CHAPTER X.

Te Aroha News, Volume IV, Issue 165, 14 August 1886, Page 7

CHAPTER X.

"SIX, HE LOVES; SEVEN, SHE LOVES." Mr Romeyn returned John Harris's visit the following day. He found his friend in a new mood — one of silence and depression. " What is the matter ?" cried Oscar, af fcer a little time, " you are not; yourself to-day, John. Has the bottom fallen out of your wonderful mine ?" " The bottom has not— to my knowledge." "Have you had bad news from the East?" "No, there's nothing the matter, O?car. I'm a little out of sorts." "Stomach or liver?" " Confound it, no ! I've caught your disease !" " My disease.'" "Yes: that which makes you so yellow and long-faced I'm in love !" '* Good heavens, John I you don't look much like it. Your countenance ought to bo glorified. Why, / walked on air, until — I came tumbling down. Is this a new thing ?" " Since last evening." " What, our little girl ? Bella Jardine " " Yes, Oscar, that same sweet little angel." " Then what are you moping about ? Go to work, and make love to her ! I see no reason for the mother's objections." " Then you are not interested?" " Only as her brother might be. This is not the cause of jour trouble, John." "No, it is not," and then John relapsed into silence. " Will you not tell me where { the rub ' is?" "I cannot — not j list y et. 1 must think it over, Oscar. To think how happy 1 might be with that sweet girl (that is; if I could win her of course !) were it not for this horrible shadow chasing me ! I'm nearly insane, my friend ; but I can't get rid of it. I didn't sleep an hour last night. I wish that I could take your advice." " But you cannot ?" "No, not at present." They chatted awhilo over their business affairs ; when, in the midst of a talk about stocks, John abruptly broke out : • " Do you know anything of Mrs Jardine's past life ?" " Why, yes, what 1 have gathered from the home conversation of herself and daughter." "Then, who is she?" " Of Spanish parents, herself Mexican by birth— an aunt of Senor Sebastian— a beauty and belle in her day, as her daughter now promise?. ' •« Not at all alike, for all that," murmered John. "No, one is blonde, the other brunette. She married a gentleman from Philadelphia, where they resided three years j they then went to Cuba fGr his health, where v he died, alter a residence of several years." "' "When did he die?" "I do not remember the exact year— l think somewhere about 1858. ' "After ' his death she remained until driven away by the a Cuban insurgents, or the Spanish soldier^, I dont recall which, after which -she took her little- daughter and went back to Mexico ; but the climate not agreeing with Bella, she came, on and settled' in San .Franciscp.. Returning last fall to visit Signor Sebastian during his annual visit to the City of Mexico, she brought back with her his boy, Anatole, hoping the change would benefit his health. -Such, I should say, is

about what I have picked up during my bnef reßiderice'in the fftm'ilyV' - •' * ' John -Harm burst into a ' merry laugh 1 . '** You'think-me very inquisitive ; but you must see that I have a reason." < ': > "A very good reason, John." • ' ♦"Tothink'ainan could be co mistaken! I ought to-be horsewhipped!" he murmured ; and then he laughed again aud sat down." < • " ' ' ' - " You may expect me at; your house again this evening, o<?car," he said, as they were about to part, "All right. Any message for Miss Jardine ?" ' " "Why, what can I send her, Oscar ? Come, you are experienced— you have 'been through the mill- tell me what to say to her. Shall I send her *my respects, and would like permission to call again ?' •' That to h6r mother, John." " It 'wouldn't do to go out and buy her a diamond necklace, or something of that sorf, would it V • ' "Not yet awhile," laughed the consulted, amused at ' his friend's difficulties. " A person would hardly realise that you were once *a swell' in New York, John. Nbthinpr but flowers admissible at thiß stage of the siege." "Ah, flowers Bure enough! But then they are as plenty as sand in San Francisco, and that's saying a good deal." " Very well, John. I'll give both ladies your compliments, and intimate that you are anxious to better the acquaintance. The old lady will be sharp enough to understand that. If she does not look cross, I'll whisper some little sweet message from yon to the younger one." "Thank you! thank you, Oscar! And mark the effect, please. You can signal me in the hall before I go in." "Wen, well, to think of the great Comanche fighter trembling before a little girl seventeen years old !" " What io the world were girls made for if not to make us, great, hulking fellows, shake in our boots? Now, I know how to handle an Indian arrow ; but when it comes to Cupid's — oh, dear ! Why, Oscar, ehe's so sweet, so young, po eoft, and dainty, and delicate, I'm almost afraid to look at her." " Two fools!" muttered Oscar, walking rapidly away. He turned in at the po3t-office. His letter bad come at last. It was the one he had expected— from his married sister, Mrs Herbert. He did not open it on the street, but went toward home. Then he turned again. He wautod to keep'out in the open air. He dieliked the thought of a house. This was a holiday, owing to his pupil's continued feebleness ; and, obeyiug the impulse which urged him from the sight and scund of men, he hurried on and on down to the Alameda Ferry. A boat was just ready to leave her slip ; he stepped aboard, and going on to the promenade-deck, sat down in a quiet place. It was at a time of day when the boats were not crowded. The few passengers on the % Alameda paid little attention to him ; but even here be could not read his little letter. He longed for the mountains —to be somewhere alone. The sight of that familiar handwriting had moved him a3 he had little expected to be moved. He had thought that he had worn out tho strength of his sufferings. He now discovered that be was able to endure pangs as keen as those which had tortured him months ago. Insensibly the beauty and freedom of the outer world soothed him ; before he realised it, he was at the station across the baj'. "It will do nw good to get into the country," he said. Taking a ticket for one of th.3 three or four little stafcion3 along the route, he found himself in a few minutG3 out of the cars and walking along a shady path beneath spreading oak trees. There were villas near— lovely places imbedded in flowers ; but he was alone — not a human being in eight to scan, either with pity or curiosity, his faco as he brooded over his letter. So here hs flung himself down with the sun shimmering between the leaves above him, and broke the seal of his missive : My Dear, Dear, Darling Brother:— Where are you now, my pooc Oscar? Icanuot. sleep atnighl as I used to sleep for thinkuigof you— wondering where you. are, feiring that you may be ill, a stranger in a strange land My pillow ia of teD, often wet with my tears ; bus I have to cry very silently, f nt ar.gers Mr Herbert to have me feel so badly übont > ou and dofend you, as Ido and el ways will. The only quarrels he and I ever have had ha-e been about yo», dear brother. "You know that he is quick ia bi< feelings and sliviig in his p-p.iuctieeB. He firmly believes that > oxi wilfully wronged Beanie out of hi^ property, like all the rest of theai. He says that, ho docs not care bo maoh about anything; else that you did t<s that. Then / fly into a pas -ion be cause he bwliovei'it of you, and sc we go. Dear O3car. I try to follow your directions, and keep wafch of evory movement of "Vance's. Every day I am more convinced that ha is tha Kuilty one. I did not like to think it of him at first; but I cannot help infarrlrg it from what ha>? happened. Ho is boarding at tha Fifth Avenue again, and from all lean loam, is plunging into greater extravagances than before. Everybody thinks him "'splendid. "becausn he i<\ po gay and lavish. That ia the way of the word tarn afraid. Your poor little Maude i<* growing: quite oyaiodl under the experience cf the past year. Lillie lives with me now. Her company Is a great comfort tom»; only we never speak about you because -we cannot agree, She cas her admirera. plenty of them. Bennie ia in a pxod sohoul, I naive not seen him for several weeks. Ho was here for the Christmas holidays. I hear that "Vance haß bought a twentythousand dollar horse, and is going to make himself as promineut at the Jerome Park racea hereafter as he has long been in the yachting world It alfluost breaks my heart when 1 hear theae things, and think of you, driven away from bome.theiac sot your friends turm daKalnetyou. going into exile aad poverty. You eh->uld not have done it, Oscar. You were proud, aid angry; but you should, have remained and de fended yourself. You said that you would not humiliate yourself to make a defence. But that is nob right, brother. You should have not only viadi ;ated your own character, but you should have denounced tho real criminal I beg you to come back and take this course^ yet. It cannot be too late. Reflect, brother ! the cloud rests upon us as well as upon you. It waa heartless and trifling of Gr cc to turn from you as she did. But Graca DeJznnur ia not all the worid. Some people are beginning to criticise Vance's extravagance, and to wonder where all his money cmca from, Hitherto the> have always taken it for granted that the fortune left him by our mother was , ample for any style c£ living. But 5 our diffi. cuMes have attracted more particu'a attention to him, and some unpleasant c^mnaents are made. And now I must tell you, because lp-oni'std to keep you informed faithfully of these matters, something about Vance and Miss Daszeinar. 1 know. that itiwill pain you— l huto to mention it ; but you asked it. ond I must speak Iho truth, Va-jce has bten in Boston recently ; ia fact, I believe he is there now. It is- ru moured that Grace and he are to be married in June, and. go abroad for a year or two. I do not know it to bo so, but I bear the wedding trousseau has been ordered from Paris. Oscar, she was not worthy of. yon. Kven did she have reason to believe you had sinned, it wouU not otcush her for co soon beetiwmg her affections (It oa another. I despise her more lot this than for breaking with you. I w'sh that you would despise her, too, and forget her. Do write to me. lam Ia tbo greatest suS' pense about j ou. I imagine you in every pass'ble trouble. Do not be offended because 1 inclose a cheque, drawn to your own name, for your use. I know you had but Httlo wh n sou want away; and this is my own, not my husband's. And Oscar, do come back. In ia the constant prayer o£ your own fond bister and friend _ . Maud. The cheque referred to was for five hundred dollars. ♦• I shall return it to her, " muttered o*>car, putting it in bis pocket-book. "Dear Maud, she is as true as* Bteel !" "Why snould I regret that she will marrj a scoundrel ? If he is to her taste, I otighi to be satisfied." .r* i ' Grace, with her clear perceptions, hei pure nature, love Vance- Stuyvesant

Grace, 'who had been held to his bosom, and whose Hpa and eyea 1 had told hitn ; the story* of congenial boulr !-i '' •'-' -,'j- ?' Oecar felt that she muetbe. acting under 1 some rash, unhappy impulse. Yet it was not for him to pity her. 'She had cruelly wronged him, she had coldly turned from him in the hour of his deepest need, and for this he condemned her, while she would not impeach her innate truth of character. Ho started from a long reverie to find the sun setting. Springing from his couch under the old ash trees, ho hastened back to the station He was a good -deal surprised at meeting Mrs Jardine there attended- by Elee, who showed his white teeth in a smile when be perceived Mr Romeyn. The lady's surprise was much greater than his own. Her veil was drawn, but the start she gave and the altered tone of her voice as she spoke disclosed it. >*' Air Romeyn ! I did not know you ever crossed the bay." " This is the , first time since you knew me," he answered, and then, having offered to take a little hand-satchel which she carried — she refusing the politeness rather abruptly— he walked about until the car came along. They were on the boat, when she said to him : " Have you been to Alameda?" "No — no farther than where you saw me." "Oh !" Then, after an interval : "It is* delightful over there in the summer." " I dare cay, from what I have seen." • ' I have been looking afc a little place for the summer season." "ladeed!" "Yes. I think the change will benefit Anatole. But I should like you to bQ. pleased, also, since you, are directly inter-* eeted in the change. If I had known you; were coming, I would have asked you to look at the house with me." '•All places euit me equally well, Mrs. Jardine. Pray don't trouble to consult me. Make any plans you please." • * I was afraid of being detained until twilight or after : so I took JE!ee with me t for protection," she remarked. The eorvant followed them from th«r boat, scrupulously keeping his place a few paces behind them, according to Chineseetiquette. When they reached home, Mrs Jardine went up to take off her wraps. v Me brushee your coat ?" asked Elee, as Romeyn was, also about to go up and change that garment. "It is.Uamp," answered the gentleman, taking it off and handing it to him. " Let, it dry,. first, before you touch it." /'All light, 1 ' eaid the Chinese whose r's usually ran into Vs. "Will Miste Lomeyn sleep \y'jl(ih the sickde boy to-night ?" TaeTnan whispered this question, looking anxioup, if not distressed. His listener was struck by his manner, asking him * l Why V* in a tone equally low. "Me 'fraid ha get sick again, worse." " Why ?" again asked Mr Romeyn ; but a d,oor was heard to close in the rsoms above and the Chin r eo glided away like a shadow into the breakfast-room, leaving him thoroughly puzzled. He suspected this man of the most cruel experiments on the helpless child ; was, in fact, watching his every movement, with the; purpose of detecting him in hi 3 attempts ; but, if his surmises were correct, how singular it would ba for Elee to place him onguard, as it were, over hia own ill deeds. He puzzled over it while he made ready for tea. But the letter which he had received that day soon re-engrossed his thoughts, so that, even at table, he was silent. It was nob until tho meal was nearly concluded that he thought to give Mrs Jardine Mr Harris's message. She received it with such chilling formality that Belle blushed at her almost rudeness, and Mr Romeyn was piqued for his friend's sake. " Miss Belle will never find a better husband, if all the grandees of Spain and Mexico combined were to go down at h«* feet ; and I'll hint as much to her, in John's behalf," he thought. Anatole was not well enough to coma down to r«3, Mrs Jardine remained behind to ccc that it was properly prepared by Elee ; while Oscar walked, into the parlour with the 3 oung lady. "Itruat jou liketny friend belter than your, mother eeems "to, Miss Jardine. Not that I wish to say anything surreptitiously. Your mother ha 3 the beat right to advise you. But Mr Harris is a gentleman whom. no parenfc3 need fear ; and he admires you very much, Mis 3 Bella." " Me ? ' DLurmured Bella, colouring. "Yes, more than any young lady he has ever met. He said as much," ' Oh, Mr Romeyn; I like him ; he ia — pleasant. Indeed, I like him ; but — " " But what ?" smiling at her confusion;, "I don'fc like him better than any one I have cvsr met " "Well, he is a very particular friend of mine. I enjoy his company so much that I have made up wy mind to go to Mexico w;,th him." She looked up at him to see if he were in earnest, and turned very pale "Oh, Mr Homey n !" she expostulated* and then her head dropped. "What is it, Miss Bella? Do you wish. me to infer that you children are unwilling your tutor should go away ?" "I am not a child." retorted Miss Jardine, bursting into tears. Mr Romeyn was thunderstruok. Could it be— had he been so blind — was this little; girl, so secluded from other society, toot deeply interested iv him ? A keen pang of regret shot through him. Be felt as tender and affectionate toward Bella Jardine as a brother could feel. He would not have had this state of things com© to pass for ths world. Yfit he realised at a glance how it might have happened. Living in this ■trange solitude, kept apart from mates of: her own age and tastes, he had stepped into her little sphere, and immediately there had clustered about him all her sweet and budding fancies and growing sentiments. He saw it, after the thing had happened. His perceptions had been blinded; hitherto by the state of his own feelings ; so completely engrossed in his own interests that ho bad not thought of here. He was deeply moved. Had he been heart-free, he could not have withstood the sight of Bella in tears ; while she, poor, girl, struggled wifch the contending feelings, of grief and ehame which shook her, as well -&B with«the love which bad nearly mastered her pride. He took her hand, drevr her to the sofa, and sat down by her side, i "My sweet friend," he eaid, as he would have spoken to his own Bister Lillie, •* see how- stupid and blundering 1 have been to take you .at your mother's estimate. That was because my feelings wore. so much engrossed by a young lady at the East only two or three years older then you, Bella, and -not any more beautiful ; but she had power to break my heart, and she broke it. Don't you. see, Bella, dear, that I am not a happy I man ? - that I never can be a happy man. again, nor a fit mate for a bright, charming, joy-breathing young ' creature like you Y*X want you to pity me, as a sister might, but not love me." ' "I think it was because you seemed so sad, and I was so sorry for you^-that'^l learned to— to —like you co mußh',% sber ' said. "Pardon me, Mr ' Romeyn^^bay* } proved myself a child, after all, f#g»ving way to my —vexation, and wouridedjpjcßte^ : at having you speak so lighfcly to me. u^You ! ccc, we live co secluded. lam ecmetimea

dreadfully lonoly, and pine for company of my own age. The house has fieemed so auferent eioce you came. '