Copyright Story. LIFE'S PROMISE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXVI, Issue I, 5 January 1901, Page 6

Copyright Story. LIFE'S PROMISE.

By

JEAN MIDDLEMASS.

Author of ‘ Hush Money,” Etc.

“(•old on her head, and gold at her feet. And gold where the hems of her kirtle meet. And a golden girdle around my sweet.” She was an only child, and life's promise was without a cloud. Her parents were in a high position, and a Princess had held her at the font. Now she stood on the threshold of hope, and the first dawn of womanhood and love slowly approached her. mistily and mysteriously, as comes the opening morn. Those around her whispered that Elfie Dashwood, the Birkenhall heiress, would, ere long, make what society calls “ a brilliant marriage.” and with her Ireauty, her bright intelligence and her gold, would perchance, even mate with royalty itself. But. whatever contact with the world might mould her into later on. Elfie was, as yet. a visionary. She dwelt in the mystic land of dreams, where ambitions had no place. To be happy —ay, to be happy, was all she craved—and life's promise was fair.

She was sweet, sympathetic and gentle, “so unfit.” everyone said, “to buffet with the tempests that not infrequently' surge around a woman's path, that it was well she would never need to face them.” Mr Dashwod and Lady Elvira both had become devoted to their sweet young daughter. How could they do otherwise since, among other gifts, that of softly gliding into every heart had been given to her? For awhile, during her early childhood, her parents had been cold, so cold that the neighbours had cried shame on them. They could not forgive Elfie for being a girl—a boy surely were the correct inheritor of their great wealth, the transmitter of their name, for Mr Dashwood’s money had. like that of many another Englishman, been derived from successful trade in which his grandfather had embarked, and he had looked forward to further generations of Dashwoods and their alliances with aristocrats. Neither Mr Dashwood nor Lady Elvira were wanting in ambition, and it puzzled them not a little that their child should be so absolutely insensible to its promptings. Of late years they' had somewhat set their disappointment on one side, or. rather, they' had merged it into the hope that Elfie would even surprise society by the position she would attain by marriage.

Their town house in Belgrave Square was re-decorated and refurnished as though for the reception of a Queen —a ball was to be given, to which all the great ones of England would lx* .invited, and at this ball Elfie would make her debut, since her presentation at Court could not. owing to official arrangements, take place for a month. While the many preparations that these coining events necessitated, were in progress. Elfie dwelt on at Birkenhall, as though in wilful ignorance of w’hat was expected of her. and she asked no questions, and apjmrcntly took no interest in details. A pretty white washing frock and a large flapping straw hat. were far more to Elfie’s taste than the dainty and original toilettes of Worth and Paquin. Nor even when they were tried on. or she saw the lovely gowns littering about her dressing-room, did she wholly realise that they were meant for her. Devoted though she was to her simple-minded, loving daughter. Lady Elvira was becoming bored, ami just, a little bit angry at the absence of interest on Elfie's part. “Every other girl adores finery and gaiety,” she said, petulantly'. “I won-

der what you are made of. Elfie. that you are so callous about your own interests. Why don't you take a page out of Lucy Fortescue's book?” "Oh, mother, Lucy is going to marry Sir Edward Burleigh.” “And a very sensible young woman, too. That is just what I mean, she knows her own interest, you do not.' “Is marriage one’s Interest? Marriage without love?” A sad. querying look came into the sweet face, that irritated Lady Elvira, when it ought to have pained and sorrowed her. She, however, had the wisdom to say no more. Time and the rush of events would soon change Elfie's opinions—she hoped and fully believed. The short maternal lecture at an end. Elfie strolled into the grounds, her favourite deerhound by her side. It was spring-tide. “When daffodils begin to peer With heigh the doxy over the dale. but, on Elfie’s face, Nature’s smile was scarcely reflected. She was sad—sad at the thought of leaving Birkenhall, for she scarcely looked forward to pleasurable emotions being evoked by a participation in the gay frivolities of a London season.

At the bottom of a little copse there was a gate. Elfie stood for awhile beside this gate, and, leaning over it, looked yearningly at the vast expanse of meadow that lay beyond, as though she were bidding it a long farewell. Walking rapidly out of the far horizon, there came a figure, the sight of which brought the crimson colour to Elfie's brow. She turned as though about to take instant flight. Then, on second thoughts, she stopped. “Why should she not stay? Why not bid him good-bye with the rest of the old life?” He was a well-built, handsome young fellow, and as he approached the gate and stood beside Elfie, no one could gainsay, but that they were thoroughly well-matched in beauty of form. Yet Giles Moberley was only the son of the worthy man who worked the Home Farm —and Elfie was the heiress of Birkenhall! “1 am going to London next Tuesday, Giles. Going to have a ball given in my honour, and to be presented to Her Majesty. I am glad to have met .you now to say good-bye.” She spoke fast, as though she wished to get the announcement over, but her tones were very gentle. “Going, Elfie —going! What shall I do without you?”

So it had come to that! The son of one of Mr. Dashwood’s dependents called his daughter—“ Elfie.” It scarcely augured well for the future. A eloud, even though it appeared no bigger than a man’s hand, lay athwart life’s promise. “You will have to do without me, dear boy,” she said, softly. “We have been happy playmates, but play days are nearly over for us both.” Giles knew it as well as she did, nevertheless he did not wish to accept it. He loved Elfie Dashwood, the beautiful heiress, not for her money's sake, or because she was of high position, but for herself—for her beauty, her tenderness, her eharm. Little more man a boy, as Giles was, he had not yet discovered how unsoundable was the depth that lay like an abyss between him and Mr. Dashwood’s daughter. To him, as well as to Elfie, life was full of promise, and the hope that sprang up in his heart gave him the belief that he should win her. It was a mad, foolish expectation, in which none but an inexperienced youth would have indulged. If his father, the honest farmer, had even guessed it, he would have sent him across the seas out of the way of temptation. But a crisis was at hand. Even as Giles was murmuring, “Oh, Elfie, my beloved Elfie, I can never

live without you,” Mr. Dashwood ca me up.

He had not heard the words, or proltably he would, in a fit of passion, have killed the youth for his temerity; but he saw the expression on the faces of the two culprits, and it was enough. He spoke roughly. Giles, who had till now been a favourite, became an outlaw from the good graces of the lord of the soil, who forthwith ordered him in future to keep within bounds of the palings that surrounded the Home Farm, and not to dare to leave them until an arrangement for his expulsion from the neighbourhood had been arrived at with Farmer Moberley. It was a harsh verdict, harshly pronounced, and scarcely wise treatment, had Mr. Dashwood known aught of the young fellow's temperament. A few kind words of admonition would have won Giles to see how foolish were his aspirations. Now, as he raised his hat in deference to his superior’s dictum, and then walked sullenly away, it was with anger and hatred at his heart.

In the very midst of Mr. Dashwood’s own people an enemy had arisen, and a regrettable warfare anent class-dis-tinctions had already begun; with no giving in on Giles Moberly’s part. “1 will win her, so help me God, unless 1 die in the effort—l will win her.” Meanwhile Mr Dashwood was no less irate, storming and fuming with rage. “How dare he —how dare he presume ,” he muttered repeatedly, as he walked by Elfie’s side towards the house. She did not answer him. She was crying softly, without sobs or wails or protests. It was the first disruption she had as yet known, and to face it was a cruel effort. If only she might comfort Giles, was her longing. With her father’s anger she had no sympathy. To Elfie, in her ignorance and simplicity, class distinctions were incomprehensible. Yet she did not know that she loved Giles Moberley; save as a playmate, she had never thought of him—only from this sudden thwarting had love suddenly burst into being, and though she tried to tell herself that she only wanted to comfort Giles, she could not rid herself of the feeling that she was sadly in want of comfort herself. Nor did she obtain it from Lady Elvira, who was even more angry than was Mr. Dashwood, when an account of the little episode was given to her; being a practical woman, she did not waste her anger in mere words. She advanced the time of the start to London, arriving in Belgrave Square on Saturday afternoon, when the servants —who had not expected her till Tuesday —had by no means finished the preparations. It was not long, however, before Elfie, in her pretty new toilettes, was taken about from one social function to another. Lady Elvira had not intended that she should be seen until the night of the ball, but the little affaire with Giles Moberley had. from her standpoint, completely changed the complexion of affairs. The Prinee, or Duke, for Lady' Elvira would consider no one in a less elevated position, must 'be found, at once. “If Elfie has no sense of what is .socially expected Jof her. she (must be married forthwith, and put out of danger.” So Lady Elvira told her husband, to perceive. ■ however, that her dictum was not received with the amount of consideration it usually obtained, for, in the Dashwood family, Lady' Elvira’s word had ever been law. A day' or two after the incident by the gate, Mr. Dashwood began to look anxious and worried, which was not his wont, he being, as a rule, an easygoing, kindly man. “Could it be possible that Mr. Dashwood had relented, and was on Elfie’s side in the matter? Nonsense, this was wholly' impossible.” Lady Elvira could not bring herself to believe it, “the affair was very trifling, mere childish silliness. Elfie herself had already forgotten it, impressed as she. must be by her new surroundings. So reasoned this worldly mother, even against her own convictions, knowing full well as she did that ever since that eventful afternoon the eloud had not lifted from Elfie’s brow, and that she took no interest in the sayings and doings of the new world into which she had entered.

But worried about Elfie as Lady Elvira was, though she would not acknowledge it, she was far more worried about her husband. As days went

on, the shadows on his brow seemed to darken rather than to lighten, and on the night of the ball he looked so livid and ill, that not a few of his intimates questioned him closely about his health. “Dashwood must have got some internal complaint,” was the general verdiet. Ay, so he had, but not of the nature they suspected.' Even amid the gay and festive throng that had flocked to his house at Lady Elvira's bidding, he could not throw off the weight that oppressed him. Lady Elvira, with her woman's cleverness, wa sfar more successful in concealing her feelings, or perhaps she set them entirely on one side and revelled in the pleasure she experienced, for Lady Elvira loved to entertain, and on this occasion the pleasure was considerably enhanced by the admiration Elfie was receiving. More than one great parti bowed before the debutante, but it was on Lord Claymore that Lady Elvira smiled. A kinsman of her own, he was heir to his grandfather’s dukedom, and had been destined for Elfie—in Lady Elvira’s mind—ever since they were both children. Owing to some manoeuvring on Lady Elvira’s part, he had not seen Elfie for more than two years. Reculer pour mieux sauter was a. French saying in which this astute lady thoroughly believed, and when Elfie suddenly crossed the young lord’s path, a vision of beauty and sweetness, the impression she at onee made on him filled the maternal heart with joy. “His dukedom and Elfie’s thousands —could any amalgamation be more desirable? Of course the family will be quite delighted to receive Elfie as the future duchess, for the duke’s lands are heavily mortgaged, and Elfie is one of themselves, not a mere American heiress.” The last guest had departed and Elfie had gone to bed more weary than elated by her first peep at fashionable life. Lady Elvira threw her arms about her husband’s neck, though she was not wont to be demonstrative. “It is as good as settled.” she said. “Claymore is quite epris. Of course it will be a match.” “So soon! Oh, Elvira, you are too sanguine,” and the feeblest effort at a smile played round Mr Dashwood’s lips. “Really, John you are too tiresome. You never will believe anything, not even where our dearest child is concerned will you relax your scepticism.

1 suppose you will withhold your consent tor some imaginary and foolish reason?”

"10 no marriage for Ellie will 1 more gladly give my consent if it is asked, and there axe no difficulties in the way, for 1 know Claymore to be a worthy, honourable young fellow, always straight about money, though he is as poor as a church mouse; but—”

"Oh, that dreadful word. Why but? And why do you look so jaded and tired? 1 feel quite brisk.” •*1 suppose 1 am tired. Let us discuss the subject at another time when there are more details, for I presume Claymore has not yet proposed.” "Of course not, but he will; I know he will,” and she went off, humming gaily and bestowing no further Thought on Mr Dashwood’s weary ap[>earance. Nor did she apparently heax a deep sigh that escaped him as she left the room.

The London season ebbed and flow, ed on in its usual manner, its votaries being now elated by some burning scandal, now depressed by the monotony of the old routine. Lord Clay, more was devoted to Ellie, but to Lady Elvira's surprised annoyance he had not yet "spoken.” She felt the more annoyed, perhaps, because she was obliged to keep her feelings pent up. Ellie would not respond on the subject of Lord Claymore as a lover, though she delighted in the lovely Howers "her cousin” Claymore constantly sent her. It was probably the essential essence of cousinliness with which he saw the young girl was pervaded that kept Claymore from giving expression to his matrimonial feelings. Nor could Lady Elvira do aught, even by occasional sharp lectures. Thus she was compelled to let matters drift, and drift they did, into a channel for which she was scarcely prepared. "The season was nearly at an end. Surely it would be settled then,” she supposed. And so it was, but not in a manner she had in the very least anticipated. Lord Claymore did propose, but not to Elfie. Urged by his farqily, whd saw wealth for him in this alliance, he went straight to Mr Dashwood, laid his prospective strawberry leaves at his feet and asked him if he would place them on Elfie’s brow, since she was too coldly indifferent for him to seek to do so himself. Mr Dashwood had Just returned from a few days’ absence during which he had been to look after the large ironworks in the North, from which the bulk of his fortune was derived. He had not been in the habit of going there very often, leaving the management for" the' most part, to agents, as is the wont of rich men; but of late he had paid the works several visits. He had been travelling all night, and having breakfasted alone in his study, was sitting with the morning i»aper in his hand looking even more tired and pale than he had been doing of late. Under these circumstances the unexpected descent at his feet of a coro* net of strawberry leaves was at the least startling. It should, of course, have given him pleasure, but it apparently caused pain. He winced, and then he looked with a benign expression into Lord Claymore’s handsome, young face, for Mr. Dashwood was a kindly man. who was always ready to take the larger share of any trouble. “My poor boy,” he said, and he patted Claymore ' affectionately on the shoulder. "Mr. Dashwood, you do not —you cannot mean —that she does not care for me.” "I do not know about my little Eltie—but it is useless, my boy. Your people will never consent to the marriage, even if 1 do so.” “But they are most anxious "Were anxious, yes. To-day—by this time, they will urge you to forget the existence of- ” He stopped. Emotion was too strong, feebleness came over him. and he lay back half fainting in his chair. Lord Claymore was so astonished that, for the moment, he could offer no assistance. Meanwhile Mr. Dashwood recovered sufficiently to murmur two or three words of explanation. “Bankruptcy.” he muttered —"ruin -to-day.” Then the man who had been struggling for weeks with a heavy load of responsibility and trouble, succumbed to its weight and lay back in his chair inert and unconscious. There could be no further thought about the offer of strawberry leaves —not- then, or perhaps ever.

lx>rd Claymore summoned the butler, who, in his turn, went for Lady Elvira. Mr. Dashwood was taken to his lied, her ladyship giving the usual explanation: “He is only tired —so foolish to travel all night.”

Nevertheless she called in the family doctor, in fact liefore many hours were over several doctors and nurses had invaded the house, but so lately instinct with joy and laughter. None of the professional comers had, however, learnt the secret of how a broken heart can be cured. Not for his own sake, but for Eltie’s, had Mr. Dashwood suffered his losses so acutely, and now that bankruptcy was imminent he had not the strength to face it, but lay passive and uncomplaining for a while, till death came to end the torture of mind which, Lady Elvira, keen-sighted though she usually was, had never perceived. She had therefore inadvertently added to his sufferings by withholding sympathy. Now she was all tears and regrets, but whether for her own lost position or for the loss of her husband, those who knew her queried.

But it was on sweet Eltie that all kindly thoughts were bestowed. She was heart-broken. "I loved him so—l loved him so.” was all that she could wail, and when her lost thousands were mentioned she looked wonderingly as though astounded that the loss of them, in the face of this far greater loss, should engender a regret. Elfie had never loved show and pomp; the life of a mere country maiden, with a fewhundreds a year which might be saved from the wreck, was far more to her taste.

That the strawberry leaves had been offered she never knew, therefore the fact that they were never again laid at her feet did not surprise her. Lord Claymore was very kind and solicitous and cousinly at the time of the death, but how could he, a poor man himself, wed with poverty? “It has been a lucky escape." people said. Probably he echoed the sentiment, for he eventually married an American heiress. Yet he was "an honourable man. so are they all —all honourable men,” those who are accepted as the "curled darlings" of London's fashionable society. A very few weeks after Mr. Dashwood's death. Lady Elvira and her sympathetic, loving daughter settled down in a pretty cottage, over the porch of which a Virginia creeper gracefully trailed. It belonged to Lady Elvira’s brother, and he offered it to her as a refuge in this hour of storm—a refuge for which she seemed scarcely grateful, since her entire time was passed in bewailing the height from which she had fallen, and regretting the money she had lost. Not even Ellie's witcheries and gentle patience could wean her from the constant contemplation of her own losses.

Of course, Elfie could not marry now, “moneyless girls never marry.”

So she decided, and even in her mind gave up the husband quest. From a young-looking, fashionable woman she lapsed into a dowdy, irritable old frump, with whom it was not easy to deal, so everyone avoided her, save the angelic daughter who devoted her life to the amelioration of her mother’s lot. Occasionally relations, who happened to be visiting- in the neighbourhood, would pay them a visit, and. experiencing some regret for Elfie’s changed fate, would invite her to stay with them, for Elfie was more beautiful than ever; her sweet, grave face had become, as it were, “spiritualised by sorrow.” She would, however, shake her head and gently decline their invitation.

She eould not leave her mother, she told them. Moreover, what to other girls womd have been tempting, Eltie set on one side with no feeling of disappointment. Her peep into London fashionable society had not afforded so much pleasure that she wished to repeat her experience. So months passed, even years. To Elfie the time had scarcely seemed long, filled up as it had been by the accomplishment of good works and the engagement in rural pursues. Yet never a word had reached her from Giles Moberley. “Playmate of her childhood as he had been, he might have sent a word of sympathy when the dear father died and trouble came,' so she had often thought during the earlier weeks at the cottage. Of late she had sought to put Giles out of her thoughts, as she did all the dear remembrances of Birkenhall.

And the even life in which Promise no longer existed, calmly glided on its monotonous way, till cuange once more was noted on the horizon, laidy Elvira looked eacn day more and more shrunk and ail,ng, making claims tor attention on her devoted enild. that were well-uign sapping ail the strength out ox her young lite. 'then one late evening, when the setting sun Reddened the fiery hues and shot Transparence through the golden," she died, and Elfie was alone. Relations came and went, but she remained on at the Cottage, almost morbidly revelling in her loneliness. "She would not impose her presence on others while the hand of grief lay so heavily upon uer, perhaps later she would come.” So she said repeatedly until they were all gone, and she stood by the little rustic' cottage porch watching the last departure. A sigh was on her lips, tears in her dear, sweet eyes. "Would she be able to bear it, the dead quiet, the hushed voices, yet what had she in common with the rich and ?” An arm was round her, she was clasped to a warm heart. In terror for a moment she felt inclined to scream, then the cry of “Giles” rose to her quivering lips. He had come at last to solace her. It here had he been during all these years? "Working for my love,” he answered. “heaping up riches that she may gather them—no. not riches, Elfie. bur enough to keep the wolf from the door, and comfort in the home. Will you trust me and come with me ” “To the world's end, Giles.” “It is well,” he said laughing. “For it is on a long, long journey that I am inviting you: away to' distant Florida, I have found a farm and prosperity. It is a fair and lovely spot, my Elfie, not perhaps altogether resembling lost Birkenhall. but beautiful after another fashion. No dukes or lordships flitting about, but honest folk notwithstanding, who will give us friendly greeting.”

It was evident that Giles knew more about Elfie’s history than she knew herself, for of Lord Claymore’s escape from wedding her she was absolutely ignorant. She only knew that he was wedded, and she was thankful. None of her rich relations made any objection to her marriage with Giles Moberley; of course, among themselves, they called it a. mesalliance, but then they decided that “as she was going to Florida we need never mention her!” So they sent her handsome presents in testimony of their goodwill, but on

the day of her departure as a wife they did not honour the “send-off" with their presence. I-'I fie, however, was perfectly happy and content. She wanted no more on i-.irth, since Giles, the playmate of her childhood, was by her side, and though for her Life’s Promise had scarcely lieen fulfilled, yet the new vista that the future, opened out to her was not. marred by a single re-