A FATHER'S WILL OR HER OWN MISTRESS.

Western Star, Issue 1300, 27 March 1897, Page 2 (Supplement)

A FATHER'S WILL OR HER OWN MISTRESS.

CHAPTER VII (Continued.) •j All the darkness and gloom which I had suddenly overshadowed her spirits * so strongly at the Pines came back to her now, and for a brief space it seemed to Myra Hartley that she must surely die. ■■.'.» Don't stay long, darling,' she repeated, pleading tone, as' he hastened At the door he glanced back with eyes full of love and passionate devotion. The door opened and' closed slowly. Myra caught her breath with a gasp of pain. He was gone, and little did she dream of all that would occur before she set eyes upon Charlie O'Shea again. . ■ The sound of his footsteps died away upon the gravel-walk outside. Where had he gone ? It flitted across her mind like a darksome shadow—for the first time—where had he gone, and what was the nature of this business which dragged him from her side at such a time as this? . ~ .She heard the sound of stifled laughter—a cold, sneering laugh—and lifting her head, she saw David Hartley standing before her, upon his face a look of diabolical triumph. Myra felt her heart sink in her breast. Something was wrong. Instinctively, she felt it. Charlie was gone, and all the world seemed dark and gloomy: she groped in the darkness like one-afraid. •My dear Myra !' Hartley seated himself at her side. Myra drew herself away from bis proximity with a shiver, but he did not seem to mind it in the least. 'My dear,' he went on softly, 1 you will never see Charlie—your dear love, Charlie—again! He has gone away from you for ever! When he passed through that door yonder, Myra, he gave you up—gave you up of his. will, because he saw at last ■Mp*' there is no other resource. Say "good-bye .'for ever to him, Myra, for he is even now on his way to his old love! He will be Isabel Varian's husband within a few days'time.' She heard his words like one in a dream—like the far-off sound of rushing waters, or the sighing of the wind in branches of the pines. At last: ■'lt is false, David Hartley—false as ' you are! You shall not slander Charlie O'Shea to me. Hush! I will not hear you. I will not!' ■ ■Hartley smiled broadly. ' No,-1 suppose you will not listen ; but then you have already heard all that I have to say. Charlie O'Shea is gone —gone! gone ! Do you hear me ? Gone back to Isabel. Varian. If you -••doubt it, read this letter—the very letter which I just delivered to him, Charlie O'Shea, and which he accidentally dropped upon the floor when he had read it. I secured the missive, and here'it is.' He put an open letter—a letter minus an envelope—into her nerveless hand.

My ra did not mean to read it or touch it, but the wicked eyes of Hartley were upon her with a mocking, jeering light in their depths, and mechanically, like one who is in a dream, Myra opened the folded . sheet. Her ; eyes fell upon these words, in. a woman's handwriting: . 1 Charlie, my darling,—l repent the wrong that I did. I beg you to forgive me. Come back to me, Charlie, dear Charlie ! If you can pardon my cruel treatment—my grievous wrong—against your noble heart, come back to me as soon as your eyes rest upon these words. For I love you Charlie, just as well as I did in the days gone by. Charlie, I am ill, dying, they say, and it is the last wish of my heart to see you once more before I die. Charlie, if you can forgive my cruelty to you, will you make me your wife before I go ? It would make me so happy ! And my fortune shall be yours but when lam gone if I can die with my head upon your breast—your wife at last. Come at once, Charlie, or you may be too late. Do not delay an hour if you have any pity for me. ' Yours for ever, ' Isabel Varian.' • A train passes through this place at 12. io,' said the cold, sneering voice of David Hartley, ' and—oh, yes ! tMre it is now. It has stopped :he is gone ! Goodbye, Charlie —dear, true, noblehearted, disinterested Charlie O'Shea, good-bye for ever !' Myra was at a loss to know what to think. Notwithstanding the contents of the letter which she had just read, she could not lor the moment believe that Charlie was untrue. She imagined that there was some mystery in this which would sooner or later be-"made clear to her.

When a woman once really loves, as Myra loved this man, it takes much of a most undeniable character to make her change or disbelieve the word that has been plighted. It was some hours before she found herself, accompanied by Mr Hartley, back again at St. Elmo. Once there, her uncle conducted her to her own room, and then pausing and facing her, he began at once : ' Well, Myra you see the situation. There is no use in further resistance. Your powers of resistance must be nearly exhausted. You must decide to marry Tristram O'Shea. Your false love has already ' made up,' as the children say, with his old love, and the marriage will soon be solemnised. See, the engagement is already announced.'

A ROMANCE.

He placed a newspaper in her hand —a folded paper with a faint pencil line drawn round a certain paragraph as though to attract attention.

Like one in a dream, Myra read the paragraph. It occured in a society column, and the newspaper dated that very day. ' We take pleasure in announcing'— so ran the notice—' the approaching marriage of Miss Isabel Varian to Mr Charlie O'Shea, youngest son of the late Robert O'Shea, Esq. The wedding will take place on Tuesday next at St Paul's Church.'

Myra read it. Her iips closedtightly together, but no word escaped them. She gave no sign. She was learning •to suffer and be strong.' It is a good lesson to learn, a wise lesson ; but oh, how hard !

She read the paragraph—read it over and over. It struck deep down to the very root of her nature, like a poisonous weed which may grow and corrupt. It turned the channel, of her life from the 'green pastures and still waters' into darksome ways. The paper dropped from her cold hand.andshestoodstaringintoHartley's impassive face. « Uncle David, I don't believe it! Oh, Heaven ! I don't believe it! For pity's sake, leave me a little trust, a little con fidence, a little faith in human nature. And if he—if Charlie O'Shea is false —there is not a good man in the whole world !'

Hartley smiled. •■■■' There are many good men in the world, Myra,' he said, grimly, ' and so you will find before you have done with this earth. Now lam going to leave you. Myra, Myra !' He came - swiftly to her side, and, taking the child's hands in his, gazed down into the white stormy face. David' Hartley was trying a new tack.

' Child!' he went on, hoarsely'' for the love of <Heaven believe that I mean well by you !' he pleaded. He had never tried pleading with her before. ' Believe it and consent—will you not, Myra?' She bowed her weary head, and silence feH over the room. At last, in a dreary, desolate voice. i 'Uncle David—l will reflect—l will think It over. I am very, very tired to-night; will you let me rest?' •

He stooped and pressed his lips upon her pale cheeks. Ernest's little girl !' he whispered, tenderly. . Myra, burst into tears. Ah! had David Hartley known it—had he made the discovery sooner—he would have found that this girl had a ' nature which could be led by a silken cord, but never driven.

•' Go to bed, Myra,' he said, softly, ' and sleep. To-morrow —to-morrow you shall give me your answer"' And so he left her; and the child who had found her woman's nature—her predestined. lot~asUndine found her soul—was alone with her new and awful knowledge, She stood in the centre of the roomj her • hands locked tightly together,, her face pale 'as marble.

And so, alone in that silent chamber, Myra Hartley fought the dreary battle between love and pride. The next morning, when David Hartley was sitting at his breakfast, with an occasional furtive glance in the direction of the door, as though expecting someone to enter, he heard a footstep coming down the hall, and his face grew slowly pale. The door of the breakfast-room opened, and Myra crossed the threshold. There was no one else present, for the ladies were not yet down. Myra went straight to her uncle's side. He dropped the spoon with which he had been conveying lumps of sugar to his coffee-cup, and glanced up with a swift questioning glance into her face. ' Uncle David' —Myra's voice was low and strained : it did not sound like her own, with the old, clear, definite ring—' I have cOme to tell you that I am willing to reverse my former decision ; I have changed my mind. Not in one respect, for I loathe Tristram O'Shea with all my heart, But I am willing to go through the farce—to become Tristram O'Shea's wife ! I myself am lost, but I will save you and yours, by this act —from beggary ! David Hartley started to his feet with an exclamation of surprise and intense delight. Myra!' he cried eagerly,' oh, my child you have, indeed* saved me from ruin !' And it did not cross his mind—selfish wretch that he was ! —that she had saved him at a fearful cost: that, to spare him the loss of a portion of his accumulated wealth, she had made her whole life bankrupt, had drawn a great black, shadowy curtain between her and happiness for ever. She had literally been * sold for gold,' like any African slave. She drew back now at the touch of her uncle's hand upon her arm. ' Uncle David, understand me,' she said, slowly. 'I am not actuated by any feeling of generosjty, any highstrung ideas of self-sacrifice, or a desire to make a martyr of myself, It is simply this : since Charlie O'Shea has—has—is false to me—she compressed her lips firmly for a moment, then went on slowly—' it matters little what becomes of me. I may as well marry Tristram O'Shea, and save you from pecuniary loss'—a bitter smile touched the red lips faintly —*as to pass my life in mourning over the inevitable.'

' That is it exactly, Myra,' he intervened, swiftly. 'lt would kill youj to be pointed at as a woman who broke! her heart because the man she loved was false to her. It would not become you to wear the willow, Myra, and I think that, apart from the relief that your decision has brought me, you have done the very best thing possible for yourself.' She bowed her head slowly, and he did not see, did not care to see, the look of scorn upon her face.

• Uncle David, I ask one favour of you—only one favour,' she began, abruptly, breaking the heavy silence which had fallen upon them. It is this: do not mention his name —Charlie O'Shea—or Miss Varian's, ever before me agam, and please request the others—Aunt Ada and Blanche—to—to '

David Hartley's face lighted up with eager satisfaction. Of all things on earth that was what he had most desired —that was the very request that he would have made had he dared to have broached the subject,

' Myra, my dear child,' he said, softly, ' you may rest assured that you shall never be troubled by a reference to either of those persons; and except for the chance of your hearing their names from others not connected with my family, it will be as though Charlie O'Shea and his lady-love had never existed, or as though Charlie O'Shea were dead and in his grave.' CHAPTER Vlir. " WHERE IS MY WIFE ?' The days came and went—the few days which must elapse before the appointed wedding-day. Myra felt like one in a dream as she moved about in that silent, passive way of hers which deceived the beholders into a belief that she did not care—did not feel. ;

The day which she had been told would be Charlie O'Shea's wedding-day had come. A desire to see—to know —overcame all other scruples. She put on her hat and left the house unobserved, and , took the boat for Sydney. She was not familiar with the streets of the city, and so it was not strange that she had lost her way in her efforts to find the church.

It was some time after the hour appointed for the ceremony when Myra last came in sight of the spire of St. just in time to ( see the last of a long line of carriages drive away. The ceremony was over, and she was too* late! She stood there trembling, panting, as she gradually comprehended the truth.

It is over! Charlie was married - Charlie her love—-the man who had called her his wife in the eyes of God —the man to whom she was promised, and for whose sake she was willing to die! Married! The husband of Isabel Varian!

She turned away faint and heartsick. A policeman standing near glanced at her with keen scrutiny. With sudden courage, Myra ventured to inquire if the wedding ceremony was over.

' Over, miss ? Yes, indeed, a good ten minutes ago. The bridal party have gone to the bride's house for a grand reception, and the bride and groom, they go off in the five o'clock train for a trip to New Zealand. Yes, the wedding is over, and a mighty pretty bride she made to be sure! All in white ! She has such pretty yellow hair, and a pale, delicate face. She is a real beauty, miss. The wedding has made a big sensation. It's a fine match, they say. She is rich, but he is '

Myra waited to hear no more. She hastened on, coming to a sudden halt as a hand was laid upon her arm, and a voice cried, in a tone of surprise :

• Why, Myra, where are you going ? Surely you have not been to the wedding ?' Myra stood gazing in Tristram O'Shea's face with eyes that scarcely saw him, so blinded and bewildered was she. She turned away without a reply, but he drew her hand through his arm and walked on at her side. 1 My dear Myra,' the soft, silky voice went on, ' I would not have come if I were you. It only makes you feel sad and does no good. And why should you wish to see a wedding when your own is so near ? Only two days* distant, ray dear Myra; only forty-eight hours, and then we shall be so happy. Ah, Myra, do you know how happy we shall be 1' The red lips curled with a satirical smile. Probably Tristram himself did not know the full extent of what was in store for him with Myra Hartley ; and Myra, who did know, said nothing, but hept her own counsel. 'He can make me his wife,' she was saying to herself, in a low, angry whisper. 'He can force me and drive me into his unholy compact; but let him beware 1 I must go on and bear my burden alone and in silence; but the day of reckoning will come as sure as there is a kind God of justice; and then Tristram O'Shea will find out the meaning of the word retribution !'

She moved on down the street leaning on Tristram O'Shea's arm. He was the master and she must submit, but her heart was full of bitter strife as she allowed him to lead her on like a captive. They drove back to St.,Elmo. She bade him a hasty good-night and flew upstairs to her own room. She went to bed early, and lay all night long with her great, wide-open dark eyes fixed upon vacancy. The grey of early morn stole in at the window and found her still lying in that same attitude, with that same look of hopeless despair upon the young face. The Hartley's were busy with preparations for the coming marriage. The ceremony was to take place at the house, which was a very unusual pro-

ceeding; a wedding-breakfast was to follow, after which the bride and groom would leave at once for Ravenswood. Myra's heart contracted with a swift, sharp pang when she heard their destination. But no matter. It was only one trial'more. What did it signify, after all ? The hours passed and the preparations went on. David Hartley was determined that his niece should have proper honour and atten tion conferred upon her. Myra slept a little the next night from sheer exhaustion; but she was awake at the early dawn. Arising from her bed, she donned a loose wrapper and went to the window. A pale, grey day; a dismal, drizzling rain was felling, and the face of the earth was sad, and the prospect anything but alluring. The bright sunshine would have mocked her misery; the grey, raining morning was in perfect keeping with her own spirit, and the dull, grey outlook was like her own future.

She went back to bed, and in a few moments was fast asleep, and did not wake up until Mrs Hartley's maid wrapped at the door. She had only time to dress for the ceremony, for the hour appointed was ten. She did everything in a mechanical way—parlook of her breakfast, submitted herself to the hands of Felice, the maid, who arranged her hair and arrayed her for her bridal.

At last all was complete. The gleaming satin robe was donned, the flimly veil covered it, and beneath' its costly folds a face was hidden—so pale that it was absolutely startling. She was beautiful indeed, as she stood before the mirror in her own room and looked he' 1 last upon the face of Myra Hartley. And then there was a rap at the door, and a message arrived \ from Tristram O'Shea. Would Myra kindly grant him a brief interview ? Her eyes flashed with a ray of hope. 'Tell Mr O'Shea to come up,' she commanded.

The moments passed, and at last, lifting her eyes, she saw her bridegroom acccompanied by David Hartley, standing before her. Their faces were full of admiration as they gazed upon the radiant vision.

' Myra,' cried David Hartley, • you are perfectly beautiful !' She neither heard nor heeded him. She turned to Tristram, with a look of beseeching, her white hands clasped. ' Let me go free !' she pleaded, in a low, tense tone. ' I beg you and beseech you! Let me go free, Tristram O'Shea, and heaven will bless you for ever!'

He shook his head slowly, and quite as though he had not heard a word, he went on.

' I have brought you the paper, Myra, the agreement between your father and me. It is yours.'

He laid it down on the table before her. It was the price of her liberty and her happiness. She read it over slowly, then tore it into fragments.

A look of satisfaction rested upon David Hartley's face. He was free, but she, poor child ? 'I must pay the penalty.' she said, calmly. 'Come, I am ready !' People were long in forgetting the awful pallor of the bride's lovely face —the cold, mechanical way in which she went through her part in the farce. She was conscious of nothingbut a cold, numb sensation which stagnated her very heart. She could not feel, she could not think, Brain and heart alike seemed numbed and dead. And she stopd before the clergyman— not the Rev. Joseph Rogers, but someone else; and the words were spoken. It was all over, she was Tristram O'Shea's wedded wife. It was like a hideous dream to her! Heaven help her when she should awake ! After that came the crowd with its bustle and confusion, congratulations and merry-making. The ceremonious wedding-breakfast followed. They were all seated at the table, and the health of the bride had just been drunk, when aservant, quite paleand nervous-looking made his way to David Hartley's side, and reluctantly whispered : ' I beg your pardon, sir, but there is someone—a.man in the drawing-room who wishes to see you, sir, particularly. I really cannot get rid of him, so I came to you. He says he will only detain you a few moments.' With an expression of annoyance upon his face, which somehow had grown very pale, David Hartley rose, and, with profuse apologies to his guests, went into the drawing-room. He opened the door and stood face to face with Charlie O'Shea. Charlie O'Shea, pale as death, his eyes full of lurid light. ' David Hartley!' thundered the intruder, « Where is Myra. Your miserable plot has failed, and I have come for my wife!' For a moment David Hartley stood m speechless silence in the presence of the man whom he had so deeply wronged, the man whose life he had made black and bare of all happiness, all hope. He put up his hands with a deprecatory gesture. . ' Keep back !' he panted breathlessly. ' out of my sight, Charlie O'Shea ! What are you doing here ? Why have you come here to-day above all other ? What evil spirit prompted you to come ? She is married. Myra Hartley is Mrs Tristram O'Shea now!; 1 You lie!' To be Continued.