THE PRIDE OF THE MORAYS.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 18, Issue 31, 16 April 1907, Page 7

THE PRIDE OF THE MORAYS.

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Bv MAURICE SCOTT, 'Asth*- of "The Mark of the Broad Arrow, etc. etc. PART 1, CHAPTER I, WOODING WELLS. 'A' coo.aiiWe.bc* auiovint of that od-CAMoa.<Uly-ust!/u! commodity had ft&kUid in the family from time ira- . m«aiM>rUJ-«ofttiw.- IW Ao t to the 'iisadvaaUtf*! of Uo* persona most concerned. Kor witit th» .MVAyH, pride ia-ad over beer. A .sort of fetish, to be bo>vi'd before ,\nd vorsoJppwl ; u> satisfy wbo»! eUitm. .ntsry « 0 /ter attribute, such At, 1 0 V6, [Hu'waUl *xid filial aJiection, v-ve.o *.imriUon, muni g\yt, way. t 'J"ho Pride of the Morays! To ioer. i-I appoAi-coous, oouoaai rim text of diminishing !«v<»ui;e*; toe tnowiedfcv ihu'i, for !aok of tue restorer'? Aid—which j-uonoy .vloao could pu<-ihase-Uio due old house which had vixw, long ago, given sbo iter to the k/'r.:( ,-nd A small army of dejxsuleats ami liK.-mbeii of The dan, was 'ju soiv of falling about: the cars of i ho last of the rat'.*!, and his one) fair daughter, both yl uhom raged n !iem.> buttle against adverse ciretrai- ! stances, .tiiO. carried their hoadfl as haughtily ».& did the Morays of aneiem, days. Hut the battle was won, the storm and stress over; for now the bells of St. Margaret's, Westminster, were nugifig a joyous peal to celebrate the marriage of pretty Barbara Mo- • riiy fo nm of London's lions, Sir Talbot '.Muster. And for this cause Barbara and her father left the old house in Edinburgh—which the bridegroom had promised to restore to its former splendour—ami had boon staying with a sister of Sir Malcolm Moray's at Buckingham Gate, who had practically engineered the mar-

rijige. Mrs. Gore Ritchie was not without her share of the family failing, but with her, pride took a more practical turn. She had married well," and •U wn.s she. who had gone down to Edinburgh and defiantly braved her brother by. carrying pretty Barbara to London, and devoting herself with untiring energy to her niece's settlement in life.

In vain had both Barbara and the easy-goiiig Malcolm protested. "Rubbish and nonsense!" had been Mrs. Gore-Ilitchie's announcement. "There are two kinds of pride—pride that sil.s lazily twiddling its thumbs allowing everything to go to rack and ruin ; and the pride which refuses to accept ruin, which puts its back to the wall, and makes a fight for its existence. And if the Morays are not to die out in poverty and ignominy, Barbara must marry a

wealthy man." "But, .Janet, I fear she does not love Sir Talbot," pleaded Barbara's father.

"She is young enough to learn to love him. At any rate she is hoartwhole, and every bride cau't say as

much nowadays." Yes, Mrs. Gorc-Ititchie spoke truly Barbara. Moray was hearl-wholo. From the time «ho was brought i'rom school to stand at the bedside' of her dearly-beloved and dying mother, to be admonished to obey her father in all tilings, and to honour and revere the mum; shu bore above all.other considerations, Barbara had passed almost the life of a recluse in the old house near the Oanongate—her only companion lier father, who lived in the past; her ono recreation to wander about the grounds of Helyrood, or to mount -Arthur's Seat and watch the mists rolling and enveloping (he grey old city, every stone of which sho loved. Barbara, on her wedding morn, was twenty, lithe, svelte, graceful as a fawn, sure-footed as a mountain goat. Without, actual beauty, a nameless charm dwelt in Iter clear, grey eyes, her short, well-formed nose, her somewhat wide, though perfectly-cut mouth, with its two rows of faultless teeth. Her head was poised in regal fashion—as befitted a descendant of the ill-starred Stuarts—and crowned with superb masses of deepred hair, while her complexion had (hat fascinating pallor so often the :i."conip;m ; inrnt, of ruddy locks. And as Mrs. Gorc-llitehie's adept maid skilfully arranged the orange blossoms ami draped the veil over thu straying curls, which would, in spite of all efforts persist in displaying themselves in "admired disorder," Barbara now trembled at the o.ileal before her—wondered whether she were not committing a sin in allowing list* aunt's vehement insist(uce and her father's plaintive arguments to ■prevail on her to marry Sir Talbot. Hester, in order that the House of Moray might be rehabililalul, and hold up its head proudly, as in the days of yore. For tkough as yet, Eros had not peiiet rated her armour, Barbara 1- n >w her heart hold no love for her bridegroom-elect, nor could she without hesitation accept Mrs. GoreHi telwe's assurance that a temperate nlfection, founded on respect, was the most, solid basis for a Happy marriage. Sir Talbot was handsome (of. n type), reputedly wealthy, and not obtrusively demonstrative in his lovenuiWng; and yet pretty Barbara trembled as she spoke the words binding her irrevocably to .be his wife; and as the organ pealed forth the immortal "Wedding March," and the bells rang out a merry peal, her lips turned cold, her heart was as a block of ice- within its environment of ivory satin and priceless old lace. Again and again had she repented her promise—again and again had she appealed to her aunt to plead for its remission—only to be met with indignant reminders of the scandal ensuing from a broken engagement. And as the pride of the Mornys carried her to the altar, and sustained her on leaving it, when an apprehension, hcfcvy as the hand of Heath, lay on her soul. Talbot Hester smiled with croud

g>atif.cation at the "troops of '•'ends who crowded the church. A Malt, well,built man of thirtv-liv-|he looiked older by, reason of the swarthiness of his skin, the intense blackness of his thick, closely-crop-ped hair, a nd intense, glittering eyes. His birth was obscure, but un-impeachable-otherwise he had wed- | ed no daughter of the House of Moj way—his title conferred on him for | diplomatic service i n the colonies, j his wealth reputed solid and unshakejablo. Such a man could well afford jto marry where he listed; and I hough , Sir Malcolm would have preferred to !, give his "bairn" to an impoverished I scion of the ancient nobility, his j more practical sister turned his pride towards the restoration of his j house, only to be accomplished through the medium of a man such as Sir Talbot Hester. And only after, the words were spoken, after the healths had been drunk, after the bridegroom laid his lips upon her own with all the con- | fldencc of possession, did Barbara realize what she had done. Love and uuirriage had, until she came to London, been far ' from her though Is. She, too, had lived in the past, dreamed away the days in wondering over the stories related of the unj happy Mary Stuart, or in wandering j m reality, as also in imagination, j over the grouno trodden by Jearmie' j ;uid Eftic Deans. But into her own Jil'e the blind god had never entered, and her punt recognizing the weak «pot in ha'r .armour had given her no lime for reflection, no opportunity to look further afield. And, trained from infancy to render perfect obedience to her elders, she had yielded herself, in scant realization of what she did. Now. she knew. The truth was on her finger. She had written '• Barbara Moray "- for the last time, and then that masterful touch of her husband's strong, white hands, that passionate kiss, had all at once turned the unsophisticated girl into a woman. A woman, now with blood in her veins frozen with horror—a revulsion against the man calling her "wife." As'she lied up the broad staircase to change her bridal dress she was overcome by a state of panic —a wild, desire to run away, away anywhere, and hide, conceal herseif for ever from this mar. to whom she had been sold body and soul. Yes, sold. Aunt Janet set forth that only persons of ignoble birth or unlimited fortune could afford to wait until love entered their lives. The possessor of a noble name must sacrifice everything—even every human impulse—to preserve it from /discredit, to promote its dignity. And so because of her name she must endure to the end. "I beg your pardon, Miss—my \ lady,"- .Hammered the maid, "but j there's a-woman—l can't take it on j myself Lo say she's a lady-asking to seo you, and won't take no denial. She's one of the sort that looks as if she'd wait and speak to you at j the carriage door, Miss Bar— my lady, an' so I thought " "Some one to see me! Did she not give you her name?" "She said you wouldn't know it, I my lady." "I—l wonder what I ought to do, Carter? Where is Aunt Janet?" "In the drawing-room with Sir Talbot and the guests, my lady. -Johnson who spoke to the young person in the hall when she came in—the door being open—give it as hia opinion as somebody 'ad better see her. He looks upon her as the sort of young woman who'll kick up a shine if she's not pacified." " 'Pacified!' •'Explain yourself Carter.'' I Its not easy, my lady;'' and Carter reddened with annoyance at havallowed her tongue to get .the better of her discretion. "I desire you to do so, easy ,or otherwise." "Certainly, m'lady. Jonnson Johnson thought the young person might have—have been acquainted—with—with Sir Talbot—previously, my lady. Gentlemen will do these things, m'lady, and not gentlemen only, ft s I said to Johnson " "Show the person here, Carter, immediately." "Yes, m'.laey. My! I wouldn't be in his shoes if she finds out anything," whispered Carter to the footman as he ushered the "young person " up iho richly-carpeted stairs. CHAPTER 11. THE OOING-AWAY COSTUME OF REDDISH-BROWN. Barbara, Lady Hester, had drawn a long brc,ath as the maid left the room, and then walked to the window, and looked out over the park, where the sun, which had shane but •iitl'uUy during the bleak, November day, was now setting in a haze of yellow fog, gathering more thickly as the minutes flew, threatening to envelop London in gloom ere the evening boat train could carry herself and husband away on their journey to a fairer clime.

Her husband! Sho shivered at the word, and then turned to face the young person whom Carter was ushering in at the door. Barbara eyed her visitor with curious interest. A girl 0 f slender proportions and lissom figure, with good features and auburn hair showing a tinge of red—not -unlike Barbara's own. But the hat crowning it was painfully shabby and her general appearance poor and pinched, and Barbara's tender heart went out to one with whom—though apparently but little older than herself—had, to judge by appearances, dealt so hardly. "You asked for me," she said, kindly. "Please sit down. You look tired and ill. I fear the stairs have proved trying—this room is so high up. Rest a moment, and then tell m'o can do for ysu." For the strange visitor put her hand to her side as though in pain, and now, when she spoke, her eyes were filled with tears. '•'lt ain't so easy as I thought it would be," she said, betraying a strong American accent throughout her pronunciation. "And it seems I am too late t© do any good, anyway If -I'd got here before the—the ceremony, now -" Barbara's eyes were kindling, half in sympathy, half in indignation,

tnough tlie tauer leeuxig was not directed towards the woman to whom she spoke.

"It is never'too late to do good," she said. "You must tell me w hy you came—even after the ceremony—and let me judge for myself, perhaps for you."

The girl hesitated a moment, and then burst out:

"I read in the London News that he (Talbot) was going to marry, a young and lovely girl. And—and "my sister said it would be a sin to let him marry her without first telling her the sort of man he was. Then* if she liked to risk it, it was none ol our business. Ami s 0 I came across; guess I reached too late. You've got to lind out for yourself now, my lady."

"1 am n o t sure of that." Barbara suddenly assumed a tone of mastery. The pride of the Morays asserted its domination, and the we'aker vessel quailed as she spoke. "You have said too much to leave yourself unexplained.- Y o u must tell me what you would have revealed—before the ceremony." "Will you believe me?" came in faltering tones. "I think so. Your face is honest. What is your name?"

"Alison Stannil'orlhf" "You are American?""Yes. I landed at Tilbury from New York this' morning. And between getting from Tilbury to Een-j'hurch-street., and from Fcnchurchstreet here, I readied too late. They don't run special cars for steerage passengers," she concluded, bitterly. "You came in the steerage."

"I guess I hardly look like a saloon passenger, my lady." "And—and do I understand that your object in taking such a journeywas to—to " .^<f

"To warn the woman whom Sir Talbot Hester had got into his clutches that she was marrying a villain!" burst out the girl, with fierce vehemence;—"one whose miscalled love could only break the heart of any, "

u Wait!" interposed Barbara, with a calm insistence, to which the American responded without protest. "Let me remind you time is pressing. The oarriage will be shortly at the door, and I warn you {hat on what you say lies the responsibility of whether or not I take my place within it beside my husband. Leave wild denunciation, and come to facts You have known Sir Talbot Hester?" "Yes, to my cos-t. I have a child of which he is— Wait, my lady! I was no light o' love. He tricked me by a pretended marriage." "Prove what you say. I believe you; but in justice to the man whose name I have taken I must have proof."

Barbara seemed to have gained the experience of a lifetime in one short hour. She looked at the letters, and at a roughly-taken snapshot of a boy of about three years old, and turned sick at seeing her husband's features unmistakably reproduced. "Where is Harristown?" she asked. "In the Canadian North-West," replied the other. "He, Talbot, had no title when I first met him in Ottawa; he was a minor official of the Government. I was eighteen then, and some said—pretty."- She laughed. "And, you went away with him—to Harristown ?"• "Yes; to be married, There's the certificate." She laughed again, a laugh that went to Barbara's heart. "ißut—but did you not " "My lady,"- interrupted the girl, "think! I was onlji eighteen. Harristown ,was then a collection of log huts and farms built by their occupiers. There was no church, no clergyman. A man read the marriage service between us. Talbot told me the man was a registrar. That he couldn't marry me in Ottawa because the Government discouraged marriage among the under officials. I loved him, I trusted him; and when he grew weary of me he told me that the man who married us was a "tough," who'd imprisoned the registrar for ten dollars, and that the certificate by which I set such store wasn't worth the paper it was written on."

The girl's words rang true. The letters in Sir Talbot's handwriting, the fhani certificate, all bore out her statement.

For a minute Barbara stood silently looking out into the fast-increas-ing gloom. Then she turned, switched on the electric lights, drew the curtains, and came over to 'Alison Stanniforth's side.

"You are speaking the truth?" she asked.

"As God is my witness," was the firm reply. Barbara looked earnestly into the unfaltering eyes and then spoke rapidly. "I believe you, and will prove to you that your errand has not been fruitless. You must wear my goingaway dress, and when I am called, must go down and take ycur seat in' the carriage beside the man who should be—who shall be your husband.'-' She brought a dress of reddishbrown cloth, laid it down beside Alison Stanniforlh, and began quickly to remove her elaborate wedding dress; but the other quailed at* the enormity of the suggestion. "My lacy, ! I'm afraid—l dare not.' "Why are you afraid ? Have you exaggerated—misrepresented ?' '• "No ; as I hope for mercy." "Then do as I say. You have taken the responsibility of telling me this hideous story—this monstrous crime on the part of the man I have married. Do you suggest that after I can go to him with the same trust and" "Oh, Why did I come ! Why did I come ! " wailed Alison St'anniforth wringing her hands. "Could I have seen you previous to the ceremony"— "The carriage is at the door my lady," announced Carter, half-open-ing the portiere of the anteroom "And Sir Malcolm" "Come back, in ten minutes, Carter, by which time I shall be quite ready' and you can show this lady out as I go down. Quick," she continued, "for there is not a moment to lose ! We are much of a height, anc. your hair has a dash of red." Overpowered by a stronger will, 'AHsoa yielded,' in fiv e minutes the

interchange was cltected, and Alison stood attired in a smart going-away dress, whilst Barbara wore Alison's coat and skirt. Then Barbara, sitting at a desk, wrote rapidly :

"This woman is, in the sight of Cod, your wife—not I. I take it you prefer there should be no public scandal, therefore I leave it to you to suggest and carry out a plan whereby our unconsummatcd union can be quietly, annulled, for before Heaven I swear you shall never call me wife. Do justice to the woman whom you have so heinously wronged, and free my name from the contamination of your own.

"Barbara Moray."

She folded the sheet within an envelope.

"When Sir Talbot recognizes you give him this," she cried ; --and write to me at I. hardly know. 1 cannot return to Edinburgh."

The pride of the Morays ! How to avert publicity—disgrace ! "Sir Malcolm begs you will come," spoke Carter's voice. "There is barely time to catch the boat-train, my lady."

"I am quite ready. Good-bye, Mrs. Stanniforlh. I am glad-yes, very glad—to have seen you. BA, East Eourteenth-stree t, New York. Thank you ; I think I shall remember. Carter, the door for Mrs. Stanniforlh."

The two women grasped hands ; lips were silent, but eyes said a good deal. The maid heard her young mistress's voice, ar.d saw the graceful figure in red-brown descend the stairs thickly veiled. ( 0 ] K . embraced in the hail-now filled with fog-bv Sir Malcolm Moray and Mrs. Core-Richie, find handed triumphantly into the carriage by the now flushed Sir Talbot Hester, who proudly seated himself at her side. And then, a s the carriage drove oil' amid n shower of slippers and rice, ar.d the tearful father, and the self-satisfiee aunt returned with the guests to the brilliantlylighted drawing-rooms, Carter closed the hall door on the shabby, badlydressed "young person," who disappeared into the fog, leaving no trace of the nature of her business, nor why she had intruded upon Lady Hester on her wedding cay. "Yes, she's gone as you say, Mrs. Carter,'"remarked Johnson, the footman, philosophically ; "but that dont argufy by any manner o' means that we've heard the last ov her. Mark my words !" CTIAPTEIt 111. BARBARA ESCAPES IXTO THE DARKNESS. The fog had grown thicker with the approaching darkness as Barbara, dressed in Alison Stanniforth's shabby, timeworn coat and skirt, walked forward in {Tie direction taken by the carriage in which she herself was presumably sifting—walked forward unconsciously,-, neither heeding nor caring whither she went. She hae acted wholly upon impulse in what she had done, taking no time for thought, nor moment for consideration. Only one motive had influenced her—to escape from the man to whom her lips had bound her irrevocably, that morning, and to force him to do justice to the girl whom he had so cruelly deceived. Like a Hash the. thought to send in her own place Alison Stanniforth, had entered her mind, to be instantly seized a nd acted upon.

On the possible consequences to either or both she had not reflected in the smallest degree, though simultaneously with the resolve to abandon the man" whom she had sworn to "love, honour, and obey" came the desire to avert a scandal—to save the pride of the Morays. And now—now the step had been taken, now that she realized how, having put her hand to the plough, she could not withdraw it, the awful truth dawned upon her that the story could not be long hidden were she to go to her father's home.

Ar.d what other course lay open to her ? Her impetuous proceeding, wKch had sent her from her aunt's house, without consideration of ways and means, would, she fearec, necessitate her return thither in order to procure the money necessary to take her to Edinburgh. But to face the servants dressed in the American girl's shabby garments were to proclaim the fact that she had not accompanied her husband on the wedding tour and to arouse gossip in the servants' hall that might be relied on to spread throughout the length and breadth of Belgr a vi a n flunkeydom. Such a possibility could not be entertained for a moment.

Still, to return to Buckingham Gate in the guise of the "young person" even if closely veiled she succeeded in eluding Johnson's recognition, would by no means ensure her access to her aunt Janet. Given a hint of the experienced footman's views concerning the nature of the "young person's"' business, Mrs. Gore-Richie would most positively declined to see her. Nor was it at all likely she would permit such a proceeding on the part of Sir Malcolm Moray. Mrs GoreRichie's views on such affairs were strenuous and pronounced, and she inevitably pitied the man as having fallen a victim to the wiles of a designing woman. It was occasionally suggested to her that the women of a rank inferior to her own were often too simply trusting, too ignorant of the world's ways, rather than vicious or purposely scheming. But in Mrs. Gore-Richie's opinion, in these days of universal education, neither men nor women of whatever class had the faintest excuse for ignorance. No it was useless to ask for 'Aunt Janet unless in propria persona, and to do that were to arouse an enclandre which would bring shame and humiliation on them all.

And then—was it the fog permeating her brain, distorting, paralyzing her ideas '?—another proposition, even more terrible flashed across her mine. What if her aunt Janet forced her to return to the husband whom she had deserted ? He was her husband—as far as Church and Slate could bind them together. What if Mrs. GoreRichie held ker niece prisoner, and wired to Sir Talbot to come back and resume possession of his runaway bride ? Could any prospect present itself with a greater aspect of horror to the girl, who now hastened

Iter steps ft s the fear look possession of her, lending n n impetus to her thoughts, quickening her pace as she hurried on, on, into the ever-increas-ing earkness, caring not whither she went, anxious only to put distance between herself and the man on whom ■she could only henceforth look with a sensation of loathing ?

For Aunt. Janet held a man's past was buried on his marriage, that its events in ]lo way concerned the woman who became his wife. She would" probably discredit the story of the mock marriage to Alison Stannifortlv and insist on Barbara, fulfilling the contract upon which she had entered -a fate now dreaded more than death by the woman who was legally Sir Talbot Hester's wife.

Not even to preserve intact the Pnde. of the Moray* could Barbara ace such a contingency. All (he. old ighting Scotch blood surged madly through her veins. She felt fiercely revengeful when she remembered Alison Stanniforth's wrongs, and again vowed that, the man at whose door lay the undoing of an innocent, trussing girl should never touch her «wr, lips again.

She had walked on rapidly, feverishly, almost unconsciously with regard to thj direction. At first the yellow iiti'ul light from the street lamps pierced through the gloom and showed her occasional patches of iron railings. St. James's Park ! So much the better. Pedestrians wero few, and unlikely to increase on such a night. If she could find a seat where she could think uninterruptedly, decide what to do ! Yet were it not suicidal to sit out of doors in this atmosphere ? For now that her excitement was cooling down she began to realize how insuiliciently dad had been Alison Stanniforth.' How even her own hardy, mountain-trained muscles shivered in this raw, 'biting,, penetrating fog, which chilled her limbs and sent a shaft of ice into her lungs with every breath she crew. And then it seemed to increase by leaps and hounds ; the lamps grew feebler. At length, barely visible, she could not longer see the railings nor make out th» trees. Presently she found her feet treading on the flagstones, and knew she must have left the park, though now the impenetrable gloom afforded no landmark, no possible inkling as to locality.

The oppression of this appallinggloom was to her unaccustomed ■senses unbearable. Her eyes were smarting now, her breath stifled and labouring- for existence. She felt that exposed much longer to such misery, she must die in the streets. Had she not in her rashness essayed something- beyond her feeble strength ? Were not (he very elements leagued against her? Were it not better to appeal to the first passer-by to ask to be taken to the house of Mrs. (ioreilichie in Bucking-ham Cate, to openly avow what she had dor.e, and take the consequences—even should the consequences be an enforced return to the husband of whom she now thought with loathing ? No ; better any misery, any suffering that could be endured rather than the degradation of his touch, his revolting kisses. Had not poor Alison Stanniforth suffered hardship, privation, in the attempt to warn another woman oh' the pitfall into which she herself had fallen ? A voyage in the steerage at, any time—but in winter and so unprotected in the way of clothing ! Poor creature ! Would Sir Talbot be brutal to her when he discovered ? Surely he dared not ; he of all men was most scrupulously careful of the conventions.

Her thoughts began to lose continuity. She seemed falling into a dazed condition almost amounting to stupor. The fog pressed heavily on her eyes, and there were moments when she gasped for breath. Then something aroused her. What was it? The distant sound of voices, of men shouting, swearing horribly, now and then blasphemously. The rumble of wheels fell 'on her ear, and soon her feet slipped oyer a kerbstone, showing her she had reached thu end of the street. And, oh, joy ! far out in to what might be a broad, open space a great shaft of flame shot up—a beaconlight in the darkness near which she could see black shadows constantly passing and repassing. She must make for that light. Unless soon relieved from their present oppression her eyeballs would surely burst.

A moment's hesitation, and then she committed herself to the roadway, unable to sec even a yard ahead But she crept forward nervously, almost hysterically, towards where the shadows still passed in and out of the "flare" of a brilliant light.

Then voices arose on all sides of her, remonstrating, urging, cursing her that she was in danger of her life. Great black forms, weird and uncanny, arose, as it were, out of the earth. She heard the snorting of horses, the straining of harness, the violent grinding of brakes, and even more violent adjurations of the unfortunate ' bus drivers, who pulled their frightened animals almost back upon their haunches in the effort to avoid injuring the now panic-stricken girl, who looked wildly, vainly round for a haven of refuge, and made one more dash in the direction of the flare.

More oaths, more shouts of warning, more huge shadows looming in the fog like giants threatening her destruction, and then she was violently; hurled to the ground, conscious for an instant of an agonizing pain in her head, and then—oblivion ! To he Continued.