CHAPTER XXXVII (CONTINUED).

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 224, 15 October 1887, Page 6

CHAPTER XXXVII (CONTINUED).

*' You know, chillun, I wasn't lookin' for dis. I was lookin' for what We'd been a 'spectin' dese many years — Marse Gerald and Mis^ Geraldine, brido and groom ; now when 1 bee Marse Gerald and Mi&s Gertrude bride and groom, it sort o' 'stonished mo, jes' liko ' puttin' new bottles into ole wine,' as dc 010 say in' says. Heaps o' sense in dese ole sayin's, ohillun, 'deed deie is. Hear mo good, don't yerV And so, Marse Gerald, you done married our Miss Gertrude sure enough ?" "Yes, aunty, I have married your Miss Gertrude,'' replied Colonel Fitzgerald, sinking into a chair beside his young brido. " 'Deed is yer now, for true?" repeated Jess, a little incredulously. " Shall 1 show you the marriage certificate ?'" laughingly inquired the Colonel. " G'long way from Marse Gerald ! .Fink 1 can t take yer word for it 'dout seem' de teilitickit ? \Sido which, what I know 'bout li&tilickit ! I can't read it— dat is, 1 can't read nutfin but my hymn-book, and I couldn't read dat if I didn't know the hymns by heart ! 1 shouldn't know a difti tickit ef I was to see one ! And so you ralely is I married to Miss Gei trude V" "I really am," said Gerald Fitzgerald, laughing in spite of his aching heart. ! " And is you married to him, too honey ?" asked fcho puzzled old nurse. " Of course I am, Aunt Jess," said Gertrude. " Well, Lord ! I don't ondersfcand it. I'm 'feared as I'm a-getting limy !" said Aunt Jess, scratching her red, yellow and plaid turban until it> drooped over one eye. "Yes, i's 'feared I's getting luny, Marse Gerald nn>\ .Miss Gertrude. 'Tie wed to she, She wed to ho,' as do olp song say. Heap o' sense in dem ole song -„ too ; bub somehow I can't believe t. Say, honied— Marse Gerald and Miss ertrude— i> you two married togedder for rtain i I on'y jd' a\ for inferation, not I has any dejections to the march." " Come, come, Jes^, this i^ getting monotonous/ said the colonel, smiling through his impatience. " Get tin 1 mono— v. hat? Doe>s yer mean money ? 'C'au.-,e ef yer do, I dunno whar it's* to come from. There hasn't been fifty dollars took in the ferry for the last two weeks to Hi} certain knowledge. But did 3*ou two tell me a^ you was actilly both m.uried togedder 'till deaf do you pait?" " Jes,-. \ ouaie tiioftome," said tiie colonel, ri>ing. " Yes, Aunt Ju.-s, wo are man ied," said Clertiudc, patiently. "But v, hit's come o' Miss Geialdine ? Dat'b what I want to know?" inquired Jess. '• Mi>s Fitzgeiald is at Greenwood, and in good health at the labt hearing/ said Colonel Fit/[:eiald. " And now, auntie, we hope you will give that aged tongue o your* a long autumn holiday from asking question-." "And, AunL Je^, set the table and arrange the best lunch you can get for us ; ior w e ha\e not bioken our fast since early morning, ' suggested Gei trude, who, womanlike, on hospitable thoughts intent, v. - ai cai ing more foi the wants of her husband than for her own. "That v, as a provident idea of yours, little housewife,"' .-aid Colonel Fitageiald, patting hei on the •shoulder. Aunt .less buotled about, set out the table wiHi a clean, white table-cloth and the be-fc china -ervice, and soon arranged upon it a lu-bic foa&t of light biead, fresh butter, oi earn, milk, peaches, pears and grape-. Th > newly - married couple paitook lightly of the-e refreshments, and then aio-e fi oni the table to letuin to the o-uriau> , which A\a s waiting foi them at the f« vi\, . It \\a^ then that Gertrude asked to be excused lor a few moments and went up-tait- to her own bedroom, where she bad left -ome of her waidrobo when she went to (ii ecu wood, and fiom which .slie .-electee' ;i fy\v changes of clothing, which she pae v cl into a tiavelling-bag to take veitli Lei to the carnage. Sue had changed her white Organdie dies-, in which she had been so hastily lnairiud and bi ought iiwaj from church, ioi' a giO) meiino, which she found hanging up in he i closet. While Gertrude was so engaged, Old Jess was tiding to "inteniew" her young master " Wtil, now de young madam's gone up-staii-3, 'hapsjer will tell yer olp aunty all bow and about it, an' why yer didn't marry Mi^- Gcialdiuo," -aid the old woman, in a w lieedLng tone. " Xow\ if I auower tha 1 "/ question, will you piomiss me never to a'-k any more?" inquiied Gerald Fit/gerald. " Ye-, Mai-e Colonel, dat I will. And I i» yer old mis?. ' " Well, then, Mi--? Fitzgerald cast me off and Gertrude accepted me ; that is all." " Well. M.Mi-.e Colonel, for your sake I's glad oi it ; for yovr own sake, you's done well. Foi 'lat Mi=s Gerald'ne — umphoomt, honey ' — she'- i'ljuns, she is. But our Miss Gertrude — oh, honey, she's a hebbenly angel, and she always was, from her babyhood up. Be good to her, honey, and ef so be yei ebber re pen to ob what yer has done to-day, don't take it out on her, honey, don't take il out on her, dats all I got to .say--do*rt take it out on her." ••Why, Je^, how dare you! What do you m°an ?'" impatiently exclaimed Gerald Fitzgerald. " And what the demon do you take me for ?" " For mm, tictjcy, dats all ; jes' for mm r Lv. Man allers lay his sins and sorrows on wirnmin, and takes his spite out on dem, allers ; from dat ole cowardly sneak, Adam, as laid all his pickin's and stearin's on Eve, down to dis day. Dough as for wi/so'f, I don't believe as Eve ever had .inynng at all to do wid stealing dat apple. 'Taint no ways likely. I believe it was all Adam's own doings from fust to last, and den, when ho got found out, he went and laid it all on Eve. But dats neider here nor dere. What I mean to say is, Mar»e Colonel, if yor go and 'pents ob what yer's done in haste dis day, don't go for to lay de blame all on her, nor likewise take yer spite out on her. L)ore ! I's done my duty And said my '-ay ef yer kills me for it de #ex' minute !"' said Aunt Jew sturdily. "Jess! bow darp you speak in that jnannei to me ? Yet why should 1 be angry, with you, faithful creature? You do your duty bravely by the orphan child I have ventured to make my wife. Bo ateas?, good, honest nurie. Gei brudo's happiness shall be the fir.-t object of my life. Be sure of that, good nurse," said Gerald Fitzgerald, with much emotion. " l)m\ you, Marse Gerald ! Dats you, .yoiusrlf ! " Now keep to dat, honey, in U'lnpt'tUoii'.-! hour. Make her happy .honey. Pu fi her in your bosom, and wear her there, for she is a pure jewel-chile. And here she comes now. Don't lot her see us talkin\" said old Jessie, as she moved away from her master'u .side, and affected to be busy with clearing away the lunch.

Gei'brude entered in her traVeliing"-<lr&s«, with her heavy leather bag in her hand. Gerald hastened to relieve her of it, saying : - • „ "Was there no one to bring this down but you?" " Oh, John tßroolcs or Aunt Jessie would either of them have done so r if I had called ,them. But the bag, was vory light} and I have carried much heavier weights," said Gertrude, smiling. "Bid, your Qld nurse good- by e, my love. Wo must bo going oven now," said Colonel Fitzgerald. , " Aunt Jessie, good-bye. I shall sco you again 'when I come back this way," said Gertrude, warmly pressing the hand of her old nurse. te Good-bye, my dear young mistress. May do Lord bless and prosper you, my good child !" cried the old woman, warmly Kissing the hands with which Gertrude had caressed her. " Good-bye, Aunt Jess. Take care of yourself and the ferry," said Colonel Fitzgerald, as he tucked the arm of Gertrude under his own and led her out. Old Jess, however, followed behind. They all reached the pier where the flatboat waited to take the carriage over. Again Gertrude bado adieu to her old servant, and entered the carriage, which was immediately diiven upon the boat. Colonel Fitzgerald followed, but stood without near the side of the carriage, and took an oar to help the ferry -man, John Brooks, to pull the great boat across the river. This so expedited their ,«peed that the passage was made in a few minutes. The carriage was driven off the boat on to tho Eaglo's Roost Pior. John Brooks camo to the door, hat in hand, and took a respectful leave of his young mistrcsa. Colonel Fitzgorald then entered the vehicle, and placed himself beside Gertrude, and gave the order to drive on. The first mile of the journey, along a rocky and rugged road at the foot of Eagle Roost Ridge, along the east shore of the Wilde, was so lough and difficult as to prevent all comfortable conversations. After that the road grew better as tho carriage neared Wildoville. Thoy were but two miles from the villages when their attention was arrested by a noise far behind them — the sound of swiftly- galloping horses' feet, accompanied by loud shouts "Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!" , "The man is shouting for us; What can he want?"' said Colonel Fitzgerald, as he pulled the check-stiing and stopped the carriage. "It is Boykina, from the rectory, 1 ' said Gertrude, as she gazed through the back window of the carriage on the rapidly ad\aneing lider. " What can bo tho matter ?"

CHAPTER XXXIX. NEAIIWI AND DEAREK. My fond affection thou hast aeon, Then judge of inj' regret To think more happy thou hadst been If we had never n •";. And has that thought been shared by theo? All, no ; that smiling cheek Proves more unchanging lovo for me Than laboured wordb can speak. T. If. Bayly. Thk horseman drew up at the carriage door and touched his hat. '• Is anything the matter, Boykins ?" inquired Colonel Fitzgerald, while Gertrude *ooked eagerly on. 11 No, Marse Colonel, not a thing ; only Z\li=s Patricia sent me arter you, pob'has'e, to fetch this yer bag and this note to Miss Gertrude,"' said the man, detaching a large black tinvelling-bag from the pummel of the saddle and handing it into the carriage, and then drawing a small blue envelope from his vest pocket and delivering it to the little lady. Colonel Fitzgerald stowed away the bag, and Gertrude opened her note, while Boykhi6 stood by, hat in hand. Patricia'b noto ran thus : The Rectory, Tuesday Afternoon. My Pooti, Dear, Deluded Little Gvavvik : After jou had gone oft' in that wild way, and I had time to come to my senses. I remembered that you would require some changes of clothing and other necessaues of life, which neither you nor your captor had once thought of. So I have packed a bag to despatch it by Boykins, I hope ho will overtake you before the stage coach leaves VVildeville. Now, you two harum-scarum children, take heed to the good counsel of one who is wiser, if not older, than yourselves. Take care of yourselves. Keep your hair combed, and j our faces washed, and your shoes tied. Be polite to all your fellow-travellers ; be ever ready 'o lend thorn a book, your newspaper, your penknife, or anything they may need, except your hair-brushts ; don't lend j*our hair-brushes, ■whatever you do; as for lending your tooth-brushos, that is a mere matter of taste. Finally, don't quarrel; for, "children, you should never let such angry passions rise. Your litl'e hands were never made to tear each other's eyes." I have been writing this while Boykina has been putting the saddle on Gerald's horse, which fortunately was left here; for if my messenger had to ride the rector' « cob he wou'd never overtake you. Here he comes ;so now I must stop. Receive my benediction. Patkicia Fn zc^rai/d. "Any answer, Miss?" inquired the man. " No answer, thank you, Boykins, except this— give my grateful love to Miss Patricia, and add that I will write to her from Washington," replied Gertrude, as she re-folded her letter and dropped it into her pocket. Boykin3 bowed, touched his hat, turned his horse's head, and galloped off. The carriage drove on, and in about twenty minutes enfered Wildeville. Wildoville was one of those picturesque mountain towns so frequently to be found in West Virginia. It was built on the cast bank of the Wilde river, under the .shadow of Eagle Roosfc Ridge, It consisted mainly of one sheet, which was also a one sided street, as the hou.=es wore all built with their backs fco the mountain and their faces to the water. A few scattered cottages were also perched like crows' nests wherever they could find a lodgment on the side of the mountain. The hotel, known as the " Antlers," with its stables and offices, occupied a position about midway down the village street. The court-house, the country gaol and the alms-house were at the south end of the town. As the carriage stopped, several negro servants started up from their lounging positions in front of the house, and ran to tender their services. One took the horsos' heads ; another opened the carriage door ; a third let down the steps. Gerald Fitzgerald alighted, handed out his companion, drew her arm within his own, and led her into the house, at the door of which ho was* met by the polite, oldfashioned landlord, who stared a little at seeing a bride wjio was not Geraldino Fitzgerald, but who quickly recovered himself, and bowing profoundly, said : "I am proud to see you, Colon«l Fitzgerald, and I beg to offer my sincere good wishes to yourself and Mrs Fitzgerald." "I thank you, sir, for myself and Mrs Fitzgerald," replied the bridegroom, very courteously. "Will you do me the honour to walk into tho parlour ?" inquired the landlord, with a polite wave of his hand towards the open door on the left-hand side of the entrance hall. Colonel Fitzgerald bowed assent, and led Gertrude into a neat sitting-room, with whitewashed walls, white-curtained win-

' ' !' i • vt , \ . '*' <', < ?—"? — " dows, waxed ''pine floor',, ahdl dowered,, chintz-covered easy-chairo and »s>fas> .and plain cherry-wood, stands and tables. [ " Shall I have bh& honour of serving you "with refreshments, Colonel FtozgeraK.f 1 inquired the landlord, • < ' •*' Thanks, no r Mr Eastup ; but be good enough to tell me how long it will fee before the stage-coach for Washington* s-fcops-herer?" " Well, sir, in- from about fifteen to thirty minutes, It is now half-past four. It is due at five \. but it is never regular:" * ' Thanks. That will do., Mr Eastup* '" The landlord bowed and withdraw. " Will. you mind Btaying here for a few moments alone, my child, while I go ouft to do a little errand in the village?" " Oh, no, sir \, not at all," said Ger.tr.iado, cheerfully. " Sir ? ' repeated Colonel Fitzgerald^ playfully, " I shall not mind staying here- alone- for a few moments — Gerald," she said,, amending her speech. And again her meek, lovely face flushed with light and colour. "That is> right," ho said,, and stooped and kissed the sweet lips- tlutfc had uttered his name. And considering he did not love his little bride, 1 think he was rather fond of kissing her. " Now Gertrude, as I go. out I will speak ta Eastup, and tell him no-t to let you be annoyed by the intrusion, of afciiangers," said he, as he turned to leave- the room. " Oh, but I do not mind strangers at all, and it would be a pity to keep peoplo out of u room they have a right to enter, like the public parlour of the hotel," said JGertrade. "Nevertheless, I shall tell him. I will not have you subjected to the gaze of village groups," replied Colonel Fitzgerald, with a shrug of his shoulders. " She wants delicacy, wants refinement, poor child ! But what can I expect?" Lue added, mentally, and with a deep sigh, as he left the room. Ho was mistaken. In Gertrude's pure spirit there was no want of true delicacy and refinomonfc ; bu,fc there was a total absence of pride and egotism. She was keenly sensitive.. She perceived the slight change in her husband's tone, in his look, in his manner. She felt that she had displeased him by her words, but she could not understand how,, or why. How, indeed, should a spirit as meek as hers understand the scornful hauteur of the " Summit Fitzgeialds ?" No, she could not comprehend, but she could deeply feel, and her heart sickened and fainted under the impression of her husband's displeasure. She shivered with cold, not only from the chill air of the late September afternoon in the mountains, but also from a strange nervousness ; and the- squaro Paisley shawl she wore was but a thin protection against the weather of the hour and the season. She knew she had no warmer wrap in the bag she had brought from the ferry, and bho shivered and thought of the coming night journey through the mountains. Bub not long did that thought occupy her mind ; it gave place to the deeper disturbance she felt in wondering why her simple words had so annoyed her husband,, and though sho. continued to shiver with cold, she could think of nothing but hisdispleasure. In a few moments, however, ho re-entered the parlour, bringing in his hands a big; parcel, which he laid upon the table ana proceeded to unwrap, displaying a large silver-grey shawl of the finest Shetland wool. Gertrude watched him, knowing tliat it was intended for herself, even before he doubled it corner-wise, and laid it over her shoulders, and folded it across her breast, saying, as he did so : " I am an awkward lady's maid, lave \ so if I make a mibtake, you must correct it — do you hear 1" " Oh, thank you so much, Gerald, You aro so very kind to think of getting this for me," she murmured, as she adjusted her soft, warm wrap, with a smilo, of perfect appreciation. " Kind—/ kind ? Never say that of me, Gertrude. lam not kind— Heaven forgive me ! — least of all am I kind to you. But I knew that you would need u warm shawl for your night journey across the mountains. And here," he added, going back to the table, and taking up a fleecy white hood, " put this in your bag, to replace your hat when you grow tired on the journey and want to lie back in your seat and sleep." " And yet you say you are not kind to me, Gerald ?" she softly inquired, as she received the gift and looked gratefully up into his face. "No, little Gertrude, not kind to you. I Avish I were," ho repeated with a sigh. Every trace of- displeasure and annoyance had disappeared from his countenance. " Gerald," she began, in a low hesitating voice— "Gerald, just now, were you really offended with me ?" " • Offended ' with you, child ?— Certainly not. Who could ever bo offended with you? and why should you fancy that I was ?" he inquired, gravely. " Oh, because, I thought you looked so." "When, Gortrude?" " When I said I did not mind strangers." "0 ! and you noticed that ? Well, dear, I was just a little annoyed at tho thought of -no matter, dear child. I could not be offended with you." '• Gerald," she said plaintively, " yott"see Ido not know much , but I want to do right, and to please you more than • anything else in tho world. Will you always tell me if I do wrong, so that I may correct myself ?" " Perhaps, little Gertrude ; but you will do nothing wrong ; whatever else you do you will not do wrong. And now, sweet little wife, here comes' the stage-coach, and h^re comes a man to tell us it is ready," he added, as he drew her arm within his own and led her out into the hall. The man took up Gertrude's two bags and followed them. "Can you tell me if the trunk 'l- sent from the Summit has arrived yet ?" inquired Colonel Fitzgorald of the porter. "Yes, sir; and it has been put in the boot of the stage," answered the man, as lie went to the waiting- coach and officiously opened the door. Gerald Fitzgerald handed his bride in, and seated her on the back seat, taking his place at her side. There was but one other passenger— a tall woman muffled up in a long black cloak, the hood of which was drawn over her head, while her face was completely hidden behind a thick black veil. On leaving the town, the stage-coaqh also left the river-bank, taking the old turnpike road, leading eastward, through a rugged v ravine, with the " Eagle, Roost Hid ge' 5 ' on the north, and the bristling precipice of the " Hog's Back " on the south. The short autumn afternoon soon closed in, and the sun went down, leaving the: passengers inside the coach in total darkness. , ; On the other side of the mountain-passi the coach stopped at an old-fashioned posthouse, called Undevbridge, to leave and take the mail, and to change horses. Hore three passengers, ail gentlemen, got in. Then the coach went on. Tho road went downward now, toward tho valley ; but not by any regular descent, I for many roads a'nd many ravines lay across

lfct" Sometimest&e'oJil stage-coach, crawled at a-snail's pace upa steep mowiitaini-side r tgaihed ttiobop'anpthemw-hirled down 'the other side;, boundiaig andaeboumling as it went, and threatening afc. every juaßp; to pitch its- body, over fche horeea' heads:. On auoh occasion* Gerald Fitzgerald .would hold- his littfe feilow.-travelltr veiry closely and^wnly un&ltheruBhing,.tunajbLiiag: coaoh reached the base oithe; mountain, in safety. Once, after an> unusually, terrific downward flight,,!}© -pressed, her to' hia> side and inquired in a low^ tone : ■ * ' Does this f righteiwjjpu, ,m$ child ?." > " Oh, no, indeed ;.not-at all." <" I should. think itovould. Why does it not ?" "Because your arm* is- around 1 me, Gerald," she; murmured, . nestiling to> hisside with theiunocent confidence of a. childIndeed, in many respasts- Gefctrude was. like a child,. Gerald Fitzgerald cairidnokanswer. Hfr sighed heavily, and. he- folded her shawl more carefully around l hsr and. told her to exchange the little straw, hat she wo»e; for the woollen, hood he. liadv got for her j for the autumn, night was- oold among the* mountains. They were, now creeping.'' up> another as*cent, and the slow motion., of the coachi enabled her to- open her., travelling bag and get at her hood with ease,. •As soon as she took off her bat, Colonel i Eitzgeuald picked it up and hung it to a.-sfcrag-fromitheroffif of j the coach,, and Gertrude, tied, tha woollen I hood over horJiead andamder her chia. " Now. lean, back aud:ypu.vv.ill rest well," he said. At the foot, of this - mountain* tlie- stagedriver blew his horn,,di"ovsa;slowly/ on, drew up r and stopped. Red lights gleamed i oufc fnom the black darkness — some stationary,, some- moving. The first aame from, the; windows of the post-housa-of Cedavdliff.. Thueysec&ncJ came from tho lanterns of, the hostlers, as they led fronii the stables the f resit horses that were brought, to relievo. the> jaded beasta | attached to the stage-coach.. ! Here the three passengers \yno had got in the coach at. Underbindge left it, and entered a private carriage that seemed to be waiting for them. Colonel Fitzgeraldi beia& to. Gertrude, and whispered : " Would; you i like- to> some out and go. into tho house for, a. few moments ? There are w.omen in, attendance,, for the convenience of lady passengers. It might refresh, you to walk about for a* little while." " No, thanks^. I an* very comfortable. I would rather nofe. Usoive my seat, if yoa please," answered Gortri/tde. " But youi <v.ill not have another opportunity of, stopping until we reach Fritsburg,, where we- breakfast," urged tbo colonel. " I will get out if you wish me to do so ; but really I am very comfortable he*©," replied Gertrude. *' Then, stay where you are, child, of course," said Colonel Fitzgerald. " Bwt I must leave yo» for a little while. You will not be afraid?'* " Oh, no ! I was never afraid oi anything, in. ray life !" she answered, brightly. "Stop a moment. You 'were never! afraid of anything in your life V " ' "•No, never !" "Haw was that?" "My grandfather taught roe that ' n Obbhing could hurt me but sin. So long as I. kept myself from sin I should be safe, I For the last tiling that could happen to me \ in this world would be the death of my body ; and death is never to be feared — rather, indeed, if it were the Lord's will, to be desired." " Do you desire death, Gertrude ?" " Oh, no, no, no, no ! Nat now that I am to live with you. Once 1 did, when I thought I should never see you again, but not now. I did not mean that. I only meant to tell you what grandfather taught me, and how I never feayed anything on this earth, because of the-, lively life beyond it." "Was that the roasoa why you wero so brave in crossing the Wilde at night, in a thunder-storm, to bri&g passengers over the ferry ? " inquired Colonel Fitzgerald, wistfully. "Perhaps so. I c&> not know. I never thought about it. Of course, when the call came and there no one else to answer it, I had to go." • " According t&your own sense of duty." I "Yes, Gerald" "So you aronot afraid to remain alone ' in the coack while I go into the post- ! house?" " Why, no> indeed ! What could possu bly harm r&e hero ? I should be the most, pitiable of. cowards to be afraid to stay aloE^e in a coaohj with so many people within, call) evesa if there ivere a possibility of danger." "Very well, child. So be it. O«ly I know many ladies are c naturally born to fear/" said Colonel Fitzgerald, smiling. Then adding, " I will return in a few minutes," he loft the coach, and walked over and entered tho post-house. Tho place was a post-office and readingroom as well. He went straight to reading-room, and took up a Washington paper, which, though twenty-four- hours aid, was new to him. ■ j He turned with anxiety to the report of a criminal trial then in progress, and read with avidity all the details. He was still reading, when the warning sound of the stage-horn was heard, with the cry of : " Ale aboab£) i" He then rushed to thp bar, took nothing for himself,but thinking of the shivering girl in the coach, ho ordered ahobport'wine 9angaree,and waited impatiently until it was prepared. Then he paid for both sangaree and glass, took himself to the coach and entered with it carefully, just as the horses started.