BETHIA’S FATE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VII, Issue 10, 7 March 1891, Page 6

BETHIA’S FATE.

MAWDELEY—CALL.—On the 7th inst.. at St. Matthew’s, Birchfield, by the Rev. J. Clarke, Edbert, grandson ot the late General Mawdeley, of Birchfield Manor, to Janette, eldest daughter of John Call, M.D., Birchfield. HIS announcement was read by a girl in the reading - room of the Hotel du ip-Faucon, Lausanne. She had just come s in from a walk with some friends, and entered the reading-room in search of her father. She found him deep in a budget of letters. He looked up as she took a seat W> beside him, and informed her the English post was in. ‘ Here aie some letters and a paper for you,’ he added, handing them to her. ‘ I wonder who is sending me a paper,’ she wondered, as she looked at the wrapper. ‘ Well, it can wait. I shall read my letters first.’ Having finished them, she took up the paper again and opened it. A marriage notice marked in blue pencil attracted het eye, and she read the above paragraph. ‘ I am glad he is married,’ she said, and then, letting the paper drop and her thoughts wander, her mind swiftly traversed the past, and brought vividly before her mental vision the tragedy of the past. A shudder shook her frame, and her father looked up anxiously. ‘ You have not caught a chill, have you, Aleen ?’ ‘ Oh, no, father ! I was only thinking - thinking,’ with a shiver, ‘of Mr Rait. This paper contains the announcement of young Mawdeley’s marriage.’ ‘ Poor child, no wonder the name revived unpleasant memories. You must not think about what is past. lam glad the young fellow is happy. Now tell me what you have been doing to-day. ’ Aleen complied, and strove hard to cast off all thoughts of that dark past, but the memory haunted her continually, till one day, finding herself alone, seated before the writingtable in her room, the impulse seized her to commit her recollections of the one terrible experience of her life to paper, and she wrote as follows :— aleen’s story. My great friend at school was Bethia Rait, a girl of my own age, but very different in character. She was shy and shrinking, with large, soft, plaintive brown eyes that gazed out on to the world with such a wistful look it gave one the heartache to see it. Her highly strung nerves and keenly sensitive disposition were not suited to a school life, but on her li ist arrival at school she had attached herself to me, and I, who knew not the meaning of nerves, and was, indeed, the most thorough of tomboys, warmly returned this attachment, and did my best to protect hei from the uisagreeables of a boarding school. We usually spent our holidays together, generally at my own home, for I was one of a large and merry family circle, and she was the only child of a widower, who always, to me, seemed to desire his daughter’s absence rather than her presence. He had rooms in London, but he was in the habit of coming down occasionally to Birchfield Manor on visits to its owner, General Mawdeley. He was the General’s cousin and next heir, and, as the General was getting on in years, he regarded himself, and was looked upon by’ others, as almost the owner of the General’s large property. It was to Birchfield Manor that I accompanied Bethia on the few occasions that Mr Rait desired her company during the holidays, and when our schooling was over, after a long visit from Bethia to us, I returned with her to Birchfield to spend some time there. We had only been a month at Birchfield when the General caught a chill while outdriving, inflammation set in, and in a few days he was gone. Mr Rait, who was absent on the Continent, was telegraphed for, and arrived in time for the funeral. I ha<l never liked Mr Rait, and I fairly detested him now, when Isawhow promptly he took his placeas master, showing no signs of grief foi the cousin who had been his best friend, and evincing a most indecent desire to obtain his money and be off to London to spend it. ‘ London and Paris,’ as we had frequently heard him remark, ‘ were the only two places in the world to live in.’ And to do him justice, he suited practice to theory, by spending most ot his time in these two capitals. ‘ The only drawback,’ as we had also heard him remark, ‘ being want of money, but with Birchfield Manor at his back he had been enabled to get along pretty well.’ My mother had written to him asking if he would let Bethia return home with me for the present, but he had answered that he wished her to remain at Birchfield, and would lie glad if she would let me stay also. Consequently I stayed, but I did not like it at all, anil if it had not been for Bethia, would have insisted on going home. The night liefore the funeral —he had only arrived that morning he showed an utter disregard for all decency and solemnity, talking most openly of all bis plans of pleasure for the future. ‘ I shall take a house for the next two months in London, and introduce you to a London season, Bethia, and Miss Tuberville must come, too, and we will see what we can do for her in Hie way of gaiety.’

* Thank you, Mr Rait,’ I said, with all the dignity of seventeen, ‘ but I do not know that my mother would like me to come. ’ He laughed at my tone as he answered : ‘ Well, we shall see. If you expect me to shut myself up in seclusion and mourn because I have come in for a lot of money, which I sorely needed, you are greatly mistaken. But you are only babies yet,’he added, impatiently. ‘ln a few years you will liave learnt more sense. ‘ I drew myself up, but remained silent. Bethia breathed the softest sigh, but, low as it was, her father heard it, and, turning impatiently, left the room. But when the will was opened there was a great surprise, for it was discovered that the General’s property in land and money were bequeathed to hie grandson Edbert, only child of hn only son, whose very existence had been a secret till now. Bethia and I had not been present at the reading of the will, for which I felt keenly thankful when I heaid of Mr Bait’s unrestrained wrath at finding himself deprived of his anticipated inheritance. He was only slightly mollified after some time on discovering he had been appointed sole guardian of the boy with a legacy of £lO,OOO. ‘ Not much,’ he grumbled, ‘ when I expected twice that amount as a yearly income.’ The old housekeeper, coming to look after Bethia and me in our boudoir, was easily persuaded to sit down and repeat to us all she had been able to discover concerning the heir. She had only known the General since he came to live at Birchfield, having inherited the propeity from a relative of his mother, and then he had neither wife nor child. But it turned out that the General had been early left a widower with one child, a son on whom he lavished the most devoted affection. Years went on, the son grey up, fell in love and desired to marry. He was only twenty ; she was below him in position, and the General refused his consent. Some violent scenes followed between father and son, and finally, on his twenty-first birthday, young Mawdeley married his Kate, and his father solemnly renounced him. Only one effort at reconciliation had the son since made, and that was on the birth of his own son, an event which awoke tender recollection of his own father in his breast. He wrote to announce the birth, and to beg forgiveness. But the General wrapped himself in his pride, and answered that while he lived he would never see his son nor grandson, nor hold any communication with them, nor should they touch a penny of his money during his life. Ten years later young Mrs Mawdeley had written to announce her husband’s death, ending with the assurance that she needed no assistance, for she earned enough by her needle to support herself and her son Edbert. This letter had been received only a few months before the General’s death, and the news had doubtless contributed to his illness. The two letters were found in the secret drawer of the General’s escritoire. Mr Dill, the lawyer, had been the only one whom the General had taken into bis confidence regarding the whereabouts of his daughter-in-law and grandson, and he started off the day after the funeral to find them and bring them to Birchfield. The following day he returned, accompanied only by the boy, and told us he had found him in the charge of a friend, his mother having died suddenly a few days previously. Bethia and 1 did our best to make the boy feel at home, and to comfort him for his loss, but it was long before he seemed in any degree to have overcome his grief. Mr Rait at first treated the poor boy with contemptuous dislike, and seemed always so irritated by his presence that Bethia and I did onr best to keep him out of sight. But one day Mr Rait’s mood changed, and be graciously invited Edbert to accompany him in a tide. The boy went unwillingly, but returned" enchanted, and fiom that time forth the two became inseparable, and his guardian’s praises were always on Edbert’s lips. Bethia rejoiced exceedingly that her father had overcome his dislike to his innocent snpplanter, and I would have been glad but that I never trusted Mr Rait’s affection for Edbert. I once saw him look at his ward with an expression which frightened me. I was reading in the window seat of the morning-room, when I saw Mr Rait and Edbert come along the terrace. The latter caught sight of something, and went to the edge of the terrace to look. Then it was that I noticed the murderous expression on his guardian’s face as he looked for an instant at the boy’s averted face. Almost immediately afterwards, however, he was smiling pleasantly as Edbert turned and came back to him. They moved on, and when next I saw them they were riding down the avenue, Edbert listening intently to the story of some wonderful adventure of which his guardian had been the hero. I did not wonder at Edbert’s devotion, for Mr Rait could be most charming and the most delightful- of companions when he pleased, and he seemed always so to please when with Edbert. About two months after Edbert’s arrival at Birchfield, Mr Rait, one morning at breakfast, announced to us that he intended to take the whole party to Horley, a very small seaside place, about two hours’ journey by rail. Scarcely any visitors ever went there, but Bethia and I had sometimes gone for a day when at Birchfield, and we were very fond of the quiet little place with its sandy coves and beautiful cliffs, and had often wished to spend some time there so as to thoroughly explore the neighbourhood. ‘ And Miss Tuberville is to come, too,’ continued Mr Rait, ‘ for I wrote and asked Mrs Tuberville’s permission, which she has kindly given, only stipulating that on your return from Horley you two young ladies are to go to her. I have taken a cottage at Horley for a month. I shall not stay there myself, but I shall run down sometimes from London and take a look at you.’ ‘ You are going to London, then, father ?’ asked Bethia. ‘ Yes, my dear, but 1 shall see you settled in at Horley first, and go on from there.’ We were soon settled at Rose Cottage, as we named our picturesque little abode, with its roses, both red and white, climbing up, round, and about it, some nodding their beautiful heads coquettisbly in at the latticed windows. We had lovely weather, and every morning we rose early and ran down to a tiny sheltered bay where we enjoyed a dip in the sparkling blue ocean rippling in on the yellow sand. Then we would go for a walk along the cliffs, re. turning home with large appetites for breakfast. After that we would pack a basket full of provisions, and-the three of us would wander off on our explorations, either going out in our landloid’s boat, under the charge of hie son, a stalwart young fellow of five-and-twenty, or else we would wander

inland, and find a shady place in some wood, where we would spend an idle time, reading and talking and eating, and occasionally strolling about. What a happy time we had during those first three weeks !. There was a cosy nook np the cliff, a hundred feet or so above the beach, and here we loved to sit, our books lying unheeded on cur laps, our hands clasped, our lips silent, or occasionally wondering over problems to which neither of us could give an answer. It is strange the wonderful influence the ocean has over one s thoughts, what problems of life da not seem to rise up before one’s mind as you watch the rise and fall of that mighty breast 1 How small and contemptible you feel yourself in presence of that mighty force ! How powerless in the hands of Him who made us, and to Whose will even that wonderful ocean has to submit. We would feel crushed beneath the sense of nothingness did we not remember that we are greater than the ocean in that we haveimmortal souls, and it rests with ourselves to gain everlasting happiness or sink to depths of woe. How we loved to watch that ocean with the white sails of yachts shining so brightly in the sunlight as they skimmed over the waters; then a puff of smoke would come round the corner of the cliff, and a tiny coasting steamer would cross the bay on her way to her next port. Further out at sea we would watch the great sailing vessels as they moved on in stately fashion, dressed out in the splendour of their spotless sails, reminding us of court dames of a bygone age, while the black hulks of the ocean liners, with their long, line of grey smoke issuing from their funnels, speeding rapidly over the ocean, seemed to us fit representatives of this go-ahead century. Mr Rait paid us a weekly visit, and each time he seemed to me to be labouring under some trouble or anxiety. When with Edbert he would make an effort to be as bright and lively as usual, but it was an effort, though the boy did not seem to notice it. When alone with Bethia and me, however, he would relapse into moodiness, and sit silent, gazing gloomily at the floor, or else start up and, taking his hat, go off for long solitary walks. He generally came from Saturday till Monday, and on Sunday it was his custom to take Edbert for a long walk. The third Sunday he came doyn he took Edbert, as usual, for a walk, but when they returned to the cottage, instead of coming in he went on tothe beach for a smoke and talk with our landlord, and Edbert came in alone. He was full of the delightful walk they had taken, a further one than they had been yet, toquite a new part, a sandy little bay shut in by cliffs.

‘ At least,’ added Edbert, ‘ we didn’t go down into the bay, we only looked into it from above. Mr Rait sat down on the top and said I might climb down and explore, but when I was half-way down he called to me to come back, as it was time to start for home, but he has promised I shall go another day.’ ‘We must go, too,’ said Bethia. ‘Father !’ as Mr Raitentered, ‘ Aleen and I want to go with you next time you take Edbert to this new bay.’ ‘ What on earth are you talking about ?’ said her father, angrily. ‘ Edbert has been romancing, I suppose.’ ‘ I was only telling them about that new bay we discovered to-day,’ answered Edbert. ‘ Well, it was nothing so very wonderful after ail. Now, mind, girls ! I am not going to have you exploring by yourselves. 1 warned you before not to go about the cliffs —it is all very well for Edbert when he is with me, but they are dangerous in places, and girls are such helpless things. ’ I was indignant at the aspersion cast on our sex, but held my tongue while Bethia humbly promised not to climb the cliffs without permission. Next day Mr Rait departed, and. we had some more happy days. Then came the tragedy: MR TUBERVILLE CONTINUES. My daughter is too overcome to proceed, so 1 will write from what she has told me at different times when her horror permitted her to return to the subject, and from what I have gathered from others. The girls and Edbert were to leave Horley on the Saturday, and on the Thursday Bethia received a letter from her father, in which he told her he would be unable to come and escort them to Birchfield, but that he would meet them on their arrival there on Saturday evening. He went on to give them some news of his doings, and continued with an account of a meeting be had had with a distinguished conchologist, who, on hearing he had a daughter staying at Horley, had eagerly asked if she could do him the great favour of looking for a certain shell and sending it to him. He was most anxious to get it, and had just heard it was to be found in the neighbourhood of Horley. He was very much occupied at present, and could not spare the time to run down. Mr Rait had assured him of his daughter’s willingness to oblige him, and his letter continued :

‘ Tell Edbert to go to the little bay he and I were at last Sunday, for I know this shell used to be found there, and most probably will be now. 1 enclose a sketch and description of the shell which the professor gave me. Edbert can take them. I don’t want you girls to go, because it is a tiring climb, and Edbert can easily do it; he is very active, and it will him no harm.’ This letter was received on Thursday afternoon, and it was decided Edbert should go next morning. They went to their favourite seat on the clifl’s, and while the girls sat and read Edbert climbed up the cliff. Presently there was a scream and the rattling noise of falling stones, and before the girls had time to realise what had happened, Edbert was lying at their feet pale and motionless. Aleen, fortunately, caught sight of the doctor’s gig standing in front of the little hotel close by, and flew to fetch him, while Bethia watched by Edbert. Aleen speedily returned with the doctor to find the boy had recovered consciousnes, and, after a close examination, the doctor pronounced he had dislocated his ankle, but there was no serious injury. They soon got him to bed, and the doctor, after settling him comfortably, left, saying he would call again in the morning. The next morning he called, and expressed himself very satisfied with his patient. A day or two’s rest in bed, and then care for a time would soon set him all right. ‘ You can easily go home on Monday,’ he told Bethia, ‘ only be careful you don’t let him walk too soon.* ‘ I shall be very careful,’ promised Bethia, ‘ and when we get home there will be our own doctor.’ The doctor took his leave, and Bethia sat down to write to her father and explain the reason for their delay in returning to Birchfield. •He will get this letter by the first post to-morrow morning,’ she observed, ‘so that he need not leave London on our account so soon. ’

She finished her letter and posted it, and then came in to see how Edbert was, and found him lamenting to Aleen his inability to fulfil Mr Bait’s commission. And *he seemed so anxious to get it for the professor,’ he lamented. * I don’t see at all why you and I should not go, Aleen,’ said Bethia. * Papa did not want us to go when he thought Edbert could, but I am sure he would rather we got it than not go at all. We are not children ; we can be ti listed not to go into danger.’ •Yes, do go !’ exclaimed Edbert. ‘ I’ll explain the exact spot, and you cannot mistake it.’ Aleen, too, thought there could be no harm in going as Mr Bait appeared so desirous to obtain the shell. Accordingly, after lunch, the girls, after particular instructions from Edbert, started on their search. They followed the path along the top of the cliffs, now receding from the water, and then carrying them to the overhanging brink of bold headlands. They passed one bay after another, till ■finally they stopped at the spot Edbert had described to them, and looked down at the short strip of sand below. ‘ Are you sure this is the place ?’ asked Bethia, doubtingly. ‘ I thought it was much more unget at-able than this. Why, this is a very easy descent.’ ‘ Edbert told me it was quite easy,’ answered Aleen. -■ He could not understand why Mr Bait made such a fuss about it.’ ‘lt was his care for me,’ answered Bethia, and Aleen has told me she can never forget the look of satisfied love on her face. A very sweet face hers always was, poor little Bethia ! but generally far too sail ; such a pathetic look in the lovely ■ eyes. But on this day Aleen says her face was bright, her eyes dancing with fun, and her manner animated as she gaily talked of future pleasures, and merrily wondered over what their lives would be. She had been growing more light-hearted each day of that month, and losing her old manner. The sea air and out-of-door life seemed to make her younger day by day, but on this last day she was gayest -of all.

‘ I really belijve my father is fond of me,’she had told Aleen that morning. ‘ I used to doubt it, but now I think he is. In his last letter he plans all sorts of delights—a long trip on the Continent, travelling about and seeing all the places one reads of, just we two alone. He says he won’t require any other company.’ • What is to become of Edbert, then ?’ Aleen asked.

‘ Oh, he doesn’t mention him, but I suppose he will send him to school.’

‘Now for the descent,’said Bethia, after the girls had stood for a few minutes at the top of the clift looking at the view.

They rapidly descended till close to the bottom. Aleen suddenly spied a plant she had long desired to possess growing in a crevice of the rock, and instantly went down on her knees and began trying to uproot it. ‘ I’ll go on and get the shell,’ exclaimed Bethia, ‘ while you secure your plant.’ She hurried on. Aleen, who was kneeling with her back to the beach, suddenly heard a wild scream of terror, and, springing to her feet,faced round, and, horror struck, beheld Bethia sinking in the sand. She uttered a piercing scream and sprang forward, but stayed her steps at Bethia’s cry. ‘ Don’t come ! don’t come! Call someone to help me -out!’

The rest of that time is a nightmare to Aleen. She is conscious that she sought wildly to reach her friend, but even kneeling on the edge of the quicksand and stretching out her hand as far as she could, she was unable to touch Bethia’s. She shouted continually, but no one heard. She looked for rope or stout sticks, but there was none, and still her friend was sinking before her eyes. She climbed the cliff, aided by the wings of love and fear, and, shouting for help at the top of her voice, ran along the path. Then a feeble cry from her friend below reached her ears, and she caught sight of a man running towards her. ‘ Oh, come ! come !’ she cried, and Hew down the cliff, followed by the man. Alas ! as they reached the foot, the unintended victim of a man’s avaricious hatred closed her eyes on this world which had most of her life been a ‘ vale of tears ’ to her and opened them, let us trust, on a world wheie she will be lewarded for all her suffering in this. Poor Aleen was brought home by the man who had witnessed with her her friend’s end, and that night she was raving in brain fever. Her mother and I were telegraphed for, but it took months of tenderest care, and after her health improved, years of easy travelling to restore her even to the shadow of her former bright self, and I fear the memory of that" terrible episode will never beeffaced from her mind.

We were so absorbed in our daughter that it was long before we thought of Mr Bait. Then we learned that on hearing of his daughter’s fearful end he had fled the country. But the shock had unhinged bis brain, and when he reached Calais he was raving. In his delirium he betrayed his deep-laid plan for getting rid of his ward by decoying him into the quicksand, the existence of which he knew well. In the event of Edbert’s death without issue Mr Bait would have succeeded to the Birchfield property. But the innocent child was the victim of her father’s sin, and on that father himself descended the -curse of insanity. Mr Drill undertook the charge of Edbert Mawdeley, and we hear occasionally of and from him. He has turned out a flue young fellow, I believe, but Aleen has never had the courage to look on his face since that fearful day when Bethia went forth gay and Ught hearted to meet her fate. A.