CHAPTER XV. A PROPOSAL.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2137, 20 March 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XV. A PROPOSAL.

Mrs Manners' health improved a little during the next few days. Still her weakness and prostration were wonderful, considering how strong and healthy had formerly been her frame ; and a certain listless and wearied expression settled down on her face, which even the presence and constant affection and attention of her dear step-son failed to dispel. She had got a blow in fact — the first in her bright, cheerful, happy, pious life — and she could not reconcile her mind to adroit the justice of the awful hand which had snatched her innocent darling from her breast. She, however, confided the«e miserable (struggles to no human soul. ' Why should I fill bis mind with such dreadful thoughts ?' the good and simple creature would say to herself a hundred times, as she looked at George's hard, worn face. ' He does not seem so happy as it »,' she often thought, and kept wondering if he and Amy Williams were fully reoonoiled ; and used to extol that young lady in the highest terms, and could not understand the sad and sickly smile which wan her step-son's usual answer to those commendations. ' She has been a daughter to me,' she said to him one afternoon, a few days after poor Bonny's funeral ; * and a good daughter makes a good wife, George.' But George only smiled in reply. 1 She has gone to ihe village now,' Mrs Manners went on, ' the first time she ha* been out since our darling died, to see a poor girl who is in a consumption there, and she makes the soup for the poor women, and looks after the house as well as if I were about myself.' 1 She looks v»ry delicate,' said George. ' Yen but — then she's gone through so much— and she's fretting perhaps, George about you.' • We are very good friends mother — now.' ' She likes you, I am sure,' said Mrs Manners. 1 Hush, mother, hush, you must not say that. Shall I read to you, the afternoon muct seem so long V For about half-an-hour, till the light grew dim, George read aloud to his mother, and then looking* up he found she had fallen quietly a«l» c > ; so noiselessly he went from the bed to the window, and stood gazing disconsolately out. Presently he saw Amy Williams com. ing up the avenue, returning from her virtit to the village, and unwilling to be seen apparently watching for her, he went to the fire and sat down in the easy chair, where through so many long hours she had lately kept a weaiy watch. Some thought of this crossed his mind at *he present moment, for her devotion md kindness to his step-mother had really greatly influenced him ; though in his manner he still showed very little of the friendship which on the day of the funeral she had asked him to restore. George Manners, in fact, honest and single-minded himself, shrank with borror from the idea of any double-denl-ing or concealment about the women he loved. ' What had been her connexion with Hugh Manners?' How often, during hit* cold and lonely journey on the New Yeitr, had he asked himself this question ! — How often he asked it of himself now ! At first, in his passionate jealousy and love, he had put the very worst construction on their, to him, evident previous acquaintance. But when he watched this girl — so mode.«t, yet tender — so earnest in her duties, and apparently so anxious to regain his good opinion and regard, he began to modify his original conviction, and to speculate on what possible secret could be between his cousin and the women he had once hoped so fondly to call his wife. 'Perhaps some girlish folly,' he thought, , as he sat there in the gathering twilight ; ' some obildish escapade, repented on the moment it was done. Hugh Manners is just the man to take advantage of any woman who was ever foolish enough to trust him.' And he bit his lip«, the old jealous pang stabbing into his heart, »b keenly at that moment as when he first learnt that she and Sir Hugh Manners had met before. ' Yet she received him as a stranger,' he reflected bitterly, remembering their intro.| duotion in the schoolroom. Commend me 1 to a woman for being a hypocrite 1 Who, looking at her innocent face, could think that she could be so deceitful as she u ?' The owner of the 'innocent face, 'just at that moment when he had worked himself into a rage, came into the room, and seeing George sitting by the fire, walked quietly up and stood beside his chair. ' Is she asleep ?' she whispered, bending her head slightly down ; and at the firelight flickered on her sweet face Geocge gave almost a groan, and turned himself passionately away. ' What is it ? George, what is it P She isn't — oh ! she is not ' And Amy stopped, a terrible fear paralysing her speech. ' No, no,' answered G j orge, impatienty — ' no ; sbe is 'well. Good God ! what makes you turn so white ? Are you going to faint/ ' You frightened me,' said Amy, in a low, trembling voice, putting her hands | to her tide, a deadly feeling of faintnesf creeping over her. ' I—lI — I am very nervous just now.' ' ' Sit here,' said he, ' Child, what is the matter with you ? What makes you tremble like that ?' 'It is nothing. And she lay back her 1 head on the chair and olosed her eye-, George Manners standing beside her with love, anger, jealousy, and almost hatred beating together tumultously in his heart. 1 Are you better ?' he said at last, as ■he sighed deeply, and once more blowly opened her eyes. ♦Yes.' 4 You have walked too far.' 1 A little, perhaps.' 4 Why don't you take care of yourself ? llt is no matter. 1 answered Amy Williams, with some bitr.erne.ss in her tone She also had been angry with Goorge during the last few days, far she had asked for his friendship, and apparently he had determined to bestow very little of it upon her. 4 Why do you say that ?' he asked angrily. ' Are you bo ' and he paused. 1 So what, Mr Manners.' • Unworthy,* he thouirht ; but he only bit his lips and turned away, walking restlessly up and down the room, forgetting in his anger the sick woman who was lying in the bed. Miss Williams never turned her head to look after him. hut continued in the same attitude, gazing mournfully into

the fire and at each turn George tooh down the rootn he looked eageily at tb« pale, sorrowful young face when he nevei could see and utterly distrust. At last, as if he had made some resolu'ion, or touched perhaps by some feeling or pity, he came up to her, laying his hand gently on her shoulder as ho spoke. ' Amy,' hetmid, 'you are only a little tfirl— you have few friends, yoa sayclear yourself from a frightful suspicion in the mind of one of them. Tell me what it is that Hugh Manners knows against you. Believe me, I shall be no harsh or unkind judge.' But Miss Williams made no answer to this appeal ; only large, heavy tears beKnn to roll silently down her pale, thin face, • Do not let me grieve you,' said George bending down over her. ' God knows I would not willingly do that — but if yoa f«lt as I do— felt that this perhaps might be cleared away by a few honest words, you would not surely withhold them.' 1 1 cannot tell you, 1 said she, in « low tone, turning her face so as to touch his band, which" still rested on her shoulder. 1 George, I— l cannot tell you— but lam very unhappy.' 'Is it some girlish folly that a dishonourable scoundrel like he might twist to his own purpose?' said George Manners. 'Amy, lam a proud man— a harsh one, if you will — but if it is only folly, however great, however damning, I will still fay— what I told you that night I meant to say — still say — give me a right to protect you from the lying ton true 1 ) of such men as he is.' Still the made no answer, but drew his hand nearer to her ; laying her wet face against that strong, firm palm. 'Do you love me?' he said at last, after a few moments of painful silence. 1 Yes,' said she ; • yes — George, I love you too well.' < What ii it makes yoa hesitate, then ? Is it the knowledge of your own guilt ?' And unconsciously he grasped her hand as he spoke with such violence that she gave a cry of pain. 'No,' she cried, springing up, and flinging back his hand, speaking hot and passionately. 'No— for what do you take me, George Manners? Am I fallen so low as that ?' 'God knows,' he answered, bitterly, leaning his head down on the oldfashioned mantelpiece, 'I shall ask you no more.' Neither spoke for the next few minutes ; then George lifted up his head. •We've had enough of this, I think,' ho said. 'As long as lam here, let you and I keep as far apart as we can. We may as well drop that folly you talked the other day about friendship and brotherhood. You have no trust in me — nor I in you — so let it end.' ' I do trust you,' said Amy William*. 1 Perfectly I' answered George, scoffin ely. ' You have a secret with Hugh Manners — a secret too precious to be confided to the fool — -who only cares for you too much.' • George,' said Amy, gently laying her hand upon his arm, 'you speak to me harshly — yoa treat me rudely — I, a woman unprotected and alone. But one day I think you will judge me differently — one day you will be sorry for all your hard and cruel words.' « ' Will you tell me then some time— any time -but will you tell me ?' ' Yes.' • Will you swear that you will ? And one thing more, will this secret, whatever it in, make me — yes make me curse the day I met you when it is mine ?' •I do not kuow, 1 said Amy Williams, turning away her head. ' I would rather you were dead, 1 said George Manners, in a low tone of intense emotion. 'I would rather you were dead.' ' I wish indeed that I were — oh ! George, have you no pity?' she cried, going near to him and flinging her arms about his neck. 'Don't you see that I love you ? — don't you see that I am miserable — more miserable than you ?' For a moment he made a movement an if to repulse her; the next he cl>i»ped his arms round her, covering her lips and brow with passionate kisses. 'What is it?' he whispered; ' what is it ?— tell me now.' ' Not shame, at any rate — not shame, George. Will you beliere that ?' \Yes.» • I would tell yoa if I could — trust me a little longer— love me a little still.' •Yes— but » • • You must not say but,' whispered Amy, fondly. ' You must say, I will,' ' Well, I will.' • And] you forgive me if I bare made you unhappy " „ • Yes child, yes-— anything. 1 ' And — and — now let me go.' ' No,' and he clasped her closer ; ' no, not yet.' 'Now?' said 6he, in a, few minutes, lifting up her head. 'X am a fool,' said George Manners, abruptly releasing her. 'Ask me what you like — to marry you— to go down on, my knees— to do anything— and I will do it.' • I ask you nothing, ray dear, but to love and trust me a little atUl.' . ' , ' And, ypu love me?' • Yes, though perhaps,' and she sighed, ' I should not »ay it.' , tßutyoudo.' 'Yes.', • Tb.en I am content ; but oh ! Amy, listen to me. Do not rouse the, devil within me. Do not let me. think there is anything, now, at least, between you and Hugh Manners,' • There is not.' , 'I will trust you,' ha said; adding with a; smile,, glancing at the bed, 'we have forgotten the poor mother at this time.' > u , Mrs- Manners, however, had, been awake for the, last ten, rfuinutes ; and looking up, had seen what certainly justified her in .supposing that George and Miss Williams were engaged. •Come here to me, my dears,', she said, in her < feeble, inraUd roioe. ' Come, George, and Amy too'; and when they went beside ,her she held out her wasted hand. 'God 'bless you, both!' she said. • George, be good to ' her, and lova her truly all your life.' 'Oh! Mrs Manners, you must not think,' stammered Miss Williams. • Georgie does not keep many aeoretsfrom his old mother.' •But, GeorgieT said Amy. ' Don't distress your#elf, mother, Amy means she is not engaged to me yet. I have only taken her on trial,' he continued, with a little laugh, holding out his hand towards, her. ' You look after her, mother, and see that she it a good girl* • I know she is,' said Mrs Manners. 'In she ?' said George, looking down at her with dark clear eyes. 'Yes, I believe she is ;' and he drew nearer to her. ' Amy, you will not deceive me ?' he whispered. ' No,' answered the girl, with a sigh and with downcast eyes ; ' no, George, but don't love me too well — don't forget I have a secret,' she added with a nervous little laugh, 'It has to be mine s»me day,' said George. 'And until then we will be friends.' ' Yes ;' said George and laughed al«o— ' dear friends.' George kept his word this time, and for the next few days he and Miss Williams were 'dear friends.' He left the next morning after their reconciliation, but he returned late in the evening, his anxiety for his stepmother being his I ostensible reason j but, food as ht wh of

poor Mrs Manners, as he had parted with her decidedly better in the morning, to travel sixty miles twice in one day waa certainly a slight stretch of family affection. ' I shall be at home all to-morrow,' he said, when he came. ' How lazy you make me, Miss Williams.' They then went up together, and sat by Mrs Manners for nearly an hour, after he had taken some hasty refreshments downstairs. He was tired, but happy. There was a flush on his dark face, which had grown so worn and haggard of late, and a light in his eyes, which Amy had not seen since the unfortunate New Year. But there was no corresponding look in hers. Much as George Manners admired her, it was impossible for him not to notice the great alteration in her appearance. Her face had grown absolutely thin, and lines of care and anxiety were only too visible to his partial eyes. He looked at her again and again, at she waa bending over his step-mother, giving her arrow-root, and arranging her pillow, The excitement of the night before, which had lent a temporary flush to her face, was gone ; and the paleness of her cheeks, and the deep violet hue under her large soft eyes, struck him with a vague^ sensation of terror and alarm. 'I am anxious about you, child,' he said to her a little later, when she came downstairs to wish him good • night. 1 What have you been doing with yourself to get so thin ?' And he got up from the easy-chair where he wasjßittiug, and knocked out the ashes from' his pipe as he spoke. 'Oh, I am very well, George,' she answered, with a smile. • Are you ? Well, then, you don't look very well, that's all I can tell you. What are you fretting about, Amy Y and he put his arm round her. 'Nothing, sir, nothing.' • Tell me, child,' said George, fondly. 'If I've been rough to you, I didn't mean it— it was only out of love, you know,' be added. ' But don't let anything I said vex you any more. And, Amy— we may as well fix it now— you are going to marry me, aren't you ?' • No, no.' ' Nonsense, child ;J I can't part with you now.' ' I thought I was too bad,' said she, with a painful attempt at a joke, for her eyes were really fast filling with tears. ' I daresay you are, little woman ; but bad or good, I must have you know.' Amy was silent. • Don't fret yourself any more,' went on George. 'Let bygones be bygones; you love me, you say ?' •Yes.' • Then it's all right. I'm only a poor man though, Amy ; you'll have to leave off all these fine things,' and he laid his hand caressingly on her sleeve. 'Oh! George ;don't talk like that— don't talk like that.' 'But I must,' said George, gravely. ' I want you to understand that I cannot, in honour, spend even half the small income that I make. lam indebted to my father three thousand pounds, and until I've paid this in full we shall have to live on very little— not more, Miss Amy, than two hundred and fifty, perhaps, a year. Can you do that, do you think ?' She only sighed in reply to this question. 'It is very little certainly,' said George, in an annoyed voice ; ' but I'm bound in honour to think of my sisters' fortunes first.' ' What ?' said Amy, looking up, as if she had not been attending to him. 1 What are you saying ?' 'I am saying.' said George, in an exoeedingly cross tone, and drawing himself up, that I cannot afford to spend more than two hundred and fifty pounds a year. If that is too little ' •Oh ! George, ' said Amy, tenderly, ' don't talk about money. My dear, with you ' ' Well ? said George, mollified, and stealing his arm round her waist. 1 1 wouldn't care how little— l wouldn't care how poor we were if we might never part.' « Well, we won't, child. Why, aren't you satisfied P There, lean your head there— so you can live on very little, can you?' ' Yes, of course.' 4 There'i no 'of course' about it,' said George, practically ; ' we'll have to pinch and screw, and live as plainly as two people can , but if wo are together that won't seem hard to me ; but that three thousand pounds, I must — ' ' What three thousand pounds ? I do not quite understand.' ' What a stupid little thing you are. I have been telling you of it this last halfhour. Well, Mi&s Amy, you must know, for the hundred and fiftieth time, that when I was at college I behaved like a fool. I had been brought up with Walter and Hugh Manners, ' and George winced a little as he mentioned his cousin's name, and stopped. ' Well r ' Well, they were a rich man's sons and I a poor one's, yet I never remembered the little fact until it was too late. I got into debt and difficulties, and would have been arrested, I verily believe, if that good woman upstairs had not persuaded my father to lend me four thousand pounds which he had laid by for the little girls ; and I swore to myself if I lived seven or eight years I would repay it. It is five years ago now, and I have paid back one thousand ; but this year, please God— in a month, in fact — I will pay another. But still, you see, there'll be two thousand to pay, and then we'll want some furniture — I wonder how much that will cost ? 'I tell you what, George, you say you owe — you will owe — two thousand pounds still ?' said Amy, eagerly. ' Well, then, George dear, listen to me — don't let us talk of 'furniture, or anything else until that is all paid. Never* mind how long we wait. Your mother will let me itay on here, and I shall see you sometimes, and you won't be hampered with debt. Isn't that far the best plan, now?' • I— l don't sco it ; but I suppose you are afraid of such a small income ?' ' No, no ; why do you say that ? As if a woman, who really likes anyone, cares for fine dresses, or houces, or anything else— except to look smart to him,' she added, with a loving little smile. •My darling ' said George Manners. But she got her own way. They were to wait— to wait years, she said. ' And who knows what may happen before then?' she continued as if hopefully, and when she came down to breakfast next morning, George thought she was looking much better, much less careworn and sad. 4 1 am going to take you for a walk today,' he said. ' I moan to have a little pink paint on your white face before I leave Narbrough.' • Then let us go and see poor Katie.' ' And who may poor Katie be, child f ' When Amy told this joung girl's sad gtory to her lover, George, with ready sympathy, promised to accompany her. ' Has she finished your wine yet, I wonder ?' he said. • Suppose I get the cellar key, and steal a bottle of the governor's best port and put it into my coat pooket. 1 • What a child you are, George ?' • Don't be impertinent, my dear. I'm past thirty, and that sounds satirical.' They went in the afternoon— a pale,

cold spring afternoon — over the wet links, and down to the hard, dry sand. ' You remember the day we first walked here ?' Baid George. 1 Yea.' • We won't talk of the past any more, but of what's to come,' he went on, cheerfully. ' I'm not always in a bad humour, Amy — I'm not to-day.' • Well I'm very glad.' • When you're Mrs George, mind you don't answer me when I come home, either cross or out of sorts—it only makes me more disagreeable.' ' A pleasant prospect*? ' Yes, and I'll do likewise — when your maid-of-all-work break* your best china, and you fly into a-paaaion, I won't speak — I really won't.' ' Are you quite sure ?' ' Yes, I'll forgive you everthing, except-—' , 'Well, except what?' 'T shall be jealous— l can't help it — I know I shall.' , ' Oh ! don't say so ; you frighten me.' George looked grave. ' Why should it frighten you ?' he said. 1 What good woman need fear her husband being a jealous man; she rhould have nothing to hide.' ' Yesl know— but— ' ' Amy, I'll cat your throat, I warn you, mind,' said George, between just and earnest, 'if ever I find out that you have.' They found poor Katie a little weaker, a little thinner, that was all. ' She is wonderful, Many,' said old Alsie, in answer to their enquiries at the door. 'And so you've come to see her, Mr George — ah, hinny, I mind ye well.' ' Many a rido I've had in your creel, Alsie, said George. 'Ay— you war a bonny black-eyed bairn — bolder than the others ; but they were fine childcr, too.' '■ ' And you've carried it all these years ?' said George, looking curioutly at the old woman's wrinkled face. 'Ay— l'd my man then, Mr Geerge, and my bairns ; they've all left me now.' ' There have been many chances since then.' 'For all maybe, but old folk forget they mun' look to see them.' ' Yours has been an industrious life, Alsie.' ' I was born to't— l've niver found it hard till late,' ' And you do now ?' 'At times, hinny, ay— my old bones seem like to break — but when the Lord's time comes I'll get rest.' Meanwhile Amy Williams had been talking to the dying girl in the inner room. 'So you've brought Mr George ?' she said. 'I bear his voice.' ' Yes, you wanted to see him, you know,' replied Miss Williams. •Ay,' said the girl, eagerly, her pale face flushing painfully. ' I want to see if he's a look o' Jim.' But when George came in' to speak to her, poor Katie was evidently disappointed. Amy Williams could not help smiling at her dissatisfied expression, which, however, soon passed away when he spoke a few kindly words to her, for George Manners never saw the suffering of any human being unmoved. There was about him indeed that true sympathy—that echo, as it were, of the feelings of others— which unconsciously endears us to the possessor. And when he stretched out his strong firm hand to the old fisher-woman to say good-bye, she blest him with the full and pious belief that the blessings of the old would be fulfilled, and that the Lord whom she had served so faithfully during her long and dreary pilgrimage would not let her words fall to the ground. ' He's not so bonny as Jim,' whispered the girl to Amy, as he turned away ; ' his cheeks are thinner and paler — but he's a smile like his.' It was her highest form of praise. Who to her mind still was like the poor lad yet tossing in the restless sea. 'That old woman might teach us humility,' said George, gravely, as they quietly walked home. ' What a life ! yet how content and thankful the is. Little Amy, when you and I get rich, we must not forget our poorer neighbours.' *No, George.' ' And there's something, child, I have to give you, I bought this ring for you a while ago — take it now.' 1 When did you buy it, George ?' ' Never mind, don't ask questions ; and as presents are the order of the day, give this to old Alsie, with my love, the first time you see her.' And he put a sovereigu into Amy's hand. The beginning of economy, sir,' said she, with a smile. ' You see, I've known her all my life,' answered George, apologetically ; ' poor old creature, it will buy her some whisky.' He left the next morning— left happy, excited and trustful — sure tnat his Amy loved him, and with his warm heart beating strong in faith and hope. Yet so strong is human nature— so changeable, so wayward, that before he had travelled his sixty miles, before he reached Oldcastle, that horrible 'green-eyed monster,' jealousy, which seems ever the dark shadow of the fondest love, stole back again into his heart. With doubt and pain, which he in vain tried to struggle against, he remembered that Sir Hugh was near his love, while he was not ; and that the secret of their old acquaintance was yet unexplained and an* known. All the next day he tormented himself with these, to him intolerable fears. On the Friday morning, so overwhelming grew his fears that he determined to return to Narbrough, if only for a few hours, as he was obliged to be at his office again on Saturday morning ; he having, when he left home, promised to be back by the last train on that evening. On Friday, however, he persuaded himself that for the afternoon at least he might take a holiday ; and as there was a fast train about the middle of the day, he started like an unwise man that he was ; for how seldom it is that any one who arrives before their expected time is entirely welcome. George Manners reached Narbrough station about four o'clock and was walking quickly homewards, when, at the end of the lane which leads from the highway to the Vicarage, he encountered his cousin Sir Hugh. Sir Hugh was riding leisurely along, and he checked his horse when he saw George approaching. • Well, George, where have you sprung from ?' he said. ' I have come down in the express,' replied George. • Ah, well, how's the price of tallow, iron, &o. V 'Bad, as usual,' answered George, with a grim smile. ' Going to stay long ?' 'Oalyafew hours— l must leave tonight.' 'By Jove ! how much a week do you spend on trains just now, George, if it is not an impertinent question f 'I am anxious, you see, about ' ' Your mamma ! Good boy. Mamma I hear is improving fast.' 'You need not be quite so boorish, Hugh,' said George, colouring. ' No. What do you want, my fine fellow? 1 This question was addressed by Sir Hugh to 9k ragged fieher boy, who had

come up the moment before, and who was standing staring intently at the two gentlemen. ' Please, sir, be you Sir Hugh ?' said the email child, lifting up his brown fac and white curly head with an inquiring expression. I Yes, my lad, I be Sir Hugh !' ' Wull then, I'd to give you this,' said the boy, producing from the pocket of a pair of short, baggy trousers a note muoh soiled by its visit to this recept acl. ' It's from the young lady that's down at the Vicarage — the governess — and she said ' , ' Deuce take it, what matter ! said Sir Hugh,' glancing at George. 'But she said I waa'nt to show it to anyone but y'raell.' Sir Hugh was sorry for Gtorge — truly sorry at this minute— for the colour faded out of his face, and his lips trembled in spite of all his efforts to appear calm. 'Ah ! I seo,' said Sir Hugh, carelessly opening the note and glancing at its contents. ' Mrs Manners wants some books, and Miss Williams has written for what she wants to be sent down, I'll send them some time to-morrow ; and, my lad, here's a shilling for you, and be off. George, as all fear of infection must now be over, come and dine with us to-day, like a good fellow. The girls will be delighted to see you/ I 1 cannot come,' said George, hoarsely ; 'good morning,' and without another word he turned and left hu cousin, who looked after him for a moment, and then beginning to whistle, went also on bis way. (To be continued).