The Lady of Nebille Court A TALE OF THE TIMES. BY THE AUTHOR OF " MARION HOWARD," ETC., ETC.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume VI, Issue 314, 25 April 1879, Page 17

The Lady of Nebille Court A TALE OF THE TIMES. BY THE AUTHOR OF " MARION HOWARD," ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER XYlL— continued.

Although the doctor had eschewed society for a month, he by no means contemplated turning anchorite altogether. Fortunately he possessed a friend in Mr. Frederic Donovan, a nephew of the parish priest, who had lately qualified for the medical profession, and who had come to stay with his uncle till he could hear of a practice likely to suit him. He was a gay sprightly young fellow, and kept the doctor well acquainted with the events of the day ; and as soon as the latter heard that the coronet, the squire, the whiskers, and the matchless bow had been scattered to the four winds he accepted the invitation of a mutual friend, and when Maude least expected him, advanced to hand her to dinner. She was much pleased : for not only had Ms sudden and protracted absence astonished her, but &he very much regretted it from an interested motive. The very day after her return from Mrs. Wetherby's, Mr. Colquhoun had again presented himself at the Glebe Home and asked to see her. After some persuasion she had at last persuaded her uncle to see him instead, and inform him that until Miss Neville attained her majority all business would be transacted, as usual, through himself. But though Maude thus extricated herself from a present dilemma, she knew that she had in no way obviated a future difficulty. She herself had thoroughly resolved on Colquboun's dismissal ; but as she could see that such a course would entirely derange all the plans her uncle was forming for the future, a thousand difficulties seemed to rise before her. It was no easy matter certainly to contemplate the sudden and unexpected dismissal of a man who had served her family for twenty years ; and with an anxiety almost bordering on nervousness, Maude had looked day after day for the one hand that she believed could assist her in trouble. As in Maude's transparent nature every emotion, as it rose to the surface, became visible at once, the doctor read the pleasure with which she met him in an instant. All his misgivings were gone in a moment ; her ordeal had left her as simple as it had found her ; and when, during dinner, amid the hum of conversation, she asked his advice on the subject of Colquhoun, his delight at the confidence reposed in him knew no bounds. He promised to draw her out a paper containing the various acts of injustice committed by Colqunoun during his administration of her affairs, and advised her to show it to her uncle, telling him whence she had procured it, and to insist that Colquhoun should explain each charge brought against him. Like the touch of the fairy's wand in the old story, his words seemed to resolve every difficulty at once ; and when Maude rose to follow the hostess to the drawing-room, she tripped up the broad grand staircase with a heart as light as a feather When the gentlemen joined the ladies, some little time afterwards, Maude was asked to sing ; and as the doctor turned over the pages while she Bang, it was only natural that he should conduct her to her seat when the song was ended, and that, having conducted her thither, he should seat himself beside her. Now both Maude and the doctor had travelled and seen a great deal of society ; both were well read, both possessed of unusual conversational powers. There must have been, moreover, many an object of equal interest to them both lurking in the signs of the times. And yet, with a world- wide range of subjects before them, they chose that of the old times at Neville Court, and thence easily diverged from Lady Neville herself to the subject of her religion. It was a strange one to discuss in such a scene, where twenty voices were babbling of the opera, the stage, the latest fashions, and the last new novel. Yet never .was voice more earnest than the doctor's, whose theme was the rights of the Holy See, nor face more serious than Maude's as she listened to him with the deepest attention. It was not till Mr. Neville's carriage was announced that the conversation ended, and eren then, as they drove slowly home up and down the steep mountain-road, when her uncle and Fanny thought her asleep in her corner, Maude was silently retracing the burning and enthusiastic words she had just heard. At last home was reached, and after two loving goodnights, Made retired to her ro»m. Her first proceeding on arriving there •was to divest herself of her evening toilette and throw on a dressinggown ; her second, to open a handsome cabinet and take out her mothers' books. She had placed them there on her return from Neville Court, intending to make them her daily study ; but dismayed at the impression already made on her mind, in spite of herself, by the doctor's words, the morning after the tenants' feast, she had feared to open them again. This period of distrust had been succeeded by one of distraction, equally unpropitious to a search after truth ; and had not her attention been a second time called to the subject, much as the acquisition of the books had pleased her, they -^■"H probably have remained locked in the cabinet to her dying day. But it was not to be so ; for not only did Maude take them from their hiding-place that night, but laying them reverently on the table., she knelt down beside it, and burying her face in her hands, prayed long and fervently. And what was her prayer ? A simple childlike petition, to « the Way, the Truth, and the Life,' for grace to seek Him for Himself alone, and not to suffer one thought of her mother's memory — dear as that memory was — to influence her in her search. Then seating herself, Maude quietly opened one of the books, and set herself with all the energy of her character to •ndeavour to solve Pilate's great question. Nearly two hours passed before she lay down to rest ; and even then her's was no peacefal slumber ; for dream after dream, each more distorted than the last, passed beEore her mind, wearying and perplexing it. At length she grew calmer, and fancied that she was passing along a bright pleasant road, with the sun shining in a cloudless sky above her, the green trees arching over her head, and bright flowers enamelling the wayside banks. Several people seemed

to be travelling with her, and yet the only forms she could distinctly distinguish were those of^her uncle Edward and Mrs. Carew. Suddenly the scene changed." The* trees, the flowers, the sunshine disappeared ; barrenness and desolation reigned around : and when she turned to seek her companions she found that all had departed and that she stood alone. With a tenor that seemed almost to overwhelm her she advanced, but only to find her.self on the brink of a fearful gulf that yawned at her feet. She tried to retrace her steps but in vain ; for she had already commenced the descent of the shelving bank, and an irresistible power seemed to impel her forward. In au agony she raised her eyes to the opposite side, and there saw her mother standing, no longer the cold creation of a painter's art, as she liad beheld her ia the boudoir, but warm, bright, and beautiful, with her arms outstretched towards her. Maude was about to rush to her embrace, unmindful of the yawning gulf between them, when a voice behind her implored her to desist. In her dream she seemed to turn, and there beheld the form of the Irish doctor beckoning her back with one hand, while with the other be pointed to a spot higher up the river than that on which she stood. Maude looked, and discovered a majestic bridge that, springing from bank to bank, spanned the gulf with seven broad arches, while the golden light that streamed over its bulwarks seemed to illumine the very depths of the black waters. Yet, wilful and distrustful even in her dream, Maude thought she turned from the bridge, and looking resolutely towards the spot where her mother still stood, strove once more to descend the bank unaided. In vain her mother seemed to warn Her back, in vaia the voice behind called her by her name. Resolutely she took the slippery path. Suddenly a stone on wliich she placed her foot seemed to dislodge with her weight, and crashing and thundering down the rocks, carried her with it into the abyss below ; and it was with a thrill of relief that Maude awaking found herself in her own room, and recognised Mrs. Watson's well-known knock at the door. CHAPTER XIX. Spring had passed away, and the summer roses were beginning to bloom in the Neville Court gardens. And not only the roses, but many other bright and beautiful flowers besides ; for O'Keefe's horticultural enterprises had surpassed even his own expectations, and Maude loved to tell him that she believed fcer garden was fast growing as beautiful as anything out of fairyland could possibly be. Altogether the old house, both within and without, began to "look as if it were getting ready for its mistress ; " and such a mistress, too !" as Mrs. Barton whispered to herself, as she arranged and re-arranged the new silk hangings of •' my lady's boudoir." For it had been decided by Mr. Neville, and certain other of Maude's more responsible relatives, that the young heiress should take up her residence at Neville Court in the month of October, immediately after her twenty-first birthday. Dearly would Maude have wished to have remained, at Glebe House, among the friends she loved so well ; but, " Vox populi, vox Dei," said her uncle ; and the young heiress, who understood how deeply her people longed to see her in the old place, and how much her actual residence at Neville Court would contribute to bring back into life and action the long stagnated blood of her large inheritance, bowed her head in resignation. She had, however, raised it a few minutes afterwards to make one proviso, which was, that as she must have a chaperone, that chaperone should be Mrs. Carew. Only too pleased to give her pleasure, Mr. Neville, for once in his life, wrote a letter without delay, and received an answer from Mr 3. Carew almost by return of post, joyfully consenting to give up her own house in town and reside at Neville Court with her own dear child in the double capacity of friend and protectress, or as Maude loved to say, summing the two sweet offices in one — as mother. Meanwhile a terrific storm had burst, raged, and been dispersed in Ballycross. The doctor, as he had promised Maude, had prepared the document regarding Colquhoun, and, just as he had expected, the latter, having no explanations to offer, had had recourse to recrimination and invectives against the author of the enquiry. It argued no little for the doctor's prudence that he had left no point unguarded, nor used any word of opprobrium or harshness towards his adversary. On the contrary, he had tempered every expression, he had used in stating the truths with the most perfect Christian charity. At first Colqiihonn had seemed inclined to " fight it out," for the trustees sided with him ; but he soon changed his mind, and wrote them instead a letter of injured innocence throwing up his office at the summer quarter. Perhaps it suddenly struck him that his triumph, if gained, would only last till October ; perhaps, that under the new regime the agency would no longer be \i orth having. Meanwhile, too, the ' search after truth' continued ; and morning after morning, and night after night, Maude read, prayed, and pondered over her little books. No one suspected her, not even Fanny, or, what was perhaps still stranger, not even the doctor. After Colquboun's resignation he had, at Mr. Neville's earnest request, beea commissioned by the trustees to choose a new agent for the estate, and business connected with this brought him almost every day to the Glebe House. But although, in discussing the suitability of various applicants for the office, religion was often brought upon the tapis, so jealously did Maude guard her secret that, much as he had desired to interest her in the subject, he never for a moment suspected that he had succeeded in doing so except as a passing thought. Once, indeed, when he complained of Miss Barbara's interference with Tim, her lip certainly quivered, but only with the same amount of indignation that any act of meanness or bigotry would have elicited. Again, when he spoke of Father Donavan's untiring zeal and devotion, tears stood in her eyes, but just such tears he remem« bered had stood there on St. Patrick's day, when he had drawn a picture that had thrown Father Donovan and her uncle into contrast, and so they told no tales.

(To be continued.)