NOVEL

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 380, 20 August 1903, Page 2

NOVEL

CFAET£B I.—(Continued } Next inßtant Lenchen Etood alone, etock-still, bewildered, stariHg at the thaler in her hand. 'Ach! Itese mad English !' she ejaculated, as she slipped the coin into her capacious pocket. Lite that evening two girls wa'ked in the Email shady garden of the deserted Pension Mitzeniub. Overhead in lime and chestnut trees birds gave one another good-night in liquid tones; and from acrof s the ■way, came, mellowed by intervening space, the stake of a band in the Ssalban Bier Garten. 'Well, kow was it to-day V said Lucy Strong. 'Oh, Lucy—don't ask me—it was a terrible time.' A filight curious spasm passed over Lucy Strong's face—a strange face, pale, unb9autiful, and slightly pitted; jet unusual, interesting. 'Poor little girl/ she eaid, Eoothißgly, tkea added suddenly, «Hebe, do you. really imagine that you love that sphinxlik* master of yours ¥ Hebe threw out her clasped hands before htr. ' Lo7e him P Madly, hopelessly, and tothink—l may never see him again.' The sweet passionate face was turned to the dusiing sky and two big teardrops f?IL 'All the same, I don't think you'd ex(haaga Lord Hopecastle and Boughton Towerj for Bruchfeld and Langweilenhxag.' 'Lu-jy,' faid Hebe with a solemnity which sat quaintly upon her youth; ' when you speak eo, it only shows me how little our most intimate friends really know us.' Lucy turned ber face quickly away;, the twilight hid her smile. ' Why I'd change with you to-morrow,. Lucy, just to live six minutes from bis house—with the chance every day of meeting bim in the street.' ' Lucky for you it can't be put to the test, darling,' said her friend sweetly. ' Look,' ehe added, laughing, 'if you are sincere, suppose you let me try my fascinations en the noble lord when I. come to Baujhton Vicarage ? PII faithfully promise you my berth here, if he succumbs.' 1 Oh, Lucy, it only it could bo done!' said Hebe, doubtfully, * You evidently haven't much notion of ' my charms,'remarked Mies Strong drily.. • I think, myself, you needn't fear me asa rival.' •Fear? I'd wish you all success—oh,: Lacy, we must think of this.' Lucy laughed again. *My dear,' sbe said; 'you would neverde it.* ' Ah, Lucy,' Bighed the girl,' one can. Eee you have never been in love.-* Long that night in ber little bed between two untenanted, Hebe lay awake in a state of emotional exalation born of a certain new re salve. It was a momentous resolve; no less a one indeed than that of running counter to her family's dearest ambition. She would never marry Lord Hopecastle. The chimes of the Boman Catholic church told ten o'clock,' yet still a small solitary figure paced in the sheltering gloom of the limes at Pen&ion Mitzenirs. 'i he statins of the Faalbau-Garten band came to her upon the night-breezo which psssjd through the trees. It wss a romantic hour for a eolilcquy. 'Little fool!" muttered the solitary one, 'if only I had her chances! It is a horrid, unjust, detestable, abominable world I Well, beauty )s not everything—though unluckily it's west men fly after fbst. S:ill it's wit"s and brains which tell. in the long run—He be hasn't a brain to her name—only the difficulty is to get asuitable field for opc-ratiohs. Lucy laughed softly to herself in the darkness. ' Time and opportunity! Give me those,, and I'd challenge the world. I wonder what sort of a man this Lord Hopecastle • is.' CHaPrEB 11. The mid-day train from Ltndon rounded! the last curve before Bironstoke, and: glided into the station. A tall, thin lady of a certain faded 5 elegance stood upon the platform, in an. expectation hampered by the necessity of restraining her son, a youth in the early knickerbocKer period, from involuntary self-destruction upoa the line. r ßribe 1 Hebe!' shouted the child ecstatically, sighting his sißter's fair head. 'My child,' said the lady, bestowing upon the arrival an embrace languidly tender. - 'Lord Hopecastle'a sent his carriage for you, Hebe, and we rede in it,' cried Hubert in abrill crescendo. 'Sh—Hubert, darling,' implored hie mother. A powdered and deferential footman podceedtd himself cf Hebe's minor oelcngingß; and after directions to a porter, followed the ladies through the boosing ( ili:e to a barouche, with a peer's anna upon the panel. Hubert leaped in,, and boy-like, bumped up and down upen tne front seat in an exuberance of satisfaction. Mrs Carpenter entered the carriage with high-bred languor, and Ueba

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ABE4NGEMENT. LADY HOPECASTLE,

BY "* E. Reid-Mathesoii.

COPYBIGHT having followed, the footman closed the door, mounted to the box, and the carnage, much observed by a little knot of passengers and officials, whirled from the station. •Ain't this prime P' cried Hubert, with enthusiasm. 'And d'you know, Hebe, he's just given Judith and me bicycles;' His mother, mindful cf> ears upoa the box, held up a warning finger. ' Nothing would do,' she said, addressing Hebe, * but he must send the carriage fof you; he called yesterday on t-u-pose to offer it, so I countermanded Knight's waggonette.' Hebe said little; she was thinking that in view of her resolve this was not a good beginning, ' Hew ic father ?' she asked presently. 'Not very well, lately; the poor dear man wears himself out with parish work; he is simply at the beck and call of every soul who thinks fit to send for him. 1 tell him how foolish it is; bat he goes on just the same.' 'Poor old daddy!' sighed Hebe. ' And then,* her mother went on, lowering her voice,' he has been worried about expenses. But wa won't bo dismal; everything is going to be well now you have come hoae, Hebe; he thinks so much of you, child; and your pre epscts are an immense satisfaction to him, as to «s all.' 'How are Guy and Judith?' asked Hebe, hastily. 'Both well. Guy is in the highest feather; he—but I will let him tell his own news.' The roads flew past as Lord Hopecsstl6's blood horses covered three dußty miles to -Boughton Vicarage-. 'The dear old place!' said Hebe, as they shot into the carriage road through the vicar's glebe. The sound of wheels had been eagerly listened for, and down the drive a leggy young person of some twelve summers, oblivious of undue display of underwear, rushed shouting to meet them, then wheeling raced the horses to the vicarage porch. The cook and Padgham, the vicarage cut-door factotum, peeped from an ambush of laurels at the side; and pleasantly argrin, the house-parlourmaid and the page boy stood at the doorway behind * Mr Guy.' ' But where's father ?' presentlv asked Heb9 having survived tho brunt of welcomes. «Oh, the Governor's getting deaf,' said Guy. 'I daresay he didn't hear you drive up.' Hebe ran indoors to the study. «Well, dad!' she cried. A bowed Bhabby man in clerical dresß sat at the writing table, staring at a disordered mass of papers before him. Long past middle-age, unnotable of feature, with scant grey hairs and thin Etraggling beard, the vicar looked a man who has found the world too much for him; perhaps he was just a little pathetic, with hiß lined brow and troubled guileless blue eyes, Hebe at least thought so, and her own 6yes filled. He had risen at her coming in, but for an appreciable moment there had been no recognition in his eyes. ' Dad,' repeated Hebe, almost frightened, surely he had been ill, and they had not told her. 'My darling,' he said, suddenly recalled ; and folded her in his arms. 'And you are really here? How I have wanted you—but it will all come right now.' ' Oh, yes, it will be all right,' she repeated soothingly as one speaks to a frightened child. Yet in fact it was she who wa3 frightened. ' Poor, dear old Dad! she said to heraelf. Seaing him te-day after a year's absence, and eeemg him thus, there came to her in such a flash as reveals to us what we have long lived unrealising, a glimpse of her father as he was. His consistent self-effacement at home his unremitting diligence—taken as a thing of course—among his people, yet something of a cypher in the parish, the agent cf his better half, whose langnid gentleness of manner hid the domination spirit of Boughton village. The whole family sat by whilst Hebe ate some luncheon. Everyone talked at onco, asked questions, and waiting for no answers, asked more—all except the view who silent, watched his daughter with eyes half-vacant, but wholly tender. Hebe tried to feel glad to be home, but she was sad about her father, sick to be back near the shabby house in the Mariensasse; and over all was the haunting dread of coming conflict, •Now, you kids,' said Gny to Judith and Hubert in his lordly elder-brother style,'just make yourselves scarce for a little, and let Hebe and me talk in peace.' He took bia sister's arm and drew her away to the old orchard beyond the lawn, the favouate scene of their b&y and airl •confidences. -\"F^ £e n iila are full of their bicycles, am t they ?' said Gay ; • but Hopecastle's done bettor for me than that-he'a guaranteed Fy ex 'a at Oxford for three years 1 » something like a brother-in-'Ob, don't, Guy,' cried Hebe, involuntarily. ' She;s blushing,' said her brother, bantenngly, «well it isn't unbecoming— '

pity he's not here.' ♦ Don't,' she eaid vehemently, snatching away her arm. 'Oh, Guy, you don't know ' ' I know one thing, Hebe, and that is that you're a monstrous lucky girl, and another thing I know—you're a üßaful sort of sister for a chap to have.' It was on the tip of Hebe's tongue to blurt out her resolve, only for the pain of | damping the family elation in this first hour, ehe must certainly have done it. •Oh do give that subject a rest, Guy,' she sail, pettishly. *lf you know how Bick I am of it.' . 'ln fact you will positively begin to wish you hadn't accepted Hopecastle?' eaid Guy, io. high good numour. CHAPTER 111. The ordeal could not much longer be postponed. Every circumstance of Heba's home coming, erery talk with her family —the vicarage had just now but ene topic—seemed to draw -her -more closely into the meshes of the golden net she had 6et herself to break. It would be never if not now; and with night came the dreaded opportunity. Ati Hebe was brushing her golden hair, fingers drummed lightly upon her door, and her mother, entering, Bank into a chair. ' How delightful it is to have my dear big girl once more at home, and for gocd!' •Perhaps it mayn't be for good, mama,' poor Hebe, and the beating of her heart was as muillad drums. 'Not for long you mean,' corrected her mother smiling; ' ah! but we shall not call that losing you; Boughton Towers isn't so very far away, you know.' •Mama—' began Hebe. •We must get you some new froclts made,' her mother continued, reflectively. * I am afra-.d ycu will have come back dreadfully shabby. Put on the nicest you have to-morrow morning, darling; Lord Hopecastle will certainly bo here early to see you.' ' Mama,' said Hebe again; her lip 3 were diy— 'msma. I must speak to you.' ' Well, darling,' caressingly—' what is itP Hebe's hands tightly interlocked, closed and nnclcssd nervrualy; a cloud of golden hair facing forward as she hung her head half hid her face. ' Mama— f know you will be very—disappointed—very angry, perhaps, at what I am going jto say. I find—l find—l can't marry Lord Hopecastle,' So fell Hebe's bolt: a£d yet the skies did not fa!), too. 'My darling,' queried her msther in gentlest almost cooing tones, ' what is thief 'I can't; I —don't want to —I don't love him,,nmma.' ' But, darling, how can you possibly know anything about that yet ? You see you had been engaged a bare week when you went back to Germany last autumn.' ' Yes, mama—l know—but I hava had ten months to think—and I know, I am quits sure, mema, that I don't love him.' Mrs Carpenter sighed; she disliked the exertion of argument. Hebe mistook the sigh; and pressing an imagined advantage, added pleadingly :' and you wouldn't ask me to marry a man I don't love, would you, mother dear ?' Avoidance of the unpleasant had over been a principle with Mrs Carpenter; and open conflict with her family unknown; how then could Hebe recognise her mother as adamant, disguised in dawn ? 'Most certainly not, dear child,' was the reply, ' all I do ask is that you give yourself time to know your own feelings—' ' Oh, tut I dc—l do know,' crie3'Hebe. ' Heba darling, listen a moment; every nice girl has these doubts ■when Bhe becomes engaged; it is natural to her, and—l should perhaps not say this—it is half a young girl's charm. Believe me, child, I know beet about this matter.' Bat Hebe, in tears now, shook her head. ' Wo, mama, it ißn't as you think.' • What isn't as I think, Hebe f' 'lt—it isn't because I am—shy,'—Hefce flung cut the word : 'it is because I—l love Borne one else.' There fell a little silence; then her mother said lightly,« And may I be told who is this latest suitor ?' Hebe did not miss the sneer. * There is no suitor, mama, sha replied, with childish dignity : * But I love my violinmaster, and I do not love Lord Hopecastle.' ' Oh, my ohiid,' cried her mother in a compassionate tone; * why, every ycung girl falls in love with her music master; only you know, darling, she dossn't marry liaa.' The ghost of a smile on her mother's face did net escape Hebe. 'You are very cruel, mama,' she said passionately; ' I have given you my confidence—and you laugh at me. Father wouldn't have done it—and he wouldn't wish me to marry a man I don't love. I will speak to father to morrow.' ' Promise me, Hebe, promise that you will do no such thing,' Mrs Carpenter spoke low and quickly. ' No, mama, 1 can't promise; and I believe father will be on my side.' ' Oh, yes, he wlil ba ca your side, Habs ; you are his favourite child. And his blood will be on your head—but I daresay you will get over that.' Hebe started up, horror-struck and white. ' Mama, what do you mein!' Her voice came shrill like a scream. 'lf you will listen,' said her mother with subdued vehemence,' I will tell you —you must see that your father is in a bad state of health—l will tell you why. For years and years, Hebe, we have been compelled to live beyond our income, only that you children may be propsily educated. Your father has had to borrow money at a high rate of interest. Lately they have began to press for repayment; and this weighs so much upon him thht I sometimes fear his mind will give way. I have looked to you to save him.' ' But mother,' said Heba brokenly, what can I do ?' (To be continued )