Copyright Story. A Hoax and a Wife.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXIX, Issue VIII, 23 August 1902, Page 457

Copyright Story. A Hoax and a Wife.

By

THE EARL OF IDDLESLEIGH.

Author of “ Belinda Fitzwarren," Etc.

father go in and shut the door after him. It seemed to Cecelia that she had never expected anything else to happen. Mr Kenyon’s questions were few and pertinent, and his opinions were summed up in the words which Mark repeated to her in the garden. “What you ask is impossible. I should be failing in my duty did I contemplate any union between my family and that of Professor Seton." And Mark’s young face was strangely grave and old when he presently sought Cecelia for a few brief minutes in the garden. The cedar tree had listened to many a one of Shakespeare’s tragedies during the last few weeks. And to-day another little tragedy was enacted in the vicarage garden.

And Mark Seton returned to London by the afternoon train. The weeks lengthened into months. Bob had gone back to Cambridge, and life dragged itself on in Daysleigh Vicarage. There was no news of Mark —but none was expected. Her father’s commands were laid upon Cecelia interdicting any correspondence, and no thoughts of rebellion even intruded themselves. And in the outside world were wars and rumours of wars. Only in Daysleigh was there a routine of passionless peace. A memorable December morning, cheerless and grey, brought a letter from Bob to his father. He implored in it to be allowed to give up his college career and go out to the front in the Yeomanry. What their father’s thoughts were that day his daughter never knew. He sat in his study, Bob’s letter spread out before him, the letter that shattered all his dearest hopes. But in the evening he walked alone to the village post office hnd sent off a brief telegram. Its destination was Cambridge, and it contained the one word—“ Yes.”

And presently a radiant, happy Bob,_ in brand-new khaki, came down to the vicarage to say good-bye. He said very little to his father, but there was a new note of gratitude in his voice. It was but a brief stay he made at home, and then departed for Aidershot. The girls waved a tearful farewell from the front door steps, Cecelia’s tears falling so fast that she could hardly see her dear Bob. And her thoughts and imagination were persistently turning in another direction, where, perhaps, another sister was saying good-bye to a tall young figure in khaki. For Bob had found a moment in which to whisper to his sister that Seton was going out in the same company of Yeomanry. In spite of their tendency to drag on, the months passed by and brought June again. Elizabeth was as busy as usual in the parish, and Margaret’s collection of postcards had outgrown two albums. Only Cecelia seemed listless, and there was' a fragile look about her that her father at times noted uneasily. Bob’s letters had been cheerful, but desultory, and seldom contained any mention of Mark’s name. Then a horrible blank morning when Bob’s name was amongst the “seriously wounded,” followed by weeks of anxiety, and at last by the joyful news that he was invalided home. And Cecelia’s heart began to beat excitedly when she read the list of invalids on board ths Saxon. Not oily was Bob coming home, but Mark Seton also. And a letter from Bob, written just before he sailed, had a postscript, almost indecipherable in his weak, shaky hand, “Seton has been down with fever, and is coming home by the same boat.” There was much scanning, of the shipping intelligence presently to find out the progress of the Saxon. No one mentioned Mark’s name, but he was often in their thoughts. And Cecelia would whisper to herself that it was enough to* know that he would be safely in England again. Bob, white and thin, but trying to smile cheerily, with the once-resplendent khaki marked in a manner that brought tears into his sisters' eyes, arrived at the vicarage one evening. But for Mark there was no home-coming. He died within sight of England, and was buried at sea.

“She wishes it, I am certain,” said her mother. "And he wishes it too,” said her father, "if only he could command his tongue.” “Then let us manage to get their wishes fulfilled,” said her sister. “We have done all we can,” sighed the parents, “and it would be such a nice thing for them both.” “It shall be my own enterprise now,” said the sister, “and the ball to-night at Lady' Pedant’s shall furnish me with a field of operations.” “What will you do?” said the father with obvious curiosity. “I must preserve secrecy,” was the Answer given with confident importance. “You will fail,” said the mother. “I hope not. I don’t intend to be defeated by a stiff young vfoman and a shy ycung man.” “Eva is stiff,’ said Lady Kinstall mournfully. “Mother as I am. I cannot deny it.” “Deuced stiff,” echoed Sir John, “though it’s her father that says so.” “She shan’t stop me,” said Miss Edith, “she shall owe a husband to a sister.” “And Mr. Alder is so timid,” said Lady Kinstall. “And so devilish silent,” said Sir John. “I shall wake him up.” said Miss Edith., “A pair of gloves on the event, father.” “Ten to one,”'said Sir John, heartily. “Oh, don't encourage the child to bet,” expostulated Lady Kinstall. “The bet’s booked, mother, and father can prepare to pay,” said Miss Edith, as with a light step she quitted the family conclave, It was an hour or two later the same afternoon when Mr Alder might have been found sitting in his own rooms unfolding or trying to unfold his sorrows and difficulties to his most intimate friend, Jack Hartwell, a man moulded by nature, to receive confidences. “I cannot do it, ’ said Alder, iu tones of unqualified depression. “at one moment I am firm, determined, resolute; then I remember that she is looking at me, doubtless taking note of my many absurdities, and I stand before her speechless—” “One would imagine from your description that she was a basilisk, ’ said Hartwell, with good-humoured contempt. “She is a divinity,” said the lover, indignantly, “lovely as Venus, but awe-inspiring as Minerva.” “Why waste such eloquence on me?” said Hartwell. “Keep it for the idol who perhaps may consider it pretty.” “You don’t expect that I could saysuch things to her?” asked Alder. “Not yet,” said Hartwell, “but with practice yon might be able to do so!” The entrance of a servant at this point interrupted the conversation, and a large letter marked “Immediate” was handed to Mr. Alder, whose hands trembled as they eagerly reached forward to seize the document. As he read it, once, twice, and yet a third time over, Mr. Hartwell was offered an opportunity of studying the various degrees of amazement of which the human countenance is capable. At. length, with an air of absolute stupefaction, Alder deposited the letter on a table, and as he did so ejaculated one of the most emphatic “Wells!” which have ever sprung from mortal lipST* “You seem a bit puzzled,” remarked Hartwell. “The proudest, haughtiest girl that Scotland ever saw,” murmured Alder.

“What? Has Miss Kinstall ignored her Highland blood and started a correspondence with you?” exclaimed Hartwell. “The mystery is complete,” said Alder. “I love mysteries,” said Hartwell, “and have a gift for unravelling them. Allow me a sight of the communication which has thus upset you.” “Not for the world,” cried Alder hastily, “and yet,” he added more thoughtfully, “what harm can it do? Yes, read it———” Mr. Hartwell read: “Miss Eva Kinstall presents her compliments to Mr. Alder, and begs to send him a pair of spectacles which she hopes he will make use of at Lady Pedant’s ball. She has failed to procure any rose-coloured ones, as though quite common in Scotland such things do not seem to exist in London. She regrets extremely that she did not know sooner that he suffered from defective vision. Perhaps Mr. Alder is not aware that at Mrs. Pollenby's dance last, night he passed and repassed, cut and recut her and her family over and over again with a most insulting show of indifference!” “Why, man, you gave me the idea that your young lady was full of starch, whereas she seems to be as ready for a lark as any girl can be ” “The tone of. that letter is utterly out of harmony with her character,” said Alder solemnly. “What do you know of her character? Do you mean you doubt her authorship?” inquired Hartwell. “I can’t tell.” said Alder. “Don’t you recognise the handwriting.” “I've never seen her handwriting?” said the lover, “but. the letter certainly comes from their house.” “And did you cut her last night at Mrs. Pollenby’s ball?” “Not that I was aware of,” answered the culprit. “I thought that she was not to be there, and consequently I only looked in for a few minutes myself; but as she says I passed by without noticing

her, of course I must have done so. How it ean have happened is marvellous. I could have sworn that the magic influence of her presence would have ”

“Pish,” said Hartwell, “it all conies from your silly habit of looking at the

ground.” “And what is to be done,” asked Alder, "how shall I express my penitence?’’ Mr Hartwell considered. "1 think you had better not write, but endeavour to make your peace at the ball to-night. Take the spectacles with you.” “I cannot wear them,” said Alder uncomfortably. “They would make me look more foolish than usual.” “In that you must be guided by circumstances,” said the counsellor, “but at all events put them in your pocket.” When Mr Alder arrived at Lady Pedant’s house, he found himself almost immediately addressed by Miss Edith Kinstall. “Good evening,” she said, and to his uneasy mind her bearing indicated reproach. • ■‘She must have been one of the family whom I cut last night,” he thought; “shall I apologise at once or wait till she speaks “So you cannot forgive,” said Miss Edith in pleading tones, and Mr Alder, in his extreme astonishment, gave a start that almost amounted to a bound. “Forgive!” he repeated stupidly, “surely it is you ” and he stopped in confusion. “I feared it was impossible,” said Miss Edith. “With any other man hope would have been even absurd, but with you ” and she also stopped. “I am bewildered,” cried poor Mr Alder. “Miss Kinstall, can you not explain?” “My sister,” said Miss Edith very gently. “I shall never dare to speak to her again,” said Mr Alder, forgetting the puzzle that had been set before him, and recurring to the train of his previous reflections. “You will give her no chance of expi- ~ ating her offence?” said Miss Edith. “It is just, I acknowledge, and yet, I dreamed that you might prove more merciful.”

“Offence! merciful!” exclaimed Mr Alder; “but. the crime is mine.” “Spare me your sarcasms,” said Miss Edith, burying her face in her handkerchief, “the occasion is too painful.”’ A sense of exasperation seized Mr Alder. “For the love of heaven let me understand your meaning.” “Alas,” said Miss Edith, “it is only too clear.” “I’m damned if it is,” cried Mr Alder, patience and courtesy alike failing him. Miss Edith raised her head. “It is not I who deserve to be sworn at,” she said proudly. Mr Alder would have given the world to run away, but he lacked the courage to move. He stood still as a statue though his 'blushes bore witness to his living misery. “I think I am mad,” he said at last-

“I have no excuse to offer for my conduct. You can never pardon me.” "At once,” Baid Mies Edith eagerly, "hut I am always a lenient judge. I would that it were before me that my lister's cause had to be tried.”

"If I could only guess at what you are talking about,” said Alder, but now ■peaking with the greatest meekness. “Do not pretend ignorance,” said Miss Edith sharply, "that would be baser than *11.”

“I assure you,” began Mr Alder, but Miss Edith interrupted. “Mr Alder,” she said, “you have insulted me, and I have forgiven you. Cannot you also forgive?” "Anything, anyone,” cried Mr Alder. “Then my sister may be pardoned,” laid Miss Edith. “But what for?” entreated Alder.

“No subterfuges,” said Miss Edith sternly, but then, softening her manner, she proceeded. “You will not deny that my sister has written to you, that she has sent you an insolent gift, that in a moment of insanity she has committed herself in such a way as to excite your merited indignation and to make herself wretched.”

“The letter, the spectacles,” stammered Mr Alder, “they did surprise me, I confess, but I fancied that a joke was intended.”

“No, Mr Alder,” said Miss Edith gravely, “when you say that you were surprised you express your true feelings. Of course you were surprised, and of course you were very angry, too. It was inexcusable, quite inexcusable, but poor Eva, I believe it will nearly kill her.” “Kill her!” eehoed Mr Alder.

“That she should have taken so strange a liberty with one who is scarcely more than an acquaintance. Had you been an intimate friend indeed —”

“Oh, Miss Edith,” interrupted Mr Alder, desperately overcoming his shyness, “but I did hope I was a friend, and I want to be”—he sought for a proper phrase. “Poor Eva,” repeated Miss Edith.

"I love her,” cried Mr Alder, suddenlyfinding words. “I have loved her, worshipped her, adored her. If I could but dare to tell her so! But she would spurn me, and that I could not bear.”

“Mr Alder! can I trust to my ears ?” said Miss Edith slowly, and gazing earnestly into his face as though she were trying to test his veracity. “You seem honest,” said Miss Edith. I believe you. Then you cannot desire my sister to be humiliated.” “Humiliated! Oh, Miss Kinstall?”

“You will rescue her ns you alone can do from the ignominious position in which she has so rashly placed herself.” “I will do anything,” cried Alder.

“Then ask her simply to become your wife,” said Miss Edith with a little laugh. “What!” exclaimed Alder, with flushing cheeks. “You heard me,” returned Miss Edith tranquilly. “It is the sole means of restoring her dignity.”

“But she would scorn me!” said Alder. “Do you imagine that I do not know Eva?” asked Miss Edith.

"No, no, of course not,” said Alder; "but the step would be so audacious.” “Do you contemplate an existence of silent love?” said Miss Edith. “Not that,” said Alder, abashed, "but to wait for time, for opportunity.”

“Why, here is the opportunity created for you,” said Edith, “and how can delays serve you? Come,” ■he added, as she read indecision in his face, “I will guarantee your answer.”

Mr Alder twisted his fingers nervously. “You are sure that she will not regard it as an impertinence?” Miss Edith smiled. “I will do it,” said Mr Alder. “You will save her from life-long self-reproach,” said Miss Edith. Mr Alder made no rejoinder, but ho walked away in search of Miss Eva with the best air he eould assume, and in the space of a very few minutes Miss Edith observed with satisfaction that he had engaged her sister in a dance. “Let us hope,” ran her meditations, “that he will speak before his courage has time to cool, but Eva is an icicle, and that cannot be denied. Ah, the music has stopped, and what will he do next? Why, well done, Mr Alder! he is taking her to sit in the conservatory, and the crisis li plainly coming.” But now she was called upon to dance herself, and to conceal as belt

she might the unsatisfied cravings of her curiosity. Still her eyes were keen as well as watchful, and her suspense did not long torment her. Mr Alder came into sight, and even though his back was towards her she could mark that his carriage was radiant. He turned, and met her glance, then he approached her swiftly, and whispered, so that no one else could hear, “My whole happiness is owing to.you.”

“I told you so,” said Miss Edith, rather inconsequently, and Alder pressed on to rejoin his now betrothed Eva.

“And you have forgiven me for my horrible conduct?” he said tenderly.

“What conduct?” said the startled Eva.

“My—l can hardly bear to mention it-—but my cutting you!” "Catting me! When and where did you cut me?”

“At Mrs Pollenby’s last night,” said Alder, in a tone of lamentation. “But 1 wasn’t there,” said Miss Eva, speaking in the most downright fashion, though with excessive surprise.

“Not there?” cried Alder. “Certainly not. Only one of us was invited, and Edith went.” “But the letter!” he blurted out in his amazement.

“What letter?” said Miss Eva, with something like a frown. “Some silly mistake or hoax,” answered Alder readily, and prudently attending to the warning signal. “But if you knew the relief your words have given me! 1 was assured that I had cut you, and for hours I have been oppressed by the terrible thought that it was possible for me to be unconscious of your presence. Conceive the joy, the delight, with which I have learned that no such horror has taken place.” “How foolish you are!” said Miss Eva with a smile that was eloquent. "But you spoke of a hoax: who can have attempted such an idiotic bit ot mischief?”

“Who. indeed?” said a merry voice behind them, “but, Eva, I have not told you of my luck. I hope yon won’t be jealous!” "No” said Eva, looking very happy, “what is it?”

“Why, father is going to make me a present to-morrow of ten pairs of the most super-excellent gloves. Isn’t it kind of him?”