THE MYSTERY OF HADDON'S FERRY.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 226, 29 October 1887, Page 6

THE MYSTERY OF HADDON'S FERRY.

{By E. D. E. N. Soutiiwortii. )

CHAPTER XLIL THE DAY Al-TER THE WEDDING. few men find what they love, or could have loved, Though chance, blind accident, and the strong Necessity of loving have removed Antipathies, to recur, eio loncj, Envenomed with irrevocable wrong. Byron.

Scnri-sl found our travellers seated at 'breakfast, in the great, bare dining-room o* 'the mountain post-house ; yot the place was quaint and attractive. According to the custom of the country at inns of that neighbourhood and time, t,ho ho*t and lm household sat down at i able w ith his guests. There were no guests this morning, however, except our traveller. " Shot this buck myself, Colonel, not three clays ago, and not a hundred yardj trom our garden wall, if you will believe me," exclaimed the landlord, in proud satisfaction, as he placed a choice cutlet on a hot plate and passed it up to Colonel Fitzgerald. "Indeed! T>n the deer venture so near human habitations ?' inquiied the colonel, as he placed the plate before his wife. "All ' J believe you, sir! What would you think now of a catamount coming down the mountainside, climbing over our wall, and carrying off one of my finest goslings- in broad daylight, right before my two looking eyes ? '' "■ Oh ! they used fco do that at the ferry/ put in Gertrude. "At the feiry our back yaiJ went almost up to the foot, of Wild Cat Clills (called .so from the great numbers of those creatures infesting the mountains). I have heard our old servant say that many a time, when she has hap pened to go out in the back yaul at night she ha-- seen what appeared to be tv. in stats on the tjp of the ienee ; but they always diopped down behind the fence, and their di^appeaiance was attended with a fa.st rattling,by "\\ hieh she knew that a wild-cat had been prov, ling there after chickens. But grxndt.Vih'-T nitei wards kept dogs in the Ivck \ard,and aftet that the wild cats were no's ci *een." As .-'p.o flushed at her little speech, she lupprjnod to look up at her husband, when siies.iv dissatisfaction and annoyance ex-pre-MHI in every lineament of his dark, hand-ome face. He was looking down upon 1 i- pi lie and drumming ab.sently with his ioi k " Ah, what lwi\o I done or said wrong no .v" she mentally inquired, a> her eyes soro'at to moet tho.»c whose warm or cold •-lance seemed almost as life or death to he:. Ce/ald Fit^erald never raised his eyes ium hi- ])late, but moodily resumed his knife and fork and went on silently with his breakfa-t. Geit'udo spok» v no more, but communed joiiow *ully viith her own keart, teviewing ea:efuliy all her words to tty to find out in whit h 3110 had onVndod. " Oh, T was only talking of the wild cats and the— fen y ! Ah, 1 wonder — I ti'inruT if it is the feirv ho doc.s not like to hear abjiu ? It must be. 1 will never mention iv- r dear old home again in his pie^enoe. 7\"o. it cannot be that. I do him wrong. He i- ton tiuly noble c\er to feel annoyed at the mention of my old life- Oh, 1 wish — I e-i-h I could be more "worthy of him," she si-Jied. Whatever it was that had displeased (Jei.vkl Fit 'gerald, a& a<- h.* happened go tv; n aiound and notice the little penitent aii 1 n cabled face hi-> conscience smote him, and he said, with even more than usual gentleness : *' Gerlmde, my child, you are taking nothing. l)o, let me see you eat. We ohall have"'i lono lide before dinner time." She -tarted softly and looked up at him, ■u it.h oh ! such a look of relief and lo\ c and tins* in tho^e lucik brown eyes. " I wish/ thought Gciald Fitzgerald, <c I had more self-control, or that gentle grl h,°.d less s/nsithencss. I know I Av'imdcd her v hen I looked so much dis*&n ceiled In her allusion to the foiry. I nirst ti v to keen a better guard over my tve. Poor Gut trade ! Poor child! Because I know that she loves me and ha.s given her voting life unconditionally to me, and I>oL'au c 1 cfnnct lo\e her for all this, I ma-l be all the more patient, gentle, and l orbearino with her. Yes, I must, and I ,'iil. Who but a brute could wilfwlly wound -0 tender a heart as hers ?" As tli^v arose from the table, Colonel rit/crerald hid a question to ask : " \\ luit timo does the first stage-coach lurni Wildeville airivv; here?" ■' The coach that left Wildeville Rtfi^e o clock this moi'iing will reach here at t\, ehe, stop lult-an-hour for dinnei 1 , and th'ii go on Asitli fiesli hor.-e.V answered Vit'Sirnpkins. '"Then, as it i'> now only eight o'clock, we will have fout hours on our hands. How v. uulfl \ on like t o employ them, Gertrude ?" jnquhod Colonel I'it/gciald. do not mind. In any way you *pl;-a-e, ' sho mnrmuiod in reply, lifting her eye -"to hi- to discover, if possible, the bent of hi- inclination-. "Then, a-* v;<i shall have to sit in the -oPgc-coach fioni half-]>ast twelve o'clock until about nine to-night, when it stops at Black-, illo foi .s\ii)per, suppose we make the host vr.e of our opportunity and take a walk thiougl' the io)o->tV" .suggested Colonel "Fn/gerald. " Yeh, thjfc will be delightful," eagerly e\claime r i (rertiude, her brown eyes tarliant with happiness attlic idea of taking a tt te-a cjte otioll with Gerald through the foicst. "Get yniu hat and shawl, then, child, and we will go," he said. She leffc his side and went into the bedroom to put on her hat before the glass. While she was adjusting it, her weddingring, which was too large for her, slipped •off her finger and rolled upon the floor. She picked it up, pressed it to her lips, and 'ohen looked at it. This was not the iirst occasion 'on which the rino had slipped fiom her finger, for it fitted loosely ; but it was the fir.st opportunity she had had to examine it. It was a thick and heavy ring oi what is called guinea gold. Within its circle was an inocription — a monogram — G. (*. Y. She gazed at the.se initials fondly, smiling to herself as she murmured : "ft. C!. F. Gerald and Gertrude Fitzgerald. How did he ever manage to have this ring engnncl on so .short a notice?" As sha .'iskecl herself this question the .->-nile died from her eyes and her cheek grow a shade paler. " It was made for Geraldino," she murmured to herself — "for Geraldine ! 'G. G. F. fetands for Gerald and Geraldine Fitzgerald. Oh, if, alter all, he should regret her ! If, kfter all, I should have marred his happiness, instead of making it, what a most miserable girl I should be !" She gazed upon the monogram on the ring, falling into a sad reverie, forgetting to tie her hat, until at length a cheerful voice at the door aroused her :

" Come, Gertrude, my little girl, are, you ready ?'' " Yes, Gerald !" she exclaimed brightly, quite reassured by the tones of his voice, at once so gay and so kind. "I am quite ready, Gerald !" And she hastily tied her hat, put on her shawl, and tali ing her gloves in her hand, she joined him in the passage. But, instead of starting then for their walk, he btood still and looked at her. " I am guile ready, Gerald," she said again. " I think nob, dear. Pat on .your gloves. Ladies do not go out with bare hands," he said, and immediately repented saying it, as he saw her delicate chucks Hush. " I meant to put them on as we walked along. I did not wish to keop you waiting, Gerald," she answered. "But ladies do not finish their toilets while walking abroad," he said, because, having entered upon the subject, he had to end it. " Oh, Gerald, lam not a lady. 1 wish I were for your sake," she answered, gently, while the colour deepened on her soft cheeks, and a mist dimmed the light of her dark eyes. instantly the better angel of the man rebuked him. " You arc a lady, Gertrude, in all the essentials that go to make a true lady. It is 1 svho lack some qualities of a truo gentleman, I fear. 1 beg your pardon, clear Gor- ( tru.de." " Oh, please, please, never do that. Please never hesitate to point out a mistake to me, Gerald ; for though I may feel pain in having made one, 1 shall soon feel pleasure in rectifying it," she said, smiling brightly up in his face. " And, oh ! what a fu?s to m.-xko about a little pair of gloves ! and such litfclo -wee gloves ; too !" ho laughingly exclaimed. " Let me button them for you, Gertrude." Bhe held her hands up, smilingly, and he fastened her gloves with moro goodwill than grace. They walked out together, taking the direction toward the forest, in the rear ot the po^t-house— the forest of oaks, elms, ash, chestnut, and other giants among trees that tilled the valley and climbed the mountain ranges on each side. "The scenery is considered fine here, Gertrude, but it is not neat so fine as that of Haddon's Fetry. Indeed, I, who have been something of a traveller, have never beheld scenery any where that combined in itself so much picturesque beauty with such .savage and stupendous sublimity a.s is seen in the passage of Wilde river, through the Allcghany mountains" *<aid Colonel Fitz gerald, as they walked on. " Of course, I have never seen any place in this world finer than Jladdon's Ferry ; but then, I have never been out of my nathe State," answered Gertrude. "Tell me, now, about your life ai. Haddon's Ferry, my little girl," said Colonel Fitzgerald, with the latent motive of atoning for having involuntarily wounded her feelings at the table. Geitrude gave him a description of their daily life at the ferry. "In the summer," she said, " we all had to work hard enough to make up, for it ; especially in July and August, when theio would be so many stianjjeis from the cities either visiting on the plantations, or else boarding in the villages. Oh ! then, grandfather, John Brook ■> and I would be plying the oaxs or the poles all day long. .Sometimes at night my arms ached so that I could not bleep. Oh, ye?," said Gertrude, with a little pleased look, " during the summer time we earned our winteiV leisure." " Was it inclination or necessity that keut you bound to the oais all day long, Gettrude?" he a-ked. "It was both," she answered frankly. "You &cc, grandfather and John Brooks had to work the great flat-boat to bring over carnages, homes, dray->, servants, any cattle, or any heavy freight, and I had to row the little boat to bring over^ single passengers-, or small parties of ladies and yentlemen : and I used to take a great deal of ploasme in it. Was I wrong ?" "No, no, no, child; you were right. But \ou know so little of this sarcastic world, (iertrudc !" "Ye^, Geiald." " J[<m\ old aio you ' ; ' " Fifteen and a half, Gerald." "A mere child— too young, too young, too young to be married !" he sighed. She heard him, and her face fell ; but after a short pause, she said : "Yes Gerald; but you know in six months I shall be sixteen, and in a year after I shall be >c\enteen. I shall grow old, dear Gerald." " Xnw Heaven foibid !" exclaimed Gerald Fitzgerald, with a bind of irrepressible laughter, provoked oven out of his gravity by her quaint apology. "No, Gertrude! I hope to make you so happy that you will not grow old for half a century yet. But, little girl, you aie so young, .so childlike, so inexperiencjd, vith, hov.o\or, .so much time \ct left you for improvement, that I think I must take you to France, and place you in a fir«.t-cla<s school for two or thiee yeais. You arc now a lovely little gill, Gertrude; but I wi&h to soe you in time a beautiful, cultivated and accomplished woman. What do you think about this, Gortiude?" ( he inquired, caressing the little hand that lay on his arm. Her face, lately so bright with happiness, had grown very grave ; her fresh, elastic voice fell a note or two as she answered ; " I feared that I was too ignorant to do you any credit, Gerald ; but, then, I thought you knew best." " You aio not ignoiant, Gertrude. You are a better linguist than most men—not to say most ladies. But your training has been that of a girl. Now I think that two or thiee years in a first - class French or English school would be of the greatest benefit to you, and would make of you a very brilliant woman. What do you think yourself, little girl? Speak tome frankly now," he said, pressing the little hand he held within his own. She tried to answer him, but her voice faltered. She paused, recovered, and then,, with a half-suppressed sob, she exclaimed : "Oh, Gerald, please — please do not send me aAvay from you — so far, and for so long a time ! Oh, please, don't send me away from you at all, Gerald ! I \yill study anything you wish 1 I will study nighl and day to learn everything I ought to know. I am not dull. Gerald. I know I could make myself worthy of you, so that you should never be ashamed of me in any company. Only don't send mo qway from yoxi, Gerald —let me stay with you !" she clAsped hor little tremulous fingers and raised her misty eyes pleadingly to his face. "Very well, thon, my child, we will say no more about it. Certainly you shall not leave me, if you do not wish to do so," he answered gravely, md thoio was a note of disappointment in his tone, which, however, she< did not perceive. She could not speak the joy she felt in his reply, but she took his hand and pressed it to her lips and bosom many times. "Come now, Gertrude," he said, drawing Her hand over his arm again, "it is time to return to the house." They walked back in almost perfect silence, Gerald looking both grave and sad, Gertrude thoughtful and anxious. " Have you had a pleasant walk ?" kindly inquired Colonol Fitzgerald as they entered the house. " Yes," answered Gertrude ; but her manner was so abstracted thut he led her

afc onco to their private room j and, when he h&d shttt fcho door, inquivod j . , . "What is the iflatter with you,' child? Tell me truly." • c Gerald," she began, with a little irrepressible feob, " I know you Want mo to go to that foreign school, • and-~-aml— -I also would like to go." " What ! have you changed your miud so suddenly?" ho asked, regarding her attentively. "Yes, Gerald, I have." i " And you would really liko to go to school ?" "Yes." "What, and leave mo?" ■ "Yes." " For two or three years ?" {" " For ds long as should be necessary. " j "Now, little Jady, look y©«v husband straight in the eyes and answer him truly : Why have you changed your ' mind so suddenly, and why da you wish now fco go to school ?" She- lifted her trisstf ul eyes to* his, and answered truly : " Because I know how much s^oll 'wish mo to bo cultivated and accomplished. J saw how grave and troubled you looked 1 after I had objected to going to school." "And for this reason you want to £«*?*' " Yes, G'srald ; and because, although it will be very hard for mo to leave yoiij-it j would bo harder still to stay with you aeainst your will. Besides, what ams X that I should sot up my judgment against your judgmewt ? I will go, Gerald." "I thought so," he gravely replied, drawing her to his bosom and pressing lias lips to hers. "I thought so, my lit&le dove. Now, Ksten fco me. I have given up that plan of sending you away from me-.. I could not do it now". You thought I looked * grave and troubled ' as I walked home. Child, I was occupied with thoughts of you, and of what I could best do to secure to you intellectual culture and! domestic happin«ps at the same time; Now, I have solved the problem, Gertrude: We will go abroad for a few years. I wiiE procure teachers for you who shall attend you in your own house. Thus you will nob lbe separated from me." "Oh, Gerald, that would make me very, . very happy ; and I would improvo every - opportunity of culture you afforded mo/ &he said, with all the earnestness of her • earnest nature. At this moment they heaid the shrill,' prolonged blast of She coming stage-horn' from the turnpike road. When the fresh horses had already been • put to it, the porter stowed away the bagsin the interior of the coach, and held the little Scotch terrier until Nolly's mistress should have taken a seat and got ready to receive her. Gerald handed Gertrude into the coach, where .she was about to 'take the back peat, when the guard touched ihis> hat and said : " I beg your pardon,, sir, but the three places on the back seat -are all taken by a party from Wildoville, who are going all the way to Washington*" "A party from Wildeville? Who- are they, I wonder ? Nevermind. What seats are disengaged ?" ' ' The middle scats are, sir. " " Very welt. I take the three places on the middle seat, said Colonel Fitzgerald, as he seated Gertrude onith© middle cushion and put her little dog imher lap. At this moment the coachman got up on his box, and jwt the end of the tin trumpet between his lips, and blew a shrill, prolonged blast, to warn' all: passengers* to come on board. A little crowd was seen to .leave the post" house and hurry towards>the coach. Then Colonel Fitzgerald looked out and suddenly fell back in" his seat, exclaiming : "Great Heaven !" € ' Who is it, Gerald ? Yi\hat is the matter?" inquired Gertrude. A black-veiled lady entered the stagecoach, handed in by the long-coated priest. Gerald Fitzgerald, who had recovered his self-control, coolly removed Gertrude's travelling- bags fiom the vacant middle seat beside him, that the lady might pass over it to her place on the back seat,, while' the lady put up her veil and stood revealed : Guialdixe Fitzc;i:k>li>. Her beautiful face was white as marble* and bore a .strange contrast to her jet black eyes, hair and raiment. Her appearancesuggested the idea of a fine, full-length portrait done in Indian ink. Her self control >vns as- perfect: as that of her cousin and lato lover.. "Good morning-, Gerald. Wo did nofc expect to find you here. We had been led to suppose that you had gone on, to town yesterday," she said,, quietly, as she ga *o him her hand. "Wo should -have gpne on yesterday, had not a slight accident detained us at the pobt-houso last night and compelled up to wait for this coach," he answer sd, calmly, as he took her hand and helped hexover the middle- bench to her placo an, the back seat. Never was the ca&y self-governmoub of high breeding better exemplified t]iaa> by these two Fxbzgemlds, whose sudden* and. unexpected meeting in the stage-coach had shaken the souls of both to their centres, while each preserved an unruffled serenity. As soon as Goraldino was settled in her seat, an. elderly woman, a stranger fco our travellers, entered, the stagecoacb, also handed in by the oltl priest, and; assisted to her place on the bade seat by the- hand of Colonel Fitzgerald. Last followed the priests himself, Father Dubarry,, assistant priest at! the little Catholic chapel of ,St. Patrick, near Wildeville. Father Dttbarvy shook hau4s.with Gerald Fitzgerald!, and settled himself in the third place on the back seat. Tho guard closed tho door, fehe coachmau cracked his whip, anil the horses started. The first hours of- tho journey were passed in perfect silence^ , Of the two merchants on the front seat, the druggist was asleep, and the grocer was busy with a pencil and note-book. Gerald Fitzgerald, after he had replaced Gertrude's bags on the vacant seat between himself and her, turned his face to the window and looked out, and continued to look out. As for Gertrude, she was, perhaps, if not the most unhappy, yet the most to be pitied. Since tho entrance of Geraldine sho had felt rather than seen the change in the husband whom she worshipped. He was sitting in the same place, on the same bench, within reach of her hand, yet she felt as if, since tho entrance of Geraldine, he had removed himself to an infinite distance from ' her. She felt lonely, and oppressed with grief and mortification, a? though she wore an intruder where she had no right to bo, an obstacle to tho happiness of one whose welfare she would have toiled, suffered, died— clone anything except sinned— to promote. Sho wondered if she had done wrong in accepting his rash offer of marriage, made, it had been said, in wrath and haste, to be repented in bitterness at leisure. Had she done wrong in accepting this offer of marriage ? She started as her conscience whispered that it was too late to ask that question now. She was Gerald Fitzgerald's wedded I wife. She wondered if he blamed her for acI coptmg his hasty offer. If he would grow i to hate her for the position she occupied ?

, Wo, no, stvu answered for him. He might regret Jus own rash act in. an insuperable barrier between himself and his once? worshipped Geraldine ; he* hiighfc' never grow; to- love h&v, bub ho was too. just ,and too noble evor to blame her for what she had d&i'o a'fe hfe> oirn bidding, or to hate her for filling" the place, into which he himself had put her. , Gertrude ielt sure of all this. But did Gorbrude regret her own act in becoming the wife of Gerald Fitzgerald? No, no ; not for a single instant. She would not regret it. She could not i but rejoice through all.in the thought that she belonged for ever to him whom she i utterly loved r even now,, when, though he '• sat so near, he soemed &o infinitely far away, How she silently prayed- that he would only turn and look at her, or speak to her, that from his glance or hfa- tone she might discover his mooc&. But he continued to sit with his face to the window, apparently absorbed in the contemplation of t&e mountain scenery. On the back seat tlie silence* was at length broken by a low murmur of conversation between Father Dubarry and' Miss Fitzgerald, but the tone- was- so subdued that thoir words could nofc be heard by anyone for whom they were aot intended. And so the fust stagy of this strange journey progressed.

(To be Continued.)