CHAPTER IX.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 277, 30 June 1888, Page 4

CHAPTER IX.

\ COXFIDKXTIAL CONFESSION. It was midsummer now. All through the green valleys of the Rhone, the sunlight lay warm and golden, and upon the vinehills the heavy clusters were growing rich and purple. The old chateau in Provence was onemass of bloom. From the quaint manygabled roof to the huge portico below, it was hung with roses. At one of the open windows, on a golden July attei-noon, sat Lady Strathspey f looking down into the dim old gardens below, where flowers of every description grew and blossomed, and luscious fruits hung in tempting clusters, and where the silver fountains plashed and murmured, and the nightingales sang throughout the livelong day. And up and down the broad walk that wound like a white belt around the green terrace, a slender, stately woman was rolling an exquisite little carriage, in which sat the young heir, Angus, Earl of Strathspey Towers. A promising, handsome little fellow, this young heir, stout and strong for his age, with line blue-grey eyes, and pretty curl»«. ; daikor a trifle than the Strathspeys', He was crowing and chattering to his nurse in high glee, but his mother looked down upon him with a white, unhappy face. On that memorable evening when the strange woman brought him to the chateau and the countess fell in a dead faint at sight of the birth mark on his arm, this little follow had been warmly received and duly installed in his rightful position as expectant heir of the Strathspey earldom. There was no possible doubt in regard to the child's identity, rambling and dubious as the woman's story was. The scarlet cross upon his right arm was proof enough. No one but a Strathspey had ever born that mark. Even Judith was convinced that he was the stolen babe, and declared that the birthmark, to the best of her knowledge, was the same she had noticed on the babe's arm. Lord Stiathspey, in a transport of gratitude and joy, took to his bosom the boy who had been so miraculously restored to him. But all the while the countess lay upon her couch, white and death -like, utterly unconscious of what was going on, of the tumultuous joy that filled the" old chateau, because the young heir was found. friends and acquaintances crowded in tohear the strange story, and to offer their congratulations, and at Strathspey Towers the bells rang and clashed for joy till all the Scottish peaks wero alive with jubilant echoes. Lord Strathspey's heir was found, but his countess lay again at the very door of death, and Doctor Renfrew was again summoned across the channel ; but, as before, when everyone looked for her to die r she lived. And now in the golden July afternoon she sat in the rose-shaded window, the glow of lifo and health slowly coming back to her waxen cheeks, looking down upon the little babe whose loss she had mourned with such pas&ionate grief : yet without one gleam of joy in her wistful eye&, or the shadow of a smile on her still, white face. The woman who brought the child had been retained by Lord Strathspey as a nurse for him. In the confusion occasioned by his wife's sudden illness, he did not see what better he could do. Judith could not be spared a moment from her lady's chamber, and little Lady Pearl's nurse had her hands quite full to take care of that mischievous sprite. A nurse must be had for the boy. ' And, my lord, if you would only keep me, suggested the woman, humbly, * that is, if your lordship thinks I could suit you. I've grown attached to the child— begging your lordship's pardon— and I can't help thinking I could do a better part by him, understanding all his little ways and habits, as I do, than anyone else.' This argument proved quite potent with the earl, and the strange woman was engaged on the spot. She went back to London for a few days to settle up her affairs, as she said, and make things comfortable for her husband, and returning, settled herself comfortably to take care of the babe. And the handsome reward offered by the earl, which belonged to her as a matter of course, was placed, at her request, in London bank, payable to her order. Judith offered no remonstrance or objection, which, of course, it was nob her place to do, but a very casual observer could see she was by no means satisfied. •I don't like her,' she said, speaking confidentially with one of the maids in regard to the new nurse, 'and I'm sorry enough that my lord engaged her. If

my poor lady lives I'm sure she'll nob be plea e ed. ' , , „ • Why, in the world, Judith ? How queer you are !' responded the maid. 'I m sure the 1 * a nice, friendly body, and seems devoted to the child. Why don t you like her V 'I don't know." . „u\ ' Well, you believe it is tfio nr/A> baby, don't you !' . , „ . , • Well-yes -1 suppose *o. hesitate i Jmiith : » it has the Strathspey hirLh-nuirk anyhow, and that* proof. But, *ho ndcfcd, •can anybody tell me what that woman wants tofctay* here for a* amuse, and she with ten thousand pounds m a London "\Vhat do you stay here tor,' retorted the maid, a nine spitefully, 'when you may have half that Mim the day you marry ♦I'm not ready to many : and there *> a great difference/ replied Judith : I love my lady, and wouldn't lea\o hei now for fifty thousand pounds.' 'And this woman may love the child , returned the maid. ' Other people may have common human feelings a* well as yourself, Judith Ford.' ' I don't dispute it ; and I lepeab all the same. 1 don't like the woman, and 1 m sorry she's here : and you w ould not make me change my mind if >oud stand there and chatter till doomsday.' Whereupon the maid sailed oil in high anger, and Judith went back to hei post in her lady's chamber. . And now, as we were saying, the counters sat looking down upon the little boy and his nuvse-Uoking down with such sad, sad eyes, and Mich a white, white Presently the nurse caught sight of her, and rolled 'the carriage beneath the wnnlow. * See, see ! there's mamma, Lord Angus ! slie cried, directing the child's attention to the window above. The little fellow caught sight ot Ins mother's face, and clapped his hands and cried out in delight. But the mother s lip, only quivered when she tried to smile, and the words of recognition she strove to speak ended in a sob. The nurse seemed to watch the counters with a peculiar alertness that reminded one of a panther eyeing his hapless prey preparatory to his fatal spring ; and when she noted, as she did. e\en at that distance, the still, unutterable borrow in her w hite face, a strange expression glittered in liei black eyes, and she muttered lnaudibly, slowly shaking her head irom side to side. Just at this moment the earl came galloping up the avenue and, catching sio-ht of fcbe boy in his carriage, he bounded from his horse." and, throwing his reins to a groom, ran across the terrace like a boy. The restoration of the child had made him another man, and brought back all the elasticity and vigour of his youth. « My boy ! my darling '' he ciied, and the child recognising him in an instant, held out his little hands with a en of joy. The earl lifted aim from the carnage and bore him off into the garden, and the nurse, left to herself, rolled her empty carnage away. Lady Strathspey, watching tiom above, turned from the 'window, and. throwing herself upon her couch, burst into a storm of uncontrollable sobbing. * Oh, my dear lady !' cried Judith, starting up from her seat on the opposite side of the room, ' what is it V What can Ido for you r 'Nothing, Judith,' replied the countess, when she had got command of her voice ; * only pity me, for I do believe I am this moment the most wretched woman in the wide world." < AJy lady f •'Tis true, ."Judith, and this i? the moment when I ought to be most blesse-.1. My lord has found his boy, hU heir, the future Earl of Strathspey. He is perfectly happy : the one supreme desire of his soul is granted. Judith, I think I would sooner die than utter one word that might shake ins perfect faith or bring back the old borrow and despair to his face : and yet," she added, with an expression of unutterable suffering in her eyes, ' I could not believe that the child down yonder is my rki/d, not if my soul's eternal welfare depended on it. « Oh, my lady !' Judith cried, ' you know he bears the Strathspey birth-mark, and everyone says he looks like my lord.' 'I know it all, and I have tiied hard enough to believe it all ; I have tried to love the child and look upon him as my j own. but evermore the thought that it is all a mistake, and that somewhere in the world my oivn own laby lives, will be upper- ] most in my mind in spite of all my efforts. And I cannot help it no more than 1 can j control the pulsations of my heart' The girl stood silent, regarding her mistress with a kind of startled wonder, and the unhappy lady went on : ' I thought my grief was great when my babe was stolen, but now that he is restored to me, I Bnd it infinitely harder to bear. Oh, Judith, Judith, was ever lot like mine ? Yet I must breathe no word of this, for my lord is happy ; he believes the boy his own ; I cannot stab him to the heart and make his life a misery by giving utterance to ray groundless belief. Moreover, it is better far that this boy should be here it my own child cannot be found, for my lord, at least, will be happy.' She was silent for a moment, her tace wearing the expression of one in a dream. All of a sudden she put a question to Judith that made the girl's heart leap. 'Judith,' she said, 'do you believe that this boy is my son ? Answer me truly.' ' My lady, 5 stammered the girl, growing red with contusion, 'do nob ask me. The child has the mark of the -carle/ cross, the same that the baby had. What can I believe V 'Answer me, Judith!' commanded the countess ; ' don't speak what appears, to be : answer me truly before Heaven, do you in your heart of hearts believe that child is mine ? Now, yes or no V 1 If you will force me, my lady — no !' 'I thought not. Well, Judith, all we can do now is to keep our own counsel and wort. Time works many wonders, and we cannofc tell what may take place ; but one day, Judith, if Heaven wills, you and 1 will search for that little farm-house amid the mountain-peaks ; it is there I could hear of my own babe, my little darling who had no mother bub the" pitying milch-goat. The bare thought of it, the remembrance of the little mouth, warm and wet with milk, that 1 kissed in. my dreams, makes my very soul yearn. Judith, J mml, 1 will find that spot one day, or go down to my grave unsatisfied.' ( To be. Continued. )