CHAPTER XLVII. THE NEW BARONET.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2194, 31 July 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XLVII. THE NEW BARONET.

Tho sun which broke throujr.li thp mists and clouds next morning, and shone with •a Hinile on tho still stormy sea, .shone also through the darkened window of JJ\irbrough Hall ; shone on the body of a young man who was lying there ; of a young man who, but yesterday, had gone forth in all his htrenjfth and pride, but who now lay swathed and bound, ready to bo carried away from the home which was his no longer. It shone also on a rosy, e,hcery face, with nervous lip.s and restless ryns, which had watched since dawn its earliest beams — Writclipd tho new day break on his new name. Who had lain awake through long hours, counting ovor the d«ad man's possessions ; thinking of the broad lands, the noble mansion, tho well-stocked preserves the soa hnd given him ; thinking he was now Sir Arthur Manners, and a rich man ; and who, as ho rose, said to himself, 'It was a fine fortune, and he hoped he would make a better use of it than poor Hugh.' The last reflection was spoken aloud, and the comely wife of his bosom sighed in answer, and wiped a tear from her her bright blue eyes. 'It was awful,' she said, ' poor, poor fellow ; so sudden, and so young.' ' You'll be my Lady now, Nelly, said the Vicar, goinjr on shaving himself with pnergy ; ' my Lady Nelly, and I wish you joy4 Will I?' said Mrs Manners, simply. ' Well, I'm sure I never thought of it. But, Arthur doar ; about poor Peggy Richardson ? Amy sayi all night she hud but one cry— that sho was his wife; and you know a baby i.s coming.' The Vicar frowned, and cut his chin. ' Don't talk such folly,' ho said, angrily, 'Wife, indeed! We knew poor Huirh too well, I think, to suppose he over would marry a girl like that.' Then, remembering his own wife's lowly origin, he 1 added, 'But never mind, Nolly— you shall bold your head high yet atnonjr the best of them ; aud as for that, poor gill, of course I'll always see .she's comfortable : always see that she and the child, if one comes, are provided for suitably.' Meanwhile, the poor girl who had loved Hugh Manners, lying becwem life and death — was lying screaminy, shrieking, .shuddering ; calling on the dead man. Calliritr. on him to do hor justice. Not her — not hor ; but the babe, their little babe ; he sniely would own him. Those fia,ntie cries never ooa sod. She thought the doctor was Sir Hugh in her madness, and piteou-ly entreated him thiough the long hours of the dismal Dight. She was liin wife. Would he deny it ? Sho pceiod into Dr. R'lthyou'd face, with wild sid eyes, from which reason had flod But it was the s une tale she told, and tho rinjr. which she hold so tightly and fast — tho ling which was bound round hor nook with a plain black ribbou — wa.s a wedding 01 c ; and hor watchers looked at each othei, and wondered if the poor civ.ituro's woid> could be tine. Ono of th"sL> was Amy. Sho had followe.l the luouiuful piuiies^iou, ai the men had home ' Piottv l'otrirv' from the shore, and had remained many hours by her bedside. t>h was theio urn n I 'carer y hal first roe )\'»>i lil i'mm In r lon', deitbhko sworn. '1 hho,o 'o, wh'Mi atte* ivinLT f"r an hour or so i|iu»i <[vi"i, !\vl suddenly stated up, wit a knitted biows and drawu, distoi tod face, md ryes full of inadnubs and dopaii , and begun .screaming vUid frin^-my ; calling to the dead Hugh-r-

calling on him who had wrouglit hor all this deadly pain. The doctor .shook his head as he lisfonod, and felt her pul««o, aiuj then touched his own forehead bignihV.uiHv. 'It iH not fever,' he siid ; ' tlie poor girl's brain is affectod. My dear, you had bo! tor go home. You can do no good now ; this will be a long case, and she does not even know you.' Theso words wore addressed to Amy, whose toars wore falling hot and fast, as sho stood by the poor maniac's side. ' What are you crying for : .said the unfortunate Peggy, noticing this. ' Has anyone broken your heart, too 1' Broken it bit by bit — bit by bit, n$ Hugh dnf,' sho added, in a sort of mysterious whisper, peering close into Amy's face, ' But never mind, it will come right at last— he lias promised ; and when baby is born — don't shake your head, Huirh,' she contiuued, loudly addressing Dr. Ruthyen. ' Don't look down. Don't lie any more to me. Tell them the truth —tell them I'm your lady— your lady! your lady !' And she began screaming and singing at the full extent of her voice and flinging up her shapely arm**, while Amy with a shudder turned away ; but remembering her last private conversation with Sir Hugh, she began to think there was some truth perhaps in these frantic words, and that Peggy had vainly endcavonred to force tho unfortunate young baronet to acknowledge their marriage ; and ono of the women who accompanied her home to the Vicarage confirmed her in this opinion. 4 There's some truth iv her words, though, maybe,' said this woman, speaking of tho unhappy girl they had just left. ' Her mind's turned ; but God lets these poor creature* have gleams and glimmers at times that's wonderful. I shouldn't wonder if Sir Hugh just did wed her, and she always held hor head high after that. Who knows ? He may j have done her justice then.' This idea spread among the fisher 1 people, and when the Vicar walked out in the morning, in all his new glory, he was surprised and dismayed to find that instead of the decently veiled congiatulations which he had expected, he re- ! ceived nothing but hints and inuendoes, 1 which he at fir-t adootpd to misunderstand, but which he finally grew im1 patient under. ' ' What the deuce are ye driving at ?' \ j at la«t ho said to old James, who was rubbinji down the hoise in the stable- j 1 yard, while the Vicar stood, by trying to j remember the exact number of stalls at I the Hall. 'What d'ye mean by your j bad jobs, and tho b.um, and all that V ! What's Peggy Richardson's child, poor lass, if she lias one, to do with it '! 1 ' wish ye'd speak out.' I ' Well, master, I'll just tell ye w'iat they say,' answered James, philosophically.' 'They say Sir IIu«h wed her la-t ■ spring, over the borders there, and if the j bairn comes it will just be Sir Hugh, j after its father.' I The Vicar grew absolutely pale, and bit his lips, as his ol'l servant gave him this piece of information. ' What proof is there of such a thing ?' he said, ner\ ously. ! ' Auld ilichaidson sticks to it. and says ' he 11 ha' the law on it ; and the liss ha-, a I gould wedding-ring round her neck. ]>ut maybe,' continued .James, consolingly, comniencinc to 2100 m his hoi^e again, ' the I aim w ill never live to see tho light, for Peggy's niottal bad, and nigh dis1 traught ; and a hundred to one, the . women folk say, she'll pull through, her ! trouble, so it may be right after all. Ha' ye heard sir,' he added, ' that Xod Johnson's come ashoie this mom ? rlo's ; sadly beat about the head, J hear." lint 1 tho Vicar tinned away without a vonl. What was the poor hsh«>niian'sdead body > to him, who^c mind was distracted about his new* inheritance. 1 He ooulil not settle dining the mmninsr ! to any woik, and aftei a while walked sharply ou tow aids the Hall. On his way ho eucountcicd the doctor, looking; worn and weary, for he hid speut nearly the I whole night by Pej^y's bedside, and was only now returning from it " Well, doctor,' said the Vicar, 'it's a fine morning. 'Ar — after tho itoim ' answered Dr Ruthyen, with an iuvoluntiry touch of { pity in lm voice. I ' Poor Hugh,' said Mr Manners ; 'it's a s.ul buvsincss. 'There .seemi a cur.-c on them, I think,' said the doctor, 'one aftor the other to meet the same end. Poor Waltor iint, and now Hugh. Ay, it's a sad business, as you say.' ' And that poor girl," asked the Vicar, with ill-coru;e;ilocl anxiet.v, 'that poolass, Potrgy Richardson ? How'.s she this morning ?,' ' Very ill,' replied the doctor, briefly, anil ho oa*t down ln.s eyes as he spoke.' ' There's a child comiug I he ir?' •Ay.' ' Well, doctor, see sho has everything sho requires. D)n't mind a little expense. Poor Huifh no doubt, would have provided for hor if he had lived ; and I wish to do po now.' ' Hum,' said Dr. Ruthyen, and then ho added, abruptly, 'they say he has mariied her, Vicai ; in that cam ' 4 It's a bsid job fur me,' answered tho Vicar, with an uneasy lau^h, but trying to be true to his philosophical principles ; ' a very bad job. But I don't believe it I know rlusrh too woll for that.' 'It's hard to '•ay,' said Dr. Ruthyen, seriously, ' hard to say what men will do. But I mu-t, go and look after my patient-, so {rood nioining to you,' and the doctor walked on, leaving tho Vic tr yet more discomposed and disturbed. 'If there should be anything in it !' ho thought, and he stood and looked at his old home lyinsr amonsr the trees — at tho home where he had been born, and where this mormnjr he had reckoned .so .surely that he would return. 'I had best go home and write to Portland an I to Gcoi go,' he decided at ia-t, tuiuiuu: away. 'I duu'fc care to yro in ju^tnow, 1 think, and weo him.' He felt indeed th it he could not forgive hU Uite nephew the injury ho began to tear he had done him. But the dead man lyin<r in .state in 'he old giey Hall had had other vi-itois. Adelaide' Manners had returned from the painfiil scene on tho sand-, tho myht hefmo iv a, st.ife pitiable to behold. Her attritions and hor p> ule had been shattered .h it were iv ono blow , and her di.iwn, colourless face, wli"ii she came in, had filled hor kind stepmother' > heart with concern and alarm. Tho Vicar had boon trv> full of tie s^roat eh in-;o in Ids own fortune- to norn c her, and hid nho gone nj> to the hall o look aftor the remains ot the mit niiin 1 0 young baronet; and Amy hid follow , d the men who bote Pouirv lin li.trd-i n away, so that Mis Manuei.s and Adelaide were alone. 'Oh dear what cvi 1 mv to eo'nfoit you '?' said the ijood worn in, di nvi'i r 1 t r step-dauirhter to the tiro, and in'.ibitg hoi cold hand-, and fikinir oft In 1 w1 t clothes. 'Oh! Adelaide, my deal 1 hud, don't look like that. liy to ciy, do v, it you can.' J>ut no 111 1 ir came into her fi\.e<l hard eve-, and with a lau^h .she pushed Mis M mnei-. aw iv. 'JDon't.' sin> x,n'!, 'don t tone 1 ! mo,' aud she looked cauroilv lound. Some whi-kv w.i- -t 1 nluiir on tho si !,•- bo ml, and with >ut anofl er word -lie went up t> it, md p'Miiol some ot the stionc .spints inff) a glass, and tVn drank it as it it had beon w.ilor 'Oh! my dear,' siid Mis M.innors, ' don't t ikt tliat — do'i'i, Ad' laide, j'ou'ie 1 not u-)cd to it. Have some water with

it, at any rato.' But sho only shook her head, and then "snatched up a candle, huriied to hor own room, and locked th© door b< hind hor. refusing to admit any one to witJifs hor sufirnn<_'s. They woo very bit t r r At first the unu«ii il quantity of stimulant "which fih© had take)i"d deadened Ik r feelings ; but as tho niirlit woie on, remembrance and .self-knowledge- returned with ten-fold vigour. Sit hid 10/td Sir Hugh Mannets—loved him in HDite of his many faults, as other womon had dona before her. Loved him for tho sake of the beautiful face, and mocking tongue, which had 'spoken not good, but evil, 1 all his days ; but which, nevertheless, had possessed a .strange fascination for her ' But he never loved me,' she thought, and groaned and turned on her pillow through the long, dreary night; 'he never loved me !' She could not even deceive herself ; for whatever Sir Hugh'i conduct had been to others, no blame lay at his door about Adelaide Manners. He had never trifled with her — never clasped her hand in love or tenderness. As a sister only had he regarded her, and the miserable girl admitted this as she lay and moaned thiough those dark, dark hours. At last tho morning broke for her also — the morning which her father welcomed so joyfully. The bright morning shining on the sea and on the sands — shining on the bruised body of the poor young fisherman which lay there — shining on Adelaide Manneis' pale face ; and she shuddered and tinned away from its li<*ht. But, by-nnd-b}e, lustk-ss and miseiable., she a; r -.e. She could not keep quiet ; and A-my, who had gone late to rest, was startled by her entering her bedroom about nine o'clock already dressed to go out. 4 Will you come' 1 she said, addressing tho half sleeping Amy in a stiange, changed \olce ; ' will you come with me — to go and see li-m ?' 'Oh, Adohide,' svul Amy, kindly, 'do not qo — do not go." 4 1 must, ' answered Adelaide, huskily. ' Shall I \va;t for yon or go alone ?' And unwilling that she should do so, Amy hastily diesM'd hei&elf, and together they j>et out. 'We have como to bee — my cousin, 1 said Adelaide, abruptly, to old Robert, w'-o opnictl tlii- lodge uate. tur them. ' You come up with it:, to the house, and keep all tl.e othei-j iw >v.' 'Ay, mi->s } ' ,!!i 3 « cil'l the old servant, 1 locking it thtui mum '\\ hit < uiiou-ly, and nodding his _;! \ lie.nl Up «h<l not seem I <1< pn-bul ; l\c ln<l ne\oi losed his lite I m ist"i ; e< 1 rc>:ip .111114 linn 'int ivourably I with the Lijwilv old !> uoii<«t md the ligiitjhe n ted boy v, >v, ii i-l me Kfoie; and j no.v he v. a-, >\u c ilati il: "'i tin piobablti I quihtio of hi^ ,ii ci s^t 1 , and not unwillI inn pci In,)^ t<) _Mii t.i> .^ood opinion of I In.- d ui^'itf t I -Thf \ i^u's 1 sulo fellow, after all,' I hid been the \mhet wlnJi most of the I set \ anN In. l pio'io'in od over their I suppoi the niLtlit i)r 1 if, atte 1 the dead in in hailb^Jii j>uwm ilv at and laid o.it in btate 111 tin; di'i'Mg-hal!, "A gud<«, heii!-> 'ellow ; ,iid Mr. (koi^eis one in a thou-aml At <1 -0 t'-ev heir in talking ot the i)' w pn --, -Mil and 1 1-- nil lirs, and I old Koh'it h ii"M!,l,( lel •• the pretty, I canny looki"i; I'^,' ■" no Iwl come one j ait(.iu(;o'i v.u l ! Mi ( eoi L"-' ain't the young I ladios, md li.i'l bui tia in the library; 1 and he now looked ,i f Ain\.au ( l wondered I if sim v. oiilcl sou c na\ 1.0 in* to be, My ladj ' .unot.j; them ' Hi; - lii'l out in ti > /^i-i; hall,' he i .1.11.1, \\ iu'ii tlu i lea i.d th" lio'i^e, in a 1 mjsteuous whi^.u 'Hi-fither, poor ! man, was laid then. I'd;) > bun ; and I Mas-Lei Walt"- so w" | i-t m<\ it all the J 6 uiie ' A') I he ojk in d the <!u >r of the I loo'ii a;? he -pp v )i c, ami u^hei'Ml iv the two i 111 1 J i' -. \'b 11!1 1! le «-i i^ied Al.l v '-. arms a.i I In: did s>, uuidios hoi bieatu with a I long ijiiiv el mu f -liiii I ' Ot, ' in\ (rod. -he Mvii niii'eil, 'I can- • not loo!. —I c.iiiiiot louk JJut Amy drew* I nei gonth on, and to^'cthti tnty went up, and stood Ic-nie. tin liUck iliap»d table oil w iiich Sll Hii.h s body lay, leaily for j the intjuest which that ddy Mas to be j held to inquire; into tho cause of his death. Neither spoke for a few moments. One of the dray n blinds was not quite close to the s'nli, of the window, and a gleam of fell ]ii->t on his face, lighting it bajk as it were to beauty and to life, while a faint smile ■jeeined yet, to linger round hi> peifect lips. 'He cuinot be dead,' whispered Adelaide, neivoii-i} ; ,\ud she put out her hand and touched his cheek, and then staited back and qnni deadly pale. 'Oh I how cold- -how nw Hilly cold," she said, and shuddered. 'Oh ! Amy, come away, come away !' she lium! the ne\t riiiiuite, coveiing her face, and then for the tii-it time since hei cousm'a death she burst into passionate sobs. 'Yon hau better lea\e us, Robert,' said Amy. to the old suivaut, and when ne was gone she put her anus round Adelaides uon\ ulsed .uul trembling form. ' Hush : dear Miss Manners,' she slid, ' hush I' and then was silent. What could she say to consul her ! The commonplace ;yet tender hopes and wishes,' by tl.e d ad. paused on her tongue— 'He is happy now, we trust. He is at rest. He w<n a good man and has youe to ius tew ml.' Ah' me — ah! me. H i who li\ tiieic could have no >uch elefiy. lie lui-l \\a>tod hus talents. He had biokeu the li \utof a woman who loved bun : and had led on to tolly and sin weak bo) s who a-1 hi t c<l and apj/laudeil him lie had dune not good but evil, ami he wai nov\ alike liom repentance and lepioach. ' Where is lv now, I wonder '! Where is he now; moaned Adelaide, rocking herselt 111 her 'uue>>tiaiinblu gnef, and looking ai;aiii and a«!iin on hei dead cousin's face. *On ! Hiitjh, Huyn : may God nay c met c_\ upon \ on ' ILis neicy is gr"it,' -wl Ann, with a kind of. il.it "'Conn . <l"ii Mi-> Manners ; conic, dear A<lel"l" v.vay You can do no good here, and it 13 only dis* tressing you.' But Adelaide would scarcely go but stood ga/mg with hoptk'js eyes at Sir Hugh'b btill teatnie-5 ; and at last, dinging herself on the hte'esi body, she covered the lircnv <u\\{ hail w itii ki^*.^, Miood-b^e, ihii^h,' she -aU ; 'goodbye — for cv ci, anil tor ever. And sobbing and wiinging her hands, she then allowed Am}' to draw hoi- away. ( I\, b <•> >h, ( ii< ><. ,

Tin miti who went to tho country for "rest .snd eh'niiro, sad the waiter^ got most of his ehan^i, and the 1 uidiord the re<t. Tho following lofereiue? to King Thcebaw and his. wive-,, says the C<-nrt Jn>n /<<//, will be lead w ith some interest: " His Majesty landed at Rutu.iirheuy a shoit time since. ' Att.n lied to his coat were two rows of diamonds and nibios, of the si/c of small i/nstmit-, 111 v,n\d nettings,K\ hi, h shoin !>injhth inti > mailing lays.' I'lu f.i\ounte (Jacvii s '-.nail white silk petticoat w r'i pink and bhu fiontage,'may be o\.i looked in tavourof'a huge diamond u uJ.ict 1 , some tluee or four rows Jeep,' .rada'soic ot coronet •set with nibioi, oim> i.iMs and diamonds. The huh woie, lxiiilos, s^old caring 3 ' set with a lai^c aiamond ami .ai emerald on either sidi ol it ' Ot the Second I,'ueen, wo i-.ul that 'she \\as snni! u lj dieted, and doooiatodwith ilia r.oiids/iubios and emeralds ' ,si\ maids ot honour carried each a mmc of wealth upon her.' The ladies of Thoelnw's tamily lu\ u cousolalioii in their cull.' 1