. " I forgive you all—only open your eyes and show me you are not dead! Oh, Melaine, my life’e love, I cannot help myself—l love you still in spite of all!” The words seemed to rouse her fainting senses, and the .largo blue eyes rested inquiringly on his face. “It is true, Melaine I” he cried again. " I love you still! Sou shall stay with me for ever. I have fought hard with myself ever since I first saw you, but love was too strong for me I cannot give you up again, my lost one, my one love I” He folded her in his arms, and pressed fond, eager kisses on her White face, while she murmured through her tears—•i Oh, Arthur, my husband, it is more than I dare to believe 1” It was lucky he had locked the door, for at that moment the handle was turned. Sir 1 Arthur sprang to his feet and his wife sat up. " Who is there P” he asked angrily, and, striding to the door, he threw it open, and met his brother face to face. Mr Horace Denver looked from one to the other, and hia bland smile died away. "I am sorry to interrupt you,” he said, stiffly, “but I did not expect to find Mrs Dayrell in your study.” "Probably not,” returned Sir Arthur, coolly; " and you perhaps did not expect to find that the lady you have called Mrs Dayrell is my wife, and has been for the last eight* and twenty years. Y n u will understand now why Maud is allowed by her mother to remain here; .for my son and.the heir of Paytons is a widely different man from an un* known ‘ fortune-hunter,’ as you kindly described him.” " I shall dispute it!” shouted Mr Denver, purple with rage. “It is a falsehood from beginning to end! I shall go to law, and get my rights 1” And so he did go to law—ay, and got his rights, which wore to leave Paytons and return to the moderate house and iuoome ha bad formerly enj .ye i; while hia son Arthur, a grave and saddened man, departed to begin a new life on the other ride of the world. He never recovered from the terrible anxiety of those few days, fox*, though the shot had in reality, been purely accidental, he knew it would have been very difficult to prove it so, and he might have Stood before the World as the murderer of his rival.

Maud married Frank Denver, but was not Lady Denver of Paytons until her eldest daughter was engaged to the son of General Ohaloner—for both Sir Arthur and his wife were so happy in their reunion that years pas red lightly over their heats. Maud's mother, after her daughter’s marriage, resigned the dower house and took up her abode in London, resuming her place among her old friends and acquaintances, and seeking with avidity the gaiety and excitement for which Maud had very little taste. However, Frank was too proud of his beautiful wife to let her bury herself in the country, and their time was equally divided between London and Paytons, though she laughingly declared that she dared not remain very long at the latter place, as her children were go terribly spoilt by their grandfather and grandmother, especially the dark-eyed, handsome hoy who was now T«a Sjaa 08 frsxwft M,