CHAPTER LXX. SAVED FROM DEATH.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 303, 29 September 1888, Page 5

CHAPTER LXX. SAVED FROM DEATH.

The September days were growing cool and fall-like, and the shaip winds from the Scottish hills did not agree with the Countess of Mortlake ; and Lady Neville asserted that they were chilling her to death. Hence it was considered expedient to bid adieu to Ravenswold and go down to London, making a short visit to the Towers on the route. Marguerite had entirely recovered from her illness, and since it was settled* that she was to marry Captain Fossbrooke instead ot the man who called himself Sir Bayard, she was supremely happy, or would have been so, but for her anxiety in regard to her father. If he would only return and sane-, tion her engagement, she would be the happiest maiden in wide England, But the earl did not return, nor could all the efforts put forth by Captain Fossbrooke elicit any information in regard to his disappearance. His son, Lord Angus, had been to Ravenswold, and had offered large rewards in hope of hearing something from him, proving, as Lady Neville very wisely asserted, that the young man had a good heart, and would soon outlive his little errors, as she had always contended. But nothing could be heard from the earl. 4 He's taken himself out of the country,' said the countess ; 'it is just like him to slip off so ; and he'll turn up by-and-by, just as quietly as he disappeared. At any rate, we shall not find him a day sooner by wintering in the midst of these bleak hills, and I for one am going down to London.' That settled the question at once : for the countess, to use a homely illustration, was bell-weather of the flock, and whenever her bell tinkled, the Ravenswold household must follow. The packing for the journey was in full proceeding on the last day of September ; on the morrow they would set out. Doctor Renfrew was going, too, back to his lonely little cottage in Northumberland. He sat in the afternoon sunshine, his head bowed upon his breast, mourning as Jacob mourned when they brought him the coat of many colours all dabbled with Joseph's blood. The poor old doctor was heartbroken. He had given up all hope, and was going back to his old home to die. He sat in the sunlight on this afternoon before his departure, broodiner over his great sorrow. He heard the babble of the little mountain stream, the twitter of the swallows, the tinkling of the sheep bells, like one in a dream, and presently the beat of horses' feet along the rocky road. But he did not look up. He had no interest in life. Tne rider came on, leaped from his saddle, approached the spot where the disconsolate father sat. How often in this life, with all its ills and sorrow, angel messengers of joy and clad tidings draw near unto us and we know it not J The doctor did not hear or heed. 'Doctor Renfrew ?' he questioned, quietly, ' or do I -mistake ?' The old man looked up _dully, but a moment after his eyes sparkled. 'Who is it?' he said; 'who is it that comes to me with the Earl of Strathspey's face grown young again ?' The young man smiled, and for answer rolled up his .sleeve, disclosing his powerful arm, with its scarlefc birth - mark. The doctor gazed incredulously for a moment, and then started to his feet with a cry of surprise. ' Who are you ?' he asked, in a bewildered way ; ' the son of Angus, Eari of Strathspey?' 'His own son, 1 hope,' replied the stranger. 'You are, you are,' continued the old man, excitedly ; ' the boy I have searched for so long for his mother's sake— the little foundling of the Tyrol !' 4 The same — Romulus — the suckling of the milch-goat !' The doctor caught him in his arms, and fell to sobbing like a child ; but the young man raised him tenderly. ' We will speak of this another time,' he said. ' I come with tidings for you — good news.' The old man began to tremble like an aspen. ' For me,' he said, putting out his hands, in a piteous, appealing way. 'Don't deceive me ! — is it of her — my child V The stranger took his hands and held them firmly. 'Look at me,' he said, transfixing the father's wandering gaze with the mesmeric power of his shining blue eyes — ' you must not give way — be strong — your daughter is found !' - 'Alive? Safe? Unharmed?' faltered the doctor, with ashen lips. * All ! I come to take you to her — be strong for her sake.' ' I will. And, young man,' he added, solemnly, ' may Heaven bless and prosper you, and make you the greatest man of all your race, since your lips have spoken the blessed tidings.' The Earl of Strathspey lay upon an improvised couch, in the hermit's cave, tossing from side to side in the delirium of brain fever. Suffering and mental anxiety had done their work, mind and body had both given way, andhe lay in immediate danger, too ill to be removed from the mountain cave, to which he had been taken on the night of his rescue, r Doctor Renfrew was there, sitting gravely beside him ; so was another famous court' physician, who had been summoned from London. Captain Fossbrooke and Sir Marshall Neville had also come, and Lady Marguerite with them ; the countess and Lady Neville remaining at Strathspey Towers for further information ; not desiring, if it could possibly be avoided, to brave the discomforts of that rude north country place. Not" so with Marguerite; she had hastened to her father's side, with a devotion that was touching to behold. But the doctors uttered no word of hope. The young stranger, Romulus, as he was known in the hermit's cave, had come across to France ; sent thither by the hermit with a mysterious letter, heavily sealed, which he was to deliver to the lady superior of an old French convent, known as the Convent of the Sacred Heart. It was situated away in the heart of a green valley, undei the shadow of the Languedoc Mountains. The young man, hastening with all speed upon, his journey, reached the spot at dusk, just as the greyrobed nuns were chanting their evening prayers. . , • He delivered his letter into the hands, of the lady superior, and was conducted into a * quaint old parlour to await her pleasure. , „;. After half an ' hour of t impatienfc .waifcing, , ;t; t the door, opened, and a slender figureV robed • ;4ri silver grey,^entered,, with-noiseress steps'.^ ■;Her was *j)ut -back ' beneath^ Wsimple Sijcupijund, her facejwas so whi& a^d shadowy,' -~ hergreafcblue'eyes sp"unutterably, 3 ni6urnful,\

•that the young man rose to his feet, half startled. „ - , She paused at sight of him. -A faint flush rose to her waxen cheeks j a sudden light leaped €o her eyes. : She put out her little wan hands, with a pathetic cry. , 'My son! my son!' she exclaimed. 'I know him by his father's face !' And, without a^ 1 question, a thought, an instant's hesitation, the young man clasped her close in a son's embrace. Grossing the channel that night, beneath the misty stars, they had ample time for explanation. The earl was dying — even Doctor Renfrew thought so, and he rarely abandoned hope while life remained. He was dying, and with only one name on his lips. * Marguerite, my darling, my wife !' he would murmur, putting out his feeble hands in touching appeal. ' Can you forgive me ? Will you forgive me ?' Then his voice would be choked by sobs, and he would cry like a lictle child. 1 . ' She's gone— it is too late— l shall never see her face again !' The slender figure in the robes of silver gray arose from her kneeling posture, and came round to the head of the couch. She had only reached the cave an hour before, but in that hour she seemed to have regained all the loveliness of her lost youth. A faint rose-hue flushed her white cheeks : her golden tresses, threaded here and there with silver, but glossy and abundant still, lell unbound about her shoulders ; her blue eyes shone with woman's holiest love. She came round to the head of the rude •ouch, and putting her tender arms beneath the dying head raised it to her faithful bosom. ' My love ! my husband !' she murmured, dropping soft kisses on the whitened lips ; 'don't you know me ? Look at me once ! Speak to me once ! Oh, Angus, you could not kaye me thus, after all these bitter years !' The soul of Lord Strathspey was almost within the shadow of the dark valley, but the voice of a love that had never swerved from its allegiance, the kisses of the wife who had always been true and tender despite her cruel wrongs, called him back to life and consciousness. He lay breathless for a moment, the soft kisses still raining on his face, the tender voice calling him by every endearing name ; then a gasping sigh heaved his breast, his closed eyes fluttered open, and their gaze rested on the white, sweet face that hung above him. His lips moved, and bending low, she caught the feeble whisper : ' Marguerite, my wife ! You have come back to forgive me ?' She stooped yet lower, till her cheek touched his, and whispered back : ' To forgive you, and love you, and never part from you again !' A look of unutterable joy filled his solemn eyes, a sigh of blissful content escaped his lips, and he settled down like a babe, and fell asleep upon her bosom. And when the red October dawn brightened the summits of the encircling hills, and a golden glow began to disperse the shadows of the mountain cavern, the joyful tidings went forth that Angus, Earl of Strathspey, would live: