NOVEL

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 350, 22 January 1903, Page 2

NOVEL

i CHAPTER X (Continued.) Harold Prayne also east a glance in the direction of the disappearing figure ef the. Wizard, but his was no glance of indiffrent curiosity rach as Nettie's; his brow was clouded, his dark eyes troubled as if in perplexity. * Miss Hamilton,' he said suddenly, on impulse, turning to Clarice, with whom he happened just then to find himself a little apart from the others, and speaking in a lowered voice, that fUure reminds me strangely, startling, of some one to whom it would mean death to be found here ?' She controlled a start of disaay, bnt could not for a moment command her voice to answer. 'Perhaps there may be a slight resemblance,' she said, with forced calmness after that startled pause, 'bnt it is only a mere reminiscence. There are hundreds of men of similar height and figure Per Heavn's sake do not breathe to a living creature a word of such a fancied likenessl If Agnes was to hear the merest syllable o! such a suggestion—* «It would kill her/ he said in the same deep low tone. 'I know it! Do you think such a word could ever pass my lips —except to you,' CHAPTEE XI. The arrival of the ne* visitor at Tae Fir?, Mr. John Tborold, was not bailed with pleasure by Harold Prayne. It lessened Lis opportunities of communion with Agnes *, and ho had a vague intuitive consciousness of something in the atmosphere suggestive of an antagonistic element between Thorold and bis sister-in-law, for such was the relationship be-,/ tween the fair invalid and the new arrival at her uncle's place. Moreover, although-/ their acquaintance was of the slightest and had never beea ruffl jd by a word of disagreement or difference, indeed the words of any kind exchanged between them had been but few, Prayne and Thorold had newr hit it eff' Still in one aspect, and one only, Thorold's presence was cot wholly uuwelccme to his fellow-gust, in is ran :h as it assisted the latter in staving off tete-a-tetes with his host—a task which since the interview between Agnes and Clarice had been his constant endeavour, and in which he had hitherto been fairly successful. He felt himself guilty in hie silence t~> his host and friend concerning thet meeting which he more than suspected would not have met with his approbation or consent ; yet he would havo felt more guilty if he had breathed a word of it and found that his liege-lady had chosen to keep silence on the matter. And in all probability she had done so, els* Sir Henry would sorely have mentioned it. It was little likely that Agnes, delicate, nervous, sensitive as she was, would have chosen to introduce the name of Clarice Hamilton, the subject of their meeting, connected as it was with such agitating associations. 80 Prayne kept silence, and. felt guilty and graceless that in his devotion to Agnes he was disloyal to his host. John, generally called ' Jack/ Thorold was a big, burly fellow, good-lcoking in a somiwhat coarse and florid style, with dark hair snd fresh ruddy cemplexion, somewhat Bternd>:rk eyes, a bull-dog jaw, and heavy blows that occasionally could draw together in an ugly frown, the iff act ofwnica was counteracted by his jovial smile and hearty laugh; and he laughed cftener than he frowned. - He was one of the successes of life, and had no feeling save of impatient contempt for the failures. Prosperity and selfconfidence were stamped upon him. Ha was so well-satisfied with himself that he produced upon other people the impression that it was with them he was pleas-.d. This was the impression he made upon Emily Dampier on his introduction to the fair Dride-elect tf his host, who dined, duly protected by the presence of her parents, of coarse, at Tin Firs on the evening of his arrival. Emily, conscious that she was looking her beat, read appreciation of her charms in Thorolds bold black eyes, and he was not- slow in intimating to her plainly that he considered his friend Sir Henry an extremely fortunate man Sir Henry, for his part, was rather gratified than displeased- by the admiration of bis choice which Thorold expressed to him in frank and genial terms. The baronet had a happy confidence in bis Emily's puileless faith and inacctnee, and re was a man who liked his taste to be appreciated, whether he tonght a horse, or a dog, or a picture or a jacht, or mairied a wife; he liked everything of his to be of the bts*, end acknowledged as the best by his fellow ■en. • ir/o unfortuate poor Agnea not feeling well enough to come down to-day again/ itnurkfd Sir Henry to his sister on the E'cond day of Thorold'a visit, when a itlb-X t atheiing of the elite vt the neighbouihoid Lad been invited to mset him. 'I den't think sbe would appear at dinner anyhow/ said Mrs. De Champion. ' bhe still seems to shrink from m 1 ting people'

* [NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.] The M ystery oi A Moonlpl Tryst,

By Iza Duffus Hardy, Author of 'MacQileroy's Millioug,' &j.. &■>..

[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

* I thought she had been seeming a little better lately. I had hoped that Emily's companionship might have been good for her, and brightened her up a little. Thorold has asked for h~»r.' «I think she shrinks especially from meeting him/ replied the lady. ' She is terribly upset by anything that recalls old associations.' *I am afraid Thorold will think it odd her avoiding him, if she does not come down at all when he is here.' 'I will explain to him that she really is not equal to appearing in public or risking the smallest excitement/ said Mrs. Dj Champion, soothingly. The Harailtona, i* need hardly ba said, were not present at the dinner party at The Firs, and more than one of the company made a note of their absence. The Onslows were, and Gerard found the entertainment, like every, other gathering where Clarice Hamilton was not, ' weary, fiat, stale, and unprofitable/ albeit her presence now, especially since their visit to the Circus, was but bitter-sweet, a fever and fret of conflicting feelings, of which the bitterness was fast overpowering the aweetne? a. Jack Thorold was honoured by a place at dinner next to the bride-elect; he was anrmwho never neglettei to make the most of his opportunities, and his opportunity of furthering his acquaintance with the beautiful Emily was a good one, inasmuch as Sir Henry's attention was perforce a good deal engaged by the lady on his other hand, whe was conversationally disposed. There are few better chances of tete-a-tete than that ' solitude ;»li*nx/ which may often sometimes be j found in a crowd, and few more favourj able occasions for the development of confilence than those afforded by a dinnerparty. -Thorold and Emily soon drifted into low-voiced' conversation apart from the more general discussion in which their neighbours were engaged; and by the time the last entree had good round, a semi-confidential relationship was estabtablikhed between the n"w guest at The Firs and the fair fiancee of his host, and they have come upon thesubj-ct of Agnes, concerning whom Emily was sympathetic and curious, although Mr. Thorold showed little disposition to share her Bympathy or gratify her curiosity. •Emily remarked how very pretty poor Agnes must have been as a eirl, and commented tenderly on her delicacy and depression now, cooing softly that she 'supposed she had neVer got over her—her sad loss/ 'That is perhaps not bo much fri be wondered at under the circumstances/ Thorold rejoined with a gloomy lodk. 'Were they then so very—so—very sad ?' murmured Emily. ThOrold glanced at her as if wondering how much she knew, before he answered her slowly. * By brother's fate was a traaic and terrible one, and I fear that my sister-in-law' —his voice hardened on the words—"can hardly feel herself free from reproach in the matter/ Emily waited, palpitating with curiosity, for him to ssy mow, bot waited in vain; then, with that amiable tactlessness o* hers that people—some people—thought the sign and symptom of her guileless innocence, she hazarded the remark, ' I am Bure she looks so Bweet and gen<le she couldn't do any harm or mean any harm to any one/ "Yev Bhe is one of the women who •mean no harm;' they never do mean any harm! but the most fatal mischief in the world is offcn worked by these women who wouldn't do any harm fcr the world !* Ha spoke with a bitterness that made Emily look at him in most startled interest and surprise. *Ste is—must have been —so very pretty/ she cooed tentatively. 'Y.s, she was a spoilt child of beauty and fortune; and that beauty and fortune were the curse of more lives than only her own.' 'I was almost sure hers mußt have been a sad story/ ' Stories of folly and Bin—crime—are always sad/ he said, still with a touch of Bternesa in his vice. • But sorrow and tragedy have nothing to do with you/ he added, taking a tone thht Emily liked better, than that stern significance. 'Ton, Btanding in the sunrise/—Jack Thorold' could occasionally lapse into the vein poetic when he was talking to a pretty woman—' whose beauty has nothing to do with anything but hope and love!' Emily looked down and blushed—and smiled She had no objection to Thorold'a turn ing the conversation into the line of personality—her own fair personality—isd compliment, but she would have dearly liked to. hear more of the mysterious tragtdy at which he hinted, in wnich his sister-in-law had been involved. Thorold, however, was not to be drawn any further; perhaps he even rogretted having been drawn so far, realised that the hour and the place were less suited to confidence of a tragic nature than to the florid banalities of flattery into whhh he now lauached, and which Emily drank in with eager ears and modest eyes.

Dinner over, the bride-elect found the lad'es' hoar, without the stimulus of. man's homage, insufferably beffag, and it occurred to her that it would relieve the monotony, and also be a pretty little attention, a manifestation of tender interest in her future niece-in-law, to go and see how poor dear Agnes was getting on all alone. More than ever now was she inclined to cultivate intimacy with Agues, ; evidently the heroine of a romantic and tragic story. Emily loved romances; and now, spurred on by the sharp prick of curiosity, her fair face composed into its best 'ministering-angel' expression, she sought the cosy nest of a room which had been appointed as Mrs. Thorold's boudoir, only to find the bird flown. Agnes had gone weary of lying on the couch or reposing on the easy ohair; the distant snatches of voices and laughter which now and then reached her from the region of the dining-room, as the door opened and shut, somehow jarred upon her. It was a soft balmy' moonlight night; she sauntered languidly out on to the .balcony, down the steps on to the terrace, and so out into the garden. • The air was still and mild, the trees were mere masses of blotted shadow, but the broad expanse of lawn lay pale aad clear in the moonlight. The beauty of the night drew her on, and 0D —° °f sight of the lighted windows, beyond the faintest echoes of that mirth that jarred on her sick spirit. She had reached the borders of the garden, and sat down on one of the many rustic benches that wooed the weary or indolent to linger and repose. Little she dreamt what eyes were fixed from afar off on the distant gleam of those lighted windows—what eys caught sight of her slender black figure that 'moved among shadows a shadow* as it passed across the moonlit glade. The man who lurked in the plantation, watching, started. What——who—was that Blight shadowy form that crossed the light, was lest in the shade, and emerged once more into the pale moonlight P Was it ghost of woman? And if woman—who ? There was a festivity at the house to-night, he knew. Who was this woman who stole away f roar the gay company P The frail slight figure looked like—like—but no, 'that way madness lay,' he must not think that!

There was something eerie about the frail, alight, solitary form that glided and vanished—a shadow melting into the shadows. Was it in truth no woman, but Borne 'poor ghost' wandering in old accustomed haunts P If so, the ghost was tired, weary as an earthly wanderer might be. He could dimly see that the figure had sunk down upon a seat and rested there, silent, still, Btirless as the masses of shade beneath the trees around. As silent in lis movements as she was in her stilless, the man stole softly nearernearer to her. She was unaware of his approach; the heavy eyelids had sunk over her weary eyes; she did not see his dark figure, a moving shadow, detach itself from the other shadows blotting the borders of the pale expanse of the lawn. He had drawn near enotgh to recognise her now. White in the moonlight he saw her face. Her face ! the face of ' the world's one wojaan' to him. Her head was leaning listlessly, wearily, against the high back of the rustic seat, it might be in sleep, or swoon—or death 1 So white, so still, so passive, it lay against the dark, rugged bark! Even in the pale moonlight he coald see how wasted and hollow were the fair curves of form and feature, how sunken the lines of the face that once had looked into his life like living sunshine. ■'•''• *• Seeing her thus, motionless in sic ,p or s wood, for a moment, the pulse stirred in bim to turn away and leave ber se,- and speak no word. But while he lingered to look his last, her eyes unclosed; she stirred, she raised her drooping head. It was more like a movement in a dream then a start of waking terror with which she looked at him. His heart beat fast, not with apprehension for himself, though well he knew that then and there he steed in deadly danger, but with dread of the effect the shock might have on her, Still she gave no start, uttered no cry. He ventured to speak. Mortal man could not turn and leave her now in silence.

'Don't be frightened, Agnes/ he said, softly, in a tone that was almost as pleading as reassuring, mastering by sheer force the all bnt irresistible impulse to spring forward to her side, to throw himself at heir feet. - H> ha'd heard how dt licate she was; he could see for himself even in the moonlight how pale and frail and altered. What if the shock of his sudden appearance were the death of this fragile creature? But still she hardly stirred, she showed no sign of terror or excitement. ' Agnes ?' she repeated in a faint, dreamy murmur, and he almost fancied that in the pale rays her features wore an unearthly smile. ' Who calls me Agnes ?' 'lt is only—only one from whom you have nothing to fear/ ' I hear your voice! Does one hj« ar in dreams P' she murmured perplexedly, with the same strange calm. 'I have seen you of ten—so often—but never heard you speak before! Is it a dream ?or are you Harry ? Have you come back from your grave far away to 111 me that you are safe—that the haunting terror is lifted off my life P' * I am Bafe, dear/ with cautious care not to startle her, as her strange manner caused him anxiety. * And you—you are well ?' ' WellP oh yes/ with the- gam? strange soft shadow of a Bmile hovering ab rot her l ; ps. . ' And it does not distress you to eee me?' 'Oh no*' She spoke dreamily still, but now there was a faint stir in her unnatural calmness—a break and tremor in her tone a- she added, 'But—it seems strange—so Btrange—Am I dreaming ?' ' Yes, you are dreaming, my poor love,' he answered slowly, in accents of infinite tenderness and comrassion. 'Dream on; good-bye! I will leave you to your dream' Then it seemed as if the dreamer wike up; she half rose with a start.. ':Oh, do not leave me!' said in a, faint cry, and with an instinctive, unconscious movement her pile hands went out towards his. •Live, I would never leave you if it were not for your sake even more than mine!' he aaid, and could no longer resist the impulse to catch in bis the slender quivering hands. 'But I have come from far away, not to remain, only to see you, and then to say good-bye/ - (To be continued}:

Yorkshire Spinach Padding.—Boil a pailfnl of spinach in the usual way; rub it through a wire sieve ; add six ounces of breadormub", previously soaked in milk and squeezsd dry, salt, nulnug, and pep. per to taate. Beat up your eggs, whites and yolks separately, first stir in the yolks, and then the whites. b?aten to a stiff froth. Batter a pudding-basin thick Ij, turn in the spinach, and boilf<r two bourß. Turn out, and serve with good brown sauce. Carrots and Cream. Trim some new carrots, boil and brain them. Melt an cunce of butter in a saucepan, aad to it a dessertspoonful of flour, pepper, salt, grated nutmeg, and two or three spoonfuls < f cream. Put the carrots in tins, simmer gently for a few minutes, and then serve with chopped parsley scattered over.