THE LUCKY RING

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XL, Issue 18, 29 April 1908, Page 48

THE LUCKY RING

[COPYRIGHT STORY.]

By

MRS. L. T. MEADE.

T HERE was a great deal of fuss at the Hall, for Susie, the only daughter of the house, was to be married on the following day. Four hundred guests were invited to be present at the ceremony. They were to see the bride and bridegroom made one by the words of the Church Service, and were afterwards to enjoy Squire Field’s hospitality in the old Mall. Susie had two or three brothers, but Jio sisters. She was the youngest of the family, not more than nineteen years of age. From her earliest days, she had been much pettea and fussed over, and with reason, for she was sweet in nature and beautiful in face. More than one man had wanted to make her his wife, but Susie’s love had been given for over a year to Edward Armitage, the eldest son of a neighbouring squire, and in every way a suitable match for her. The time of year was July, and the weather was perfect. Susie was standing on the lawn, idly watching the preparations for the erection of a huge marquee, where the many guests were to partake of light refreshments on the morrow. She heard steps coming up behind her, and turned to meet the grave gaze of her cousin, whom she had not seen for over a year. His name was Philip Kingdom He was a young barrister, who was rising rapidly in his profession. He and Susie had been always fond of each other. She was accustomed to his visits at Christmas and Midsummer, and now she gave a cry of rejoicing, and held out both her hands to him. “O, Pin lip, this is good!” she said. “W hat train did you come by? I didn't expect you until this evening.” “I managed to catch the twelve o’clock train from St. Pancras,” was the answer; ‘‘and here 1 am.” Philip held the girl's small hands perhaps one moment longer than was necessary, ami perhaps for one brief moment, too. he looked into her eyes with an expression she did not half understand. but which gave her a sensation both of pain and regret. But whatever his emotions, Philip Kingdon quickly recovered himself. “ fell me all about yourself, Susie. Remember. I have not seen you for quite h year. I know Armitage by repute, but have never met him.” “You will see him at dinner to-night,” Baid Susie. “And so,” continued Philip, beginning to walk slowly by the girl > side, "by this time to-morrow you and Edward Armitage will be husband and wife. How do you like the idea?” “How do f like it?’’ she answered, raising her sweet Hower-like face to his; “why, of course. Philip, 1 can scarcely realise my own happiness. There never was anybody like Ted. Phil, 1 love him with all my heart and soul.” “Then that is as it should be, dear little girl,” said her cousin. He was silent alter this speech for a couple of minutes. Then he put his hand info his pocket. “I have brought you,” he said, “a wedding present, and I want to give it to you n»x own self. Here.” He touched a spring in a little case. The lid (lew open ami revealed a ring with a dull stone in the middle, and with Borne curious writing engraved all round it. “How queer!” said Susie. She looked at the writing in astonishment, but without admiration. “May I put it on your linger myself?’’ “Yes, if you like; but will it lit ane!”

“It is very small; it is meant for your little finger. I bought it a long time ago —over a year ago.” Philip suppressed a sigh. “I was travelling at the time, and was just leaving Damascus—” “Damascus!” interrupted Susie. “Did that ring come from there?” “It came from a place even farther oil. It came from Mecca. It is supposed to be a peculiarly blessed ring. I got it from an Arab, who told me that the wearer of the ring could always, by its magic, ensure the undying love of the one she most cared for. I knew you must have all sorts of wedding gifts, but this ring is different from the others. I am not superstitious, but I should rather like to see it on your finger.” “You regard it as a sort of mascot,’” said the girl. “How queer!” “You will wear it, Susie,’won’t you?” said the young man. “Oh, yes!” she replied; ami she held out her small finger for Philip to place the ring on it. Neither Philip nor Susan knew that at that moment they were observed—that a tall, fair, clean-shaven man, very well set up and with an eager face, was watching them from a little copse of trees close by. This man was no less a person than Edward Armitage. What he felt, what his were, was best known to himself. Instead of coming on to the house to spend a happy hour with Susie, he turned on his heel, muttered an angry curse under his breath and, getting into his motor car which was waiting for him at gate, went back to his father's house, Armitage Manor, three miles away. At dinner, that evening, a large party were assembled, amongst whom were present the bridegroom and his father and mother. Susie, in the greatest possible delight at having not only Tedpresent at her dinner party, but also her favourite cousin. Philip, was in the highest spirits. Everyone noticed the expression of bliss on her face. But Edward Armitage, consumed by jealousy, read it wrong. “Never had she been in such spii'its before in my company,” he said to himself. “Nothing will induce me to marry a girl who cares for another man better than for me. I will have it out with her after dinner. I don’t mind if it is the eve of our wedding. It is far better that I should know what I am nearly certain of now than that I should wait until afterwards.” Outwardly, Armitage was in good spirits. and Philip, who was most anxious to study Susan’s future husband, looked at him with approval. “He will make her quite a good husband,” he said to himself. “It would be more than I could stand if he were not worthy of her. But I believe he is. Only, what is the matter with him? Why does he frown so when he looks at me?” When the men came along into the drawing-room after dinner, Susie ran up to her lover. “Please come out with me, Ted.” she said. “1 want to show you something.” He gave her a peculiar look. “Can she be so blind as not to know that that other fellow worships her?” was his thought. “Can she be so blind? But no; like all women, she is hypocritical. Philip Kingdon is the man she loves, I happen to be better off. therefore she has chosen me; but she will soon discover that 1 am not one to be trilled with.” Poor Susie, little guessing her lover's real thoughts, walked with him into the very copse of young trees

where he had witnessed Philip Kingdon’s actions on the afternoon of that day. “Oh, I am so happy!” said Susie. “Six weeks ago, I thought the day would never come. Now it is close —it is so close that my very happiness almost frightens me.” “You looked happy to-night,” said Armitage. “You are pleased at the arrival of your cousin, Kingdon.” “Of course I am. Dear old Phil! I have known him nearly all my life: and he—O Ted! —he has given me such a funny present. Look—you must look.” She held up her finger on which the queer looking ring was placed. “This is a lucky ring—a sort of talisman; and he bought it in Damascus for me.” “1 have no doubt he did — confound him!” “Ted!” “Take that ring off, Susan.” “Ted,” said the girl, startled at his tone and all her high spirit asserting itself, “you have no right to speak to me like that. Why should I take Philip’s ring from my finger?” “Well,” ■ said Armitage, his eyes blazing; “ you can choose between him and me. It isn’t too late. I brook no man's interference. You shall wear no ring that I have not given you. Take tlie ring off, if you wish the ceremony to be gone through.”

“Edward,” said the girl in amazement, “what —what are you thinking of?” “I know myself what I am thinking of,” said the angry man. “I came here this afternoon, hoping to have a quiet hour with you, and I saw you, from this very spot, hob-nobbing with that fellow, your hand in his, while he slipped the ring on your finger. Do you suppose I am likely to brook that sort of thing?” “I don’t understand. I think you are very queer,” said Susan. "It is you who are queer. How dare you accept a ring from another man on the very eve of your marriage with me?” “Ted, I don’t understand you,” said the poor girl. “Philip is such an old friend, and—he bought this ring for me a long time ago.”

“I daresay.” said Armitage. “I have no doubt he did, and he meant to give you another as well, only that I—as he supposed—forestalled him. But I won’t forestall him- I won’t be second with

any other man in my wife’s affections.” “Ted,” said Susie, “do you really mean what you are saying—do you really, really mistrust me?” “I cannot mistrust my own eyesight, Susan.” “O Ted!” said the poor girl, bursting into tears. “Then I am indeed most miserable.” “It is better to be miserable now than afterwards,” was Armitage’s retort. “You cannot say to my face that you don’t care for that fellow. I won’t be second; and I won’t allow anybody else io give you a ring. Here; take that off your finger if you still care for me.” But Susan Field was proud. She was not the daughter of a distinguished line of ancestors for nothing. Her soft brown eyes blazed with sudden anger. “You are mi reasonable,” she said. “I

refuse to part with Philip's ring. If you want me, you must fake me and the ling too. It is a lucky ring, and the dear old fellow gave it to me in all sincerity,

and witl; O'e kindest and best thoughts for me and my father. You don’t know Philip: but I do. He is the best of men.” "Then you can keep your best of men,” said the angry lover; “but understand clearly, Susan, there will be no wedding tomorrow unless you resign the ring.”

“Then there needn't lie,” she answered. She was white as a sheet with passion

and distress. Armitage gave her a quick look, then turned abruptly on his heel and left her. Half an hour later, a pale and terrified girl entered the house by a side door. She went straight up to het own room. When she found herself inside the room, she locked the door. Then she drew a sigh of relief. Something very, awful had happened. She felt incapable of realising it, and yet it pursued her, setting its cruel claws into her heart, and causing her head to feel -weak and dizzv.

Armitage was angry. He had shown the most unreasonable jealousy. No;; she would certainly not give up Philip’s ring—Philip, who had been her friend always, who had helped her with her les-, sons long ago, who had taught her to ride, who had taken her and her brother, for long expeditions all over the country. He was their friend when they went to London, preparing some special pleasure for them day after day. He had eome to be present at her wedding, and he had given her a little innocent ring—a ring with a charm attached. Certainly she would not part with it. If Ted understood her so little as really to wish her, to give Philip back his ring, then she was better without him—oh, of course she was better without him. They had quarrelled. Their engagement was at an end. How strange to have an engagement broken off on the night before the wedding. What would the guests say ? What would hej- father and mother say? What would Philip Kingdon say ? Susie passed her hand wearily before her eyes. There came a tap at the door, and her mother’s voice was heard.

“My darling, let me in; I have a lot to talk over with you.” "Not to-night, dearest mummie,” said Susie. “I am very tired, and have-a bit of a headache. I am going to bed. I hope you don’t mind, darling,” called out Susie from the other side of the locked door; “but I just can’t see anyone.”

“Poor little dear,” said Mrs Field. “I wonder if she feels nervous after all. Ted never came in to say good night to us. I hope he will be a good husband to my child. But oil—of course he will; he is a first-rate fellow in every respect.”

Mrs Field went softly away, and no one else disturbed the little bride that night. She sat quite still for several hours. She had no intention of going to bed; she was thinking over her plans. The blow had fallen so suddenly that for a time she was, as it were, stunned. But then the troubled feeling passed away, and she began to rouse herself for action. Her mother must be written to. As to Susie herself, there was one relation who could not be present at the wedding. This was poor Aunt Prudence, a sadly crippled lady, who lived in Torrington Square. Aunt Prudence’s house was gloomy, but not more gloomy than her mind. She never approved of any weddings ; she thought women were best single. She thanked the Lord that no man had ever persuaded her to change her name. Susie remembered Aunt Prudence now.

She would go to her. She would take the next train to London, and arrive there early on the following day. She would tell Aunt Prudence that she agreed with her, and that men were not worth quarrelling about. Aunt Prudence would keep her for a little time, until the storm had blown over. Yes; that was the only thing to do. Poor Susie felt a faint degree of comfort as the idea of visiting Aunt Prudence came to her. She then sat down and wrote a letter to her mother. “Darling Mummie,—l can’t explain anything, perhaps Ted will. Ted is angry with me, mummie, although I have really done nothing—nothing at all to merit his anger. But we have decided not to have our wedding. Father will manage—won’t he—to say something to the guests, and you will forgive your Susie. lam going to Aunt Prudence for a little while, but I will come back as soon as I can. Please don’t be angry with Ted. I am sure he could not help himself; only—only—l found I could not do just what he required. “Your own daughter, "SUSIE.” When this letter was finished, Susie enclosed it in an envelope, and put it in such a position on her dressing-table that it would be quickly found when her maid entered her room in the morning. She had not the slightest idea how the wed-

ding and the four hundred guests could be postponed. But she was quite certain of one thing, that neither the bride nor bridegroom would be present. She then looked in her little purse, discovered that she had plenty of money, and put on a thin dark blue serge which she had often worn when in the country. A train left Dewsbury, the nearest railway station, at six in the morning. By this train, Susie could get to London a little before ten o’clock. She would be safe with Aunt Prudence —Aunt Prudence who disliked all weddings—long, long before the hour when she was expected to appear in church as the bride of Ted Armitage. When she had made her small preparations, she could not help owning to a great sense of fatigue and a queer, very queer sinking at her heat. All of a sudden, a great storm of anguish overpowered her. “Ted!” she moaned. “O, Ted—how little, how little you guess the depth of my love for you. O Ted, darling, 1 don't think I'd be jealous if another girl gave you a lucky ring.” She mopped away her tears. What was the use of fretting. Philip, in her opinion, must not be slighted. The ring could not be restored to him. The marriage must be broken off. A pa>e wraith of a girl crept down through the silent house about five o'clock on that summer’s morning. She

had a long way to walk to the railway station, and she did not want to hurry. She took no luggage with her, but just a little bag containing a few sovereigns and a very small book of poems which had been Armitage’s last present to her. She could nut help weeping very sadly as she kissed the book ami put* it into the bag. Now, at last, she was on her way. If Susie had spent a restless night, there were two men who shared the same fate. One of them was Armitage, who, mad with despair and jealousy, paced the moors outside his father's house until the break of day. For one minute, he struggled fiercely with his inclination to rush back to Susie, to implore her fiXS* giveness, to tell her that, as far as Ire was concerned, she might wear 50 rings given to her by 50 other men provided she became his darling, his precious little wife. But the mad demon of jealousy prevented his yielding to this healthy impulse: and Susie, supposing that all was over, started on her flight to London. What would have happened, what the wedding guests would have said, what the excitement of the whole county would have been must be left to the imagination: for another man. who was equally sleepless—a man of deeper character and far nobler impulses than those which ever coul t possess Ted Armitage—was up and about. Susan did not suppose it possible that anyone

could .see her at this vejy early hour as she walked swiftly to the railway station. But her cousin, Philip Kingdon, did notice the slight figure, the despondent droop of the head, and the strange fact that the bride of to-day was out all alone at this unreasonable hour. With a quick bound, he crashed through some heather, and reached her 6 ide. ■‘Why—my dear Susie,” he said, 'what ore you .doing?” Susie looked up into his kind face. "O Philip! They will all know presently. Please don’t keep me now. I am going to London—l am going to stay ■with Aunt Prudence. She will be quite glad; she never did approve —never, of — of weddings. Dear Philip; I am not going to be married at all. Ted and I broke it off last night. Don't keep me—don't! ” ‘‘But I must—and will,” said Kingdon in a firm voice. ‘ This must be explained, Susie. Who broke off this engagement? Did you?” "No, no—not exactly—but at the Baine time, perhaps I did.” ‘‘You must be explicit. Come—l will know the truth.” De took her hand and looked into her eyes. His own were shining. “Come, Susie—the very truth,” he said; “all tlie truth, and nothing less.” "How—how can 1 tell you? I don’t Buppose it was anybody’s fault.” “My dear child; don’t talk nonsense. You were engaged to Armitage yesterday, and this is your wedding day. Have you lost your senses, my dear?” “No—no!” she said; and she stilled back a choking sob. "No, Philip, no—it is the ring—your ring—he saw you put it on, and he—he didn’t like it; and he wanted me to give it back to you He said no other man should put a ring on my finger. He was —very angry. But I—l would not srive it back—-not your present, dear Philip. 1 kept it, and—we are not going to be married at all now.” Philip Kingdon, who had taken Susie’s two hands in his, dropped them as she finished her story. He stood very still, looking at her; for at that moment the fiercest, the strongest, the most intense temptation of his whole life came over him. He loved Susie. - He had loved- her tor •years. When he brought that ring he bad loved her, and "hoped to give n to the girl who might be his wife. He heard of h.-r engagement, :.im stilled his feelings, and came to her wedding, intending to give her good cheer." Now, on account of this very ring, the engagement between her and Armitage wa s broken off. He might—oh, in a very little time—step into the shoes of Armitage and win the girl he had always loved l . He might; he would; he could. Why should he hesitate? He felt deep down in his heart that he could make Susie Field a more tender, a more sympathetic, a more interesting husband than Ted Armitage could ever make her. Why should he hesitate? it was but to let her go to London. It was but to hold his peace, and, in a short time, he might try to Win her heart. Hut as the swift overpowering thought came to him, he looked down into. Susie’s Bad, brown eyes. She raised those same eyes, brim full of tears, to his face. Tell me— for God’s sake!—tell me the truth,” ho said. ” How much do you love hi? how much do you love huuX ” Susie opened her eyes very wide. ”011,” she said, "with all —all my heart; better —better than life; better than anything on earth! ” " Then. Susie,” lie answered, immediately recovering his manhood, and push Ing back t hat black temptation as though It had never existed; “ you must take my advice. You must go straight back to the. house, dear straight back to your room. Have you written a letter to your mother? ’’ “ Yes oh, yes, 1 have told her that it is at an end.” "But your engagement is not at an end, Hear Susie. I'his is a matter in which 1 must interfere. Burn the letter. (Stay quietly in your room. Wait until you hear from me—and, dear Susie—give back the ring.” " Give you back —the —ring! ” said Susie, looking at him in amazement. " Yes—yes; and be quick, dear. You must trust me. 1 am a very oldl friend, and n very true friend. You will never regret that you have trusted me.” She took the ring from her little linger, and put it into bis hand. ” Now, keep up your courage," he said *1 have an explanation to oiler winch

will, I believe, set things right. Go back to vour room—and—and—wait.”

When Susie, impelled by Philip Kingdon’s word's, returned to her room at the Hall, he himself went quickly in the direction of Armitage Manor. If he had any further struggle with himself he did not show it, either in the calm of his face or the firm purposeful expression of his mouth. He arrived at the house soon after six o’clock and rang the bell. The servants were up, for this was an exciting day, and people must bestir themselves. The heir to Armitage Manor was to be married to-day. Everyone was in a state of delight. An elderly white-haired butler opened the door in answer to Kindoll’s summons.

“ Can I see Mr. Armitage —Mr. Edward Armitage—without a moment’s delay?” said Kingdon. “I don’t know, sir; I will inquire. 1 don’t think Mr. Armitage is up.” “1 will wait here: no —I won’t go into the house. Say I have something important to communicate to him.” The man went away. He returned in a few minutes to say that young Mr. Armitage was not in his room, and that-he supposed he was out.

“He often walks on the moor at the back of the house,” said the servant. "Perhaps you wili find him there, sir. Good-day, sir.”

Kingdon immediately turned in the direction which the butler pointed out. Armitage Manor was an ancient pile which had been added to from time to time by its successive owners. It was long and rambling, but was, nevertheless, a beautiful old house. At the back it was sheltered by high hills, and on the top of these hills were wide, open plains.

“Oh, I must find that fellow, come what may!” thought Philip to himself. He began to climb the hill, and at last found himself on the plain. Here a strong wind was blowing. Kingdon drew a deep breath and looked around. A man was coining to meet him. He ■recognised him at once. The man was Edward Armitage. Just for one minute, there rushed through his heart a feeling of deadly, of ungovernable hatred. That this man should not only win Susie, take her from another man who had loved her so faithfully and so long, but should treat her with intolerable suspicion and uncalled for jealousy caused a fierce battle for a minute in his breast.

But, after all, it was Susie’s happiness Philip Kingdon had to consider, arid she—he remembered her words—she loved this man —oh!—as she expressed it—better than life.

“Bless her!” thought Kingdon. “She shall be happy in her own way. Who am I to interfere?”

Then he strode up to Armitage. “Here.” ho said, taking the ring from his pocket, “you made a fool of yourself last night. You imagined that 1 cared for Susie—that I cared for her more than I ought when I gave her this ring. She gave me the ring back this morning, and I bring it to you. Don’t speak for a minute; you must hear me out. This is my hour, and I claim it. Little Susie was breaking her heart for you. She was going to London by the early train. I was up, and but; and I met her. She told me what had occurred. She told me something else also—that she loves you—(you, who have distrusted her, and hurt her) better than life. Now, hear my side of the question. 1 have for years loved Susie Field. But I could never hurt her as you have done. Do your duty by her; make her a good husband; treasure the splendid love of her pure heart, and if you do not wish her to wear this ring, put it. on your watch chain as a memento of to-day. It is supposed to bring luck; but that does not matter, for von

have already the best luck of all—the. love of the dearest little girl in the wide world."

At the wedding, which took place without let or hindrance at the appointed hour, there was one guest missing. That guest was Philip Kingdon. Hn had gone up to town by an early train, having first sent a note to his cousin •Susie.

After the wedding, Armitage took the hand of his little wife, and slipped the lucky ring on her small finger.

“You miipt always wear.it,” ho said, “for the sake of the best fellow on earth.”