CHAPTER IX.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume VI, Issue 304, 14 February 1879, Page 11

CHAPTER IX.

St. Patbick's-eve arrived, and although dark and somewhat (stormy, our little party from the rectory arrived in safety and high spirits at the east lodge of Neville Court. As the carriage wound up a steep drive, nearly half a mile in length, it may well be imagined with what earnestness the younglieiress peeped out into the gloom : but dense shrubberies, looking very black and dreary in the darkness, and a dim network of leafless branches overhead was all that met her view. Nor was the result of her scmtiny much more satisfactory when Maude reached the house and alighted ; for the united gleam of the lights in the windows, coach lights, and stable-lanterns only seemed to make the darkness more palpable, and all that she could distinguish of her paternal home was a broad flight of gray stone' steps, somewhat mossy and grass-grown, surmounted by a heavy portico of the same material. But that portico once passed, the gloom and darkness ceased; for the vestibule behind was flooded with light, and in that vestibule all that remained of the old servants had gathered, with loving hearts and bright faces, to welcome their young mistress home. The aged butler—a kind of universal genius in his way—had arranged them in a picturesque group, with the housekeeper at their head, while he himself stood in the foreground, bowing his white head in a series of profound salaams. Maude's entrance was the signal for a general burst of welcome, so vociferous in its heartiness that she clung, startled to her uncle's arm. After a +lm^ *ii a Slgn from the bousekeeper, quiet was restored ; and then the butler, producing a highly ornamented scroll, prepared himself, with sundry preliminary coughs, to read an address of welcome to his young lady. Alas, poor Mills, that address was never read I Even at tne • Honoured Madam " the old man's voice began to fail, and the second line saw him fairly sobbing on his knees, with his cherished production crushed in his withered hands. Maude stepped r55 ll forw *rd > and taking it from him pressed it to her lips, and told them all she should read it for herself, and keep it for ever as a testimony of their affection. As she spoke, the light fell full on her beautiful blushing face ; and when she had concluded, another shout J-°l\ welcome woke the echoes of the old house, the like of which had never been heard since her father had first brought home his bride to Neville Court. If good Mrs. Barton could have bad her own way, she would

havecotiducted her young mistress through every nook and corner of the old mansion, immediately on her "arrival. But dinner-parties are always disturbing influences ; and the-onc then in preparation in the large kitchen of Neville Court -called the old housekeeper so many different ways, that could she have been in a dozen of places at once she could hardly have satisfied its requirements. Very majestically did she usher the ladies up the grand staircase, and more majestically still did she descant on the various family portraits' that lined the gallery above. Dearly would she have^loved to have told them the stories and legends that larked in every grim old face they passed ; but just as she was expatiating .on a certain bewigged and beruffled pair, the clanging bells gave the first announcement of dinner. Poor Mrs. Barton cut her story short, and hurried to a -Toom which, she whispered to Maude as she turned the handle of the door; had once beetf "my lady's." And a grand old-fashioned room it was, such a one as Maude had never seen before ; and the young girl glanced curiously round at the carved wood-work and antique furniture, the pride of Mrs. Barton's heart, But although everything around her looked novel and unusual, although the spaciousness of the chamber awed her, and its very atmosphere seemed strange, blending, as it did, a certain shut-up fustiness with a fair aroma of herbs and spices, there was something in the flashing of the bright peat-fire that reassured her; whether it twinkled on the quaint oak wardrobes and cabinets, or ran in streaks of ruddy light across the polished floor, or buried itself luxuriously amid the heavy hangings of the distant bed, it seemed to bid her welcome. Notwithstanding Maude's jnotestations that they needed no assistance, Mrs. Barton refused to leave until she had herself disencumbered them of their wrappers and seen them seated comfortably before the fire. Then,promieing to warn them in time, and to send Mrs. Watson to them the instant she should^ arrive, the old woman bustled down-stairs, where she soon became heart-deep in anxieties and occupations, leaving Fanny to shape castles in the fire and Maude to dream of her mother. Meantime the dinner proceeded quite to Mr. Neville's satisfaction ; for it was well served arid evidently well appreciated by the guests. But be had been right : the last two years had thinned still further the number of the latter. Still fewer hats adorned the » antlers of the monster stag in the hall ; still fewer of the old familiar ■■faces gathered round the table. Many a sigh did the old major-domo heave as he stood at the back of, Mr. Neville's chair ; and those sighs, though all unheard, found an echo in the hearts of more than one of the guests. Who could behold that narrowed circle without reflections strangely at variance with the clinking of glasses and the rattle of knives and forks? Certainly not Edward Neville; and although his face wore his usual kindly, smile, as he discharged the varied duties of a host, there was a certain nervous twitching of the 'lip, and a certain far-away expression in his eye, that soon bespoke an inward conflict. To him death and change, like unbidden guests, seemed to sit on the vacant chairs, and low sad voices of the past seemed to mingle with every gust of wind that moaned without. In vain he struggled against his emotions ;* for his mind, still unnerved by his late bereavement, refusad to be schooled. It was a trying moment; for he felt that his abstraction was already beginning to cast its shadow over the re3t ; but though he would have given worlds to rally his spirits and be himself again, it was beyond his power. It was just at this moment that the door suddenly opened, and to the satisfaction of everybody present our old friend, Richard O'Meara, presented himself. He excused the lateness of his arrival by informing his host that his business had compelled him to remain to the latest possible moment in Dublin, adding that, except for Jerry's kind offices in finding him a corner at the station in which to perform his toilette, and getting him a postchaise afterwards, he could never have arrived at all. The doctor had not been seated five minutes at the table before he perceived Mr. Neville's embarrassment, and quickly divining its cause, with the deepest sympathy strove to cover it. So quiet and unobtrusive, however, was his interference that no one perceived it, though all felt its power. For without trespassing on the vantageground of his seniors, or bringing himself prominently forward in any way whatever, the doctor made a charming substitute for his host, who many times smiled in sly gratitude across the table. The fact was Richard O'Meara possessed in a high degree the rare art of being able to lead a conversation, so as to bring forward each person's favourite topic in turn without suffering one man's hobby to weary the rest. Thus when Mr. Neville's old friend, Professor Broadview (who as usual had come up from Dublin for the occasion), had entertained the company, numbering three or four scientific men, for fully half an hour with an account of certain geological discoveries, an old fox-hunter vis-a-vis beginning suddenly to yawn, in five minutes time O'Meara had set the whole party leaping fences and five-barred gates in imagination, until the old sportsman was almost choking with excitement. Then came the prospect of the crops, which wonderfully interested two agricultural squires, and whence they naturally digressed to the value of labour and the condition of the working classes. This brought forward the question of the "tenant-law" in Ireland, and Richard O'Meara knew that other ears besides his own writhed beneath the sentiments of the whole party on the subject. He. and perhaps he alone, knew how, as a boy the old gray -headed priest, Father Donovan, had been turned out of house and home ; and his quick eye alone detected the quiver of the old man s lip, and the flush on the old man's cheek. Before two minutes were over he had put an apparently careless question to the proiessor about the progress of the excavations at Rome, and in two more Father Donovan was the centre of attraction as he gave an account of his own investigations during his five years' residence at the Irish College in the Eternal City. Little by little Mr. Neville's abstraction wore away ; the conversation gradually interested him ; and the doctor, feeling he might now safely leave him to his own resources, descended from the height he had so unostentatiously occupied to the enjoyment of a quiet conversation with his neighbour, the professor.

(To be Continued, )