CHAPTER XXXI.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 220, 17 September 1887, Page 6

CHAPTER XXXI.

STORMY IIKAKTS. Proud beauty ! It cannot be love That kindles the tire of thino c> c, For when did attection e'er prove A passion so towering and high ! It is not. it cannot be love ; Atlcetion is lowly and deon— All groundless suspicion above, It knows but lo trust and to weep. Mjis Elms. Tin; posthumous letter of Maurice Fitzgerald to his son vwis as follows :

In >iv Sicic Cii vmhur, Summit Mvnou House, July, 22nd, IS - Mv Gt)OP Sox Gkh.ym),-- Daily increasing infirmities warn me that my days are numbered on this earth. My physician's silence, or his faintly-expressed encouragement, when I speak ro him on this subject, a-^uresino that his bcciet opinion corroborates my judgment. Now, then, 1 st 1 should pass away before we meet attain, or o\en betoro yon make your promise I hrulu .\ our own, I wish to write this lo'lor to roll j on w 'vat to do in bach a case. If, therefore, I should bo suddenly called JiCivce, betoro jour ma ( riaq;o with jour cou-in Ge.'aldine is accomplished, [ both desire and command, if my det-ucs have any persuasion, or in a commands any authority, that jour 111.1-nanc may not be delayed by my departure but tlvi it shall lake place as soon atter m> mo.tal remains are laid m the earth as shall be lu.ielioable. The ceremony maybe aM^n" and prn ate as yon please ; but it must be performed immediately, as jou \alue jour own interests un-imvble&sinp:. L shall leave this letter ui'h Mi' Ke\ worth, to be delivered in case oi nece--sIL-. And, now. that the Lord may sa\ c ivu\ blo-~; both you and jours, here and hereati«,i, is the- daily fervent iiraj er of Your nfleelionatc father. Mai mvi- Onio Fn/oru u d. «'Whal, say you, my beknod Geraldine, .shall my lathei'^ and youv guardians wishes be earned out? I need not tell you thai they aie my own earnest desire-,'' <-nid tJeivild Fit/oerakl, a- he folded his letter .uri i etui ned it to hLs pocket. '• Ler, me read mj own letter, dear Ceral'V sh : ;in-i\ 'M ed, a- -.'he broke the seal and drew t he pa?iei from the em elope. " Win , ha\ ej on not yet perused it ": ' he innuned. lt Ko. but we w ill now lead it toguhei,'" she said, as she placed the letter open in hh hands, and drew heiself close to hi* sic.-. He opened and lead the letter. It wa- in mib-t.uue the Mime as the one he had recehed The guardian i< pea ted to the biideelect, all that "he had alieady written to the b' i legioom-expcclant ; and ho imploud her to let no fal-e delicacy, or fancied re-pect to; h^mumoiy, iiithunco her to dofei the .oLmm-ation of her mariiage witii hei IK-.otl'.^d. He ipmindedher that the best ir. \ik of lespect that they could both p;^ t<> hira w.uhl 'be to obey hi-, la<t wishes a- «■>- })• c"^ed in hi-, last lettei 1 . And he cone lu<ku by e\i>kino the blcain^of ltea\cnupon thca him )n " 2S\\ oi vsei' 1 a Kithcr\> command-. <•■"> eon g:o\Ia1 Xe\cr\\as the duty of obedieru'c v«ov «o deliuhtful. 1 thank and ble-s m) 0> .i 1 t^liei ioi hi- thoughtful affection. \N l,<!t "\ T , jou, my duue-.t (Jeialiline V came-My i.LC.ned Fit/^ei dd. k ' It bh.ill be as jour father and you wi-h. On t-lii-, day foui \\ eek-^ hunce I w ill I" 1 > fir "\vifj : but thciu can be no pageanti \ . ' > te.-:i\ity : the c^iomony must be peifoiim. 1 veij quietlj, and in the pie«ence ot ov fan dj enulu only. Family ciic c, di'l I m^) .' Ah me! we ha\ c no family tiu-V ' We vie each the last of our hou->e ! Hi,", of coii'-c, I lefeueil to mj «uaidn i'iamilj v. ah whom 1 am staj-in^." " lile-s you, mj lo\e, my queen ' Tn the midst <jt all my tiouble you hu\ c made mc very hapjn,'' e\flaiincd the lo\er, a- r.e gatheie 1 in-, botiothed to lii-^ bosom " Come, now , ' she whimpered, after a lonu eu-.m.ic;, •' it l- time to rojoin oiu fucn l^ no 1 ' in the diaw in^-ioom."' Hedicw hei aim thiou^h hi^, and they pi--e<J out, happy as only lo\ei- can be vI o a iv leeoncilcd after a bitter quauel. The lori'^ Minuner twilight was f.nlirifr into ni^ht, and Jcieiny, the lyill footman, w>ii jn-t lighting the chandelier a> tht^' jj\>-ed him. They filtered the long drawing ioo".i, where all the p.uGie-^ who had remaitn.': «it the hou-< aftei thy leading of the will wei e a--.embled. The loom wms but half lighct ! , and the companj" \\uie sitting about in small L'oup-, talking in subdued \oiee-. S'\eial mdiwduai- looked up, smiled, o" sli^litl > Lh-inged then position 1 - a 1 the betiotheil pair c-r.nc in Mr FiL/^oiald lod hi.s biide to a -eat, find stood loaning o\or the back of lier ciu'i , wiiile he >tm\, in a low tone : "I think, my dearest, that m all mr j,ie-ts here are mo-t intimate family conjiection;-, and ha\e w itnc.s.sed the deliveij' ci these lettei.- to v-, and evinced some nacui.il cuiio-ity and interest respecting their., I liad better make known their contents to th" company. 13y doing so wo shall pi event aiv misconception of our conduct, and so piepare our relatives to understand the motive- of our speedy marriage. But I will do nothing without your approbation. What do j'ou ad\s->e, mj' dear?"' "I am illing to be guided by your o\."i ju'lgmenb, (Jot.ild,* 1 .-lie answered. With that he stood up, lifted his he.d, and said : " My friend-., we desire your attention for a few moments. You will lomcmbei th.tj you «.aw Mr Keyworth place two lcfc"ei\-, written hv my father, in our hands ; .11 id that when I had read mine I told you t it it contained important counsel to in", to follow which, however, I should lequiio t!ie co operation of another party." "Ye-, yes, evictly. We remember all that,' 1 Paid Royal Greonleaf. " The other party was Mies Fitzgerald, my botiothed bride, and the counsel contained in the posthumous letters wa^ that we should not postpone our marriage on account of the decease of the writer." " 1 really do not .see why you sliould, ' put in Royal (Jreenleaf. " So, dear friends-, you will comprehend thai Mis-. Fitzgdald and myself, in ameeing upon an early day for our marriage, do bat obey the last imperative commands of my late father and her guardian. I tru.-t that you will lot thin be generally under stood. We have iixed the twentieth oi August, proximo, as our marriage day."' "That is? right. Let me congiatula'-e yon, my near friends," .said Royal (Jieeuleaf, heartilj r . "Let me shake hands with the brideopioom and kiss the fair bride-elect," c.v olajmed Mr Ren Bowers, wiinging the hand of Fitzgeiald, and then turning to Oeraldine ; but the haughty beauty drc^v herself up, and held out her gloved hand, •which Mr Bowers gallantly lifted to his lip«. Just then n peal of deilsivo laughter rang out upon the air as the dark face of the mad woman, Magdala, appeared for an instant at the window and vanished. All the company looked at cacli other in dLsniav. "This is most unseemly," said Mi-s Sue Greenleaf, gravely. " That poor creature ought really to be confined," said Royal. Colonel Fitzgerald rang the bell, which wa,s speedily answered by the appearance of Jeremy, to whom he said :

"Search the grounds for tho woman Magdala, and if it be possible, find her, and bring her into the house." The man bowed, and backed out to- carry the ordor to the out-door servants. Then he re -appeared to announce dinner. Colonel Fitzgerald arose and gave his arm to Mrs l)oy Fitzgerald, Koyal took Oraldine, Mr Bowers conduoted Miss Sue (4rcenlcaf, Mr Koyworth drew Patricia's little hand within his arm, and Mr (Joodin with Ucrtrude followed, and so tho company proceeded to the dining-room. It was a very grave and ceremonious feast, which no one but the three elder gentlemen, Th\ Goodwin, Mr Keyworth, .mil Mr Bowers, seemed to enjoy. All tho others appeared to feel relieved when the meal wab over, and thoy wero at liberty to adjourn to the drawing room. There also Jeremy came to announce that the search tor the poor, crazed wandorei , Magdala, had been quite Fruitless, She could not be found upon the premises, and w as supposed to have gone away. Soon after this the company separated, and retired to their several chambers. By Mit>s Sue Ureenleaf's desire, she and her prottW*, (4ertrudo Iladdon, occupied adjoining looms, with a communicating door. Miss Sue very often called her t.'nouiite into her own chamber for a little go.s-ip, previous to retiring. This evening, as usual, she said on reaching the door of her loom : "Come in, my little True. We have so much to talk over ! But you look pale, my little girl. What is tho matter with you ?" '-he suddenly asked, when, seating hor.self on her large rocking -chair, she looked into the lovely face of her joung protege. " Indeed, nothing is the matter, dear Mh-5 Sue," said (Jertrndc, .smiling gravely, and seat ing herself on a footstoul at the feet ot the l.idy. "■ Ah ! then, I suppose you are tired with all this turmoil. Well, and so Colonel and Mis Fitzgerald have made up their quarrel. Ah, well, it is to be hoped that tho reconciliation will be permanent," .said Miss Sue w ith a sigh. "Oh ! why should it not be so, dear Mks ( Ireenloaf '! They looked so perfectly happy tin-* evening ! And they aie to be mairied soon," said Gertrude gravely. "1 don't know, my deai. You know ibis proposed mauiage was not quo of thar seeking, firstly. It was a marriage made ii)) by his father and hei guardian — a { maniage of convenience in which the union of lands wa« more considered than the union o: heaito or the union of hands." "But they seem so devoted to each other." " I do not know, my dear, though at one time he cmtainly did seem to bo very much attached to her," said Mi*» Sue, dubiously. " Oi, he is de\oted to her now," said Cci ti ude, with an unconscious high. " And they a:e such a .splendid couple- ! The\> are both equally matched in majestic beaut). They to have been made tor each e-ther." j " They made for each other ! Oh, you inexperienced chill! Two .such imperious : eieatuips as (Jeiakl and (ieialdine made for each other ! Never ! Thoy woulil torture ami madden each other to the end of their lhe-. Oh, no, Gettrude! ({eraldino hhould many .some obtuse, phlegmatic, easy-going duke or piincv, who could c her a title ."nl— her ow n way. Gciald should marry -ume meek, adoring little saint, a\ ho would lo'-e all herself in lon ing him, her lord. Ko, CeiLiurte. It that pioud, jealous young j , air o\ or many, which I doubt, they will ioime'it each other into madness, or death, or separation, or oven divorce, within a \oiv few yeais," .said Miss Sue, with a sigh. "" Now Heaven foibid that any Mich un1 happiness .should e\er come to them!'" earnestly exeHimed Gertrude, as "he icksc to her feet. " Aie \ou going, my dear child?" " Yes Mis-, Sue, if \ou please. '" " Are you sleepy or tired '.'" "Oh, no, ma'am." •' Then don't go. It is early yet, and I hi\ c got a new book. Horatia Kov ley brought it to me. By tho way, talking of Horatia Rowley, do you know that haiumscarum brother of her.s — Sallust, I mean, of eoui.se — ha.s gone abroad V" " indeed ! No ; L did not know it." i "Oil, }0=; they goo a letter from him, dated New York, in which he .said he .should sail for Lhei-pool that day, and .vould write again when he 1 cached poit." " Did he say w hy he went abroad so unexpectedly ?" inquiied Gerliude, in alow \ dice. '• No ; ho did not. You know, of com so, that ho made a Hj ing \i*it heie on the night of the fifteenth, and was oft' before morning 1 ." "Yes," said Geilrude, with a pccul'ar smile, as she remembered the eccentric tiaveller whom she had rowed across the iei ly on the night of the «torm. " Well, my dear, tho ne\t day oi!icer> of justice came dow n ftom Richmond in .search of sowr-body, and, it /'•«< said, of him, and that he i.s in some great trouble." " Butwhosays this ?" inquiied Gertrude, with awakened interest. •' Oh, my dear, no very reliable informant. Bca Bowers told me about it, and when I asked him for his authoiity, he could only gho me bai -room gossip of the Wilde\ille hotel. Sometimes I think that my niece, Patricia, know^moie than she is willing to tell. You must understand that it was Patricia who icceived him on his flying AJ.sit to this house, and who afterwards icceived some strangeis who came down the same morning, supposed to be the uliicers in search of Sallutt. But whenever '.vc a>k Patricia anything about the affair, she gives us foolish or derisive answers, as, ' They were not bum-bailies at all, they weie four knights out of .Spain, a courting of her daughter Jane ; ' or ' that they were a deputation from the forty thieves,' or some such nonsense. We cannot get a word out of Pat." (Gertrude smiled as she remembered the stormy night of the fifteenth of July, and the scene between hoisolf and the terrified fugitive, when the officers of justice wore in pursuit of him, and on the other of the river vociferating —"Boat !" TL.it was a secret known only to herself and to tho him bed boy whom she had rowed across the ferry, and sheltered in her hou=-o, as in a moated castle, all night long. And she felt that she must never betray the secret of one who had trusted his life or liberty to her honour. She felt, besides, as she had felt fiom the first of her acquaintance with him, that whatever trouble tho impetuous boy mighthavc got into he was really innocent. While Miss Sue was talking she was abo searching among the articles on the table by which she iat for something which apparently she could not find. " Is it this book you are looking for, Miss Suo?" inquired Gertrude, picking up a thin, flat volume in the then fashionable stylo of binding, blue board covers and white back, and lettered in black characters : "St. Ronaii'a Well, a Novel by Sir Waltei Scott, Bart. Vol. I" "Yes, my dear, that is it— the first volume. And I think we have time to read an hour before going to bed. Sit down, my dear." And so saying Miss Sue composed herself back in her easy-chair, put her feet upon her footstool, and turned to the first pacco of the story. Gertrude sat coiled up in the corner of a sofa near at hand.

Miss Sue read a;lb«dl, arsS, vevy soon. the 1 attention of bo4h the eldetrly maiden' lady I and the young, girl became absorbed in tho 1 fortunes of " Clara- M'owbray." They read for two hours, and then Miss Sue closed the book, saying :• " There 1 1 read more thaitl intended to, but you know \\® ha.ye got to read fast, for there am several ladies waiting to borrow this book." Miss Sue spoke the truth, for if ever any individual happened to bocorae- possessed of a novel in Wilde county, he- or sho was compelled by custom to lend it from one to anothor, until everybody who> wishod to do so had read it. Thus libraries of light reading seldom) accumulated in that part of the country. "Well,, my dear, ie is- nearly twelve o'clock, and now I think we will go to bod," said Miss Sue. Gcrti udo kissed her patroness good -night, and retired to> lier loom. Late as the 1 hour was, she did not foci inclined to. sleep. But she prepared herself for bod, and then put out the lamp that was burning on the mantel-piece, and went and opened the shutters of hor windows that o\erloolced the magnificent prospect of Wilde River, with the stupendous precipices on the othev .side, all seen now in the clear obscure of aj brilliant, starlit, summer night. Finally, leaving the shutters open, she went to bed and burned upon her right side, from which position she could still watch the starlit sky, the mountains, and the riveu which reflected both ; for she knew that she must lie {.wake. She could neither .sleep- nor understand her sleeplessness. u Oh ! why," .sho asked herself — "why ran 1 not turn my thoughts away from Colonel Fitzgerald '( Ho is not among my kindled that I should be thinking of him always! What is that t> lately gentleman to me that 1 should presume to occupy my mind w ith him a(. all ? Only, I cannot help it. How did it happen ? Let me think. Let me examine myself. Doctor Goodwin , -.ays that self-examination is a sacred duty. How did it all— Oh ! lir&t 1 know it was such a deep delight only just to think about him- -to recall his statelj form, his fine face, his .splendid eyes,, so full of authority, yet . 5.0 full of lendeme&s, and his \ oice so deep, yet so gentle ! Yes, it wa.s such an exquisite de-light only to get away from everybody and close my eyes, and dream over again the hour-*,, or even the moments, I had lived in the light of his life-giving presence ! , 1 did not know how such deep joy could e\er turn to pain. And even if I had '■ known it, I could not have helped it ! But [ then came trouble to him— his bi idcV fierce anger, his father's death— and I who had i gloried in him so much, 1 dared to pity him ! Yes I dared to pity him, a.s if lie had been any other man ! Then, oh ! how I longed to do something for him, to be something to him, to mi Her .something for him ! I prayed to tho Lord, if it were possible foi u^ to bear each other's mental and sphitiuil burdens, as bear their phy.sicial and material ones, 1 prayed to the Lord that, if it were pos-ible, the burden of sorrow might be lifted fiom his royal herat ami laid upon my low ly one. That my king might sit in light and joy as was his kingly light. I was not so unhappy e\ en then, for 1 was praying for him. And now, without my poor help, all hi-; darkness i^ turned into light, his sorrow into joy ; he is reconciled to his bride, and i*« going to marry her in a few days ! I ought to be grateful to Hea\en, and happy again in thinking of him. lint lam not ! lam not, ' Ob. ! why am I no longer dej lighted in thinking of his happiness ? Why i* my heart oppressed with heaviness ? Why do I feel such a sense of utter loneliness? I do not know. I cannot help it !" Poor child ! She had been not only motherless fiom her birth, but she had been utterly destitute of woman's care. Neither had she mixed with other women, nor had any sort of experience in life, in books, or in human nature, that would have guided her to a knowledge of herself. Thus her whole heart was giving itself aw a}" in love, in adoiation, in worship of one man ; her whole spirit was merging itself in the life of that man in a self-devo-tion as complete as it was unconscious. Her solf-examination, poor child, was nob \eiy satisfactory. Sho saw that she had taken moie exquisite delight in recalling and contemplating his image, and in living over again in memory the hours she had spent in Ins picocnce, than she had ever found in any other condition. She felt that she had been deeply troubled with his troubles, even to the depth of praying to the Lord that sho herself might be permitted, if possible, to .suffer in his stead. But now — oh, sad my^teiy — now that without her help in any way he was happy in hi-; reconciliation with his bride, she could not rejoice with him ! She had been miserable in his misery. Why could she not now be happy in his happiness ? She did not know. >She only felt her spirit cast back upon itself, drhon into the wilderness? She felt herself to be tho loneliest creature in all the Lord's lovely world, as if all her fellow-beings were more distant from her than those brilliant globes of fire far oft' in the sidereal heavens, upon which she looked as she lay. At length, in her loneliness, she folded her hands and prayed, and so praying, grew less lonely, and fell asleep.