The Storyteller. A WINSOME MAID.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXIX, Issue 5, 31 January 1901, Page 23

The Storyteller. A WINSOME MAID.

The bride and bridegroom were driven away, amidst a shower of "ice, radiantly happy, and sublimely unconscious of the fact that An ancient white satin slipper nestling snugly upon the top of their carriage annonr.cH thoi" blissful condition to the passers-by. ' It's a silly fashion that of throwing an old shoe after the newly married ; and it not fair to send them branded in such a way,' cried one of the wedding-guests, as from the balcony she watched the brougham roll down the street. ' I'm sure they'd be annoyed if they knew.' ' Not they,' replied a middle-aged, handsomely dressed lady with a somewhat haughty manner. ' Annette would be pleased. My niece is proud of her position as a bride.' The first speaker laughed. Then, glancing along the balcony at the bevy of bridesmaids in their white frocks and wide-brimmed picture hats, she allowed her eyes to rest admiringly upon a tall, graceful girl with soft browu hair and a dazzlingly |fair complexion, who stood a little apart from the others. ' I think,' she said, after a pause, ' that Annette had some reason for feeling proud. To have secured the love and affection of Henry Beecham, with such an elder sister as Sheila to compete with, was no small feat.' ' There was no competition. Henry never saw Sheila till after his engagement to Annette ; and she would not have looked at him.' 1 Probably not. But he might have looked at her, and if However, he didn't, and Annette is happy.' ' Yes ; I think she is.' ' And you are to be congratulated on having your pretty, beautiful niece left with you. I quite envy you, having a girl like that to take about. London will rave over her beauty.' 'If London got the chance, perhaps it would But it doesn't and it won't. To look at her, my dear Mrs Fox, Sheila Burke is winsome and pretty. But if you knew her, you'd find her most obstinate. 1 ' Indeed ! You surprise me. She looks most sweet.' ' Looks ! ' Mrs Trevor Bhrugged her shoulders. ( Looks are misleading. And lovely as she is. Sheila will enter a convent or die an old maid.' ' What a dreadful idea ! Has she had a love-affair, or is she so hard to please V ' I cannot say. But she insists on spending her life in Ireland with an invalid mother and an old half-crazy servant, in one corner of a big place belonging to an uncle, who may come home any day any turn them out. When she might live here with me, amuse herself, and ' ■ And leave her mother to the tender mercies of the half -crazy servant ! ' ' Not at all. I have offerel my sister a home here many times since her husband died. But she loves Ireland ; it agrees with her, she thinks. And so Hheila refuses to come to me, and for her mother's sake buries herself in that lonely country place.' ' The dear girl ! ' Mrs Fox looked at Sheila with renewed admiration. ' A really winsome maid.' ¥ Who might as well be ugly and dowdy. What's the use of being beautiful if one lives in a backwood ? And in Ireland, too. Bah I the thought drives me wild.' ' The sleeping beauty found a fairy prince.' ' Stuff and nonsense ! Excuse me for speaking ro hotly, my dear, but I feel deeply about Sheila. This is not the age for fairy princes or sleeping beauties. We must all be up and doing nowadays. And if a girl shuts herself up she must take the conBequenc«s.' ' Your pretty Sheila seems to do so serenely. She is probably happier doing her duty to her mother in that lorely place than ' ' I declare 1 ' Mrs Trevor opened her eyes very wide in her astonishment. ' You seem to approve of her shutting herself up.' ' I approve of her doing what she thinks right. No one ever really suffered for having done that. Quite the contrary. So I'm not uneasy about pretty Sheila'a future. Believe me, her fairy prince will some day discover her. Meanwhile she is happy, and much to be envied. But good-by. I promised to be at the Bathwaits' by five.' And pressing Mrs Trevor's hand she went away. ' A new idea,' cried that lady, as her guest disappeared. ' Mrs Fox upholding the happiness of a virtuous life ! I don't believe *hs troubles much beyond the pleasure of the moment. Sheila is a very different person. These Catholics are very tenacious of doing what they consider their duty. Since Margaret married Leonard Burke and joined his Church she is greatly changed, and Sheila is not like any other girl I know. I never could bear my sister marrying an Irishman — and I like it still less now. Not that I don't admire Sheila extremely. But that a lovely girl like like her should be buried as she is, annoys me and fills me with wrath. I wish Miles Burke would come home. They might be glad to come to me then.' Meanwhile, quite unconscious of the warm manner in which she was being discussed. Sheila Burke chatted pleasantly with the various friends and relatives whom her aunt had invited from far and near to assist at Annette's wedding. ' What a dull life you must lead in Leamount ! ' said one little pale-faced cousin in a gigantic hat and feathers. ' I really pity you, Sheila.' ' Pray don't. I'm as happy as can be.' ' That's a thing I can't understand. I'd die without the theatres and the park and dances- — ' •Sheila laughed merrily.

' Then it's fortunate you are not obliged to live in our part of the world.' Her cousin shivered. ' Fortunate I Nothing would induce me to leave London. And Annette hated that dull Irish place.' ' Yes. I'm afraid she did. Like you, she was fond of exoitement.' 1 Well, it's natural when one is young. And there's no place like London for meeting people. If Annette had stayed over there she'd never have met Major Beecham. And if you ' ' I don't wish to meet people, Vera.' Sheila's oolor deepened. 1 Mother and 1 are quiet folk." ISo it appears. But you require shaking up a bit. Annette had a pleasant life here, and see how well it has ended. She wasn't what I'd call handsome, and yet she has made a brilliant marriage. You ought to take her place and give yourself a chance. Good-by. Love to your mother.' And she touched Sheila's burning cheek with her lips and ran down stairs.' ' Don't mind Vera, dear,' Raid a plain-faced elderly woman in gray silk. ' She's a worldly little creature, and inclined to be somewhat fast. No matter what any of them say, do not leave your mother. Go on leading your peaceful, devoted life, and God will take care of and bless you. The future is in His hands. Do your duty, even if it is irksome at times. A fashionable, worldly existence is not, I assure you, a bed of roses.' Sheila smiled. 'I am sure it is not. And my quiet life is a happy one. I hare no wish to change it, Aunt Carry.' ' But you are very poor.' ' Yes— and that only lends a little excitement to our lires. I have no ambition to be rich.' • And should your uncle return, and you were forced to leave Leamount, where would you go ? ' Sheila smiled. ' Uncle will not return or disturb Ufl ; he has promised that. But if he did, we'd go somewhere near. The air of Cavan suits my mother.' • Where is your uncle now ? ' 'We don't know. He never writes.' ' And he has willed Leamount away to a stranger 1 ' 1 Yes — his adopted son, of whom we know nothing.' ' Not even the young man's name ? ' 'Not even his name. But we fancy he will take that of Burke.' ' Perhaps. I trust he'll prove worthy to bear it. It was a strange freak to adopt a child and leave him his family estate, It ought to have gone to you.' ' Uncle had a right to do as he pleased.' 'Of course— of course. Well, good-by, dear. Tell your mother I'll perhaps run over to see her in the autumn.' Oh, do. Both she and I would be overjoyed, and Molly delighted. ' Good old soul. I hope Rhe's well ? ' ' Quite, and as devoted as ever. I don't know what we should do without her.' ' Faithful creature. Tell her I was asking for her. And give my love to your mother. And now, dear, I must be off. You shall shall have the cheque for the school treat very soon. Good-by.' And kissing Sheila very tenderly, Mrs. Walker hurried away.

About half-past Bix the next evening Sheila left London, and after a fatiguing- journey to Holyhead, and a long, rough crossing to Greenore, she at last reached the little village of Coote-hill. Here, as there were no cabs to be had she chartered an outside oar, and leaving her trunk to follow on a donkey-cart, she drove away from the station down a pretty, picturesque road. As the girl reached Leamount she sprang quickly from the car, and entering the wide, low-ceilinged hall, called out * Molly ! Molly ' ' ' At the sound of her voice a white-haired woman in • lilac cotton jacket, brown stuff skirt, and big Holland apron came running to meet her with a glad cry of welcome. 'Good morning, Molly. How's my mother?' cried Sheila quickly. ' She's well, I trust ? ' ■ Deed she's just middlin', miss. But sure Bhe'll be better the minute she claps her eyes on you. It's only hungerin' for a sight of you «he was.' ' Has she been ill ? Oh, Molly, what was wrong ? ' ' A little bit out of sorts, honey. But sure I sent off for the doctor, an' glory be to God, there wasn't much wrong at all.' 1 What did the doctor Bay ? ' 1 Troth, not much. He wrote a description in Latin, an' Tom went in wid it to the chemist's in Coote-hill, an' brought back a bottle of stuff. She took it, an' it did her a power of good. But it s pinin' to know how Miss Annette's weddin' wint off, she is. An' sure there wag always a fear m the back of her mind that you might be stayin' over there yourself, Miss Sheila.' ' She knows me too well for that, Molly.' ' 'Deed an' it's hard to know people ; 'an sure thim Englishmen's mighty beguilinV ' Not to me, Molly — not to me,' laughed the girl, and she hurried away to her mother's room. Seventeen years before this story begins Sheila's grandfather had bequeathed Leamount to his eldest son, to pass on, in the event of his dying without a male heir, to his brother Miles, who was to have the right to dispose of it as he wished if he had no son to leave it to. 1 You'll have enough and to spare out of your savings and your wife's money, Leonard, for the wee girls,' the dying man said. ' And I'd like to make up to Miles for all he's suffered. He and I didn't get on too well, and he's had a hard life in Australia. And all you may survive him — and then if he had no son it would belong 1 to Sheila.'

*v 'Sh fl il« won't want it,' Leonard replied. ' And I'm glad you thought of Milee. He 11 marry some day and have a son, perhaps. And, as you say, the wee girls are all right.' For several years after the old man's death things went on happily at Leamount. Then suddenly and unexpectedly there came an awful change. Misled by unwiae advisers Leonard Burke invested large sums in what he considered brilliant and safe speculations. For a short time they paid well. Then came the crash and one day to his horror he found that all his money was gone The shook was terrible, and his losses preyed so heavily upon his mind that he fell ill. From the moment the dreadful intelligence reached him a kind of despair took possession of him, and he died before the close of the year. After his death it was found that only a few thousands remained for his wife and daughters. This sum would, they calculated, bring them in but a small income, and they were greatly perplexed as to where they should live. Then while they were debating Miles Burke wrote to them from Australia begging them to stay where they were. ' 1 1 am accustomed to a wild life, and could never settle down now m Leamount,' he said. 'So pray continue to live on in the old home. It pleases me to think of you there. I have willed it to my adopted son, whose mother, though she preferred and married another, was my first and only love. She left him to me at her death, and he is like my own. But till I die he will not trouble or disturb you.' This was considerably more than they had expected, and was an immense relief to Mrs. Burke. She loved the country and the people and was determined never to leave either till she died. But to be allowed to stay on at Leamount was an inexpressible joy and delight, and she accepted her brother-in-law's offer with grateful and heartfelt thanks. To live rent free was a great boon to the impoverished lady, but notwithstanding this assistance her small means forbade her keeping the house as she had been wont to do. So shutting up the largest portion of it she and her children established themselves in one wing, with only the faithful Molly to look after and attend to them. Mrs. Burkes sister, Mrs. Trevor, a worldly-minded though kindhearted wealthy widow, was much distressed at the disagreeable change in their circumstances. 1 The girls' prospects are ruined,' she cried. ' How are they ever to get married without fortunes and living in Inch a wav 1 It it dreadful.' J 'They must take their chance, dear,' Mrß. Burke said gently. And lam not uneasy. God will take care of them. Our lives here will be quiet and peaceful.' v Tha mu Very well for yon - Bafc l GV^ t let the *""ls w a»te their youth. They must come to me. I can give them opportunitieshelp them to marry. So come to London ; you can keep your room and be as quiet as you please. •No, no' Mrs. Burke flushed. 'London would kill me I'll stay here with Molly. The girls must decide for themselves and not think of me. 'Good ! I thought von would not oppose my plans. Society will be much pleasanter for me with two fine girla to take about Not that Annette s much to look at ; still, when well dressed, she'll pass. But Sheila will make a sensation, She will not trouble me long. But to her astonishment and indignation Sheila refused to trouble her at all. Nothing would induce her to forsake her mother. She loved the country, her work in the schools, the poor people in their homes. She would not leave them. Annette was fond of gaiety and town life, so she was the one to go. Mrs. Trevor fumed and fretted. Annette was not the niece she wanted. But at last, seeing that Sheila was immovable, she bowed to the inevitable and allowed Annette to accompany her to London. r ' Much to her surprise, the young girl was both liked and admired, and m due time became engaged to Major Henry Beecham. ' J j-j D.f l^ o^' Mrs - Trevor gave Annette a handsome trousseau, and did all Bhe could to make her wedding a brilliant one. Mrs. Burke who had been for sometime in delicate health, was not well enough to go to London to see her daughter married. But Sheila went over for a few days, and in her pure white dress and big hat and feathers made a most charming and beautiful bridesmaid Everyone remarked her, everyone admired her, and Mrs. Trevor was more anxious than ever to persuade the girl to live with her. But Sheila was, if possible, more determined in her refusal than before, and she united not only on going home, but on going the very day after the wedding. Annoyed by the girl's obstinacy, Mrs. Trevor bade h«r a cold (rood bye, and Sheila Bet out on her journey feel ing saddened and depressed. But as she left the railway station at Coote-hill and drove through the fresh air towards Leamount her spirits rose and she thanked God that her home lay in the beautiful country rather than in the crowded smoky town. Then, when Molly admitted that her mother had been ill enough to require the doctor during her absence, her heart sank once more, and she ran up to her room nervous and alarmed. 4 I'll never leave you again,' she cried, her arms round her neok, her cheek pressed to hers, ' for I see you cannot get on without me.' • It's good to have you back, darling,' replied the delighted mother, but to keep you always would be— well, impossible ' * Why, I'd like to know.' 1 You'll one day follow Annette's example.' 4 Nonsense.' 4 No, pet, it is not nonsense, and I am unselfish enough to say that I hope you will.' J

' Then you are a most unkind little mother, and I say that the man who marries me must marry you ; we cannot be separated. So there.' Mrs. Burke laughed and pinched the girl's soft rounded cheek. ' Only one man in a million would consent to take his mother-in-law in like that, Sheila.' ' Then till I find that one here I remain Sheila Burke, Bpinster. I might meet a worse fate.' 'My darling, God keep you. Your aunt Trevor thinks you waste your life here.' ' Aunt Trevor knows Dothmg about it. I could not live in her world, it Btifles me. And I pray earnestly night and day that if I ever marry it may be someone who will let me make my home in Ireland, Is that too muoh to ask, mother ?' Mrs. Burke looked up into the beautiful, earnest face. | No, darling, but we must always submit to the Divine Will.' 'Certainly, and we are in God's hands, so must not trouble about the future. And now you are longing, I know, to hear something of Annette and her brave soldier.' And seating herself at her mother's feet she gave her a full account of her sieter's wedding. • * Molly's assertion that Mrs. Burke was only pining for a sight of her daughter seemed a true one, for from the hour of the girl's return she improved rapidly, and waa soon in her ÜBual state of health. March that year was wild, wet, and blustering. Fierce gales raged in every direction, and across the beautiful lake, down to which sloped the lawns and gardens of Leamount, swept continual storms of wind and rain, disturbing and agitating its usually calm waters in such a way aB to render boating upon it both dangerous and unpleasant. At any other time this would have been a trouble to Sheila, who dearly loved the lake, and looked upon the quiet hours spent in her boat aB the happiest of the day. But at present she had so much to do, her work having fallen sadly behind during her absence in London, that she did not much care, and scarcely regretted the unsettled weather that kept her indoors. One day, however, when, having dismissed some three or four poor children whom, at the request of the parish priest, Father Tom Ryan, she had undertaken to prepare for their First Communion, Sheila threw a shawl over her head and stepped out of the morningroom window on to the broad terrace walk at the back of the house. The wind, which had raged fast and furious during the night, had suddenly dropped ; the waters of the lake had gone down considerably and the sun had come out bright and brilliant. The air was sweet, soft, and healing. The girl drew a long, deep breath, ' How delicious,' she cried, ' and how inviting the lake looks. I must really go for a row. It's a little rough still, but that matters little to me.' To return to the house and put on a neat, warm jacket and close-fitting felt hat was the work of a few moments, and then the girl tripped down to the little boat-house by the water's edge, humming a gay song as she went. She untied the rope that fastened the painter, drew the skiff close, and jumping in, pushed off from the shore. For some time all went well. Sheila managed the little craft with great adroitness, and it ran gaily along before the wind. Then all at once a black cloud appeared overhead, a f-udden squall sprang up, and the girl turned the boat and rowed vigorously back towards the house. (To he concluded in our next isme").