CHAPTER XXXVI.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XIII, Issue 35, 25 December 1885, Page 23

CHAPTER XXXVI.

MAT 18 BIDDEN TO AN ENTERTAINMENT. When morning dawned, Bid went into her own little house, and stripped the walls of the pictures whicb bad lent them such splendour, carrying witb these her chair, table, stool, and basket all to tbe cave which held the possessions of ber cherished friends. " Sell them wid the rest," she said; "for Bid will be tbe Traveller to the end o1o 1 her days." It was not without a sigh that the old creature thus put out of mind her last earthly dream ; but so many earthly dreams had faded from ber, that one more seemed easy to forget. Having emptied the cabin, she left the door standing open, bo thai Simon, or the wind, or the foxes might take possession when they pleased. Jfiarly in the day Simon arrived with some stout ruffians ready for any mischief. It was a very great labour for the old man to climb the hills ; but bis duty was befoie him, and he accomplished it. He did not find much trouble ia doing the work after all ; and he perceived, with bitter regret, that he could h-ive easily done it alone, without the ex pen se of assist an ts. The people walked out quietly with tbeir bund es in their hands, having already suffered the worbt of the evil that had beeu thrust upou them. The/ had wept out ihe blaze of iheir hearthstone; they bad broken their household pods with their own hands ; there was only now to pass for the last time across the familiar threshold. In one house, iudoed, there was found a little difficulty ; for Simon on pushing into it, came face to face with a corpse, tbe body of the poor consumptive girl who had died of fear in her mother's arms. Simon retreated ia horror belore the sight of death ; and this bouse was left in peace. Tbe woman who could not move was lifted, bed and all, and placed on tb« bill. Later, friends came, took ber on their shoulders, and carried her down the mountain to Miss Martha's barn, where a snug little chamber had been cleared for her in tbe Btraw. Her eldest daughter staid by to take care of her ; and the other children were settled among the farmers in tbe neigabourhood by May, who was now moving about. So this family was disposed of till the father,

wbo wu in England, coald coatrive to find money enough to brin them across the sea. Miss Martha gave a lodging to many other tired souls that nffrht. Iq the dusk of the summer evening the partings took place. There was a wild wringing of hands and weeping and embracing ; for friends gathered from many parts to say good-by to the wanderers. The band of sad travellers passed away down the road, and disappeared like the shadows ia a dream. They sang a wild 4< keen " in chorus as they went ; and the shrill note of sorrow huns long, and vibrated in the still air. faintly and more faintly it echoed in the night, the mountains replying to it as long as they could hear ; then silence and darkness settled down upoa the moors, and Simon's work wag done. The ehepherdd and the cattle might come to the mountains when they pleased. News had come over the hills of great doings at Oamlough. It was quite a year since there bad been anything like an entertainment given at that place ; but the whispers of debt and difficulty which had been multiplying like cobwebs over Sir John's fair fame for hospitality were now to be blown away upon the breath of much dissipation ; and Camlough was to witness scenes such as the bills never dreamed of. Guests were coming from England, tbe castle was filling rapidly ; and a series of entertainments had been devised. In this way were the Archbold's carrying out the doctor's prescription. They were providing amusement for the heir of Tobereevil, and they were bent upon doing it well. Tbe first piece of gaiety was to be a fancy ball, and guests were invited to it for a hundred miles around. It was a rare idea of Katherine's to send May an invitation. Miss Martha was not invited, nor was May asked to stay longer than just while the ball lasted. No carriage, no escort, no cbaperone, no dress 1 Katherine smiled as she sealed the missive which was meant to make May weep. It was a sultry evening towards the end of July ; the snn had pone down ; but the crests of the mountains were still at a red heat. Crimson and yellow were throbbing in tbe air, and the woods looked hot and dusty ; tot the dew bad not as yet begun to fall. The garden paths were baked, the roses hung their heads, and May knelt on the ground, tying up the rose-trees, and gathering their fallen leaves. The sky made a wall of flame at the back of the Golden Mountain ; and May's thoughts were beyond the mountain, and sesmed to scorch themselves in tbe flame. A servant in livery rode up to the gate, and Bridget came down to tbe garden with a note for her young mistress. May read the note, and as she did so the blood rushed to her cheeks and forehead till her eyes ached with tbe heat, and refused to read more. Then the flush ebbed away, and she walked into the house as white as a ghost. " Aunty," she said, " look at this. lam going out for a walk "; and before Miss Martha's spectacles were fairly set on her nose, May was several perches across the heather. Lines of shadow were tracking ont the hollows of the moor, and there were brazen lines beside them. May seemed walking all the way through wreaths of fire ; but she noticed nothing of that, having fire within her heart. Castles were burned to cinders in the sky, crags quivered in flames, and were left charred and spectral. The fires were vanquished at last ; twilight came, and a veil crept over the brazen brow of the woods. Fevered nature drank the dew and slept. It was quire dark when May came in from her walk. The fires then were also quenched in her heart ; but a daring thought bad been moulded into purpose while they burned. In the morning she bad burned a note and written another before her annt appeared. •' I thank you, Katherine Archbold, for giving me an idea," she sai<i solemnly, as she tore the pretty letter, and burned it in little pieces. " A wilful piece of impertinence," said Miss Martha, entering tbe room as May held tbe last fragment to her taper. "80 plain that they did not want you when they never mentioned me. They might safely have paid the compliment, not fearing we should go. So plain that they did not want you." ' " Very plain, indeed, aunty. I sball take them by surprise." " My dear," said Miss Martha, faintly, " what did you intend to say ?" " That I have accepted the invitation," said May, " and I mean to go." Miss Martha dropped her hand, which had been raised to grasp the teapot. She looked astonished, shocked ; then pained and angry. For some moments she was speechless. "My love," she said at lust, " you are surely not yourself. You do not know what yon are saying. You "—" — "Do not say a word till you hear my plan," eaid May quickly. " If I fail, you may talk to me in any way you please, or you may scold me if I succeed ; but you most not hold me back, for, aunty, this is the enterprise of my life." " Tell me what you mean," said Miss Martha, with tbe air of a person whose mind is made up to the wortt. Tben May unfolded her plan, and her aunt, with many misgivings, was obliged to put it in practice. Mat having got hrr will began to follow it in curious fashion. She had first to consider about a costume in which Bhe could appear at a fancy ball, and went about her duties with her mind set on queen's and heroines, and especially on tbeir wardrobes. She visited all Miss Martha's ancient stores, lumber-room* and closets, deep drawers and seldom-opened chests, looking for possible treasures of colour and material, and hoping for an inspiration as she went along. There was little to be found that could suit her purpose till Miss Martha at last produced, a little reluctantly, some yards of carefully saved light tabinet which had been part of her own mother's wedding finery, aud upon this May seized at once witb greedy bands. " Give it to me." she said earnestly : " indeed, it could not be used for a more sacred purpose." (To h» Continued.)