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Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 382, 3 September 1903, Page 2

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CHAPTEB V.—(Continued} When acquaintances discanted admiringly upon her level's devotion and lavish generosity, she would toss her pretty head asd smile as one smiles at truisms ; yet for all this serene indifference it may be doubted whether abe would not have felt as injur ioas the abatement of an iota, omirsion of tha most trivial attention. Having escribed herself, let her at least rave what was to be had, from a crndition of things she had not sought. The cult of the Golden Calf not yet being an anachronism, Hebe had naturally become a personage in her social circle, Alive to potentialities, her young lady friends cviased an i ffectionate desire to improve her acquaintance; and their mamas for whem hitherto Hebe had barely existed, showed her a consideration immensely nattering to a girl fresh from boarding school. At home, Hebe's likes and dislikes, her lightest became of the first importance; and quite shortly she began to play off spoiled princes 3 aiis upon her family in gnat style. Only not upon her father—for him she had nothing but gentleness. Since his daughter's return the vicar had rallied somewhat from his melancholy, and the hour-long contemplation of unpaid accounts; yet that hint of vacancy in hia kind blue eye, a tendency to lose himself in conversation, and to maxe emissions in church, were sad signs for these who noted them. Since Hebe's home-coming night the relative positions of mother and daughter had radically changed. Hebe felt even coldly towards mother; she had no confidence that her f ither's health had been the motive of bis wife's impassioned demand that things he left as they were. Asd the giil had the wit early to perceive the farcical nature of the * month' idea; eveiy hour made the assurance cf her gilded destiny doubly sure;-and stronger than she had succumbed to lees pressure of circumstances, Mrs Carpenter did sot make herself miserable over her daughter's altered. manner, because ate lees felt tenderly to Etb i as her-child, thas adorningly, as the future Lady Hcpecastle. ' Some day,' she had said; ' you will ihank me'; but that day had not yet dawned. But though Hebe bad no* forgotten the sordid house in the M&nen-gasse, it was inevitable that (he should succumb to the obliterating influences cf the present. Is no case would she bave found much time for breeding; what of her time her lover, in his insatiable thirct to be with her would concede, was instantly claimed by family and friends; asd as te Hebe'a nights—the unrcmantic truth is. she slept like a top. CFAPTEE VI. It bad been airanged fcr Lucy Strong to spend the last half cf her holiday at Boughton Vicarage; she left her widowed mother somewhat ailing, and but for- a little maid, was alone in the dreadful little bow-windowed kouse at Brockley that Lucy refused to call * home.' Some mothers might have asked the sacrifice of postponement, some daughters bave voluntarily made it; but neither thing happened, and Lucy, thankful to escape, was duly met at Baronstoke etation by her friend and Knight's one-horse wiggenet'e. Hebe'a pleasure in seeing Lucy was a little alloyed by the prospect cf confessing that her lefey resolve in the matter cf Lotb v. Lucre, had ended in amoke. Lucy, she feared, might not easily credit that unsuccessful struggle with being at least bona fide. *I really haven't chaaged,' declared Hebe that night a little piteously in the confidential hour cf hair-brushing : ' I could not help myself, Lucy.' Lucy laughed ' This is a free country, my dear,' she said lightly, 'but never mind, ycu have doae the wise and cemmos-sense thing, as I knew you would; and Bruchfeld's won't be the first heart broken, nor yet the last.' ' Lucy—if I had been absolutely sure—' ' I am, my dear, but never mind, you bave chosen wisely, and ycu bare my leartiest felicitations.' • But, Lucy,' cried the younger girl in rgitation. ' Lucy, what do you mean ? what makes you ' Lucy gave wise little nods. ' Never mind, darling, she eaid soothir gly,' it won't do any good to know now it was foolish of me—don't let's talk eny more about it. 1 'Lucy, if you love me the least little bit • But Lucy, firm as a rock, was sot to be drawn; and presently yawning, she said good-night, and tripped eff to her room. As for Hebe, she sobbed herself to Bleep. Lucj quickly found her niche in the vicar a e he euehold j hers was a personality impressing people variously; but at least no one ever remained unaffected by it. Hubert declared her the ' j oiliest girl,' and t -at Guy fell & victim at the outset was amply proved by hia rapturous appre.iation of ber sallies—the little woman had a lively wit —asd forgetfulness to make any himself. Mere, be wa? content* to be her butt, and laid himself out, so to speak, to be trampled on. When he could get a moment alone with her he tried his prentice hand' at making love, ealj the more hotly that opportunities

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ABESNGEMENT. LADY HOPECASTLE.

BY E. Reld-Mathesoa.

CWYBIGHT, were Ecarce; and the fact that she laughed and called him'silly boy,' served but to pique him into deeper infatuation. Judith, a rather uncompromising young person, appeared to be reserving her opinion. 'I can't gush to new people' bad been her retort when Guy, impatient that everyone did not see with his eyes, had taken her to task for bluntness. The Vicar liked Hebe's friend; she paid him numberless pretty little attentions, and when he remarked to his wife that Lucy was a nice bright girl she appeared to agree with him. But though Mrs Carpenter cooed over Lucy, as it was ber wont te do, and Lucy cooed in return, a secret, unconfeased, but spontaneous antagonism had existed between them from the first meeting of their eyes. The day after Lucy's arrival at Boughton, Lord Hopecastle, riding over early, was duly presented. Hebe had epoken to him of Lucy as her ' dearest friend,' to which term Hopecastle, as a sincere and rather matter-of-fact young man, bad accorded a construction more literal than most people's. He consequently considered Lucy with seme attention, if covertly. She was sot pretty, but that naturally considered him little; she seemed vivacious, and he liked vivacity; ladylike and modest, which he approved still more; and she had that mest excellent thing in woman, a low soft voice. But—though he would have found it hard to explain—he was not quite prepared with a favorable verdict. Was it some dim suspicion of disingenue u-mess which troubled him, or merely the high standard he set for the'dearest friend' of his future wife. Next day, half-playfully, Hebe taxed her lover with this when they were riding. Probably she meant no more than to hear him swear for the fiftieth time that all women, except one, were alike indifferent to him. If so she was successful, but also she succeeded in awakening a compunction sot altogether barren of result. Upon their return Lucy was standing intfce wide stone porch, the daintiest little figure, and something wistful, One small hand enclosed sugar for the horses and Lucy could not tire of petting them asd murmuring pretty doting words, ■ ' Ob, Hebe, how I envy you this!' she said, layisg her cheek against Lacy Helen's warm satin seek. ' Isn't she a dear ?' Hebe was in one of her sunniest moods; having delivered hereelf of her dreaded cenfession to Lucy, and wept for a good hour over her hopeless love, she was experiescing the benefit of reaction, asd brought an easier mind to enjoyment of the good the gods had provided. * Isn't she a dear ? You shall ride her, Lucy, Lord Hopecastle will take you—won't you, Arthur J" What was there for Hopecastle to say but * delighted ?' and how could he neglect this first chance of atonement ? All the same, the prospect of playing cavalier to a lady who probably could not ride was a trial to him. Hebe, it is true, was as yet no great horsewoman, but she toak hia hints for the most part sweetly, and was improving every day—and besides, she was Hebe. Having pledged his word, Hopecastle saw Lucy in imagination Bitting twothirds on the near side of her horse, showing a foot of daylight in the trot, hanging on to the curb—in short committing every flagrancy open to the tyro equestrienne. All this in imagination—nothing of it is fact. Lucy sat her mount fair and squarely, and nev6r once harrassed the littlo mare by lulling at her. In his relief Hopecastle began to feel almost amiable. '~Do ycu like it?' he asked her wh;n they had settled down to walk. •Like itP It's diviae—but please. Lord Hopecastle, do tell me what I do wrong, won't you V He laughed, phased at her pleasure •« I don't think you want much telliag,' he said; 'this isn't the first time you've ridden, Mibb Strong.' ' I used to ride some year 3 ago when I was a little girl and poor papa was vicaof Oxbury.' It was perfectly crux—only the animal had belonged not to «poor papa' but to the village butcher, with whom thevieur's little daughter had enjoyed high favour. ' Poor papa,' a man of unfulfilled promise, bad early claimed the birthright alike cf sage and sot, by drinking himself into bis grave; leaving a sweet-natured feckless widow, and a daughter of fourteen on the hands of sot too enchanted relatives. 'Asd dos't you get asy riding now,' asked Hopecastle. 'No, never.' ' But that seems-a great pity.' • Thank you' (she was acknowledgisg a sympathetic it flexion is his tone); 'I feel it a pity; but you see governesses at £25 a year can't quite expect saddle horses.* And Luey laughed. Hopecastle looked at her with dawning admiration in his eyes, how pluckily she took her hard lises ! ' Whea we get to the top here you shall have a gocd gallop,'ho said,' long ago, Milcote Down, as ttey call it, waa used as a race course, and I etill train my yousg horses there—you'll e-i j-y a gallop, won't you?' Lucy answered him with her eyes. Breasting the hill, ehey came out upos a wide tract of opes moor-like country, commanding a panoramic view of hill and

valley, cornland, wood and pasture; with here aad there a Beetling hamlet, and the Epira orltower of its parish church. ' Here's the best course,' said Hopecastle, tnrnißg <ff the road on to a turfy track, ' Now, I shall leave you to set the pace—just keep a look-out for occasional rabbit-holes, that's all.' A. sparkle came into Lucy's eyes. She shook her reins lightly, and the little mare leaped to her stride. Away, to the music of thudding hoofs on the summer turf, and the summer breeze whistling in their ears; away past heather, and red-brown bilberry clumps, and gold-blooming gorse. Hopecastle keeping slightly behind, noted with the horseman's appreciative eje that the small figure on Lady Helen sat sb though it and the mare, centaurlike, were one, ' Steady now,' he called, as the ground began, to slope pretty steeply away. •Well,' as they slowed down, '.that was quite a good spin.' 'lt was divine. I wish it could have lasted for ever.' 1 she laughed; ' but I'm afraid you won't quite agree.' 'Not quite,' raid Hopecastle; he was -, fflicted with a tendency to be truthful; 'but it was very jolly—and it is a pleasure to ride with so good a horsewoman. ' Lucy threw a gra L eful glance. •Do I ride nearly as well as Hebe ?' she asked, naively. Hopecastle hesitated, * Yon ride better,' adding quickly: ' You Bee, Hebe has not had much practice yet.' ' And you are not ashamed to go out with me in this get-up ?' ' What do you mean ?' he said, wondering what he was supposed to say. 'Why, this is Hebe's skirt, but her bodice is rather like a sack on me, so I have to wear my own coat. I'm such a ridiculously little person, you see.' ' Oh, well, size is not everything,' said Hopecastle rather awkwardly, trying to steer between the Seylla of rudeness and the Charybdis of ever so slight an implied disloyalty to tbe absent beioved. Besides, he did not as a rule admire little womer. ' You and H6be were great friends at school, weren't you P' he went ob, chiefly for something to say. * Oh, y6s; Hebe and I were very good friends; she used to want soma one as a confidante, and I did as well a3 anyone else.' Something in her tone rather disappointed Hopecastle; and the little lauph at the end even irritated him. ''/ he confidences were't reciprocal then ?' he said, rather st'ffl/ v ' Oh, well, you see, I hadn't any of the same sort to make.' Lucy laughed again and threw up her chin with a mischievous little air of reservation. It suddenly dawned upon Hopecastle that he must have been the subject of these confidence?, and his brow cleared. ' I should like to have been an invisible listener,' he said jestingly. Lucy bit her lip. « I don't quite know that you would,' she eaid, turning her head away. • You irean that listeners don't often hear much good of themselves V 'Oh/ cried Lucy, naively, 'it wasn't about you—oh dear/ pulling herself up suddenly, 'how stupid I ami' Hopecastle waE silent; Lucy venturing a] glance at bim saw that be looked gloomy. 'lt was so stupid of me,' she repeated, as though to herself. Hopecastle sniffed. ' Fine view from here, isn't there ?' he said, rather shortly. 'Levi/ —10-d Hopecast'e, now I've said so much I'd better Kay a little more, or you will thiak, . . . perhaps——' ! Oh no, ne v*r isiEd,' he said: ' I would rather not hesr young kdies' confidences' 'lt's r6ally nothing, Hebe fancied herself in leve with her violin master, and made me the repository of her ravings—that's all.' • Hopecastle rode on silent, with a dark face. 'lt was really nothing,' assured Lucy; ' merely a school-girl. adoration—she'll probably forget all about him in a couple of months.' ' You don't give your friend a very high. charecter,' said Hebe's lover gloomily. ' Oh, indeed, 1 wouldn't say anything against Hebe for worlds: she is very sweet fnd vary charming; it isn't her fault that she is adaptalla, too.' 'I don't (iaite follow ycu,' said Hopecastle, st illy. •Hew sha'l I put it?—l only meanwell, that propir quity counts for more in the case of seme people than in ttat of others.' • Yes ? and ?' ' Well, present influences would bs more powerful with them than—than absent ones; that's all.' And Lucy laughed at the tamenesß of her climax. •You seem great upon metaphysics,' Miss Strong.' * Now,' she said, * you are angry with me and yet I don't Know what I have dene —but for that unlucky slip—' She looked at him almost pleadingly, but he would not meet her eyes. *I am certainly not angry with you, Misb Strong, how should I be ?' 4 1 wouldn't mind some people's anger,' she began, then stopped as though in confusion. The last part of that ride was rather silent, and Lucy saw that her word 3 rankled. Only aB they turned in at the gate of the vicarage glebe, she said softly. 'Thank you for perhaps the greatest pleasure I ever had, Ljrd Hopscaatle.' Hopecastle put his hand to his cap. * TheVleasure has been on the other side,' he replied with sulky politeness, and again Lucy bit her lip. That ride, by Hebe's gener sistence, was the first of several. CHAPTER VII. The subject which had cropped up so infelicitously on Milcote Down had come to H3pecastle &a a dreadful revelation; he was not the man to regard lightly a matter trenching upon the sacred ground of his iif ections. Nor, to one so punctilious, could it bring balm to be told that propirquity waß evorything in Hebe's case; for he recognised no modification of his own—the straiteßt—code of honour. His first impulse had been to approach Hebe upon the Eubject, bub he had quickly rejected it a3 impossible, if not insulting. And besides, such to him was the magnetism of Hebe's personality, that when with her the trouble faded as nightmare horrors in morning sunlight. In time the impression weakened in his mind; and Lucy had made no effort to revive it; indeed in her subsecjuent tete-a-tates with Hopecastle she led the conversation as little in Hebe's direction aB waß compatible with riding with that young lady's ardent lover. (To be continued.)