THE FORTUNES OF MAURICE O'DONNELL.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XI, Issue 2, 4 May 1883, Page 7

THE FORTUNES OF MAURICE O'DONNELL.

(By CONAL NOIE in the Dublin Freeman.")

CHAPTER XVI.

11 But the cause of it rests with yon, Miss O'Donnell." " With me? " said Grace, in surprise. " Yes, Miss O'Donnell ; the depression I feel at parting — a depression I never felt before — arises from yon." " I regret to hear that. lam sure it is not the case. You distress me greatly." Grace felt what was coming, and dreaded it. She, however, braced np her mind to at once reject his proposal, and to enconrage no farther hopes which she knew would only prove delusive. But her resolution was no sooner formed than it melted away again. Her nature was too gentle to inflict additional suffering at the time of parting and to make what was sad enough sadder still. So when he said — " I had intended to go away without saying what I now say, and to part from Craighome and you, dear Miss O'Donnell, without opening the secrets of my heart, but carrying my love and my sorrow with me. But I feel that would be unmanly, and unfair — at least to myself And therefore it is that, despite of myself, I must tell you how dearly I love — how your face has grown to be a part of my dreams, ■ and how night and day you are ever present to me — present to me as much when absent as when reading before me." The embarrassment of Grace's feelings as she heard this passionate avowal was overwhelming. All she could say, in tones of affliction and entreaty, was— " Don't speak, I beseech you — for your own sake and mine and Maurice's— don't speak further on this matter now ; leave it until another time. lam very much distressed now." To which he acceded, and they rode on in silence. They were at the station some time in advance of the train. When it did arrive, Grace was agreeably surprised to find an exceedinglj pleasant and prepossessing young lady, pretty much of her own age, descend from it 'and warmly embrace her companion, who quickly introduced them both. Her appearance came with a sense of undefined pleasure to Grace — so elegant, cultured, and high-toned it was. "Unlike most other young ladies possessing good looks, who dislike a rival near their throne, Grace saw in the new arrival but a companion and visitor, who would make the time pass agreeably and brighten up with a new light the drawing-room at Craighome. "Ism obliged to you, dear Miss O'Donnell, for your kindness to the invalid ; and to prove that 1 am, 1 come to be a trouble to you myself." "You are heartily welcome to Donegal, dear Lady Alice," said Grace, you can only show your appreciation of our kindness by the length of your stay. Our Irish Highlands, will, I am afraid, seem rude and uncivilised to your eyes." ' On their way home, and during the pleasant conversation they carried on, the young lady stranger took quick note of her new-made acquaintance. Her diagnosis, on the whole, was favourable — was more than favourable ; for she remarked to herself as the triangular conversation was carried on, " Frank is evidently in love with her, and I don't wonder at it. She is an uncommonly attractive girl." Lady Alice was in raptures with Craighome. She had never seen such scenery before. She had never seen such exquisite tintings as the fading colours of the heath and the dying russete of the lowlying woods gave forth. The fresh air of these northern hills gave a healthier tone to her reveries, and the marble colour of her cheeks, after a day or two, began to give way to a faint tinge of colour that still more enhanced her delicate beauty. Lady Alice and her brother, to whom she was some two or three years junior, were orphan children. They were children of an English nobleman who died in their infancy, and they had been under guardianship of trustees until their coming of age. The similarity of the position of the two girls in this respect added a further bond to the friendship that was fast growing up between them. Indeed, as it would be not to like the gentle and affectionate girl who swayed the destinies of Craighome, so it would be impossible not to love the unsophisticated, cheerful young lady that came as visitor. The only cloud that came to throw a shadow on the brightness .of their lives was the- immediate departure of Frank. The young lady was greatly afflicted at his departure ; and Grace, in sympathy with her, felt sorrow for it too. But, as he thought to himself, "it was not the sort of regret that he expected or wished ; " and, indeed, there was apparently very little love in it. He attempted no further conversation of a tender nature with her, but trusted to Alice's good offices to influence her favourably in his regard. Indeed, it was with regret that Alice silently noticed the fact of bis unreturned love — and felt all the more regret for it because she felt how worthy of him that gentle, handsome girl would be. She had studied her carefully during the few days she had been there, and had found no leaven of selfishness or unworthinees in her whole disposition. But the morning came at last when he had to leave Craighome. f It was a sad parting, much more sorrowful than when the two former gentlemen left. Either Alice was more attached to her brother than Grace was to hers, which it would be difficult to be, or her anticipations of the future for him were more distressing, but the parting on Alice's side was very sad and very bitter. And, in truth, in face of this unusual sorrow, and love, and concern, Grace had felt herself soften towards him until, when the morning came for his departure, she felt towards him that unusual feeling half of love and half of loneliness that had marked her regard fof Harold. .So that when they stood dressed ready for the journey into Deny, whence he was to take the train to Dublin — he and Grace alone at the drawing-room window, looking over the uplands — he said simply —

" Parting is very sad, Miss O'Donnell. It seems to me always the emblem of the great parting of all— death." The tears rose into Grace's eyes as she said — "It is sad, but I think this is the saddest parting I have yet seen." Struck by the unusual tremble of her voice, he turned round, for he had been looking silently, and wrapped in thought, over the uplands before him and noticed the tears which she sought in vain to hide. Gratified by the token of tenderness in one whom he had begun • to think unfeeling and selfish, he said — " I am glad I do not go away altogether unremembered, Miss O'Donnell." " Oh, Captain Buchanon," said Grace, " how could you think you would ? " " Because," said he, unheeding her. " I think nothing adds to the bitterness of parting with the knowledge that when one is gone he is forgotten." "Your name will be remembered — always remembered here, Captain Buchanon," said Grace, until the pleasant days come when you will all come back again when this dreary war is over." " Tell me, Miss O'Donnell— l wish I could call you Grace, the name is so pleasant — have you thought over our last conversation 7 " " Yes," said Grace softly, iv answer to his whispered question. "And have your thonghts changed since? Surely, dear Miss O'Donnell, your heart cannot be so hard as to refuse me one slight promise— one token of affection — a mark of love on this day, when we may be parting for years ? " The tears rose afresh to Grace's eyes, and she remained silent. " Tell me at any rate that I am not altogether indifferent to you ; that even though you may not be able now to respond to the love that I feel for yon, you may feel it for me in time yet to come. • Love is sometimes of slow growth, my dear Grace. Surely you cannot have made any engagement that could prevent you giving me such a "promise — a promise that will brighten the future that would otherwise be so dark and dreary 7 Is there Grace ? Is there any engage* ment? " No ; there is not," said Grace, greatly affected and embarrassed by his words. " Then, dear Miss O'Donnell, 1 ' said he, " why is it that I cannot obtain even that slight promise from you ? How is it that you dislike me so much ? " "I do not dislike you, Captain Buchanon ; I like you very dearly for my brother's sake, and——" " And for myself," said he, rapidly interrupting. " And for yourself, Captain Buchanon." " I thank yon for these words, Miss O'Donnell," said he taking her hand in his. " Though I should prefer you using the word love to like. But I trust the day will' come, and soon, when liking will turn to love, and that the deep and sincere affection I feel for you, you will come to feel for me. May I hope for that day ? " Grpce was silent although she let her hand rest unresistingly in his. "If I did not so hope," he added bitterly, seeing her silence, " it should be better for me I had never awoke from the fall at yonder cliff. For I would only awake to a disappointed life, without purpose and without future. But I am sure you will change your mind, Grace," and his voice visibly sof tenpd. " Love so earnest and true as mine for you can never be wholly thrown away. Say that it is not Grace — say that it is not. Is it, Grace ? " " 1 don't know — perhaps not — it is not," said Grace, wholly embarrassed and overwhelmed by the impetuosity of her suitor. v And that I may yet hope to gain your love, Grace. Promise me that, Grace. That much 1 ; that only. Say yes, Grace. " Yes," said Grace, half unconsciously in the bewilderment of her ideas. " God bless you, Grace. You have," said he taking her in his arms suddenly and embracing her, " made my heart light as a suni ray, and thrown a brightness over the future I did not think it could ever possess again." Just at this juncture his sister entered, fully dressed and equipped for the ride to Derry. Her quick eye noticed- at once that some more than usual or casual conversation was passing between the pair standing at the window. The slightest glance at their faces told her this, as with a prompt air of unconcern and unnotice she walked over to the fireplace where the fire glowed, for the mornings on the Done* gal highlands were beginning to grow chilly. " The horses are "ready saddled below, Frank. It is nearly time to be starting. Your luggage is in Derry by this," said Alice. " So it is," Frank said, glancing at his watch, " I shall be ready in a few minutes." And so he proceeded to his room as Grace did to hers ; and in a short time the young officer, sad and silent, with tears ready to leap into his eyes, if his manhood would let them, parted from the white mansion of Craighome. It had been a place of delicious repose and pleasure to him. The kind attention of his friends, the delicious feeling of returning health and convalescence, the entrancing delight of Grace's company and conversation, made it seem to him a veritable heaven upon earth — a paradise among the Donegal highlands. It was therefore with a feeling which he never experienced before that he saw its white gables disappear behind the tree tops. He had since taking his commission been rambling all over the world, and had left station after station from|lndia to Canada without bestowing a thought upon the last or the next. It was otherwise now. (To be continued.)