FRANCES.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XIX, Issue 28, 10 April 1891, Page 23

FR A N C E S.

(By Magdalen Rock., m tne Nt,w Yo k Frit man.)

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Frightened and armz -d us Mis. Aelau 1 ws hhe attended Su Charles Darce's- diuner-paity. Francis was much shocked at her looks i hat evening, find wished htr to at iy at home, but her giaudinother was feverishly anxious to see Mr. Kiveis urni to hide the effects ot Mis Harper's vioi: from Frances. "I am only tiud, France- — not i1 in th > least, ' she s^id. " But } ou are as white as my fiock," Fiances ieplied,glar>cing <it ber dainty muslin

" I am not too iosy at the Lest, ' Mrs. Acland sud, forcing a wan Bmile to her lips.. " I taw an old Ecrvrtnt tints evening — one who recalled sad memories, ' she werit or..

" Oh 1 aud I, too. kept 30U talking all thi-, afternoon," Frances said, penitently. "But, indeed, giauehn iroma. you b lould btay at home. '

But Mrs. Aclanel went. In the drawing-room, before dinner, she bad a glimpse ot Mr. River «. He was tall an i dark, and (ther cbserveib would c-iii him good-looking; but Mrs. Aclat el saw too dt'cidel a ie=embiance to Mrs. Harper 1a his daik e)ts aud linn lips to think so.

The next oay brought Mr. and Mr-. I'.nr.o.d friends of Mis. Aclanl and their daughter, Annie, ab well as Rolana Rreutwootl. Ever since Mrs. Aclaud settled down at biuitwood, RjUnd na 1 come when he l'sted, and thit wis pretty otten. Hael he not been her cuuhio, and had he not shown biH love quite so p ainly, Frances, ptrhajs, migh Lave grown to care fur him as he caieel for he.i, for Roland had many

things to recommend him to most women. A fair, honest Saxon face, with blue eyes and flaxen h<ir he had, and his square shoulders and deep chest showed that the tales of his prowess atOxford in the cricket field and on the river were not exaggerated.

Mrs. Acland had in those days to admit that she was ill. The thoughts of beggaring Frances or wronging Uoland warred with each other. Mrs. Harper insisted on her asking her son to Brentwood. Roland found all too soon tnat Miss Parr fell very much to his share in those country walks and excursions in which the young people delighted.

Too soo ■, too, Roland noticed other things. He saw how Frances' eyts woulel brighten at Rivers' approach ; how the blood would mount to her cheeks if by accident he touched her haad ; how contented and happy she seemei by his side, and r.p felt that his chance was over. More than once on other occasions had he attempted to speak to Frances, and i-he had always done that easy thing for a woman to do, particularly if the man loves her, stopped his confession. Prances had all her life been a hero worshipper — what more natural than that she should love this man, who was co eloquent in debate — who had already made a name among his fellows? And Frances? If she were as yet without that enchanting world of love, she had at least reached the borderland.

A couple of weeks went by, and Rivers still lingered, though he spoke ODce or twice of going away. Roland had gone away to his own home, but as he suffered quite as much there he had returned. Mrs, Acland bad heard more than once from Mrs. Harper, and now had reached that stage that shealnaost wished Rivers would marry Frances. During the long hours of the nisht she had thought and planned till her brain seemed on fire. Sometimes she felt that she would speak to Roland ; but the dislike that she had to his father, and in a measure to himself, restrained her. She had suffered much, and aged greatly in these few weeks. Frances insisted in calling in a doctor, and he spoke of change of air, prescribed tonics, bat found nothing particularly amiss with his patient.

" Has she any worry or annoyance lately ?" he asked ; but Frances snook her head.

" Wei', I would recommend change of air and scene, and I daresay she will be ail right in a few month's time. She is ot a nervous temperament, " he explained.

Frances wns ansuus to put his pan into effect, and proposed a vi^it to R^sernount ; but Mrs Aclaad, formerly so yielding, would not hear (if it.

" Pi ay, don't worry so. Frances," said, pettishly. " You might pay n,o*e attention to your guests and leave me to myself," and F. in es hurt and puzzled, le f t her.

They were all gathered about tl~e opei windows of the drawingroom that same evening, Mrs. Parr kuittine, and Mra. Aclaad near her looking i'l and worn. Frances and Mr. Hivers, as usual, were together discussintj botiny at one of the window*, ani Mr. farr, Annie, and R iland were look ngover a book of engravings, when Annie suddenly asked some question of Frances, who turned with a slightly startled look in her eyes, and at-ked : " 1 beg your p.mlon ; but what did you say ? ' " Nothing worth repeating. At any rate, you need not look so tuipribed .'' " By J ive ! I hive it, ' tail Roluul, suddenly. " What ?" ask>'d Anni ■. " Toothache, or influenza, or what ?" •' No ; but who it is Frances' c} es lemind me of." •• I didn't kn i\v," said Frai ces, " that th^y reminded you of anyone. Who is it ?" "A poor wonQin I saw once in a country chapel in Ireland. I spoke to h^r one day, and t3he had ] a«t the same look in her eyes that Fiances \\\i nuw, Sh- wts not q nte '■ane, hut tunnies." •'What a cruimmg ompimeut," sud Rivers, sneei mply, and Roland flushed. " It is no compliment," he sai i, " but the truth." "And not a pleasant truth. Don't you know, Mr. Brentwood, t 1 at tiuth siould be withheld at limes ?" Annie began to say ora -tiiinur, but Mis. Parr interrupted her. 11 Are you ill, dear Mrs. Acland ; jou look sj writj .' ' " Only just a little gul iinesa. 1 will he down for m\ hour," she said, and let t the room, and Fr nces followed her, while Rivers sauntered ou to the terrace. '■ II dw savage th tt mai lo iked when we interruptel him 1" said Miss Pair. '■ I shouldn't wonder tnat he was proposing at the time.' Roland did not answer, and she looked up. 1 " My poor lad," sail, kmlly, " I did not think it was so bad as that." and Miss Parr, ben.? a lady beyond any thoughts of lovemaking on l.ci own .iccou'.t. laid her hand gently on Ins shoulder. He smiled bittei.y. " Y.s, vis a bit hard." • Wel 1 . don't despiir. fene nasn't said ' yes' jet — though it looks likely enough," she a ide 1, wi h a disapproving nod. " 1 don't like him." If Mr. liivers hid not been proposing, as Miss Parr surmised, at least he was paviug the way for that, and Frances had listened Lot ill pleased. He was going, he was telling her, to dine at Sir Charles

Darce's and afterwards address a meeting at Sadburv, and weald not get back till late. On the morrow be was tearing, after the happiest days— with an eloquent glance — be had ever spent, and then he bea*ed for a few minutes to-morrow— minutes that would leave him tft^jappiest or most miserable of mortals, and Frances with a blush agreed. " And you'll give me one of these," he had whispered, touching the roses in her hand, and Miss Parr's quick eye noticed one of these rose-buds in his coat when he drove away to dinner. Frances was np very early the following morning, and had made the tonr of the gardens. She came up to the opea windows of the library singing softly to herself as she arraoged her flowers. She ceased as she came np, and, stepping lightly into the window, paused, hearing her own name mentioned. " Misi Brent wood, or, to give her her own name, Miss Nolan, would, I am sure, think it an easy sacrifice." 41 But she mast never know," moaned Mrs. Acland. "It is enough that the sin should rest on me." 14 No," said her visitor, " hope there will be no reason why she ■bould know. If she does not accept him freely, as I trust she will ( there must be some compulsion on your part." 44 No, ' said Mrs. Acland, more firmly, "that there will not. So far I have done as you desired, but I shall go no further." 14 And for want of a little firmness let this," and she waved her hand, " go to Roland Brentwood." " It would be but fair." " And let Frances drift into genteel poverty ? Your own income dies with you." 44 But I have saved some money. Frances would not be penniless." " And then the story of your fraud and deceit. You need not fear but I shall make the most of it. No one can accuse me of interest in the matter. I shall take care to see to that." Poor Mrs. Acland bowed her head. Far from being a strongmicded woman, she was weak and timid, and easily frightened, and Mrs. Harper had calculated on this, Love for Frances was the ruling passion of her life now, and a bitter fight had been waged between that love and her own sense of right and honesty, but when she saw that Frances was growing to love Rivers she let her love outweigh all ■cruples. "Roland is a rich man as it is," she argued to herself. " And now," said Mrs. Harper, " I will go. I—" " Not yet, if you please," said a clear voice, and, pushing back the curtains, Frances came towards them. " What does it mean, grannie?" she said, dropping her flowers and clasping her hands oa Mrs. Acland's shoulders, who only sobbed " Oh ! Frances, Frances I" " Who is this person," Frances asked again, " and what does she "I am Mrs. Harper," the woman answered with an evil look in her eyes, ' and you are not Mrs. Acland's granddaughttr, but Frances Nolan, the daughter of a fellow-passenger of mioe on board the Karl, of Ulster. Mrs. Brentwood's baby was washed overboard that morning, and knowing how grieved Mrs. Ackland would be I brought you to her as her daughter's child. la that explanation clear enough ?" ehe asked. 11 And that woman gave you her child ?" " No," Baid Mrs Harper with a laugh, " I took it. Indeed, 1 did not think it probable that she would recover from a fall ehe had." " You worse than thief—" began Frances, when Mrs. Acland interrupted her. "Oh ! Frances, Frances, take care. She is his mother. ,' Whose mother ?" she questioned fiercely. 41 Mr. Rivers." For some moments Bhe stood still and then she advanced near Mra Harper, and spoke quickly. " I see it now. And to obtain me or my wealth for your son you held this threat over Mrs Acland. You cowardly, contemptible— Oh !" she broke off with a sob, '• 1 might forgive you that, but to take me from my mother, my mother—" and she bent her head to dry the tears that would come. In a moment she advanced to the door and threw it open. " There, Mis. Harper," she said, pointing to it imperiously. The woman went towards it, but Bbc flung back one laet sneer. " You forget you are no longer mist less." '• Frances did not reply — she was weeping her anger and grief out on Mrs Acland's shoulder. " And sow," she said when she was somewhat composed, and had heard of Mra Harper's visits, aod of her letters, even to the one arranging the interview of that morning, "it is pest the breakfast hour as it is ; we must go and tell that story to our guests." " Not yet, Frances, Wait and see Roland by himself." " No, no. I must tell them now. " Mr. and Mrs. Parr, Annie and Roland were already at the breakfait able, and a feeling of constraint hung over the party. Rivera was notyetdowo, but he entered a few momenta after, time enough to understand Francei' ttarf ul and somewhat incoherent explanation.

Roland and Annie sat dased. Bven Mrs. Parr betrayed some excitement, and Mr. Parr, for once completely forgot his specimens. " And then you are not Miss Breatwood ? Oh 1 Frances I" said Annie. " I suppose I am not even Frances," she answered tearfully. Roland rose, half advanced towards her, then suddenly turned, and left the room by the open window, when he saw Frances turn toward* Rivers. 11 You understand this, I believe, Mr. Riven f" she said coldly, and with a look full of contempt. " You leave to-day, I believe. I am very glad to bid you good-bye," and with a stately inclination of her bead she passed to the door saying : " Annie, will yon come to my room ?" Although Annie went to Frances' room after the attempt at breakfast, she found it empty, for its occupant had after a time wandered out to the grounds and encountered Roland, who came rapidly towards her when he saw her. "Oh I Frances, what need was there to tell that story to-day. I am wealthy as it is, and Brentwood shall never be mine. What need was there to make all this publio ?" " Because it was right." "No, no." " But yes. Oould it be right to bear a name not mine, to—?" " But that name, I doubt not, wonld have been quickly changed,' ' he said, with a return of the old bitter feeling of iealousy." She flashed hotly and answered straightforwardly. "No, that ii why I am thankful to-day, becausa I found out that man in time," and then she told Roland all, and when the finished his first question was : " Then Frances, you don't love him T" " Love him ! Oh, no 1 I thought— perhaps I might ; but now— oh, no." 41 Are yen sure, Frances ? Then, Frances, be Frances Brentwood still ; be my wife." That Frances made many objections is true, that he overruled them all we may guess, for when Annie Parr discovered them an hour later they were seated in deepest contentment under an ash tree in the shrubbery, both oblivions of the fact that it was wearing on to noon, and that neither had breakfasted. 14 But I must see my mother," said Frances, when Annie had been informed of the state of affairs, " at once." 11 Where does she lire ?" Annie asked. 41 1 don't know ; graanie does. Somewhere in the North of Ireland." " And I know, too," exclaimed Roland, triumphantly. " You remember the woman I spoke of last night." 14 With eyes like Frances' f " " Yei ; lam quite sure she is your mother. She takes care of a little chapel in Tyrone. The people are very fond of her." 41 Didn't you say that she was not 1" and she paused. 14 Sane. Yes , but that may be only my fancy. I remember the people ussd to say ' poor Marianne,' and touch their foreheads. Yea, yes, Frances, she must be your mother, for they told me that she had lost her baby years before, and yetetill insisted that it did not die, or something like that." 44 My poor mother," said Frances, softly. " What was she like ?' 44 Very worn and aged, but with a good deal of that refinement that is seldom mci with among any other psasantry than the Irish," said Roland, quickly. 41 1 must go at ones home to the house till we arrange matters* Grannie can't come with me. Will you, Annie 1" It was arranged so, and a few days later Frances and Annie were in the inn of the little village of Macken. 14 It must be Marianne you mean," said the landlady. " Poor Marianne." 14 Yes," Annie answered, 4I that is her name." " But sure she's dying. She lives in that little house beside the chapel," she said, and if the ladies wished to see her alive they should make haste. Annie almost dragged Frances along. 44 She may not be so ill," 9he said. " Bear up." They entered the house and found the clean, tidy kitchen deserted. A voice, however, came from the room, and they drew near and looked in. A priest was administering the last sacraments* and a coo pie of women knelt in prayer. The woman or the bed was perhaps fifty years old, and though the death dews were gathering on her brow, she was still handsome. The last rite was finished but tb« woman yet prayed on with clasped hands, and closed eyes. Suddenly she started up. 44 She is coming, she is near me— my child." 11 Yes, indeed," said the priest gently, "you are nearing her," while the women wept. 44 But she is here, I tell you. Look 1 " and the dying woman pointed to the door to wbch Frances had advanced. " Oh 1 mother, mother," and in an instant the mother again after twenty years, held aw child in her arms.

In that sh^rt T»sh hour of her life she asked no questions, nor manifested any surprise. Once Frances in a broken voice began to explain, but she stopped her.

" It i 3 enough tbat you are here, and I know it was not your fault."

" Mavourncen, how beautiful you aro 1 God grant my darling a hap f >y life, and bring her to Heaven at las', as Ihou bast brought hei tv 11 c. I kacw I bhouid tec \ ju. 11! my 1f •, v?hcn they thongSt me Kftj I knew tbat the Mother I prayed to would obtiij my prayer," she sail], with a radiant smile.

Kre ih j evening *>he died, and in the little chuicbyard near they laid her to slerp. an i h»re cacti eumnur come Frances and uer husband, Kolaud Brcutwi-oi.

Mr. Rivers is hu imp rtant man in his paTty now, and is married to a wealthy manufacturer's daughter, but the memory of those summer days at Brent wot d return occasionally slill. He seldom sees or hears of Mr. and Mrs Brentwood ; thtir ways are not his ways ; but he never forgets the woman he so nearly won.