CHAPTER III.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2125, 20 February 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER 111.

The sweet spring days passed away, and the delicate early flowers gave place to their more glowing sisters, and the young birds were in the nests, and the young corn waving over the fields, and at Garton Tower, the seat of tho Earl of Garton, all was activity and bustle over the preparations for the marriage ot Lady Denise to Captain Morton. Rumours of the expected event reached Ruthven Farm from time to time, and slowly and surely drained the colour from Elsie's cheeks, and quenched the soft light of I her eyes. She had never seen nor heard from Claud since he rode away two | months before, and at first, strong in faith and trust, had been quite content to watch and wait. But the time went on, and he never came ; only those reports of the festivities to be held at Garton Tower were borne to the ears of the farmer's niece, and by degrees "hope folded her wings " and died, und Elsie grew white and silent, and went mechanically about her household duties, or sat for long hours in the arbour, gazing down the road to Leighton, watching always, trying to believe against belief, to hope against hope. " I cannot think what is the matter with the child," said Mrs Ruthven one day to Hugh. She mopes about all day and if I say a word to her, gives me such a look out of her eyes, that I feel for all the world as if I must burst a-crying. Her poor mother died of a decline, and I only hope Elsie is not going to follow in her footsteps. " I'll have Dr. Clarke to see her next time he comes out." Hugh said nothing, only looked at his cousin as the came up the path from the garden. Always delicate in appearance, she looked so fragile this evening, that a sudden pain seized him, and a cold fear seemed to freeze his very soul. The sun was setting in a cloudless sky, and the western heavens were ablaze with light, and as Elsie approached, her figure stood out in strong relief, and a golden glory seemed to wrap her form, and gi\e her a most unearthly and spiritual appearance. 44 Bless me !" said Mrs Ruthven, " I'll take her to Docter Clark to-morrow." She was as good as her word. The next morning she called Elsie to her. 44 1 am going to Bradford, child, and I want you to come with me. I don't think you have been looking quite well of late, so I want Dr Clarke to give you some little tonic" Elsie started. 11 1 am only a little tired, Auntie." "So I thought. You will come to please me dearie, and because I am an old fidget, will you not ?" 44 Very well, Auutie,' and in ten minutes they were driviug down the lane where Elsie had found Claud lying iusensible a few weeks before. Dr. Clarke was at home, and insisted upon Mrs Ruthven and her niece going into his wife's drawing-room for a rest and chat after their drive in the hot sun. Leaving Elsie with kind little Mrs Clarke, her aunt followed the doctor into his con-sulting-room, and told him of the painful dream which had fallen upon her lately with regard to her neice. \Dr. Clark called Elsie, and, after feeling her pulse and asking a few questions, sent her back to his wife, aud then turned to Mrs Ruthven. " Candidly, my dear madam, I mn i confess tnat I do not like Miss Elsie's symptons. Her system is low —very low indeed and there is a touch of fever hanging about her. lam inclined to imagine that she has something on her mind that troubles her, and that would account for her Btate of health." "But, Doctor," incredulously, "that cannot be tha case. She had never had i anything to worry her since her mother died, and she was a mere baby then." •'Well, perhaps so — perhaps so. You would know best, of course, and I may be mistaken ; but I will give you a tonic for her, and you must try to make her take as much nourishment as possible, and keep her in the opeu air — don't let her mope indoors — and give her something to do, not enough to tire her, but just to give her occupation, and I hope we shall soon see her quite herself again." 44 Very well, Doctor, I will bear all you have said in mind. And now we must be going, for I have to call at the bank as yet." The farmer's gig went slowly down the street of the slippy little town, and stopped before the primitive building, called by courtesy a bank, where Mrs Ruthveu got out, leaving Elsie to hold the reins, and keepjguard over lazy old Robin, who was too fond of ease to attempt to run away, so went quietly off into a doze, and dreamed of oats and hay, and other dainties dear to the equine soul. As the girl sat there alone, letting the reins lie loosely in her hands, she heard the sound of horses advancing at a rapid pace. Glancing up mechanically, the blood rushed to her face, and her heart seemed to stop beating, for coming up the street, mounted on bis bay horse, was Claud Morton. He was not alone, and his companion was Lady Denise Carisbroke ! How handsome and brave he looked, bending towards the fair girl at his side ! and she in her blue habit, and hat with its long drooping feather, seemed a fitting bride for any gentleman in the land. A wild impulse bade Elsie fly to hide herself ; but there was no time, and in spite of herself, as the riders neared the gig, she was obliged to look at Claud. A moment more and he has seen her. His face flushed crimson despite his training in worldly ways, and a sharp touch of the spur makes bis horse plunge and swerve, In another moment

they have passed, ami Claud has made no sign, given no token of recognition except that burning flush, and Elsie sinks back , into her seat white and breathless— "the iron has entered her soul." And day by day she grew thinner and weaker, and not all Mrs Ruthven's loving care could bring back the bright, merry Elsie who had made the sunshine of the old farmhouse. August came, and Captain Morton and Lady Denise Carisbroke were married I and went abroad, and the talk about the , wedding, and the lovely bride, and the regal festivities at Garton Tower subsided, and became a thing of the past. And in the burning days of summer Elsie dropped and faded like a broken lily, and Hugh watched her with his hungry, unsatisfied eyes ; and day by day a deep and deadly hatred of the man who had stolen his love from him, grew and strenthened in his heart. Oh ! It was hard to see him suffer, and to think of how he would have cherished and cared for her if he had only been happy and blessed enough to win her for his wife ! She never spoke of Claud until at the very last. One evening when August was nearly past, and she had been lying on her couch without speaking for a long time, and he stood leaning against the window-frame watching her she said gently— •• Hugh." •'Hugh, forgive him." Hugh started, and the blood mounted to his forehead, and his face contracted with pain, but he did not speak. "Hugh," said the soft tired voice again, "will you not promise me this?" With a great cry he sank upon his knees beside her. " Elsie ! You do not know what you ask !" •'Yes, dear, I know. I have watched you, and I have seen how you feel towards him." "I cannot— no, I cannot do it, Elsie!" There was silence in the room for tome minutes, and then she spoke again. " For my sake, Hugh ?" His features were working with emotion as he looked at the beautiful, pleading face before him, and then the thought of what had brought her to this came across him, and hardened his heart to stone. *• Will you promise me this Hugh, before Igo ?" He could bear no more. Springing to his feet, he leapt through the open window, rushing down the garden path, and was soon hidden from sight among the trees. On and on, regardless of time and distance, he spent, until deep in the heart of a thick wood, he flung himself on the ground, and lay there, face downwards, hour after hour. The sunset radiance faded, the twilight came and went, the stars shone out one after one, and still he lay there, heedless of all but this weight of sorrow, which crushed him, metaphorically and literally, to the earth. At the end of many hours, he lifted a face, terrible in its set anguish, and white and rigid as if cut out of marble, to the sky, and said aloud : " She has been murdered, and he goes forth free and careless, to his pleasure i and enjoyment. Is there a God in I Heaven, and can such things be !" Then with an awful oath, he continued, i "I swear here, to have my revenge upon j Claud Morton ! I will hunt him to the end of the earth, and kill him as I would a reptile !" Then something seemed to strike him, and he paused. "If I kill him, they will hang me. So they may, and welcome, but — my poor old father and mother ! And the good old name that had never yet been stained ! How can I bring disgrace upon them ? I will wait, and my time surely come some day— the time for my revenge ! A sweet word is it not?" and he laughed. "I shall see it written yet in letters of blood." His face was frightful in its expression of unutterable hatred, and bis peculiar eyes glowed with a fixity of purpose that might have made an angel weep. Then turning in the direction of home, he walked back, dragging his tired body painfully along ; for the fierce agony of the last few hours had brought its natural consequence of complete exhaustion. When he reached home, his mother met him at the door, and drawing him into the warm kitchen, told him as gently and lovingly an possibly of Elsie's | death two hours before, in "sure and certain hope of a glorious resurrection." Looking at her with eyes like those of a wounded animal, he uttered one low, heart-broken cry, and fell like a dog at her feet.