CHAPTER XII

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 279, 7 July 1888, Page 3

CHAPTER XII

KOJI U-MJS. Tuk- countess and Judith drew near the little farmhouse. It was a pretty, snug place, a box of a cottage all over, hung with running creepers, with quaint latticed windows, and sloping eaves, beneath which the wrens and martins twittered. A square, green yard, shaded by a giant oak, beneath which an old man, wearing the simple garb of a Tyrol peasant, sat, tinkering at a broken sheep-bell, which he was vainly trying to mend. , As she approached the wicket-gate, the countess grew deadly white, and leaned heavily on Judith's arm for support. ' Oh, Judith, 5 she murmured, ' how familiar everything seems ! I feel as if I had lived here !' ' Yes, my lady,' replied the girl, her own cheeks very pale, and her voice unsteady ; ' there's not one thing different ; I even remember the peculiar make of the windows, and that smooth, worn stone at the dbqr. Oh, it is very strange !' , They opened the wicket and crossed the greenyard. The old peasant dropped Ms. bell and ro&e to his feet at their approach, 'My lady is faint this mominjj,' spake Judith., ' Would you be gopd enough to let her have a drink of fresh milk ?' 'Ay, ay,, to be fciu-e,', replied the old man," nodding incessantly. , Come in,, come in ; my old woman's laying the dinner now— come right in.| . , , „,

They followed him across the smooth ■stone step,^and'ithrough< fche vine-shaded doorway ; and there, in' the. centre of the white, sanded'floor, stood a square table, set out with shining pewter platters. J ,ady Strathspey gasped for breath, and clung tightly to Judith's arm. , The wife, who- sat in fche chimney-corner, with her spectacles on her nose, rose up wit-h a startled exclamation. 1 \\ hy, bless me !' she cried, seizing upon the countess, and assisting hor to a seat on the wooden settle. ' Poor thing ! what ails her?' 'She's ill and faint,' explained Judith, 'and came to beg a drink of new milk.' ' And she bhall have it,' continued the old woman; 'bub sib ye down yourself,' she added, gUmeing at Judith's white cheeks. 'Ye are like a pair of ghosts, both of .ye. Come, sit down, and I'll have the dinner on the .table in a wink. 'Tib fche very thing, Loo, as'll suit ye, being ailing — chicken broth and dumplings, and a drop of beer to wash it down ; my old man always wants it when he's ailing. Come, sit ye down'!' Judith obeyed, sitting down beside her mistress, and the woman flew about-fretting her savoury meal upon the table, while her husband sat on the stone door-sil', slapping at the flies that buzzed in the noon sunlight. 1 ' .-,• Prefecntjly <a gleeful shout and a ripling" burst, oi .childish laughter broke upon the silence, and from a little back bed-chamber a little 1 fellow, "'feQjne threo summers old, came dancing into the room. Soeing-tho strangers, became to a sudden halt, 1 and btood lik.e a statue, his scarlet smock-frock disclosing his round bare legs and dimpled feet, and a queer little cap, ornamented with a long feather surmounting hi>? head, with hif» profu.se flaxen ringlety. Thciohe folood, his great blue eyes wjde with childif-h wonder. ' Why, Jiomiilus,' cried the old woman, 'can't' ye say how d'ye do to the ladies? Have ye forgot your manners ?' , Romulus dofled hih plumed cap, and dipped his curly flaxen head. ' How d'ye do, ladies ?' he said, obediently. At the sound of i/he sweet, lisping voice, the countess, who had sat since the child's appearance like one turned to stone, uttered a pathetic ciy, and springing- lorward, caught the boy to her bosom. ' Oh, my baby ! my lost darling ! my own precious child !' she cried, between her bursting sobs and passionate lasses ; ' I knew I should find you, my precious lost lamb !' The old peasant and his wife stood bhundeistruck ; but the little fellow, nothing daunted, wound his chubby arms about the lady's neck, and put his ruddy cheek anainst-hers. • Don't ky !' he lisped, entreatingly ; ' Rommie likes lady ! — llommie likes her !' ' Do ye see, old man ?' quoth the wite to her husband, her voice, full of pain. ' What did 1 tell ye the night ye found him ? Didn't I say, just as we got our hearts set on him some fine folks would come in and snatch him away ? Yes, I did ; , and 1 wish ye'd left him to the milch g-oat, that f do. ' Whereupon, leaving her dinner only halfdishod* she sat down, and carrying her apron to her eyes., began to cry herselt. The boy't-> quick eye? &oon noticed her, and clambering down from Lady Strathspey's knee, he ran to her side. ' Don't oo ky, grand-m under,' he pleaded, tugging at her apron ; * Rommie likes grand- m udder, too.' The old man caught him up in his arms. ' He's mine ! the boy's mine !' he said, almost savagely ; ' and I'll give him up to no one. His father and mother abandoned him to the .mercy of my milch goat, "and he's mine. ' ' The countess and Judith both uttered a simultaneous cry at thi& confirmation of their strange dream. The man regarded them with angry suspicion. • Jly good woman,' he &aid, • what does all this mean ? Can't ye explain yourselves, and tell me what's the matter V By a strong effort Lady Strathspey controlled herself and wiped the streaming tears from her cheeks. ' My good- air,' she replied, ' the explanation I have to give you i& a strange one, which possibly you may not believe — indeed, I cannot believe it ab times myself, but my maid here can bear me out in what I have to say.' Whereupon she related all the mysterious circumstances of the disappearance of her babe on the night of his birth ; and al&o the strange di*eam which Judith had iii'fct dreamed and then herself. And the pld man and his, wife listened in •speechless amazement, while the summer sunshine crept slowly o% cr the sanded floor, and the savoury dinner grew cold upon the table. When she had finished they, bat looking into each obhei's faces in utter consternation. ' It must be that (Jod sent u& the dream,' continued the counte&s, ' foi it has haunted me day and -night ever since. I could not rest one moment. And this morning the in & bant my eyes beheld this place I knew it, and I know Ub surely, although another usurps his place, that the boy there is my own, the babo who wa^ stolen Irom my arms in the very hour of his birth, the rightful heir to the Earldom of Strathspey To'verb. ' And now, my good people,' &ne continued, ' I have told you ray strange story, and I implore you to let me hear youis. Tell me how. and when you came by this child ; and ' I pray there may be borne proof by which I can restore him to his rightful place.,' The old couple sat in utter silence for a few moments, overwhelmed by what they had heard. The idea th&t it \vas a young earl they' ! Tm& fo^'ter-ed" filled them with absolute' affright. The old man spoke at last. " ; ' Olql woman,' he said, ,di awing a long breath 1 , and resuming his seat on the doorsill, '' you are glibber of the tongue than 1 am-^-you tell the story.' The old woman put Romulus from her knee, and wiped her eyes with her apron. ' Talk of being glib of tongue now,' she began, • after healing such a story as hers — why, the very memory's beat out of me. I do declare it reminds me of the old stories in the Bible "bout the days of the Apostles. But I'll do the be«t I can, your highness,' she continued, bowing pi-ofoundly to the countess ; ' and if my memory be bad I'll ] stick to the truth : 'It was on the tenth of January ; J remember that well, 'cause our red heifer had a calf on New Year's day — and on that very morning the old man says, " Old woman, the red heifer's calf be ten days old to-day, and you can begin to steal a mite of the drippings — you 'tend to her and I'll go look after the goats." So I went, down' to the 'cattle- shed, and' milked the drippings, and fed* the heifer, and came home and laid out "dinner, By that time here comes the old man all of a flutter. '• Molly," he said, "the head milch-goat >is missing ;•" and nothing would do but I must go and help him, hunt her. ' ' ' Well, away we went, and a pretty tramp we had ! Through the valleys ! ,'and up the mountains, s till I thought I should drop in my, shoes. At las b,, way on t .waid. sundown, we spies' .her perched right on the, top of that bald cliff out ab the left yonder.' . „ , ,

~ '• Oh, my lady !' ejaculated Judith . 'Go on, my good woman,' , urged the countess. ' ' , • ' ' j ' Well, there she be; perched right atop of bhe cliff. " Why, old woman," says the old man, " she's got kids ! Who'd a thought ib ? You mu&t go up and bring them down in your apron, while I fetch her down. " ' So up we tussled, my very bones aching: with pain, and Lord bless you, my dear lady, what d'ye 'spose we saw when we reached her ? Nob a kid, but a little, live baby, and it a sucking the goafc, and its dear little mouth all wet with the milk.' Lady Strathspey covered her face, convulsive sobs shaking her from hear) to foot. ' I didn't feel my aches a bit after that,' the old woman went on ; ' I takes up bhe child, and the old man shoulders the milchgoat, and down we come. ' 'The clobhes !' gasped the counbess. ' Have you the clobhes the child had on ■when you found him ?' ' Yes, I kepi/ ohem. " They may be of some use to the child one of these days," pays the old man. But that day, as I was bollin' ye, we broughb the child home, and do you know my old man ho takes the milch-goat right into my back room, and there he keeps her, only turning her out to graze once in a while, and the baby he sucked that goat for six round months, 'and I never see 'a child thrive as he did. 'My old man utbed to bo book-lamed when he was, young,' she -went on, glancing admiringly ab bhe old shepherd on the sunny doorstep, and he says he's read of a boy as a wolt suckled, and he was called Romulus — so nothing would do but the baby must be named after him. So Romulus is his name.' She paused an instant, her lips quiveiing. ' We' /c no children of our own,' she went on, at lasb, her voice shaking. 'We had a boy once, as promising a lad as ever lived, bub he wenb bo sea, and was lost fifteen years ago. And ye can't tell, my lady, how we took to this child ! "Heaven has fcent him," bhe old man s^iid, '' to cheer us in our old age. " We've done the best we could for him, and it's like tearing oub our hearts to give him up, but, hearing your story, I'm convinced that he's your child, and Heaven sent ye bo find him.' The old man drew the wondering boy to his arms, and resting his old forehead on his flaxen .head, sobbed like a child. Lady Sbratnspey was deeply moved. '•My dear, good, friends,' she said, 'don't grieve now, I'm not going to take the child from you. I shall wanfc you to keep him for me, a long time, perhaps, until 1 can get proofs, and all that, to establish him in his right place. You have never heard aughb in regard to him, or found oub how he came on bhe mountain, I suppose?' I * Never a word, my lady,' replied bhe old | man, brighbening up at the prospect of keeping the child. 'My lady,' whispered Judith, at this juncture, ' here comes Lord Strathspey.' The counbess arose in consternation. c Ib is my husband,' she explained, ' bub I do nob wifoh him bo know about the child yet. Please take him away.' The old woman caught up the boy, and rushed into the adjoining room, closing the door after her. ' Take this,' cried Lady Strathspey, drawing a purse from her pockeb, and forcing ib into the old man's hand ; ' 1 will come again soon. Be good to my boy, and may Heaven ble&s you.' She reached the wicket just in time to meet bhe earl. He looked at her flushed cheeks and swollen eyes in amazement;. ' Marguerite,' he said, as he drew her arm through hib, ' I was so impatient I came to seek you. For Heaven's sake; tell me what all this means ? What do you know of these ? What ails you ?' ' Trust me, dearest Angus,' she &obbed, clinging to his arm ; ' you shall know all soon — only bi usb me. ' And bhe earl conducbed her back to the waibing carriages, with the awful suspicion growing stronger and stronger in his mind that Doctor Renfrew was righb, and his wife was indeed in danger of imamCy. Lord Strathspey rode back to hi& lodgings, beside the bewitching Lady Cecilia, in moody silence. All the spirit and zesfc of the morning had left him, and the fair siren put forth her charms and Forceries in vain ; lie scarcely noticed her, and forgot to reply to her when she spoke. She drove her spur into her horse's flank, and &eb her white teeth together in rage at her own ill-success. My Lady Cecilia was very vain, and nothing so exasperated her as to have her charms underrated. But she wa& likewise very resolute, and bhe concluded to let the moody earl ride on in silence and bide her time. For as sure as the afternoon sunlight lay warm and bright upon the green valley ot the Tyrol, should this self-same moody earl — this man who had dared, years before, to trifle with her — be brought down at her very feet and made to expiate his folly in sackclobh and ashea. Had Lady Cecilia forgotten ? Had the memory of those old days ab Cavendish Manor faded irom her? — those fresh, hopeful days, when bhe saw a coroneb glimmering above her regal brows, and a life of love and triumph outstretching before her ? Do women like her ever forget a wrong or a disappointment V My lady set her , white teeth and arched her graceful neck, and her blue black eyes glittered with a baleful, phosphorescent light, as bhe galloped along by the earl's side.