CHAPTER VII. (Continued.)

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XIII, Issue 5, 22 May 1885, Page 7

CHAPTER VII. (Continued.)

" I HAVE expected this visit," said Mr. Finiston, with a courtly air, while yet Miss Martha was trying to right her thoughts, which had been somewhat thrown awry by the first plimpse of the picture now before her. "You are probably a messenger from my tenant at Monasterlea, a relation peihaps. I had the pleasure of knowing Miss Mourne many years ago, and I see some likeness. A very respectable tenant she is, but she pays me such a dreadfully low rent — such a dreadfully low rent 1 " He shook his head from side to side with his eyes averted from his visitor, and rubbed bis hands slowly, and rocked himself in his chair. Miss Martha drew her breath hard, and gazed at him fixedly. He would not meet her eyes. In a few moments her amazement abated, and her presence of mind returned. She believed that he had recognised her, but she conld not be sure. At all events, either his cunning cowardice or his want of memory might make the task she had undertaken less difficult. " I need not introduce myself," she said. "It is true I am but a messenger of another. I came from Monasterlea, but not upon the business of your tenant." "Eh 1 " asked he sharply. " Not upon your — not upon her business ? What then ? Not,. I hope , with a story from any of these .smaller rascally tenants who want their land for nothing, and would Wrive a wretched landlord to the workhouse ? If you come, madam, *about them, I will wish you a good morning on the instant. A good morning, madam. I wish you a very good morning." He arose hastily, and made a grotesque bow — a trembling, mocking attempt at courtesy ; and his face had begun to work with a passion which brought out all those snarling lines upon it. " Stay, sir 1 " said Miss Maitha ; and her quick, steady tone affected him so that he dropped back nervously into his chair. " I am come altogether upon affairs of your own," said Miss Martha — "to bring you news. Your brother's wife is dead, Mr. Finiston." He pricked up his ears, and sat bolt upright*. "Well, madam, I should not be surprised. A spendthrift creature who would not thrive. She cams here to see me with lace trimmings on her dress ; but I told her my mind, and I pointed out to her the destitution that would fall upon her. I understand that her husband died of starvation, the consequence of his improvidence and her extravagance. They would have dragged me down to want with themselves ; but I was much too wise for that. I was always a sparing man, madam ; and it is thanks to my economy that I have still bread to eat, and have got a roof over my head." " I find that you are misinformed," said Miss Martha. " Your brother died of fever ; and he was a happy man, and a prudent one, while he lived. His wife was a noble woman, who for years denied herself many comforts in the hope of being able to provide for her eon. She has died without fulfilling this purpose ; and all her slight means have disappeared with herself. I have come here expressly to tell you that her son, sir, is Paul Finiston, your nephew and heir." The old man's face had grown darker and more frightened at every word she spoke. '•Well, well, well," he said hoarsely, clutching his chair with both hands, and gazing now straight at Miss Martha, without thinking of who she was. " Heir, she said heir 1 Aye 1 And pray, madam, who sbvs there is anything to inherit ? Barely enough property to keep a man alive, with the expenses of a servant, and a cat to keep down the rats. Would you rob an old man of his crust, madam 1 Would you take it out of his mouth to give it to a young beggar who can work, madam ? " "That is not what we propose, sir," said Miss Martha, unflinchingly. "We ask you to use a small part of your wealth only to help the poor to independence. Even a few hundred pounds "—" — A bitter shriek burst from the old man's lips ; and he got up trembling in a paroxysm of passion. " Away 1 " he cried, waving his hand over his head. " Away 1 you deserted me in my need, and now come back to rob me 1 I will not " — He was tottering towards her with his menacing hands ; but poor Miss Martha, cowed at last, here rose in trepidation, and fled from the house. * She was too old for tears and lamenting ; but she walked home from Tobereevil over miles of ground that had grown infinitely bleaker since the morning. The cold March air seemed to pinch her feart. , "You have deserted me in my need," quoth she tearfully. « Why, was I not patient 1 " but Miss Martha would have been ashamed to let her donbts and regrets be known. None were in her confidence but the trees, and the primrose drifts, and the chilly blue Seaks of the hills. She complained of nothing when she reached ome but a slight touch of rheumatism from that pitiless east wind. In the evening she was still a little ill from her rheumatism ; so it was May who wrote the letter which Martha had meant to write. And young Paul Finiston received the following epistle in his garrret : " My dear Paul — It is Aunt Martha who is really writing this letter, only lam by accident holding heT pen. Aunt Martha wishes to tell you that she has been to your uncle, Mr. Fihistou ; and that she is afraid he will never do anything to help you, unless you come here to see him, when, perhaps, he might get fond of you. I am very glad that you have nothing to do with him ; for he is a dreadful old man, and would not give a crumb to save any one from starving. Aunt Martha begs that you will come here, and stay. She will give you a nice little room off the cloisters beside the chapel ; and Aunt Martha says you're a great deal too sensible to be afraid of ghosts.

She has made some new marmalade, and the garden is fall of crdcuses. I would like you very much to come, but I think it would be happier for you to earn your own money, and nevermind that dreadful old man. Aunt Martha sends you a little note, which she sayß is a loan from me, and may be useful on your journey down here. I am, dear Paul, in Aunt Martha's name, your very old friend, " MAY Moubnb." "How odd that the little one should be wiser than the old woman ! " said Paul. This is the way in which people think those the wisest who agree with themselves. " I should like to see her again ; but 1 have no time to stay dallying, with children." " Paul was a man. of twenty-one now, looking old for his age, and feeling himself thirty-six at least. Or course May, was still the little body in the prim gray pelisse, and with the sweet dark eyes. " Afraid of ghosts ! Poor little baby 1 but she has treated me very honestly, and I will tell her what lam afraid of." So Paul wrote :—: — "My dear old Friend,— l received your Aunt Martha's letter ; and I approve so heartily of the sentiments of the person who held the pen, that I do not intend visiting Monasterlea, nor approaching one inch nearer my respectable uncle of Tobereevil. lam not quite sure as to whether I could play the part of beggar or not, having never tried ; but of this I am sure, that some hundreds of leagues of the sea should come between us. Upon nearer acquaintance I migfyt do him some harm. Is there not a prophecy included in that time* honoured curse of our family ? I might never be able to forget that £ am a kinsman of the miser, and might be tempted to do mischief for the sake of succeeding generations. If you do not understand this, ask your Aunt Martha, and she will explain it to you. Tell her, with my heartfelt thanks, that I am sorry she undertook a painful office for my sake ; that I would fain be in the nice little bedroom off the cloisters, but I shall find myself sooner in the Tigging of a foreign vessel. There is a captain from Liverpool now lying in the docks who will give me my passage for my services. I hare here no prospect that Icm see, except that of being a clerk or a porter ; and I prefer bodily labour in a new country. " And now, my dear little old friend, good* bye. Tell yvour Aunt Martha that I accept your loan, and will now sew it in my coat against time of sickness. Tell her not to count it a bad debt. I com' mit my mother's grave to her memory and yours. If you keep it in your minds, I shall not feel quite deserted. ' "?AVL FINISTON." Paul little thought of the storm which the letter was to create at Monasterlea. Miss Martha turned pale when she read it ; and for the first time in her life, spoke angrily to her niece. " May ? May 1 " she cried, " what was in that letter? I trusted the writing of it to you ; and you have driven the poor boy across the sea ! " " I did not mean it," said May, weeping. •' I only said that I would rather he earned money for himself." . , " I told you to write a welcome ; and you have warned him away," said Miss Martha. "Oh I why did I not write myself t The boy will be drowned, and we shall have done it between us. Oh, you rude, strange girl 1 Oh, Elizabeth 1 poor Elizabeth 1 " " Aunt Martha 1 " said May, springing up alert. " Cannot we go to Dublin and stop him 1 " " Quick, then ! " said Miss Martha ; and in another hour they were upon the road. (To he continued.')