Novel

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 364, 30 April 1903, Page 2

Novel

CHAPTER ll.—{Continued.) 'Nevermind,' said Hedworth, pressing the soft brown hair with his big hand. ' It's an awful ahame; but ifa no good crying over it, little un. Suppose you cose out with me for a stroll' 'That is what I should like—oh, bo much! But Aunt Maria won't let me 'Well see about that. Put on your hat; I don't want to go faraway from the home.' Erne hastily donned her hat and coat with trembling fingera, and then the young man took her by the hand and led her downstairs. The dining-room waa open, and the white cloth laid on the table. The Pollards had not yet attained to the social dignity of a late dinner. Hedworth caught aight of his stepmother's figure beside the table, and spots to her through the open door in an iff-haad tone. 'I am taking Effie out with me. I want her* You have no objection, I suppose V • I told her to stay in her room.' 'Yes—but I want her. Don't jou think il would be better to let me have my on way ?' raid Hedworth, with what seamed a latent brutality in his tone. Mrs. Pollard gave way. She liked to thwart her stepson, but she h*d a dread ofhia hot and violent tempei.too. 'lf Sffie enjoys your companionship, ehe may have it for all I care,' ah« rejoined. ' But you'll get no tea, neither of yen, if you're not is at the right time.*

Hedworth made no He led fcia little cousin out of the house, asd walked down the garden path with her. The September sunshine had been hot during the day, but was now merely ptea&wt, tempered by a alight breeza, which conveyed a suspicion of autumnal coolness. The young man txavexfad tha garden with a steady step, and Effie walked beside him, wondering childishly where they were going to have tbeix tea. But she was not long left is doubt. * Come in here/ he said, as they reached the end of the garden, -f her-, close to the stream that worked the mill, atood the little old Bed House which had been his father's home during these earl/ years when he had his way to make in the world. It was closed now, but a gocd deal of the old furniture remained untouched, and the foreman and his wife occupied some of the rooms. Effia was delighted. Mrs- Legge was renowned for fcer cakes, and waa never loath to bestow them upon the delicate-leoking child who was. aa efce, good woman, said, •so pat upon' at' the Ho-ise.' * Can you give Effie a cup of tea, Mrs. L?gge?* Hedworth asked, putting his head in at the kitchen door without ceremony. 'She's taking a walk with me, and will mias her own at home That's the penalty for coming out with a black sheep.' Mrs. Legge had been a friend of his own mother's in days gone by, when William Legge and Matthew Pollard had net bees as far severed by wealth and position as they were now. Consequently, he spots to her more freely than he might have done elsewhere.

- D=ar. dear!' said Mrs. Lsgge, a comfortable old body with a rosy face and a white cap and apron. ' D jar, dear, Mr. Hedworth! how you do run on, to be sure. Come and ait down and we'll all have tea together. Sit down, my lamb, and help ynnrwlt' 'Nothing for me, thanks/ said Hedworth shortly. ' I didn't want the little one to think she waa going to be starved, that*e aIL We're going for a walk —to blow the cobwebs away, you know» Mri. Lsgge east a shrewd glance at Xffie'a flushed face and at his knitted brows, which even his jesting speech failed to make relax; then turned once more to the toasting fork and changed the subject. ' And how be your father getting en* A mite better, I heard to-day/ 'Neither better nor worse/ said Htd worth, gloomily. * I saw Koagga go by,' remarked Mrs. Legge, in a lower voice. ' And I said to myself—Thaf ■ a iign/ 'Aaign of nothing. Kusggs was Bent •way again.* 'Oh well; but he'll come back. I suppose you and Mr. Gilbert'il go into partnership? That's what everybody's aaying—it's the natural thing, to be sure.'

• Couldn't say/ Hedworth answered, curtly. Mrs. Legge was still toasting her bread at the glowing grate, and Effie was munching cake at the well-spread table. The- young man left his rather atiff position by the door, and came close to the tall, wocden mantel-pi-.ce, where he looked down-into the fire. Certain reminiscences of his boyhood came back

to him at that moment and caused him to say, somewhat bitterly: *I had eome good times in this old kitchen, when Gil and I were boye. It's not the tame thing now; we don't share and share alike, as we used to do.' 'You're the eldest,' said Mrs. Legge res*ntfully. * I don't know about sharing •like; it's you ae ought to have the biggest share,' •HotT; I'm the prxiig*l,' said Hedworth, and kicked the shining braes fender at he spoke. 'l've had what belongs to me and squat, d 'red it; and there's been nobody to welcome me home, you know, Hannah.' He did not often call ker Hannah, as he had done whm he was a-boy, and Mrs. Legge wu touched by the unexpected name.

•One'ud never have thought it,' she said, putting her apron up to her eyes for

[PUBLIBHED BY SPECIAL ABBANGEMENT.] THE Conscienceof Gilbert Pollard

By Adeline Sabgeant.

CALL BIGHTS BESEBVED.

a moment, • when you had been 8 babyboy, and such a fuss as your father did make ever you, to be sure ! You and your mother was all the w*rld to him then/

'Ah. but times are clanged.' Hedworth answered with a laugh. ■ When the new wife and the new baby came, we gang to a different tune, didn't we? But my old dad was good to me: I'd nothing to complain of—then; it's now—ifs the future —that*6 in the balance '

•You've nothing to fear,' said Mrs. Legge, consolingly. «Mr. Pollard was always fondest of you, though he didn't like always to show it; but many a time have I seen him take you on his knee wnen you was a little chap—and the missus was out of toe way ' ' Yes, the missus always had to De out of the way,' said Hedworth, with a sardonic grin.

' He'd do the best he could for you. I'm that. I never, did care for Maria Morison at her beet. Grasping she always was, and sly!—never a fox like her for slyness—but Mr. Gilbert, he ain't like that exactly. I think he means well, does Gilbert.'

« 'Gilbert? Oh, yes; he's all right/ said Hedworth, in a careless tone. He began to feel that he had said rather too much.

•He mrana right/ said Mrs. Legge, 'but he's afraid of his mother. You'll always have to guard against that. She's nagged him aad ahe's worried him, like she has his father, until they neither of them know whether their soul's their own or not. But I don't believe as how Gilbert would stand by and see you wronged * Effie stood up, looking very serious. Hedworth and his hostess had both forgotten her presence; but as they had spoken in low tones, Mrs. Legge hoped that she had not heard. Hedworth did not concern himself with the possibility. He said farewell to Mrs. Legge in his usual abrupt fashion, and then departed, taking Effie out by the little railed bridge which crossed the stream between the Red House and the mill, and encountering Hannah's husband with the keys in his hand. The six o'clock bell had iung, and the men had hurried 11 their homes. Hedworth took the keys from Legge's Land, and told him that he would return with them presently. 'Are you going Into the mill? Oh, I am so glad! I alwayß like to go over it, and Aunt Maria scolds me if I do.' 'Come along, then. She won't scold you if you come with me/ The little girl skipped with delight as Hedworth unlocked the doors. «What havo you come for, Hedworth T she asked, innocently enough. ' Oh, nothing. I thought I should like to have a look at the old place. Come upstairs; let's go round.' In Effie's eyes, Hedworth's most admirable quality was his absolute hwk of the dignity which yonng men sometimes assume. She was quite sure that it would dot have amused Gilbert to show her all the sheds and the machinery, the great wheel of the mill, the granaries, and other familiar places of which he had the freedom every day. Gilbert was always kind to her, but he had not the boy nature in him which Hedworth possessed. Hedworth wss as interested as Efti9 herself, and shared her delight when, at last, on reaching a loft half-full to the ceiiißg on one side with corn, she discovered that, through a small round window, she had a splendid view of the meadow lands, the woods, the stream, a distant village or two —all, in fact, that constituted in her mind, the district of Fareham, in which she lived. For a minute or two her raptures were without bounds.

■l've never been here before, Hadworth! This is a lovely place! Do you see the church spire ? That's where Mrs. L<3gi?e goes on Sundays. We can't see the chapel, if a hidden among the trees and houses; but there's the road to it Oh, how bright the son is! It cornea straight into this room, doesn't it! Lotus stay here and see it Bet!'

Hedwoith responded by seating himself on a huge bag of grain, and laughing as the eliding seeds gave way beneath bis weight Effie tat down beside him, and lay back, almost burying herself in the grain—as luxurious a couch as eould anywhere be found, • Thifl is lovely!' she said. ' I'd like to eleep here.' *I don't think you would, my dear. You'd see and hear more than yeu cared tor I fancy.' • Ghosts ?' ' Worse than ghosts Sate!' Effie gave a little shudder. ' Dreadful things.' she said. ' I think I'll have a pipe, now I'm here,' said Hsdworth, laughing. 'The rats won't bother us in bay light. Look out of the window and tell me what yon see, if ycu won't sit down any longer.' For Effie had gathered her skirts carefully about her, and now climbed, by means of a stone step, to the window-sill, where she imagined herself safe, at any rate, from tho attacks-of any insurgent rate.' ' How funny people look down there !' Bhe cried, after a few minutes of silent observation. 'I can eee Mrs. Lepge in her back garden. I can see carts in the roid; and they look like toy wagons, ex ictly. I can see—why—it's——' She stepped short. 4 Eb !' eaid her cousin absently. "He was smoking and not listening very particularly to what Bffie said. 'lfs Gilbert,' said the child, in rather

as altered tone. * He's walking along the road; and now he has met somebody that he knows Somebody who has stopped to shake hands with him. It's a girl, Hedworth, arn't girls difficult to know at a distance! She's turned right round, and is walking with him. It's Doris Lane!'

'What!* ' Hedwor th's abstraction and indolence seemed to vanish simultaneously. _ln another moment he was at Effie's side, gasing with her through the oriel window, and frowning darkly at what he saw ifi the distance. He had no difficulty in recognising the girl with whom his brother was walking; her graceful figure, her pele blue gown, her white hat with the plumes, were all familiar enough to him. He stated at the distant figures for a minute or two, then turned his back on the window, and said, rather hoarsely : • Effie, it's time to go.' 'One minute, please,' said Effie, who was deeply interested ' I can see them still at the turning of the row?, although I don't suppose they can Bee me. I remember that oorner, I always thought nobody could see you as you went round it; but one can see it quite well from here.'

' Come away, Erne.' * Oh, Hedworth! they caa't think that anybody can see them, either. He biased her!'

_To har infinite surprise, Hedworth lifted her down, bodily, from the window, aid set her on the floor. He did not do it nngently, but just with that amount of decision which startled the child into shrinking timidly. •What is it?' she faltered, the tears rising to her eyes at once. 'Have I—done anything wrong ?' ' Don't you know it's wrong to spy upon people? Never pry, never peep,' said Hedworth sternly. His face waß curiously white and set, yet Effie did not think he looked angry. She was emboldened to creep nearer to him, and to say pleadingly: ' But, Hedworth, I didn't mean to pry! I was only looking out, and told you wbat —what I saw.'

•I know—l know. Don't worry, yourself, child. Only remember, another time, it's just as well not to tell all you *ee/

* I'm bo sorry. You're not angry with me, are you, Hedworth ?' 'No—no; I'm not angry.' He sat down on a wooden ledge which projected from the wall, and stared at the heap of grain before him. The golden shafts of lipht through the oriel window were growing a little dim. Effie stood beside him, not knowing in the least what he meant, but vaguely conscious that he was hurt, and terribly afraid that she had done somebody an injury. It was long before he spoke again, and Effie never forgot the words he said. ' You've always been my little friend and comrade,' he said, breathing rather heavily, as though there were a weight up n his breast, 'and I've trusted yon sometimes, when I wouldn't have trusted anybody else. Well, I'm going to ask you to promise me something. Will you keep your promise ?' •I will—indeed I will.' 'lt isn't much to aak. Don't mention to anyone else what you've seen to-night —about Gilbert and Mies Lane. Promise!'

' Yes, I promise, Hedworth.' ' I want to feel I've got one friend, even if she'B only a little one/ said Hedworth, putting out his hand—which-was very cold, Effie noticed —and grasping hers. 'They don't treat me well, Effie--they den't, indeed. If they'd be open with me! They mean to take everything I care for —the old mill, the old house—everything; and now it seems he can't even let her alone. If s more than a man knows how to bear.'

His pipe slipped from bis fingers and broka on the rough boards of the floor. The strong leonine head was bowed, the hands hid his face for a moment, as if there was something in his eyes which even Effie most not see. Bat she was a woman enough, though still a child, to do the one thing that could help him thes. ' I love you, Hedworth—l'll always love you—l'll always be yomrfriesd. "When I'm grown up I'll love yon just as mnch as Ido now. Hedworth, yon and I will always be friends, will we not ?' And Hedworth answered, ' Yes, Effi•-», yes.'

CHAPTER lII.—DOEIS. When Gilbert and his mother were left alone in the dining-room, a dreadful silence fell between them. They listened, open-eyed and open-eared, to the sound of Hedworth's footsteps on the stair; they looked at each other with the aspect of discomfited conspirators. It was Gilbert who first threw off the yoke of fear and spoke aloud. ' This is intolerable, mother. I had no wish to quarrel with Hedworth. Why have you made mischief between us ?' This was carrying war indeed into the enemy's camp. Mrs. Pollard fixed her eyes on her son's face with a stony stare of astonishment. ' I am surprised, Gilbert, that yon should apeak to me in this way. I have made no mischief. I was obliged to answer Hedworth's questions, and that is all I have done.' * Yes, ye?, I know, but still—mother, is it really as you said ?' He did not like to put the question that was at his heart into words. But his mother knew well how to reply. 'Do I hear my own son accusing me of a falsehood ?' she asked, in a lofty tone. ' This is truly a reward for all I have done for him.' And she sank into a chair, and covered her face with a handkerchief. ' I did not mean any such thing,' said Gilbert—bat his mother knew that he had meant it in spite of what he said. '1 do not understand, that is all. You told me father wanted to gee Hedworth, and then you said to Hedwerth just the contrary. You told me nothing was settled, yet you implied to Hedworth ' Mrs. Pollard lifted her head and wiped her eyes. 'My efforts to assist your cause ■eem liable to much misconstruction/ she said, in a constrained voice. 'lt may not have occurred to you that although Mr. Enaggs haa not yet formally drawn up your father's will, yet I am in your father's confidence, and know exactly what he means to do.' *Oh! I beg your pardon,' the young man stammered. ' I did not understand. At the same time, I don't know that we should be justified in keeping Hedworth away if father wants to see him.' ' No, if he wants to see him. Gilbert' —with a sudden angry intonation—'you're a fool.' (To be continued.)