Our Novelettes.

Western Star, Issue 1385, 31 August 1889, Page 2 (Supplement)

Our Novelettes.

HER PROPER PLACE. Chapteb VIII. (continued.) Rachel went to Miss Elliott one morning, and in a few words put before her the desire she had to obtain an independent situation. The girl felt as though she could not bear to meet Ulick when he came to the house as Ida's lover; she must escape first. Miss Elliott was somewhat vexed. Six months since she would have hailed with delight this desire of Rachel's, and done her utmost to encourage it; but now things had changed ; Ida waß about to make an excellent marriage, and the reasons for separating the girls were not so pressing. ' You surely do not want to leave now ? ' she asked, with some displeasure. ' Have you considered what a worry it will be to Miss Ida, just at this moment, when she is so happy ? Surely you might wait three months, till after her marriage—the separation between you will come naturally then.' Rachel could not help it—the unpleasant fact that in all her life she, a woman with a woman's h'art and soul, had never been regarded in any light but as a convenience to the heiress, came hardly upon her. For one moment all the tenderness' she felt towards her foster-sister seemed to harden at Miss Elliott's cool tone. She answered proudly that the separation between them had been sometime since ; Bhe had no wish to grieve Miss Ida, but had considered she would only be consulting Miss Elliott's own wishes in seeking independent work as soon as possible,

Miss Hannah was quite unconscious of the eff«ct her own manner had had on the girl. Th«y had never been sympathetic, and Parker's influence had worked to some purpose. «I do not deny that your earning your own bread is desirable,' said Miss Elliott, not unkindly, but with the calm common sense that to Rachel's weary ard troubled mind was more wounding than a positive unkindness ; ' but you are choosing a very foolish inconsiderate time for going—inconsiderate, for we hfive all plenty to do and think about just now —ungrateful, for you by your impatience cloud what is and ought to be the brightest time in Miss Ida's life ; and foolish, as far as you yourself are concerned, for from all I hear there may possibly be no need for you to seek a situation at all. Parker his spoken to me about much that has occurred during our absence, and it is my duty to tell ycu plainly that you are behaving very badly towards young Maynard, and very blindly as rejards your own interests. He would be an excellent husband for you, and after the way you appear to have encouraged him all these months, it is very wrong to throw him over now.'

Was all the world bent on marrying her to John Maynard ? wondered Rachel, as she struggled to speak calmly and respectfully. ' I do not know that I have given John Maynard any encouragement,' she replied, with an effort at self-control that looked like sullen temper, * nor did I know what right Mrs Parker has to gossip about me.' ' That is not the way to speak, Rachel Lee,' said Miss Elliott. ' Tour position here has been a very unfortunate jone for yourself.' • It was not of my making,' interrupted the girl with sudden self-assertion. * No,' returned Miss Elliott candidly —' it was your misfortune rather than your fault, and in consequence I have always ,felt that allowances were to be made for you, and that you should be treated with consideration.' ' And what allowances have been .made ? What consideration have you shown ? ' broke in Rachel. 'I was brought up with Ida for her convenience; I was educated as a lady for her convenience ; and then you tried to send me out into a situation, also for her convenience; and when she objected to that I was turned into Parker's still-room maid, that Ida might not suffer the pain of parting with me. -N ow that I am willing to leave her, when she requires me no longer, I am told that I must not go—that, still for Ida's convenience, I had better marry the underbailiff, and remain*on;the estate!' ' You are a verv wicked ungrateful girl!' exclaimed Miss Elliott severly, unable to find a satisfactory answer to Rachel's tirade, which had too muoh truth in it to be quite pleasant. • Whatever your education may have been, and however mistaken, it was kindly intended, and your refusal to postpone your independence, as you call it, for a few months, is a very bad return for Ida's affeotion. As to my advising you to think twice before you refuse John Maynaid, I am speaking in >our own interests, and not, I fear, in his, for I very much doubt whether you would make him a good wife ; but surely you must see that after all those evening wa'ks and appointments, which never would bave been permitted had I been at home, an honest respectable marriage to a worthy young man is the best thing for you. Parker tells me you are so obstinate and headstrong that you were qnite beyond her control during our absence/

*lt is false !' cried Eachel, thoroughly incensed. *lf Johnnie has walked with me in the evening, it has only been to bring me home from the lodge, just as he used to take care of me when we were children ; and, as for going out in the evening to meet him, I have never —•' There she was forced to pause. ' This sort of violence is no defence,' said Miss Elliott quietly. • You must excuse my believing Parker j no object in view but your own good. I am aware that you have known John Maynard from childhood ; he is an excellent young man j but I am afraid you have been so spoiled that your head is filled with some eilly notion that he is not good enough for you—ia that it ? ' # ' No,' said Rachel, speaking honestly, as a vision of the shabby crouching tramp who claimed her as his daughter rose before her rnird. *I do not want to marry him, or any one. You are quite right. Miss Elliott—T am not fit to be anybody's wife.' Her excitement ended iu 4 tears that she could not suppress. ' Don't fake things to heart that way! * said Miss Hannah kindly. 'We all get impatient fits when we are young. I think, after a little reflection, you will see that it would not be kind or right to leave Miss Ida before June, and perhaps by that time your mind may be changed on other points as well.'

' So that is what they think,' mused Eachel, as she left the room—' my proper place is it be Johnnie's wife, if I could only see too. Poor dear fellow—he is too good for me I' All this however would not help her to face Ulick, and the days were passing quickly. She had heard no more of her supposed father. On the occasion of their last interview, she had been forced to give him all the money she possessed. He had told her that he had a chance of work in a distant county, but lacked the money to go in search of it. Rachel had only too willingly supplied him with all she had. As the days passed by she breathed more freely, his image ceased to I baunt her dreams and shadow her waking L hours; there were moments when she even

forgot that portion of her troubles. It wis a bright spring morning when Ida came tripping into the little sitting-room after breakfast with a letter clasped tightly in her hands, her whole face one sunny smile.

'He is coming,' she cried —' both of them are coming, and he of course will come here!'

' When ? ' asked Rachel, bonding over her work.

' Tomorrow or the next day—it depends on old Mr Fayre. But he is coming ! Oh, Rachel, aren't you glad ? ' • I think I shall always be glad to see you happy, dear,' said Rachel, kissing the fair bright face. «I am going to try on my new dress—it must be finished at once. Come and help me, Rachie. It would be such a dreadful thing if 1 didn't look nice !'

' Dreadful,' agreed Rachel, laughing—' I can't imagine a greater catastrophe ! But you must do without me this morning, dear. I promised to take some new books to Bertie Maynard yesterday, and the child will be longing for them.' « Poor little man!' exclaimed Ida kindly. 'How good you are, Rachel! Don't you think me horribly frivolous? But then I am so happy, I can't help behaving ridiculously !' ' Trouble comes quickly enough,' said Rachel, sighing. • Keep the fit of your gown for your worst anxiety »» long as you can, my darling.' ' You talk as if you were fifty, and had all the cares of life upon you!' returned Ida. I don't know bow it is that b\x months have changed us both so much. You are old and grave and serious, and I feel like quite another person since I began to think about him tbat way.' • Both of which effects are perfectly natural,' said Rachel, as she took up her hat and the parcel of books from the table. ' I shall be back long before your dress is off your mind, dearie j so you will come in for the benefit of my opinion after all, most probably.' ' Oh, Ida, you happy girl!' she thought within herself, as she passed down the long avenue to the lodge. * After all, it U well there should be thoroughly bright happy lives here and there Jin the -world, for the rest of U 8 poor dull miserab.e creatures to look on and be cheered by.' Her reflections were interrupted by the sight of John Maynard a short distance ahead of her. She had not seen him since that memorable day—the last happy day of b"life, she now called it. Her first impulse was to avcid him, for the many admonitions she had received concerning him made her doubly sensitive. However, before she could make up her mind, he had turned ana seen her, and, as be slackened his pace, there was nothing for it but to quicken hers and meet him. The quick searching glance of his eyes betrayed that he had not quite given up the hopes of which he had ventured to speak at their last meeting; but there was nothing of encouragoment in her face as Bhe said quickly—- ' Are you going home, Johnnie ? I promised Bertie these books, but I have scarcely time to go as far as the lodge this morning. Will you take them ? ' • You don't look well ? " he said solicitonsly, as shej transferred the parcel from her arms to his * Have you been ill ? You look quite white [and changed since I last saw you.' If Johnnie had only known it, he had never had a better chance of realising his wishes than at that moment. The honest face, the kind genuine interest in his face, the tender care for herself, touched Rachel's heart, for she was now unaccustomed to any one noticing whether she looked well. For one moment the thought crossed her mind, ' Why cannot I let him care for me ?' Then came the remembrance of the faithless lover whom she must so soon nerve heraelf to meet, and she knew that, faithless though he might be to her, she conld not put Johnni jin his place. She was quite well, she answered ; a little tired perhaps, for they had all been busy. At this moment a village child came running up to them— a barefooted, ragged little fellow. John Maynard called out to order him off the avenue, where he had no business to be.

' I want the lady,' persisted the child sullenly. ' I was to give her this, the man beyond thra tolled me '—thrusting a dirty crumpled piece of paper into Rachel's hand. While Jjhnnie indignantly made inguiries as to its sender and his whereabouts, Eachel smoothed out the paper aud read the ill-spelt crawl. *„Meet me at the old place to-morrer evenin,' and bring some more tin i don't want to go to the Squire if i can help it.' When John Maynard's inquiries had resulted only in a vague indication of an impossible locality, and the urchin had been sent off w ith a caution, the young fellow turned and beheld Eachel, as pale as a white rose, leaning against a tree. • You are ill !' he cried, springing to her side. ' What is it ? There, sit down—the moss is quite dry. Let me get you some water.' ' No, no,' murmured Eachel, recovering herself—' lam not ill.' ' Then what is it ? Oh, Eachel if you would only tell me! lam sure there ig something wrong. Do let me help you !' • I mustn't,' said Richel feebly. * Oh, if your mother were only here, Johnnie!' • Shall I not do as well ?' cried the young man. ' Dear Rachel, I can see you are either ill or unhappy. Try to forget everything except that we were children together, and let mo help you. Don't you trust me, Eachel ? ' The kind ioice, her own helplessness, the need of sorre one on whose sympathy she could rely, all overcame Eacbol. • I believe I can trust you,' she said simply. ' Oh, Johnnie, I am not ill, but I am very, very unhappy ! See there !' —and she gave him the note. ' Who sent it ? ' asked John, after he had read the scrawl. ' My father,' answered Rachel ; and then, as he looked at her in speechless amazement, she told him most of what had happened on the evening of the day when she had last seen him. 1 It is a trick!' cried John indignantly. ' Your father is dead, Rachel. This is some scamp who wantß to get money out of you. • I thought so too,' said Rachel, ' until he showed me the lost links of my mother's chain.'

' Which he might have obtained in fifty ways. I dare say he belongs to her people ; bat as for his being your futher, why, now I come to think of it, I have heard my mother say more than once that, from the little your mother said about him, Bhe was prefty sure he had been of a better class than the rest of them—<somebody who had come down in the world ; and that he is dead is sure enough, for your poor mother told her they hadn't been married six months when he died. I'll ask my father—he will remember more about it.' ' Don't, Johnnie! ' exclaimed Rachel. ' Even if it ii so it would do me little good, He may be an impostor, but he wants money, and I have no more to give him; and, ob,

Johnnie, if I don't, ho will go to the Squire, and what shall I do ?' ' Why, let him go !' said John sensibly. 'He is not your father ; and the sooner he goes to the Squire, if he dares, the soonor you will be quit of him. Why, Rachel, I suppose he frightened you the first time ; but you should never have given in for a minute. Go to the Squire ! Let him go! Where's the harm ?' 1 Oh, Johnnie,' cried Rachel nervously,' he mustn't, he mustn't! Oh, no ! I nuut get some more money somehow, and send him away; and then I must go myself, and hide anywhere.' ' Oh, Rachel,' excl urned John Maynard earnestly,' whv won'c you give me the right to take care of you ? Why do you let yoursfllf be frightened and made miserable when I would lav down my life for you if it would mike you happy ?' ' But it wouldn't, Johnnie,' declared the girl sadly, as for a moment the temptation to rest upon the affection and the protecting arm strong man proved almost too much of this for her; and yet she could not do it while TJlick's face haunted her, separated though they must be for ever. 'Rachel' said John very gently, 'just let me know the worst at once—is there anybody else ? ' Moved by a sudden impulse she answered-

* Tes, Johnnie, there is—there was somebody. But we parted in the summer, and I left him free, and now he is engaged to some one else; but this wretched man knows it somehow, and he threatens, if I do not give him money, to go to him to try to get money from him to keep the Squire from hearing that he liked me first. Oh, Johnnie, I should not have told you ! But help me, help us both 1 He has done no wrong—poor TJiick ! I wouldn't let him engage himself to me; but, oh, to have this man go and tell him he is my father, and ask for money—the disgrace! Oh, Johnnie, get me money somehow —help me!'

It was a confused story ; but John Maynard understood it only too well. All the mixture of pronouns had no difficulties for him. Rachel had been loved by a gentleman, one for whom she was fitted by her training and life, and John Maynard knew that his hopes were in vain. Rachel did not see the change in his face—she did not guess the struggle that was going on in his heart. She was desperate, and the relief of confidence was too great. She told him all, repeating herself, going over every detail, as she might have done to his mother had she bees there. And, when at last she finished her story, tho struggle in the honest simple loving heart was over too, and John spoke soothing words even as his mother might have done. ' STou are fit to be a lady, Rachel,' he said —' it is all quite right. Don't you be afraid! Surely Mr Dlick would not let the like of you go for fifty tramps ! * ' But 'tis I that gave him up!' sobbed Rachel. • And, oh, Johnnie, it would break Miss Ida's heart to think he had ever cared for me!'

' Does she want them both ?' asked John; and as Rachel looked at him he went on in a constrained voice, ' I can't quite make you out, Rachel—you puzzle me ! Miss Ida is engaged to Mr Reginald—surely you know that ? ' Rachel started back, gasping for breath, and staring wildly at the young man before her. 1 1 know it,' continued John. ' I cannot understand what you mean when you put Mr Ulick's name with Miss Ida's. Surely you know that old Mr Fayre is going to leave the Park to Mr Reginald because he is engaged to Miss Ida, and that Mr Ulick is going to America to make his own fortu e ? It was the Fayre Park bailiff who told me.' Rachel remained silent. A number of amal details came to her mind confirming Johnnie's words, and especially did she recollect the last conversation between Ulick and herself. She felt a choking sensation in her throat and a sense of utter weariness came over her. ' If it were true,' she murmured at last, 'Tt makes no difference. Save me from this man, Johnnie ! If I belong to him, lam no* fit for any one—not fit to be in Miss Ida's house. Oh, just save me this time —get me a little money to keep him away, and I will go and work and pay you !' • I'll do better for you than that, Ra-shel,' answered the true-hearted, honest fellow ; 'but you must let me think it out. Don't be afraid ! When does this fellow wan't to meet him ? Gro home now, and be happy, dear. By six o'clock this evening you shall have help—money if I can get nothing else ! but maybe I will get you what will set you free for good.' Rachel felt too stupefied to take in more than the exquisite sense of relief and confidence his words gave her. She looked up into his face with b trustful expression, and let her hand rest in his ; Johnnie raised it to his lips for the first and last time, and a chapter in the farm-bailiff's life was closed for ever.

Chapteb IX. How Bachel got home she scarcely knew, her mind was too busy to heed where her feet carried her. Could this be true ? Had Ulick not deserted her ? Had not Parker distinctly told her that it was' Mr Ulick ' towhom Ida was engaged ? A dim suspicion of the truth crossed her mind—that Parker might have made the mistake originally, and been too indolent or two malicious to correct it afterwards. She tried to think over the events of the pa.-t few weeks. Ida's engagement had been such a painful subject she had avoideH mentioning it as far as possible. If sue had been braver, and had forced herself to ask for and listen to details, how much pain Bhe might have been Bpared! Well, it could matter but little now. Their last meeting world be enough to prevent Ulick from ever seeking her again, even if he had wished it She was glad that he had not been faithless she would be able to enshrine her idol again in her heart, but that, was all. With Johnnie's help she must keep off that dreadful man till after Ida's marriage, and then shewoulirun away and hide herself from all. She locked herself up in her room and wept. Poor Ida's dress got fi fc das it might; Rachel could 'not goj near 3her till after luncheon, and then the headache with whic'i she accounted for the state of her eyes was no false ex cuse. It compelled her to return to her bed» amid Ida's pitying questions. ' I shall come and sit in your room,' announced the heiress. ' No, I won't talk to you or bother you, fiachie ; I have my letter to write to him —my last letter ! Oh, how happy I am 1 He may be here to-m orrow. (To be continued).