A Woman's Heart

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXII, Issue XXI, 27 May 1899, Page 718

A Woman's Heart

By

MRS EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS.

CHAPTER XXIII. The very next day Sir Basil set oft on his search, but he would rather that the theatricals had been postponed, and Molly was of the same opinion. Her deep sympathy with Justina in her trouble, and the fact that the latter would not be able to take any part in the play which was now well forward, combined to make her very unwilling to go on with it. But Justina would not hear of the affair being put off on her account, and at last Molly gave in. There was considerable delight and satisfaction among the young folk of Croomehurst when they received the intimation from Molly Fothergill that despite Mrs Seaton’s enforced absence the pantomime would still take place, and that none of the gaieties that had been looked forward to with so much excitement and pleasure would be curtailed.

Mr St. Leger came forward to offer himself as a substitute for Mrs Seaton as general arranger and writer for the amateurs, and everything was carried on at Croome just as it had been before the day when such great and sad news had been brought to Justina. The only difference noticeable at the rehearsals was the absence of Learn Greatorex and Sir Basil, as well as the non-appearance of the gentle, lovely authoress. Molly flung herself heart and soul into the bustle of the moment; in fact, she was rather grateful to these theatricals. They helped her to fling over the excitement that was so great within her as to be almost a pain. News had come from Basil signifying his due arrival in Paris, but after that the days went by without word or sign of him. Justina, shut in in her tiny home, scarcely knew how these days passed. She tried to settle to her writing, but she was restless, agitated, troubled, almost feverish. She was, of course, invisible to all except to Molly and her aunt. If she could have studied her own feelings Justina would have gladly dispensed with Lady Sartoris' visits, but this was something she could not insist upon, and with n new and rather marked show of consideration Lady Sartoris appeared regularly each day at the small house to spend an hour with her niece. She was frankness itself to her daughters. ‘Justina will of course marry Sir Basil now that she is free, and it is advisable in every sense that we should be friendly with her.’ The two girls, who had never been trained to have any will or character except that which their mother owned, naturally agreed to this worldly wise remark; but Justina was chafed and fretted beyond description by her aunt’s suddenly developed kindness. She longed and yet dreaded for the day of Basil’s return.

There was no sort of love’s sorrow in her heart over this death of her husband.

Rupert Seaton had done nothing but bring evil to and upon her. He had destroyed every sort of lingering affection the girl might have had. He had been base, dishonourable and dishonouring. Still Justina’s gentle woman’s heart could not grow utterly hard to him. This news of his untimely death touched her most keenly, lie was so young to die, and so unfit. She had known nothing of the sort of life he had led since they had been apart, but she had no need of knowledge to assure her that remorse and re-awakened conscience had had no time to touch him, and bring better thoughts, into his mind before he passed away from earth for ever. Justina was so grateful to Molly for her sweet and tactful love. The hours spent by them together in this strange troubled week were fidl of tenderness and beauty to them both. They had never seemed so closely drawn together as in this time, and yet thy subject and cause of Basil’s absence was not even touched upon between them.

Molly chattered about everything. She brought the latest news of thu rehearsals. She laughed over the awkwardness, and the humour, and the

small disagreements that go to swell the meaning of all amateur theatricals. She was full of praise for Mr St. Leger and his cleverness. ‘I don’t like him one bit better than I did, but it is impossible to shut one’s eyes to the fact that he is extraordinarily clever,’ she would say over and over again.

Justina always tried to fling herself into the events of the moment. She inquired after that point and this jnatter, and joined now and then in a faint echo of Molly’s laughter. Once only she mentioned Leam’s name.

‘And Miss Greatorex. Is she with you every day, Molly?’ Molly shook her head.

‘No, Learn has not been here for ages, but then her mother has been rather seriously unwell. Dr. Wyllie told me the other day he was not at all satisfied with Lady Gertrude’s condition. With all Leam’s faults,’ Molly added, ‘I must give her the credit of being an exemplary daughter. I confess I should never have had half the patience with Lady Gertrude that Learn has.’ Justina made no answer to this. She could never quite overcome a sort of repugnance she had to hearing the sound of Learn Greatorex’s name.

It was impossible for her to describe exactly the sensation that came over her when she let her thoughts dwell upon Learn; there was something painful in this sensation—a coldness and a heaviness as though some unconscious part of her could see into the future, and by so doing recognise shadow and sorrow to come to her through the influence of this woman who had not scrupled to show her dislike and antipathy in so public a manner.

Since the affair of that morning at reheat sal this shrinking on Justina’s part Irom all chance of contact with Miss Greatorex would have been absolutely comprehensible to herself and to everyone; but Justina knew well that she had not needed Leam’s outward insult to tell her that she was hated and depreciated.

The event that followed on that memorable occasion, and the trouble and anxiety of the past days while her fate, as it were, hung in the balance, had robbed the girl’s mind of the remembrance of Leant, at least in very definite form; but this little conversation with Molly reawakened all Justina’s uncomfortable feelings where Learn was concerned, making the weighty burden of her thoughts still more heavy and difficult to bear.

When a week had gone Sir Basil suddenly telegraphed his return. The news came in the middle of the last rehearsal. The owner of Croome Hall would be in good time to witness the celebrated pantomime.

Molly gave a great sigh of relief as Basil’s message was put into her hands. She was standing near the piano, where Mr St. Leger was busy going over and over again through some of the music.

His quick eyes had caught sight of the telegram the instant it arrived—a curious expression passed over his face, it was not unlike an expression of nervousness and fear. It was gone immediately, and as Molly gave vent to an exclamation of pleasure his accustomed smile played on Mr St. Leger’s features. ‘Sir Basil’s return is good news,’ he said in a desultory sort of way. ‘lt is indeed,’ Molly answered, heartily. ‘I never know how much I need Basil till he comes back after an absence.’

Mr St. Leger ceased playing abruptly. They were alone for the moment, most of the company were in another room having final touches and arrangements put to their fanciful costumes, and worrying the unfortunate perruquier and costumier almost to distraction with all that was required of them at the last moment.

‘I wonder what news he will bring?’ Molly folded up the telegram. She looked very cool and quiet; but as a matter of fact, she was trembling all over with excitement, so much, so very, very much depended upon what Basil would have to say when he arrived.

‘Do you think there is any doubt

about this reported death, Mr St. Leger.” she asked in a low voice, and very hurriedly. Unconsciously, almost, Molly had begun t<s build up~a beautiful castle for the future i>f these two she loved so well. She had not let her thoughts become very definite, yet the dream, the hope had been there, and she had not pushed it from her. Now a cold feeling came upon her that perhaps these thoughts had been premature, and would have to die away altogether if Basil’s report should be a contradiction of the story Mrs Baines, the landlady, had brought. St. Leger answered her immediately. •My dear Miss Fothergill, I have no kind of thought one way or the other. Seaton’s life for many months past now has been a sealed book to me—he has gone out of my existence. Had 1 seen or heard anything about him lately 1 could of course express an opinion on the matter but, as it is — ’ lie broke off and shrugged his shoulders; after a moment he continued with all his usual ease, ‘But Sir Basil will soon be here to tell us the whole truth. 1 hope it is not very wrong of me, but I confess, Miss Fothergill, if your brother does bring confirmation of this report I shall be tempted almost to offer that poor child my hearty congratulations. Her life is too young and her nature too beautiful to be condemned to an existence of perpetual shadow and suffering.’ k' Molly gave the speaker a glance of* approval. His tone was so warm and* so sincere she almost forgot in this moment her natural instinct of dislike for him. Lord Dunchester came springing on to the platform at this particular instant, and as he joined them, St. Leger moved away. ‘Philip, I have just heard from Basil; he will be home to-night, look.’ Molly held out the telegram to the Earl as he spoke . The young man did not take it; his brows were contracted into a frown,

and he looked strangely out of temper. ‘What an awful flirt you are, Molly,’ was his answer to Miss Fothergill’s information. Molly coloured vividly and turned on him sharply. ‘Flirt! What on earth do you mean?’ Her tone was indignant amazement and asperity mingled. Lord Dunchester, however, was not frightened by this tone. ‘I mean what I say. You are a desperate flirt, Molly.’ Mplly straightened herself. ‘And with whom have I been flirting last, may 1 ask?’ she inquired frigidly. ‘As if you did not know very well! You have been whispering together for the last hour, and, after all, though he is an amusing chap, I own, still he is a little bit of an outsider. You know— ’ ‘And who was it, pray, who insisted on bringing this “little bit of an outsider” down to Croomehurst and introducing him to everyone here?’ Molly was now very angry. ‘You are distinctly impertinent, let me tell you, Lord Dunchester, and please understand it is absolutely no business of yours who I flirt with, or who I do not flirt with. One thing is very certain: You will be in no danger of being invited to this amusement.’ Lord Dunchester sat down crushed tupon the music stool. . ‘Now you are cross with me,’ he 'said, helplessly. ‘I am, most decidedly,’ was Molly’s remark, given with a snap. She was gathering up her belongings that were lying on top of the piano, and after that she intended to go. The big room was now deserted, the lights were only lit in the neighbourhood of the stage. The rest of the wide, grand' apartment was hidden in grey, dusky shadows. ‘I did not mean to be rude, Molly.' the young man said, humbly.

‘What you mean and what you do are two very different things, evidently,’ Miss Fothergill remarked in answer to this, and then her anger flamed out. ‘How dare you imagine such nasty things about me, Philip? I am not a flirt, and as for Mr St. Leger, well,’ here Molly paused, ‘he is your friend, consequently he is received here, otherwise I do not think I should include him among my guests, for, strange as it may seem to you. I don’t like Mr St. Leger very much, and I don't think I shall be very sorry when he goes away.’ Having packed all her papers securely under her arm Molly turned to go.

‘Let me carry those,’ the earl said, springing to his feet; ‘and look here, Molly, don't be in such an awful wax, as we used to say when I was a boy. I am downright sorry if 1 hurt you. and you know it.’ Molly conceded her belongings to him grudgingly. ‘1 don’t think you have ever been anything else but a boy,’ she remarked, shortly. ‘At all events you don't make any attempt to try and get above boyish things, Philip.’ She purposely avoided looking at him as she spoke, but she felt without seeing that this last shot had gone most surely home. ‘I have known for a long time now that you have no good opinion of me,’ Lord Dunchester said, in a low and not quite clear voice, after a moment had passed, and they had left the stage and were walking down the long ball-room in the misty shadows of the twilight. ‘lt is silly of me, I suppose, but I- think there is nothing in the world T should so much like to possess as vour good word, vour good opinion, Molly.’ Something like a tear rose all at once over Molly’s brown eyes. In her heart there was a little pain, but she did not mean to yield to the weakness, not at least until a certain task she had long dreamed of performing should be carried out.

‘Why don’t you try to win it, Phil? she asked more gently. ‘lt’s yours most certainly, if you will only set about getting it.’ The young man moved a little nearer to her trim, pretty figure. ‘Can’t you give me a little help, Molly?' he asked, pleadingly, and there was a boyish ring in his voice that went straight to her heart. ‘Phil,’ she said, and she came to a sudden stop, ‘I will do all in the world to help you, but you must help yourself most. You say there is nothing you desire more than to have my good opinion. I will, in my turn. confess there are 1 desire more than to see you not striving to win a good word from me, but to be true to the better and higher things there are within you. You have been a flaneur long enough. Give up all this idleness. this rushing hither and thither after pleasure and excitement. Turn to some honest, hard work. I don’t care what you do so long as it is straightforward and honourable. There must be so many things you can do. Just give your mind to this for a little while, and then see if you don’t wake up one day to find yourself a better and a happier man altogether than you have been all thesu years that are gone.’ She put out her hand involuntarily and the young man grasped it tightly.

‘And, Molly, if I do all this—if I turn over a big new leaf, and start out to be of some use in the world, you will be kind to me —you will not forget your promise to think well of me? You will be my friend always, will you not?’ ‘My dear— ’

Molly’s face was hidden, but the tears that came to her eyes had found a place also in her voice. She was most deeply touched by his gentleness, by r the submissive eagerness to please her that escaped him in every word he uttered.

‘You know I am your friend. Philip. If I were not a friend, do you think I

should have spoken as I have just done?’

‘I know you are —’ and then Lord Dunchester came to a full stop. Molly had drawn away her hand, and they were moving on out of the grey shadows into the warm, cosy light of the big hall. The young man did not pursue the subject. There was a moment’s silence between them, and then he changed the conversation by bringing up the name of Basil and his expected arrival.

T shall go to the station to meet Bay,’ Molly said, as they stood for a moment by the wide, old-fashioned fireplace. 1 am so eager to see him, Philip, and yet 1 am nervous too.’

‘How is Mrs Seaton?’ Lord Dunchester inquired. ‘I have called several times, but, of course, I have never asked to see her. Lady Sartoris is rather inclined to be mysterious about her niece.’

Molly made an impatient move. ‘I get a little tired with Lady Sartoris. She does nothing but worry Justina out of her senses. There is nothing at all mysterious about Justina; she is only very delicate, and the shock to her nerves has thrown her back the last week. She was looking so much better, too. I was delighted at the interest she took in the theatricals. Now of course all the good they did her is gone but—there will come a better time for her, poor child, before long, please God! Can you try and imagine, Philip, how lovely Justina would look if she were happy ?’ ‘She is very beautiful as she is; but still I know what you mean —she is never without a shadow on her face and in her eyes. By the way, Molly, have you seen anything of Miss Greatorex lately? 1 don’t think she will get over the snub you gave her the other day in a hurry.’ ‘lt was not a snub,’ Molly said hurriedly. ‘I would not snub anyone, unless it was a person like Mr St. Leger, who wants keeping in his place. I only spoke out as I did to Leam because 1 felt she was cruel and unjust to one who has done nothing but win everyone’s Jove, respect, and pity. I 1 ope Leam is not going to harl our unkind thoughts toward me; we have been friends too long to be parted so easily as this.’ Molly spoke warmly, but as she uttered these words she had a slight feeling of uneasiness and pain in her heart. It had been impossible for Molly not to see the drift of Leam’s thoughts where Basil was concerned; and, indeed, as we have learned already, there had been a time when Molly had tried to accustom herself to the picture of Leam as her brother’s wife.

In the days before Justina had come into her life to be as dearly loved, almost, as Basil himself, Molly had very m arly assured herself that some day — she had not been, of course, sure when this day wouild come (for Basil, although he had always shown a liking for Miss Greatorex, was very obviously not in love with her, or in a great hurry for matrimony)—Leam woidd come and take her place at Croome Hall, and though she had had no keen pleasure or satisfaction in this thought, it had also not been disagreeable to her. She knew all Leam’s failings, but she recognised quickly the girl’s superiority over the rest of the young women with whom Basil had been brought into contact.

The day, however, that was the beginning of her friendship with Justina Seaton brought no such calm prospect of her brother's future into Molly’s mind. A new light had been Hung upon Basil—he was revealed to her in a new, and almost a strange phase; in all the years they had been together Molly had never seen Basil in the guise he wore throughout those sad, anxious days of Justina’s illness. He was, to her, another man to the calm, emotional brother she had adored since first she could remember. All the conflicting fears and doubts that had troubled Molly when first the full truth of tilings touching Basil and Justina had come upon her; the pain and perplexity that hail crowded her mind, the difficulty to see what was best to be done for Basil's sake, and for tin* poor, desolate young creature who was so dear to him —all the feeling's that she had had before Justina had left Croome Hall and gone into her own little home, came back to Molly in this instant as

her mind dwelt on Leam Greatorex and on the possible disappointment and unhappiness that might be dealt out to her in the realisation of Basil’s love-dream, that once had been so hopeless, but now was so full of hope. ‘lt is a hard thing, Philip,’ she said, slowly, breaking her long silence in a thoughtful way, ‘it is a hard thing that one person’s happiness seems nearly always to be built on another person’s pain.’ ‘You are thinking of Basil when you say that?’ Lord Dunchester queried. Molly nodded her head. ‘And of Leam Greatorex.’ The young man gave a short exclamation. ‘Now, don’t begin to let yourself be worried over Leam Greatorex. No doubt, if everything goes as we hope sincerely it will go, there will be some disappointment for Miss Greatorex, but as to real sorrow or pain—my dear Molly-—remember we are talking of a stone —not a woman.’ Molly did not agree with this. ‘Leam is not a stone—far from it; her very harshness and dislike to poor little Just shows this clearly enough. She is not a soft woman nor a weak one, but she is not a stone; and I ain afraid she can feel pain as much as any of us, Philip. Of course I don’t know that she will, because although I have had my own ideas about her feelings for Basil, I have really nothing to go upon except those ideas; and perhaps, after all, I may be quite wrong about them. I only hope I am wrong, and that Leam may have had no other desire, or hope or intention toward my brother than to be his friend. I confess it would make the situation altogether more pleasant to me if I could think this, because whichever way things may go with Justina, whether she be a free woman, or one tied or bound for the rest of her life, Basil will never ask Leam Greatorex to become his wife; on that point I have no doubt whatsoever.’

‘Well, all I have to say on the matter is, that though I don’t care as a rule to count on any man’s death, I cannot help hoping with all my heart that the news Basil will bring us tonight will be such as to give happiness to him and to that brave, lonely little creature he loves. You know, Molly, I have a great, great admiration and affection for Basil. He is such a brick, he is an example to me of everything a man should be. lean never tell you half the love and gratitude I have for Basil. He is the best friend I have in the world—after you; and then he is your brother, Molly, and that alone makes him different and better than all the rest of the fellows. Now lam off. Give me your hand, Molly. Look here, I am not going to forget a single word of what you said to me. I am going to do better, ’pon my soul I am—l will make you proud of me yet. Very likely you won’t see me for a long time when I make this start. I can’t do anything for the immediate moment. I have all these people on my hands, but in a day or two they will be gone, and then —well, then, Molly, I shall be off. You promise you won’t forget me while I am away, don’t you, dear? If I have the knowledge with me always that you are thinking about me you don’t know what a help it will be. Though 1 am a man, you see I can’t do without some help; if it’s only a Thought that lives with me day and night, it will help me and bring me back an altogether different chap to the one 1 have been so long. Goodnight, now—l suppose you would rather go and meet Basil alone?’ ‘Yes, dear. I think I will go alone to-night.’ Molly’s eyes were downcast. She did not want him to see the tears shining in them, but as he was moving away she called him back in a voice that was tremulous and very unlike her usual firm, clear one.

‘Philip, you will forgive me if I have been unkind. I spoke roughly, perhaps, but—’

‘You unkind!’ the young man held her hand between both his own, then stooped his head and pressed his lips to it. ‘Don’t you know I love you, Molly?’ he said in a very low voice. ‘You are the angel of my life!’ He went away abruptly, and Molly sank into one of the big easy chairs,

and stared straight into the fire with eyes that were blinded by tears. Yet, though there was pain in her heart, there was great, great happiness, such delight as had never come to Molly before in all the days of her bright young life. The love that had begun to blossom in her heart of hearts had had a sweetness, even though it had come unasked and seemed doomed to live

unclaimed or unknown; but, sweet as this love had been, there had never come to her, even in imagination, such a warmth of joy, such a thrill of delight as now ran-jHOt in her heart at the recollection that the man she had grown to love so well loved her in return—loved her earnestly, truly, passionately, and desired only to make himself worthy- in every sense of this love.

CHAPTER XXIV. Justina sat in a low-cushioned chair in front of the fire in her little draw-ing-room—she looked very wan and delicate. Janet had come in now and then to try to induce her young- mistress to break her long fast; once, indeed, she had brought in a small cup of delicious beef-tea, and putting it down close beside the girl, she had gone softly away, hoping her efforts would be this time rewarded with success. Justina did, indeed, attempt to gratify the kind thought of the servant; but with her heart full of nervous excitement, with her brain sketching in vivid flashes a series of sad and painful pictures of that husband who had treated her so cruelly, and whose death had come upon him so suddenly, so ‘unexpectedly. Somehow she did not doubt but that Basil would bring fullest confirmation of this death. She had a curious sensation within her that seemed to tell her Rupert was dead. Her whole thought now was as to the life and the circumstances that had been about him when this death came, and there was a yearning hope within her that before he passed away from the life he had wasted and misused so terribly, there might have been some gleam of a higher,better,purer nature than that cruel, cynical, cunning one she har known so well.

She grieved over the man’s death on this account and she sent many a thought of wistful sympathy to the mother in Australia, who she knew had adored her eldest boy with more passiop and tenderness than with wisdom.

It was only natural, too, that to a spirit so gentle, so sensitive, so intensely human as Justina’s, she should pass through moments of acute mental suffering, she should fall under the shadow of her own unreasonable and unjust self-reproach—a reproach that though her wiser self could not fail to set aside as wrong and even foolish, yet in her weaker, more troubled moments had the power to sting and hurt exceedingly. A message had come from Molly earlier in the evening telling her Basil was expected in a few hours.

The clock on the mantelshelf ticked away industriously. It was now over half-past eight. In a few moments her week of uncertainty would be ended. She would know all.

Even as this thought came there was the sound of carriage wheels on the road beyond, then the clang of the little gate, then quick, hurrying feet, then the sharp ring at the bell fhat always proclaimed Molly’s arrival.

Justina rose and stood with one hand leaning on her chair for support. She had never looked so lovely in Molly’s eyes as she did on this night. Her whole face pale with emotion and full of the questions she dared not speak.

Molly went straight up to her and took her in her arms.

‘Dear, dear Justina,’ she said. And Justina understood by the fact of Basil’s absence, by the tone of Molly’s voice. She knew instantly that all that Mrs Baines had told that day of a week before was proved to be true—to be absolutely correct. The two girls stood clinging to one another in silence for a moment or two. It was Justina who spoke first. ‘Tell me all, Molly, dear,’ she said, her voice scarcely audible from the rush of agitated memories of emotions, that thrilled her.

Molly put her back into her chair with all the care and loving tenderness of a mother.

‘There is not very, very much to tell, darling. Basil could have returned several days ago, but he waited to be absolutely sure on every point before he left Paris— ’

Molly paused, and then produced a small packet from her coat. ‘These are some things belonging to your husband. Basil thought you might care to have them. He found. Justina, dearest, that Mr Seaton had met with an accident a day or so before his death, that inflammation and fever set in most violently on the result of this accident, and that, notwithstanding all care and medical attention, the fever ended fatally before it had lasted more than 24 hours. Basil saw the doctor and the nurse who attended Mr Seaton, and he has brought a written statement from them both, giving you full particulars. He also

visited the grave, and in your name he carried some flowers to lay upon it. 1 do not think there is anything he has not done to investigate the matter thoroughly and bring you a true report of all that happened, so far at least as it was possible for him to do so. He has begged me to give you all the sympathy and comfort in my power, darling, and to help you to bear so sad and trying an event with all that courage and noble spirit that has sustained you for so long.’ Justina did not speak at once. She only bent forward and kissed Molly's brow. Her hands were clasped round the packet she had just received. ‘Molly,’ she asked, when she could find her voice, ‘Molly, dear, does Basil know all about Rupert? I mean, did he learn what sort of life he had been living, what his companions were? Oh, Molly! 1 cannot pretend to have a deep, an awful grief for this man's death. He destroyed all the claims he had upon my respect and faith long, long ago. He used me very ill, and he left me to starve or die in a cruel and peculiarly horrible way. Still, Molly, he was the man I married. 1 cannot be utterly callous to what concerned him, and it would be a great comfort, a great relief, to me if I could know that, though his life had been so wrong, his end had been quite different. You understand this, do you not, dear Molly? I am sure you understand what I feel.’

‘I do. indeed, darling.’ Molly answered. eagerly, ‘and to my happiness it is in my power to give you this comfort. The nurse and doctor both told Basil, and you will see it in their statements, that though the poor creature’s illness had come upon him when his life was neither a good nor a desirable one, his mind, towards the last, awoke out of the stupor and delirium of the fever, and he died fully knowing the solemn journey that lay before him, and praying with his feeble lips for mercy and forgiveness for all the sins he had committed. Molly paused a moment and her hand stole towards Justina’s. ‘I do not think he spoke your name, darling,’ she said, with rarest gentleness, ‘but he seems to have remembered his mother, and to have cried to her many times.’

‘Ah, I am glad of that —I am glad,’ Justina said, her face lighting up even beneath her tears. ‘I do not mind that he forgot me. I never loved him as his mother did. I should not have cared to have come before his mother or his God.’

Hervoicebrokeintoa passionate flood of tears. She had not shed one all during the past week, but now they came rushing wildly from her overcharged heart, and easing the tension of the distraught nerves and aching brain. Molly knelt holding the weeping girl in her arms; she was distressed at the tears but not alarmed. She knew this storm of emotion would do good, not ill, and she allowed it to spend itself, unchecked by her.

An hour or so later Molly stole away from Justina’s bed. She had insisted on Janet and herself carrying the poor, tired, slender form upstairs, and once in the dainty little bed Molly had doetored and ministered to Justina with a love and eager care passing words .

Not until at last she saw that the dark, fringed eyes were really closed in the much-needed sleep did Molly think of returning to her home. She crept softly downstairs, and after giving many injunctions to Janet, and promising to return early next morning, she went out into the night air and down to the gate where the carriage was still standing, with Basil walking restlessly up and down awaiting her return. Molly slipped her arm through his. ‘She is sleeping. She will be better to-morrow,’ she said, and then she led him into the brougham, and as they drove swiftly back to the Hall she told him all that had just occurred.

And while Molly was thus engaged a man sat alone in the smoking-room at the Hut. St. Leger was not smoking, he was busy writing. From the frown on his face it was evident he was deeply interested in some mental subject.

‘Curse the fellow,’ he said once savagely, to himself, his usual goodhumoured face puckered into a hundred lines. ‘What the does he mean t Why doesn’t he write, nnd what does this infernal Brissac intend me to understand? I have never had any trust in Seaton; but in this case it was so obviously for his own good

that 1 thought he would be sure tn stick to the business.’

He took up a letter, written on thin paper in a flourishing foreign hand. The contents were in French, and dealt entirely with some mysterious business for which St. Leger had apparently issued commands. The paragraph which caused him sue’) uneasiness came at the end of the letter. We will translate it from French to English.

‘Seaton promised to come in the night before last; but nothing was seen of him, neither has he sent a word to me in explanation. He has been making an extra fool of himself the last few days over a girl at the Hippodrome, and I think she is the cause of his disappearance. Anyhow, up to the present, no one seems t> know anything about him. He will turn up all right in an hour or so, and perhaps, on the whole, considering what he is, under the circumstances it is the best thing that could have happened. This Englishman is going into the whole business most thoroughly, but we have been too clever for him—he will leave to-morrow thoroughly convinced that poor Arthur Leslie, whom we buried a little while ago, is

indeed no other than Rupert Seaton, the husband of la belle Anglaise, whom you tell me Sir Basil loves. 1 will let you know at once when Seaton comes, and you must forward all your wishes without delay.’ St. Leger read this paragraph through and through, and each time his brow grew darker.

‘Curse him and his blunder-headed conceit; he shall answer to me for this; fool that I am to trust him—any woman who takes his fancy for the moment can upset all my plans.' He threw the letter down and remained plunged in thought for a time, then his brow cleared.

‘After all Brissac is right; it has been a good thing Seaton did this little disappearance on his own account. Basil Fothergill has gone so thoroughly into everything he might have run against Seaton in some one or other of his investigations; the fellow will have turned up by now, and, after all. if he remains away a little longer it won't matter much. We cannot begin to gather our fruit just yet. We must give them a little time. ' They will not be of much use till they are married, and that can’t come off for the next month or two at least. Rupert Seaton

had better make the most of his independence and freedom, for when we begin work in serious earnest I shall keep a tight hand upon him, that is certain; he can play tricks with his own safety, but he shan’t play tricks with me!’ And having arrived at this conclusion, Mr St. Leger returned to his correspondence in a more tranquil frame of mind. CHAPTER XXV. The evening of the first performance of the pantomime arrived at last. Croomehurst had by this time worked itself up into a perfect frenzy of excitement over the event, and had managed to convey the infection of this xcitement to several of their neighbouring villages and small towns. The first performance was to be given to an audience of invited guests, and among these were numbered several of Sir Basil’s relations and one or two smart folk who came down to Croome Hall to stay on purpose for the occasion. Molly was in fact so tremendously busy she had barely time to breathe, and she had to do all her duties as hostess and general manageress, while her heart was throbbing and thrilling with a new and far greater excitement, and her brain was full of a matter that would have been sufficient to keep her unsettled and nervous, even had the existing state of things been as ealm and as quiet as any one could wish. The day following Sir Basil’s return home was the day on which all Molly’s house guests appeared, and on which the momentous and marvellous pantomime was to be at last revealed to Croomehurst’s expectant eyes. In one sense Molly was perhaps glad of so much bustle, and such multitudinous demands upon her thoughts and time. She could not sit down and worry about what would and would not happen; and she had no chance to let a small but piercing pain show itself so definitely as it otherwise might have been. The pain was there, and she felt it all the while in a dull, numb sort of way; but had she been tranquil

and undisturbed the aehe would have been far more difficult to bear and the thought of the future more difficult to face. As it was she could not even glance at Lord Dunchester’s pleasant, frank young countenance without having an uncomfortable thud at her heart, as she remembered all that had passed between them the day before, and how so soon as these frivolities at Croome were over, Philip, her friend, would have gone away to fight out the path she had so stoutly and coldly maintained was the one, the only one, he ought to tread. Although she could not help feeling a soft delight at the realization of this hope in one who had been for a long while so dear to her, Molly was only human, and the thought of what his absence would mean to her was too, too big and heavy to be lightly pushed aside. It was with a sort of eagerness, therefore, that she plunged herself into the events of the moment. Bee Somerset had constituted herself Molly’s chief lieutenant, and very useful the pretty little creature proved herself to be.

‘Does it not seem sad poor Mrs. Seaton cannot be with us!’ Bee said more than once, as the excitement deepened, and the hour of the performance drew nearer and nearer. ‘She would have had such a success, Molly. Every one is full of admiration for her cleverness, and as Dr. Wyllie says the pantomime is splendidly written, so full of wit and so easy.’

‘Justina is happier where she- is,’ Molly made answer to this sort of speech on one occasion. ‘I don’t believe we should have seen much of her, even if she had been able to come;’ then Molly changed the subject abruptly. ‘Have you seen Leam lately, Bee?’ Miss Somerset coloured faintly.

‘No,’ she answered, and there seemed to be a little hesitation in the sound of her voice. ‘Lady Gertrude has not been well,’ she added, after a slight pause. Molly was deeply busy, but not too

busy but she had time to fling a glance at the speaker. ‘Have you quarrelled with Leam?’ she asked, in amazement, for Bee Somerset’s infatuation for Miss Greatorex was an old and very well known affair.

Bee answered ‘No,’ hurriedly to this.

‘Only I am a little disappointed in Leam, that is all,’ she said, after another slight pause. Molly made no reply, she understood now what was the reason of the girl’s changed manner. ‘And I never gave Bee credit for so much depth or real grasp of character. It shows how easily we can make mistakes.’ Out loud, Molly said casually, ‘Well, Leam is coming to-night, so I expect her mother must be better. She sent me a little line this morning.’

Bee Somerset made no remark to this; she went on with her task of filling great bowls of flowers to place in the many rooms and in the big wide hall, and as Molly had flitted away to attend to the clamours of many voices in other parts of the house the subject of Leam was not discussed further, although both girls had a sort of uneasy feeling that they would have much preferred Miss Greatorex to have absented herself from the theatricals.

Leam had gone through many disagreeable moments by herself before she had arrived at the determination that it was her duty to join the festivities at Croome Hall. She had not seen Molly once since that momentous occasion when she had suffered such signal defeat and discomfort.

To have to meet Basil’s sister with a smile and a show of warmth, when in reality her proud hot heart was full of something like hatred for Molly, was a test almost too hard even for Beam’s strong will ; but the more she thought over it the more she became assured that unless it was to be an open rupture between the Fothergills and herself she must without fail be present at Molly’s entertainment. As yet the result of Basil’s journey had not reached Leam, but she felt only too certain that the report of

Justina’s freedom would be confirmed and her future triumph be only a matter of time. Her mood was a mixture of sullen resignation and savage an ger ; she hardly knew of what she might not be capable in this dark and bitter moment.

Her jealousy, her hatred of Justinu passed all bounds of justice or even of refinement in thought. Leam’s was not a nature to do things by halves, and hatred with her was no empty word. The very remembrance of the delicate creature who had come so unexpectedly across her path and stolen from her the one, almost the only thing she had desired, made Leam thrill with a passion of anger. There was no harm she did not desire to come to Justina ; no pain or sorrow too great for her venomous desire to pray might be visited upon the woman Basil Fothergill loved. Leam dressed for the entertainment at the Hall with her heart aflame with these unwomanly and evil thoughts. Her face was as pale and proud as ever ; a cold statuesque lie to the feelings that raged within her. She wore one of her most splendid gowns and unlocked the jewels from her mother's case, crowning her dark head with a small tiara of rubies and diamonds, and putting a necklace of the same precious stones about her beautiful throat. She looked long at herself in the glass when all was done.

There was nothing soft or young about her ; nothing tender or fascinating, but it was the picture of a magnificent woman that was given back to her sullen, critical eyes; a woman to command the reverence of all; a woman to make the heart of some beat fast with the hopelessness of their admiration and the ardour her cold sovereignty produced. Here most truly was the proper wife for a man like Basil Fothergill, the proper mistress for his honoured name and home. Beside this tall, majestic figure, with its glittering crown and dark subtle eyes, what power—what place had that humble, delicate creature with the wistful violet eyes and the shadow of sorrow and shame ever upon her ?

Leam turned from the mirror with a sense of injustice added to her jealousy. Why was it fate was so harsh, and to her ? Why should life go so crookedly with her ? Why, when there had come one thing, one ambition, one desire, into her heart, she must be met by failure and denial ? The remembrance of her grandmother’s sneers came to Leam at this moment with redoubled keenness and bitterness, and awakened once more that eager feeling to win for herself a proud place in the world, so that she might be reinstated in the Duchess’s estimation.

The big ballroom at Croome was already full to the last chair when Miss Greatorex arrived. Sir Basil met her at the door ; he was kind and genial as ever. So many and momentous events had occurred during the week that had gone that the remembrance of Leam’s unkindness to Justina had been wiped out of Basil’s mind altogether. With his heart thrilling and throbbing with its song of hope of possible joy, of happiness too great to be thoroughly grasped in this, its first moment of coming, Basil had no place to gi><- to dark and unpleasant things, and so it was he was able to greet Leam Greatorex with all his former warmth and to show her the same attention she had always received from him.

‘I feared you were not coming,’ he said, as he clasped her hand ; ‘ this celebrated performance is just about to begin ; imagine if you had lost any of it ! I have kept you a chair in a good position ; will you let me take you to it ? You are very queenlike to-night, Leam, what splendid jewels! I have never seen more beautiful stones !’

‘They are my mother’s,’ Leam answered, as she put her hand on his arm, and let him lead her throughthe crowd up to the front row of chairs. She let her eyes rest on his tall, commanding figure with an admiration and a longing that was almost a pain. ‘Are you not going to sit with me, Basil?’ she asked, as she reached her chair.

‘I will come back to you if it is possible,’ he answered; ‘but you see my duties are manifold to-night, I am not quite a free person;’ he smiled down upon her, and then having seen that she was comfortable, he went away again, and Leam watched him go with that savage flame of jealousy and hatred burning more fiercely in her heart. It was impossible not to read a difference in him—his face that had been so grave, so shadowed, as it were of late, was now full of light, of hope, of eager- anticipation and satisfaction. The thought that the pathway to his life’s happiness now stretched clear before him, free from the barriers that once had been so helpless, so insurmountable, had been the cause of this transformation in him. Leam suffered more in this moment than she had done when by herself. Hope lives eternal in the breast of all, and even though she had felt she was only too well assured of the truth, it had been reserved for this change in Basil’s face and manner to bring home to her with accentuated force the fact of Justina’s triumph and her own defeat.

Through the laughter and the applause, seeing nothing of the bright,

pretty, moving scene on the stage, hearing nothing of the music or the fresh young voices, Leam sat unmoved; she smiled mechanically when others spoke to her, but otherwise she showed no interest with, no appreciation of, anything. She knew that she was the cynosure of all eyes; her appearance to-night would have been only sufficient to attract universal attention, even if it had not been the customary thing, as it was, for everyone to gaze at Miss Greatorex, and to admire her with awe.

Leam was well used to be stared at; she could endure it quite calmly, so she sat leaning back in her chair, wearing her crown of jewels with the air of a queen, and one indifferent to all the emotions that are wont to vex the hearts of more ordinary and mundane people. There would have been considerable amazement among the crowd of simple folk who surrounded her tonight could Leam Greatorex’s heart have been laid bare before them, with all its burning secrets of envy, hate, jealousy and malicious determination. Fortunately for Croomehurst’s peace of mind, these things were hidden from them, and they were therefore free to admire Miss Greatorex as much as ever, and to indulge in. the usual debates among themselves as to the future awaiting her. It was not to be supposed that Leam would be left long unattended. More than one man present hastened to greet her, and to exchange a few words with her; but Leam had none but the coldest greeting for all, and, as usual, she nipped all the attention offered her in the bud, and chilled her warmest admirers by her cold, indifferent manner.

Lady Sartoris, perhaps, out of all present, with the exception of St. Leger, knew pretty nearly the truth of what- was passing in Leam’s mind, and, being by nature an intriguante. Justina’s aunt thoroughly enjoyed the knowledge. Now that Justina was, however, drawing nearer to a fine position in the world, Lady Sartoris found herself espousing her niece’s side against Leam in the silent battle that would be fought by- the latter against the woman Basil Fothergill loved so dearly. Lady Sartoris completely forgot how quickly- she had arrived at the conclusion that Miss Greatorex was the one fit person to be made Sir Basil’s wife (that is, when she found her own two girls had no chance in this direction), and she now could see no woman so pre-eminently- suitable and desirable for this place as her long neglected and forgotten niece Justina. Lady- Sartoris was nothing if not practical. ‘I hope to goodness Justina will not indulge in any sentimental folly- about mourning that dead blackguard: she ought to marry- Basil Fothergill as quickly- as possible; there need be no fuss. Just a quiet wedding either here or in town; for myself I should choose the latter—and then everything will be comfortable—and safe;’ Lady- Sartoris added this last word with a glance at Leam’s cold proud face beneath its diadem of flashing gems. ‘I should never feel quite safe,’ Lady- Sartoris confessed to herself, ‘were I in Justina’s place, until I had become Sir Basil’s wife; she has a powerful rival in this woman; I am

afraid, in fact, one might call her an enemy as well as a rival. 1 think I must try and manage a little conversation with Justina before 1 go; she is just, the sort of unconventional and foolish person who manages to spoil a splendid future by- some nonsense or other!’

Sir Basil fulfilled his promise, and came once or twice to sit for a short while beside Miss Greatorex.

He was very kind and pleasant, as he could not fail to be; but Leam grew cold and faint with the pain she endured when she realized how far. how very far away were his thoughts as he sat talking to her. Hope died out altogether in this hour, and, despite her protid cold courage, Leam was as near to breaking down and showing her weakness to this man as it was possible for her to be.

She gave a big sigh when the curtain fell on the last scene of the pantomime, amid loud acclamations of delight from all. ‘Now- 1 shall ask you to take me to find the carriage; I must get home quickly,’ she said, rising as she spoke. ‘Oh!’ Basil answered warmly-, ‘you are not surely going to run away so early, Leam? You have not seen Mollv vet.’

‘My mother is ill to-night, I must go,’ Leam said, but her tone was not so resolute. There was something soothing and pleasant in his most evident desire to have her remain. ‘You shall not stay too late; but you must not go yet, Leam. we cannot spare you; you will remain a little longer, will you not?'

’I will do all you ask me.’ she made answer to this, the words coming from her in a strangely passionate wav.

Basil, however, did not catch this new note in her voice: he only- heard her words, and he thanked her with a smile.

‘Come, let us go and find Molly,’ he said, offering her his arm, ‘and then we w-ill make up a pleasant little party to join us at supper. Ah! here is Miss Somerset; what a fairy she looks!’

Leam greeted Bee very- coldly. ‘I have almost forgotten you,’ she said languidly; ‘it is a century- since you have been to see me. Bee.’

‘The rehearsals have kept me so busy,’ Bee replied, but she spoke hurriedly, and her cheeks were very red. She w-as so young and simple and innocent, to even attempt to act a part was impossible to her. and the change Leam’s own hand had wrought in her girlish attachment was too deep and too real to be glossed over in any artificial way. Leam looked at the pretty face before her. she had never valued Bee Somerset’s affection at any great price until this moment, when she saw that it w-as gone from her—for ever. She knew well why this was; and a new- and fiercer flame of hate burned up suddenly in her heart for Justina.

‘She has robbed me here also—even here,’ she said between her teeth. The loss of her power was something that was indescribably hard for a woman like Leam to endure. The fact that this girl, whom hitherto she had merely- tolerated with a sort of contempt and indifference, should withdraw- her allegiance and shrink from her as from something that w-as

no longer worthy of regard, was in its wav a blow to Leam Greatorex.

She stood on the stage, surrounded by the groups of laughing, excited amateurs.

Molly had come flitting up to greet her most kindiv.

Lord Dunchester had followed suit. One and all seemed glad to see her there; but to Leam it was a moment of barren pleasure. St. Leger. watching her from a distance, could read her dark eyes, her cold, set face, as though it were an open book. ‘Shall I speak to her to-night?’ he said to himself. ‘What a change 1 should bring to her if I were to tell her all that is about to happen. At another time and under other circumstances it would be rash to trust her with this secret, but. worked up to the state she is now in .she would be safe enough. Besides." and here the man laughed softly, ‘it. would be interesting and amusing to feel,- after having received so many snubs from her, that she was sunk very much to the low level on which I stand. Yes; I think I will tell her. It will provide me with some amusement; and as I am beginning to get a little bored in this country hole anything that is amusing is worth having.’ Having arrived at this conclusion, Mr St. Leger hastened to his room, threw off his theatrical habiliments, and in an incredibly short time he was back in the crowd again, and was making his way to where Leam’s proud, tall form, witht its radian crown of jewels, stood out conspicuously above the rest.

(To be continued.)