THE ICE MAIDEN.

Patea Mail, Volume VIII, Issue 1036, 18 May 1883, Page 4

THE ICE MAIDEN.

LITERATURE.

( Continued.) The girl’s slight form shook in an agony of convulsive weeping; but she looked up at Randolph Ferguson, and even through her tears, for the first time since he bad known her, Randolph saw an expression of something like passion in her face as she said—- “ You will be true to me, you will love me always as I love you, my Randolph.” And her aching, weary head sank on his shoulder, where in future it would find peace. She was his, he had conquered. Broadlands and its mistress would henceforth call him master. There was a look rather of triumph than of love in his eyes, as he bent over Joyce and kissed her brow ; but the tone of deep feeling in which he whispered —“ True to you always till death, my darling,” left nothing to be desired. In the midst of death, however, Joyce’s future marriage could not be discussed, nor was it even announced. For a year sbc would not hear a word spoken about it in public | the servants and the neighbours guessed, however, pretty shrewdly how matters were likely to end, since Joyce and Randolph Ferguson were now almost constantly together, and the way in which she looked up to him, asked for his opinion, dwelt on his smallest word, showed pretty plainly that the lee Maiden had a heart hidden away, though it was like the fire under Heela’s snows. Thus passed some months, when, for business connected, with the squire’s will, it was considered that Mrs Clavering and Joyce should pay a visit of some weeks to London. Captain Ferguson, owing to regimental duties, could not accompany -them, but be bad promised to run up and see them occasionally. “ Suppose we were to meet Agnes in London, mother, dear, would you be glad or sorry ?” asked Joyce, as they were travelling up in the train. Mrs Clavering hesitated, and grew very sad before she answered. Her heart yearned for her sister and her sister’s child, but as she remembered the clear dead squire, and the insults he had received from Captain Sinclair, it seemed as if she conld never forgive him for the injuries he had inflicted, .the ingratitude he had shown. “ Say you would be glad to see Agnes, mother dear,” pressed Joyce , “ it wbifid be so nice to be able to feel we had forgiven every thing and everybody; besides, dear Agnes has never harmed us.” “ No, except that she is her father’s child, I have nothing against Agnes, only a sort of presentment tells me, Joyce, that we shall be happier if we do not renew this acquaintance.” “ An acquaintance with Agnes, and a presentment! Oh, mother, bow can you talk like that ? I would give the whole world to see Agnes again.” Arrived in London, however, the longed-for meeting with Agnes was for a time forgotten. Joyce was too much taken up with business matters, shopping, &c., to give many thoughts to the cousin she had not, seen for years. Besides, there are those long daily missives Jo Randolph Ferguson to be written, and in her communications with him, both by word and letter, Agnes Bad for a long time ceased to be mentioned. Owing to her deep mourning, of churse Mrs Clavering did not go into society, but Joyce was ■ not quite so strictly at home, and accompanied by friends or relations, she occasionally went into the park, which, in the month of July, as it was, looked at its best, and was still very full. She was sitting there one afternoon, looking about her in a dreamy, only half interested way, while the lady she was with was talking to an acquaintance, when suddenly her attention was arrested by hearing the name. of Agnes Sinclair mentioned by some people who were sitting behind her, “ She, does look ill,” said a man ; “ I never saw any one so changed. Why, I danced with her only a few months ago arid she was the prettiest girl in the room ; now she is a mere shadow. Look at her, over there, sitting by that tree. Is she in a consumption ?” Joyce looked across in the direction to which he alluded, and saw a fragile looking girl, dressed all in white, whose flaxen hair and large blue eyes at once awakened a childish memory.. She sprang up, and was about to rush forward ’ and claim her cousinship with Agnes, when the next sentence uttered by the talkers kept her rooted, as though spell-bound to the chair. “ Randolph Ferguson I that is the name of poor little Agnes Sinclair’s disease,” was the answer; “if ever a man has behaved like a scoundrel, its Ferguson.” “ Going to marry an heiress, is be not!” ’ “ Yes, a Miss Clavering. She is no beauty, and Beauty Ferguson, with an rigly woman always by his side, does seem an anomaly, but then, of course, she has got lots of coin.” “ Meanwhile, that pretty girl’s heart is broken.” “ Ay ! So runs the world away.” The two men passed from the spot where they had been standing, little guessing what would be the effect of their few random words. One of them was Mr Fox, and had he glanced round, he must have recognised Joyce; but, intent on Agnes, with whom he was more than half in love, he thought of no one else. For a minute or two Joyce sat there, holding her hands very tightly together, to keep herself from screaming ; rigid, pale and stern, she looked the very Ice Maiden men said she was, but few would have undergone with such apparent calmness the intensity of suffering that was racking her heait, even to breaking. At last the lady she was with looked round, and her exclamation of “ Joyce, ihy child, would you like to go home ?” showed that the expression on the girl’s face was a painful one. “ Home ? Yes—directly, please. I just want to speak to some one first.”

She got up, steadied herself for one moment by the chair, and then, with a firm and even tread, she walked straight up to the tree under which Agnes Sinclair was sitting. “ I am your cousin, Joyce Clavering,” she said ; “ I should much like to have a talk with you, if you will tell me where you are living.” Agnes gave a suppressed scream, and covered her face with her hands, when she heard herself accosted by this cousin, whom love for Randolph Ferguson had made her hate. Poor little Agnes ! she had neither the power of endurance nor the capability tor concealing her feelings that Joyce had. She was quickly amenable, however, to Joyce’s stronger nature, for she put clown her hands and looked up at her with her large eyes, when-Joyce said, in low but positive tones—- “ Don’t be foolish, Agnes; I only wish to be your friend, and that right and justice should exist between us; tell me where yon live.” “ In Sloane street,” was the answer, giving a number. “ I will come to-morrow morning at ten; can you see me alone ?” “ Yos r marnuia,is never down so early, and papa hns%criefaliy-gone out.” She reached home just in time to dress for dinner, went through that ordeal bravely, sat tete-a-tete ’ with her mother through a long evening, reading, talking to her, trying to amrisober, only by .an occasional shadow that passed across her brow could Mrs Clavering have suspected . that all was not quite right with her. In the solitude of her own chamber, however, did tbe pent-up storm, burst forth, and Joyce spent the night in paroxysms of wild tears. When morning dawned, she was*"still in her evening dress, and the circles about her eyes, her red and swollen face, startled her as she caught sight of them in a glass. She plunged her Ihead into cold water, and after a while got into bed, ibrit riot to sleep. How could she sleep, with the gaunt figure of Randolph’s falseness for ever stalking"lank before her eyes. Butsperhaps,- after all, what she had heard might not be true —a very few hours would decide ; at ten o’clock she would make Agues tell her all the tmthr—She must be composed and brave for the interview, and try to prevent all traces of, her recent tears from being seen. “ Where can Miss Joyce be ! Where is Miss Joyce ?” asked Mrs Clavering repeatedly during the .morning. She had grown fretful since the squire’s death, and jnoreoverj Joyce’s absence filled her'w'ith foreboding. Before luncheon time Joyce returned, accompanied by Agnes, whom she thrust into Mrs Clavering’s arms, exclaiming— “ I have brought back your long-lost second daughter, mamma.” * ? - : Mis Clavering received Agnes affectionately, yet it could scarcely be said that she was altogether delighted to see’ her ; she could ribt shake off a dread which; Agnes’ coming seemed to bring. Dread of she knew not what, for Randolph Ferguson’s name was never mentioned, and, as the two girls stood arm in arm before, it did not seem as if any clouds darkened the happiness of. their reunion. “We will go .back to Broadlands in a day or two, dear mother, and take Agnes with ns, shall we not ? I have seen my uncle, and not rested till' I have obtained his consent,” How could Mrs Clavering withhold hers ? And before tbe week was out they all three started for Broadlands. The meeting with her cousin, the fuss of departure, seemed to have revived Agnes, for- she ddbked/muph; brighter and more cheerful than she had done for weeks. The two girls seemed quite sisterly in their affection. Joyce, who was frirolder than AgrieS in habits and thought,:laying Ja sort of protection arm about her fragile cousin, that was almost maternal in its care. They were in the garden together sitting among the roses, when Randolph Ferguson made an unexpected appearance. He had no missive from Joyce'for days, except one curt one,, saying she had returned .to Broadlands, and he had come over to enquire why she bad of late been so idle with her pen. The death-like pallor that overspread bis countenance when he saw these two cousins together told Joyce, without need of Auestioris, all she wanted to know of the love affair with Agnes as far as he was concerned. It was quite true, then, he did love Agnes, loved her as Joyce saw now he had never loved herself. It was a bitter, bitter lesson she was being taught, but she took the teaching bravely, and was »he most self-composed of three. In fact, with the exception of Joyce, no one attempted to speak. She told Captain Ferguson she wished to have a word with him in private, and leaving Agnes, half fainting on her seat in the rose arbor,- they strolled down a side path together. “ Forgive me, Joyce—forgive me,” he began, brit she stopped him. 1 “ No vain excuses, if you please, Captain Ferguson. As far as you and I are concerned everything is at an end. Thank God, our engagement has never been announced publicly, and I have thus been able to ..assure that poor child that no engagement has ever existed at all.” ..U.-', “Yon, Joyce—you have told her this.?”. “Yes, it is a lie, is it not ? and according to your highly honourable code, liars should be" shunned, that is, people who tell lies; those who act them only are honourable men.” “ Ob Joyce ! Spare me !” “ Spare you ; yes, on one condition. THat you make a good husband to Agnes Sinclair.” “ I —l many Agnes ! It is impossible ! Sinclair would never consent.” “ Oh, yes, he will when I tell him that out of my fortune I intend to give the bride a dot.” “ Joyce I” it was all he conld murmur, for he dai’ed not force his suit to herself ; she was so cold and stern with, him how could he guess how much she

loved him, or what dreary years of life this sacrifice will cost her ? She laid her hand on his arm. “ Do not attempt to thank me for this release, or in fact to discuss the subject any further ; only promise that never by word or sigh will yon let Agnes know that there has ever been seriously any question-of > marriage between you and me—and then go and join her.” “ I promise.” he said, lowering his head as one ashamed. And* she turned and left him, going down alone into the woods, to carry her great sorrow away from every sight and touch. She had gained the soubriquet of the Ice Maiden—she meant fully to earn it. Towards evening she came back. The, lovers were still loitering among the roses ; Agnes turned to meet her, toying with a flower, leaving the captain brooding over the events of that day. Mrs Clavering was knitting, sitting alone in the drawing-room. “ Where have yon been this long time, Joyces—where is Agnes ? she asked fretfully. ‘‘ Agnes is with Randolph, in the garden ; in a few months she will be his wife. And I, dearest mother, well I have been making up the match.” “ You, Joyce; I thought yon were gbirig to, marry Randolph yourself. Your father wished it.” A momentary shade passed over Joyce’s brow, but she answered gaily : “ Hearts will not always be controlled by fathers’ wills, my mother. Those twoliave gone out towards each other, while mine is content to dwell with you here at dear old Broadlarids for life.” “ And yon mean never to marry, my Joyce ? lam getting old and weary, and shall soon die.” Joyce leant over her and kissed her. “ You will live many—many long, days for my sake, mother. Henceforth, I have no one to love but yon.”