CHAPTER XVIII.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XIII, Issue 16, 7 August 1885, Page 5

CHAPTER XVIII.

MAY IS PBOMISBD A TITLE.

The two girls did not meet again till evening ; and « Katherine was then so gentle that May could scarcely believe she had not dreamed all the scene which had happened in the morning. Katherine and Christopher seemed exceedingly good friends Mr. Lee looking feverishly happy, and Katherine pensive, with a tenderness of manner which was wont to be abed about her freely in her most fascinating moods. May devoted herself to Mrs Lee, that lady showing a sense of comfort from her sympathy, which was touching to the young champion of a motherly heart. The evening was tedious, and May was thinking that she must request Lady Archbold to send her home to Monasteries, bat at bedtime Katherine came to her room. " I have come to ask pardon for my rudeness of the morning," she said. "You must not believe a word I said. It is only one of my freaks. Now, don't think of going, or I shall say you cannot forgive. lam an insulting wretch when my temper gets the better of me. And Katherine sighed, and looked splendidly regretful. " Never mind me," said May ; " what about Mr. Lee ? " " I told you not to believe anything I said to-day. You may safely trust Christopher and his happiness to myself." May looked up out of the trunk which she had been persistently packing. Katherine met the questioning eyes, and there was a reservation in her tone which conveyed more than the words might imply. May tossed back a dress into her wardrobe. "Oh I if you are in earnest now," she said. " I will do anything you like. But how am Ito know when you are in earnest 1 " Katherine turned aside and smiled curiously. Might she not as well let this little fool go home 1 She had a serene contempt for her, but could understand that some people might like her for her innocence. "Believe that lam in earnest when I tell you so," she said. " Never believe me when £ am in a passion. 11 "So now it is Paul Finiston who must suffer," said May ; " but is he really coming home, and does he love you, or was that a story too?" Katherine shrugged her shoulders, and looked mysterious. "We cannot help these things happening," she said. " Don't you think that it is likely to be true ? " May surveyed the beauty ruefully, and acknowledged to herself that it was likely to be true. Katherine watched the changes of her face for some moments with interest, and then began to talk quickly in her most lively manner. " Come, let us be comfortable," she said. " Shut up the trunks, and don't look at them for another month. We are going to have visitors, and I intend that you shall charm them. You must not be offended if I give you some lessons on your appeaiance. You must know that your style of dressing makes a fright of you. Now, don't look dismayed, for we will change all that. Women ought to take a pleasure in making themselves attractive. Your hair in a better style, and a little pearl powder upon your face ; you blush too much, and a bright colour is very vulgar ; but you must not think I mean to discourage you. On the contrary, I will turn you out quite pretty if you will let me. Only put yourself in my hands, and I promise you shall have a title before a year is past." May listened in silence, glowing with tbe condemned blush, at the sudden revelation that she had been found so unpleasing. The startling promise with which Katbexine finished her speech had not the desired effect in elating her spirits. " But Ido not want a title," she said, slowly, " and — and " She was well aware that Katherine was a skilful artist of the toilet. " I like a clean face and I intend always to have one. If lam ugly as God ma-ie me, then I choose to remain ugly." " Who said you were ugly ? Not I, I am sure ; but you are an obstinate, old-fashioned little goody, and I don't mind telling you so to your face. The world has gone round a few times since your respected Aunt Martha learned those very prim notions which she has so faithfully handed down to you ; what in her day was propriety is now mere affectation. However, promise that you will stay with me, and I shall see about your conversion at my leisure." " I don't mind staying," said May, " since you wish it so much ; but I mean to keep to my own way of thinking all the time." So Katherine had her way ; but her plan was nevertheless not to be fulfilled. The next morning May was up early and abroad among the flower-gardens. . She had got a letter from home which should have been given to her last night. Aunt Martha bade her return without delay. " Paul has arrived," wrote the old lady, " and he wants to Bee you. At any rate it is time for you to come home. May waa not bo much astonished at the news as she would have been but for that unpleasant conversation with Miss Archbold. Bo he was already come to seek Katherine ; and Katherine, if she had any truth in her, ought to be weded to Mr. Lee within a month. What could be done for Paul, the good-natured boy who had been so kind to her in Dnblin ? The Paul described by Katherine had passed away from her mind, becoming but one of the crowd of those fine lovers of Miss Archbold, of whom May had been hearing much since she had come to Camlough. It was for the friend of her own memory that she was sorely vexed. Bamblingin an alley, among all the dewy rose-trees, she came upon Mr. Lee. He seemed as wretched this morning as he had looked happy last night. He was pale and worn, and his dres9 was oat of order. " You look as if you had been up all night J" said May.

" I have been up all night," said Christopher ; " but I shall now go and dresa, so as to appear as if I had had my sleep like other people." " But what is the matter with you now ? You know that you are going to be happy. I was about to congratulate you, but your face does not invite me." " You are a true-hearted girl, and may the world never spoil you. I believe that I have made one frieud here at least." "That is true, if you mean me," said May kindly. "I would do anything in my power to help you out of your difficulty ; but I have reason to believe that you will ba happy before long. Indeed, I speak the truth. I wonder if I ought to tell you—" "You ought to tell me everything; I have a right to know 1" cried Christopher, eagerly. "Well, then, she admitted to. me last night that she intended—" *' Intended what ?" interrupted Christopher. " Intended to destroy me — to spoil all my life ? I saw it long ago, though I ttrove to shut my eyes to it. It is coming upon me now, and I deserve it." "Why do you interrupt me?" said May, impatiently. " I had good news to give you, and it seems you will not have it." " Forgive me 1 but did you say good news ? My head seems confused. Did you mean to say good news ?" " I understood from her," said May, "that she intends to be your wife." 11 Did you ?" said Christopher, joyfully. " God bless you ; you are a staunch friend. What' an evil-thiokiag coward 1 No doubt she has a right to be capricious if she pleases. A girl like that does not readily throw herself away ; but when once she makes up her mind she is true as steel. I will not say what thoughts were ia my mind when I met you ; but think what a ruined creature I behold myself both in heart and in fortune, in my whole life's career, when I fancy she may be false 1 I deserve to suffer well for letting a doubt come near my mind. You will forgive my disorder, and I will go and trim myself. After the night 1 have passed I must appear like a savage." "And you will tell me of your happiness when it is fully secured ? " said May, as they parted ; and she watched him stride away, big and glad towards the house. Your six-foot men have not always giant intellects, but they of tea carry very tender hearts. May did not tell Katherine the chief news of her aunt's letter. She could not speak again to Miss Archb >ld about Paul ; sh« only made known her aunt's wish that she should go home ; and, after no little difficulty, she was suffered to depart. How small and odd her home looke I after Oamlou^h, arv.l h>v wholesome Aunt Martha, in her clear-starched kerchief and fair white cap ! Paul was coming in the evening. He had taken up his quarters in a farmer's house a couple of miles away. As May took off her bonnet at her own little dresaing-tible, she saw her face looking charmingly brightened up. In spite of Eatherine's judgment, she was not quite a fright. What a glorious thing was joy which could thus burnish people's looks 1 She dared not look long enough to assure herself that beauty had. actually taken possession of her face. Katherine had told her that it was all mock-modesty for a young woman not to think of her appearance ; but Katherine lived ia the world. Fine ladies had, perhaps, little time for selfrespect : but people who were not fashionable had a great deal of leisure to perceive when they were going wrong. So May bustled about her room, briskly putting herself and the chamber into the order which her fancy approved of. She was wiser than she had been a month ago, inasmuch as she bad got a lesson in coquetry for life ; she was now going to profit by the lesson. A month ago she would innocently have dressed in her prettiest to meet Paul, without thinking why she did it, or that she ought not to do it ; now it could not be done without taking away her ease. This was not Oamlougb, so she need not change her dress because it was evening. She kept oa the thick white gown which had been fresh at breakfast-time that morning ; a crimson rose was already fastened in the bosom, and that might stay ; nice braids of hair were nothing unusual, and there could not be any vanity in & pair of newly- washed bands. She took her way to the parlour, as on the most ordinary occasions, such as the long, silent, uneventful summer evenings of last year ; as if no sound were going to disturb the mute monotony of the hours but the click of her aunt's knitting-needle, the ticking of the clock, the distant piping of some cowboy in the valley, the wail of a eleepy plover shuddering in at the open window, or the sound of her own voice reading a chapter of Thomas a Kempis a oud to Misa Martha in the dusk. A great glare had flashed over the hills, and down the paths, and through tbe open door into the hall. As May reached the door, a long shadow and a quick step came out of the red glow, and stopped at the threshold. Here, then, of course, was the visitor arrived, but not the lad whom May remembered. This was not May's merry friend, but it was Katherine's handsome lover, without a doubt. " Mr. Finiston I" said May^, giving her hand. She could not say " Paul " to this important-looking gentleman. " Miss Mourne 1" said Paul, uncovering his curls. He could not say " May " to this dignified-looking maiden, but he held the proffered hand as tightly as if he bad got at last what be had been in waut of all his life. And May was regarding him with sympathetic curiosity, wondering if he had heard as yet the report of Katherine'e approach' ing marriage, and, if so, bow he was bearing it. Miss Martha stepped out of the parlor, where she had been setting forth her d-iutiee on the tea-table. " So you have been walking over your property all day," said she to Paul. "May, you go in, and pour out the tea. I have had to do it for myself during the past three weeks. I have just got her home, and I intend to make her work. She has been living like a fine lady among tbe magnates of the land." Paul thought she looked a fine lady in the finest sense of the word ; excellently fit for household work like the present, as her quick hand flitted about the board, and her face smiled at him and dimpled above the teapot. It was nectar and not tea which she handed to him in a cup. She' had a love-philter in her cream ewer,

this witch-maid of the mountains. Paul had, uatil now, held three images in his mind ; now thay paled away, and became faint for evermore. A little gray pelisse making purchases in Dublin ; a maiden with outstretched hauda upon a bridge; a gracious yonng gentlewoman holding parley with a peddler. Thesa three youag people had been successively his loves ; now let them vanish, for their dayhad gone past. They could not bear comparison with this radiant tea-making creature, who could not hide her gladness that her friend had come home. Not a word wa* spoken about the miser of Tobereevil. Paul shirked the sabject, and the evening was given up to his own adventures abroad. The three friends sat ail through the sunset, and far into the dusk, while Paul poured forth hid recitals, and the audience drank in every word he spoke. The little. parlor with its queer fittings seemed paradise lo the love-sick and home-sick wanderer. May sat opposite to . him on a bench along the window. Two huge jars filled with roses and sheaves* of lavender stood between them, making a bank of scent and color across which their eyes and words travelled. Miss Martha sat in her straight- backed arm-chair before the two with her hands folded in her lap, no knitting being tolorable on this particular evening. The window was open to the utmost folding back of its latticed panes, and the climbing roses were dipping over the strong, brown framework, and lying along the lintel. As Paul told his foreign adventures, he felt himself to be only some lucky Othello, or less savage Feramora. He forgot that he was a Piniston, and the heir of Tobereevil. May's eyes glowed towards him through the fading ligbt ; and he saw in her an embodiment of all the fair hopes that had withdrawn him from the influence of his dreads and difficulties, that he might sit here at this hour in delicious psace at her side. He saw in her here present all the beauties with which his fancy had ever gifted her in absence ; besides a tender paleness of cheek when thrilled by grave interest, and a spiritual abstraction of the eyes at times, put of which he gathered for himself the assurance that she could search far with him into whatever mysteries might trouble him. And yet— he delighted to discover— he could call back the merry smiles and the laughter-loving dimples. All these satisfactions he did not note on the moment, while he lingered in the dim atmosphere of the parlor among the cloisters ; but they were duly recalled and gloated over as he walked home to his farmhouse under the moonlight. While sitting by her side, within reach of her hand and the sympathy of her face, he could not analyze the charm which ' had so swiftly mastered his fancy ;' her presence, then, had been ouly the nearness of a lovely and luminous soul and body full of kindred warmth and dreams ; it was after he i bad left her that he remembered the strong breadth of her brow with all its girlish fairness, the desp fire in her eye-i, the sweec curves of her moutb, the tender firmness of her softly-moulded chin. It was then that she seemed to show herself to him ia the many changeful attitudes that her character could assume, without losing a line of strength or a curve of grace. On that warm July night, Paul was deeply dipped in love. He had been parched in his exile, and he had brought himself to drink ; but he was o.ily the more athir it after hia first draught. Miss ularthii and May had walked a little way with him through the field-paths towards the moor. The twilight blurred and blended t the ghostly outlines of the ruins ; and garden and graveyard were wreathed together in one gleamintr, fragraat acre. The warm wind swept over the uncut grass, which had already the breath of hay ; and the river glinted in the hollow, uadar its bending rows of trees. The moonlight hung like a faint silvery veil along the moorland, and the lights in distant farmhouses shone like Will-o'-the-wisps in a marsh. The weird watch-note of some sleepless wild-bird came floating up at intervals from the meadows. Summer beat in every pulse of the night. Very alowly, and with few words, the three friends had sauntered along. At the gate that parte t the farm lands from the open hills they touched hands, ami said good- nigat. " Well, my dear, and what do you think of him ?" asked Aunt Martha, as the women returned homeward. May did not answer for a few moments. She was pacing a little in advance, with her arms crossed on her breast, a trick she had fiom childhood when in a musing humor. Two or three times her feet fell upon the grass as if to the rhythm of some music that was bolemn, bat passing svregt, " Eb, aunty ?" she said at last, " Did you speak to me i n '• T was asking von what you thought of him, my dear." " Don't ask me to-night, then," said May, stopping suddenly, putting her bauds on her aunt's shoulders, and lookiog frankly aad smilingly in her face; ''moonlight makes people mad, you know, and I might be toj enthusiastic. To-morrow we shall see him better as he is." "Well, well, my love; I" said Miss Martha, "I am not going to bother you. Let us now get in to bed." . But as May went into her bedroom she thought of Katherine ; and she remembered that for some hours she had forgotten to pity Paul. (Ibbe continued.)