CHAPTER VIII. THE WOODS BECKON.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XIII, Issue 6, 29 May 1885, Page 5

CHAPTER VIII. THE WOODS BECKON.

Abrived in Dublin, they traced Paul from his old dwelling to & humbler lodging. Here they were informed that the young man — % gentleman indeed he was — had left the night before, and gone on board a ship lying at the quay. They hurried down to the quay, disappointed and hopeless, to gaze among the vessels, and ask questions. It was early in the morning ; and they had been driving all day yesterday, and all last night. The sun was shining gayly on the bridge as they half crossed it, and stood leaning over the side. A vessel was moving slowly at some distance, clumsily disengaging itself from the craft around. A faint cheer reached their ears, making them look to this quarter, and May saw Paul on the deck of the moving ship. "Where, where? " said Miss Martha. " Oh, Aunt Martha, there I That tall young man with his bs They left the bridge, and hurried along the quay. They came almost alongside of the ship; but it was too far away for anything but signs to pass between Paul and his friends.' He had recognized Miss Martha at once, but not so easily the maiden by her side. Her hat had fallen back on her shoulders, her face was flushed with anxiety and grief, her hands were involuntarily extended towards the ship. Paul folded his arms, and gazed sadly at her figure, till the ship carried him away, and crowds of tall masts rose up and bid her from his sight. He took her image thus away with him— the loveliest young maiden, he thought, his eyes had ever seen. Five years have passed since Paul Fiuiston Bailed away with the Liverpool captain. Many changes have taken place, of course. For instance, May is a woman, and Aunt Martha has begun to wear spectacles. The rose-hedges at Mona9terlea have grown thicker between the garden and the tombstones, and the grave of Father Felix has got a cross ; but no events have happened of more importance than these. The miser of Tobereevil is still a mystery of iniquity to the people who starve in their cabins to pay him the rents which he extorts. He looks a little more shadowy than ever as he glides about his grounds, rubbing his lean hands, and looking nervously over bis shoulder. People who speak to him say he is more irascible than he used to be ; but these are few besides old Tibbie, Con the fool, and a saturnine lawyer who appears at proper intervals to collect the rents. Con is often at Tobereevil. He picks a bone over the ashes with Tibbie in the kitchen, and Bleeps on some straw in the corner. He is the only company old Simon will tolerate of an evening ; but it is true that the miser likes to see him sitting chattering his idiot's speech on one of the old oaken chairs opposite his own, or still better, performing antics in the middle of the floor. * Perhaps it is because any other visitor would require Borne kind of entertainment in the way of food, or diink, or firing, and yet that the miser must sometimes see a friend. But Tibbie will tell us that Con has a right to come and go at Tobereevil. Con is her sister's son, and he is also, she says, the nephew of Simon. It is a fact that there was also a third brother, who lived and died in poverty at the other end of Ireland. While Con was a child Tibbie appeared at Tobere* evil with the urchin by the hand, and told her story to every qqo who met her. Some laughed at her, and others believed her ; but none knew whether she could substantiate her claim. Ac all events she engaged to be the miser's housekeeper, and in this institution sha has remained ever since ; and Con comes and goes, and lives about the country. Tibbie will tell us that he will inherit Tobereevil, - having full as good a right as the son of that fine captain and his madam who came spying here once ; and she asks eager questions of the .lawyer, who nods his head gravely in her witchlike face, and — perhaps .being afraid of her, as he now and then passes nights at Tobereevil— does not dash her hopes. As for Con himself, his fool's wits carry no knowledge of the matter. All he knows of the miser is that he hates him with an instinctive hate and fear, mixed with a certain fascination which draws the poor lad to Tobereevil, and prevents his daring to run- away when it pleases old Simon to call him to his presents*. He Bits gazing into the old man's eyes like a bird charmed by a hawk,' but he also has a curious dread of letting the miser perceive his dis> gust. When urged to amuse him, he does so with the most boisterous frolics ; no man in his senses could so cleverly hide an agony of terror under gambols of wild mirth. Con lives so much among the peopta that their wrongs are rankling in bis heart ; and though he may not be wise enough to understand all things, yet he knows the sound of a curse or a sob when he hears it ; and he has certain ideas linked inseparably in his mmd — curses and sorrow, and the name of Simon Finiston. As for Sir John and Lady Archbold, the varieties in their lives have been many since the day of that wild visit to Monasterlea. Het child in health by her side, Lady Archbold had set herself to work to make up for the little time that had been lost ; to forget her sorrow, and to enjoy her life. She had got her own way, as she had always been accustomed to get it ; and she no longer believed ib possible that fate or heaven could ever have ventured to contradict her. She had long assured her husband that the motion through the air had alone cured their Katherine ; that doctors were humbugs, and. priests impostors. That wary old man had known very well the effect of fresh air on such a patient I Yet, to be sure, they owed it to themselves to seem grateful. They had gone, no doubt, to ask a favour ; and, after all, the favour had been granted. Lady Archbold frowned when her husband attempted to check her in her haugbt/ discourse, which criticised pretty equally the doings of both heaven and earth ; but she made no objection when be spoke of sending a present to Monasterlea. Some one then must get a gift from their hands, so a present was sent to May with Miss Archbold's love. It

was a valuable work-box of Indian carving, with fittings of filigree silver. The little girl had been a nice little girl, said Lady Arch bold ; and Eatherine bad pronounced her to be highly agreeable ; she was really deserving of such .a handsome box. And the present was accepted, after some hesitation on Miss Martha's part, and duly installed as an ornament in the parlor at Monasteries ; but May did not hoard it among her treasures, as she would have done had Eatherine not slighted her dead uncle. She did not rub it all over with a loving touch, nor gaze at it with delight, as she often did Paul's black cros3. The box took its place as an ornament of the house, and was admired, and nothing more. Lad 7 Archbold's plan of self-indulgence included the over indulgence of her daughter. Catherine was allowed to do anything she pleased, to have all she wished for, to love and entertain herself with any one she fancied, to dislike whom she chose, and to punish whom she disliked. She was Lady Archbold's only child ; and it was good enough work for the world to amuse her with the best it had to give. Had she been less beautiful, her father would have perceived sooner what in the end lie had to see ; he had to admit that the girl was growing up ignorant and unruly. She would not learn to obey. Her passions were boisterous, her covetousness unbounded. Her appetite for praise, for amusment, for display and power, were alike insatiable and intolerable. She was becoming irksome even to her parents. So Eatherine was at last taken from Camlougb, whence many weeping governesses had departed in their time, and was placed at a boarding-school in England. But even then all the trouble was not over. Whatever might be the reason, Eatherine Arohbold did not remain long at any one school. Mistressess were too harsh, companions too exacting, or Eatherine was unmanageable and selfish. Sir John and Lady Archbold found the whole world in cruel conspiracy against their idol. At last they took her abroad, and placed her at a fashionable Parisian school. Here, after some time, there were no longer complaints of her ; and, after two years, she was found a woman fully grown, with her .beauty quite developed, a thousand fascinations and accomplishments acquired, and with manners as silken as her hair. Again Lady Archbold was triumphant over fate. Her effort bad vanquished yet another threatened disappointment. The father and mother exulted over her, and carried her away, glorifying her to the fullest satisfaction of their pride. They decked her, and flattered her, and bowed down before her ; and after some months of traveling up and down in foreign countries, they took her to London, and presented her to the world. And then there came more travelling and visiting among English friends. A home, however noble, being hidden behind Irish mountains, was not likely to be soon sought by Miss Archbold. It was just about this time, when Eatherine was dancing out her first season, and while May Mourne, a young woman of another sort, was waxing towards a healthier maturity, that old Tibbie made a move at Tobereevil, which was destined to have an influence on the live of the two girls. The miser was sick. What was the matter with him no one knew outside the gates ; for Simon would not hear of a doctor, and Tibbie undertook to cure him. True it was said that Tibbie knew more of the rank and poisonous growth that were hidden in the darkest spots in the heart of the Wicked Woods than of kindly and healing herbs such as restore human life ; but Tibbie knew what she was about, and she undertook to care her master. He lay in the sick-room, the ceiling of which let in the rain. The windows were stuffed with rags in sundry places, and the wind came in boldly through many loopholes and crannies. The blankets were scant on the bed, but this did not matter, as the miser would not remove any of his ordinary clothing. He wore vest and hat and boots as he lay, with a stick in his hand to help him to spring up if needful. Did he lie in his bed as a sick man should lie, he might be cheated into a 6erious illness. In the end be should be made away with as dead, while some one would get hold of hit possessions. Tibbie's moving shadow as she prowled about, haunted him from all corners of the room. Tibbie might want to strangle him were he not ready to defend himself with that stick. He hated Tibbie ; and his fears distorted her into a demon, whereas she was only a cunning old woman. And Con was bis only refuge from Tibbie ; yet the miser was too sick to relish the pranks of his fool. Tibbie never brought him bis scanty messes of food, nor his dose of healing herbs that she did not also administer a bitter which he could not swallow ; to wit a hint that her master should make his will. " Make it, an' sign it, an' lock it bye," she would say. "It won shoot nor poison ye. It won't give ye favef nor cbolic. Yell live the longer for knowin' that all ye have'll go to poor innicent Con, yer brother's own child, instead of bein' wrastled over, an' torn to bits by sthrangerp. The simple boy'll put nothin' to waste, but keep up the place as it's always been kep,' an' be a credit to the family name." The miser groaned under her hands, but gave her fair words, because he was afraid of her. He was obstinate, however, and would not satisfy her. Then she began to punish him. She kindled a large fire in the hungry grate, consuming coals and wood before his eyes with such speed that the miser cried at the waste, as though his own withered bones had been crackling in the furnace. Then she brought wine to his side, and fat roasted hens, and large rolls of butter, and tea, and ham, besides every other delicacy that could be had in the country, taking care to magnify the cost of each dish as she laid it before him ; and, when she had tortured him sufficiently in this way, she went away, and left him unattended in his lair. At last he declared that he could deny her no longer, but must crave her to bring him ink and pen. He would beg her to stand by while he wrote to his lawyer. The lawyer must come quickly, and draw up the will. Now was Tibbie's moment of exultation. She felt rewarded for all her ingenuity when she saw the miser's lean hand scrawling the words over the paper, but Tibbie was not able to read, or she would have known even then that her master had outwitted her.

Tibbie had gone too far, had been a thought too clever. She had tortured him, so that he desired to be revenged on her. He had never believed Con to be his brother's son ; would not have suffered him to come near him if he had. Tibbie was an impostor, but she was useful to him. Con was an impostor, but he amused him, But now Tibbie must be puuished, and there was a nephew named Paul. He would torment his tormeotor by bringing her face to face with the heir of Tobereevil. Heir of Tobereevil 1 The very thought of such a title enraged him, but Tibbie must be punished. So the letter to the lawyer contained instructions relating to an advertisement. Through the medium of every English and Irish paper notice was to be given to one Paul Finiston that his presence was earnestly requested at Tobereevil. The lawyer read the letter thrice over, and turned it upside down, and turned it inside out ; but there was no mistake about it, and the advertisement went flying over the world. But long before the notice fell under Paul's eye the miser was well and stronger than he had been for many years. Tibbie had fallen back into her proper place, knowing that her master had slipped through her fingers this time. The miser's anxiety to punish Tibbie had grown weaker, while his superstitious dread of bis kinsman had returned with more than its former strength ; and he was fully prepared to resist Paul Finiston, if the lad should prove so greedy as to obey his uncle's summons. {To be continued.)