CHAPTER XIV.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume VI, Issue 309, 21 March 1879, Page 9

CHAPTER XIV.

It was the morning after the tenants" feast and Neville Court was quiet, for after their unwonted exertions of the last two days every member of the household was glad of a little repose ; and although the stable-clock had chimed seven the chimneys were still smokeless, and the doors and windows still closed and barred. Nor was it only inside the big house that the comfortable old god Morpheus yois asseiting his power. Not a single denizen of the two barns was yet stining, while the very farmhoys were making up for a niglit of unmitigated indigestion, although the conceit of unfed pigs and poultry might have awakened the Seven Sleepers. Another hour crept on and the clock struck eight. Whether it was this, or that the yells of the pigs and turkeys grew even more outrageous in their desperation, we

cannot say ; hut suddenly a sign of life appeared in the form of an old woman, who opened one of the ham-doors and sleepily peered out at the clock. Five minutes later both barns were a scene of animation, while the servants, awakeued from the bustle withont, sprang from their beds and were dressed in no time. Very soon, as in the old nursery tale, everything began to get e» train — "the fires began to bum the sticks." and if the sticks didn't proceed, in the orthodox fashion, to " beat the dogs." they did what was far less unkind and far more to the purpose, for they began to boil the kettles and to send forth from the chimney-tops pretty blue wreaths of smoke, that curled upward into the morning sunshine and told the world that Neville Court was once more awake and stirring. And so was its mistress ; and just as Mrs. Barton had sat down to a cup of tea, for once in her life somewhat in deshabille, that worthy lady was disturbed by a gentle knock at her door, followed by the apparition of no less a personage than Miss Neville herself. The fact was that, unlike the rest of her household, Maude had been dressed and reading from a very early hour. When the stir outside had begun, she peeped through her window ; and seeing that her guests of last night vere beginning to straggle off one by one, on their various ways, it had struck her that the remains of last night's feast could not be better employed* than in chcerirg them on their respective journeys. She had hardly expressed a wish to that effect before the tempting cup of tea was abandoned untastcd, and a few minutes aEter Maude and Mrs. Barton, accompanied by two servants bearing dishes of meat and baskets of bread, made their appearance at the barn-doors, where, we need hardly say, both dishes and baskets were emptied with the utmost celerity. The former, however, were, for the most part, only patronised by the Protestants of the party, for •abstinence in all it rigours had once again set in for the Catholics. The greater portion refused even a piece of meat to cany home, and shook their heads and ate their bread with an honest heartiness that delighted Maude more than she could have expressed. '• I have had a fire lighted for breakfast, ma'am, in my lady's boudoir," said Mrs. Barton, as they re-entered the house. " Every place down-stairs looks so rough and cheerless, I thought you would be more comfortable up there." "My mother's boudoir ! "' echoed Maude ; " why, I have not even seen it yet." " I know you have not, ma'am. The doctor wanted to take you in yesterday ; but, Miss Maudie. darling, }'ou must not be angry with me — I would not let him in. We wanted you bright and cheerful for last night, and somehow I was afraid it might upset you ; for one thing, because there is a lovely portrait of your mother hanging there, a portrait so like her that it is almost life itself. But 1 will take you there now ; shall I ? "' Maude needed no second invitation, but followed the old housekeeper up-stairs to a small white door, on the gallery, very beautifully painted with summer flowers and butterflies, and which, being opened by Mrs. Barton, admitted them into "my lady's boudoir." It was a somewhat small but very elegant apartment ; so elegant, indeed, that it had evidently been furnished by Sir Morcar for his bride, in the first flush of his happiness, without reference either to trouble or expense. So delicate were the gorgeous hangings, so weblike the texture or the lace draperies, so heavily gilded the cornices and furniture, that nothing short of the almost daily attention on the beloved spot by Mrs. Barton could possibly have saved them from decay. As it was, Time had not been altogether cheated of his due, for the gilding was tarnished in more places than one, and the carpet and hangings had faded from their original splendour, while the dainty lace was only held together by a network of almost equally dainty darns. But so carefully was the light tempered to hide the ravages and dents wrought by the old man's sickle, so carefully was every fold of drapery arranged, that only a very close observer could have noticed either one or the other. As to Maude, one object, and one object only, met her view, ahd that was her mother's portrait. The old housekeeper, having placed a chair for her mistress, withdrew, and for nearly half an hour Maude gazed on the lovely and speaking countenance before her, lost in a tumult of contending thoughts and emotions. At the end of that time the door opened very softly, and Mrs. Barton, nowas neat and prim as a new pin. again presented herself. She had hoped that by this time Maude would have grown calm, and was not a little startled when the young girl threw herself into her arms, and with a passionate burst or* tears implored her to tell her all she could about hu- mother. It would hay« been difficult to have found a theme more welcome to the good old woman, who obeyed with sparkling eyes, beginning with the day when Lady Neville had first arrived among them, bright and blushing, as Sir Morear's bride. Mrs. Barton was not, as Maude had imagined, an old Iribh Catholic, but the daughter of an English farmer ; a Methodist, who believed, and had moreover taught his children to believe, that everything connected with •• liomamt>ni "' must necassarily be bad. She described to Maude the deep distrust with which she had regarded the young bride, but soon went on to tell her how Lady Neville's gentleness had wou her heart, aud how, from loving her, bhe began gradually to thiuk about her religion, then to study it, then to admire it, and finally to embrace it. At this point of her narrative Mrs. Barton rose from her seat, and signing to Maude to follow her, crossed the room towards a curtain the young girl had not hitherto remarked, and which, being drawn aside, reveale'cl an exquisite little altar, surmounted by a marble btatuc of the Virgin Mother. And then Mrs. Barton told her how Lady Neville had taught her her prayers at that very altar : and how often from that time forward she had always joined her mistress in her morning devotions, aud oftentimes at night : and how after her departure^ and more than ever after her death, it had been the one happiness of her lonely life to creep into that quiet corner, so replete with holy memories, and pray for her who had passed away. So much did the old housekeeper find to say that it was not till ten o'clock resounded through the house that they moved from the position they occupied during their conversation, and then it was only to move still nearer to the altar, before which they knelt down spontaneously, side by side. (To be continued.)