CHAPTER XVI.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 353, 23 March 1889, Page 3

CHAPTER XVI.

MY GUARDIAN ASGKL. It was many years since such a gloiious summer had prevailed thioughoub the British Isles. Day after day, morning broke with an unclouded sky and biillianb sunshine. The fields were full of ripe, yellow corn, bending low under fche weight of their heavy heads, and the country looked covered as by a cloth of gold. This afternoon the sun was pouring in through the two open school-room windows ot Milnacot Lodge. Its searching rays brought the faded old threadbare carpet into undesirable prominence, and re&bo:l lovingly on the poor long-suffering piano, with its scratched and dented mahogany frame, that told of innumerable blows. The light played fitfully around Dulcie Shepperton's head as it reclined on the back of a commodious arm chair, finding out bright strands of auburn among the sotb, dark-brown curls that lay in little clustering rings on her white forohead. The girl looked tired, for yesterday's bruises were now beginning to make themselves felt in full force ; and. though no bones had been broken by her fall and subsequent dragging, she was still suffering from the reaction consequent on a severe shock to the general system. For once in her life she experienced a total disinclination to indulge in any active exercise, and asked for nothing more than to be allowed to sit perfectly still, dreaming idle dreams in the golden sunshine. True, she held a book in her hand, and her eyes were iisfcly fixed on its pages, but she was not reading, and her thoughts were wandering aimlessly in a variety of different directions, without concerning themselves on any one in particular. By degrees the book fell from her hands, and, curling herself up in the arm-chair like a kitten, she closed her eyes, but even as she did so there came a vigorous knock at the door which made her reopen them immediately. ' Who's there ?' she called out, with a slight sense of irritation at the interruption. 1 Only mo — Bob,' answered a cheerful voice, followed by the prompt entry of its owner, and of Bob's faithful friend and com-

panion, Nipper — ' cdme to inquire how you are. ' She held out both her hands towards him in glad welcome, and, with a smile lighting up all her face, said, 'Oh ! Hob ! how good of you to come ! Mademoiselle Virginie is out, the girls have gone to a lawn-tennis party, and I was ju&t beginning to find it somewhat dull.'' • Dull, Dulcie ? Then lam glad that, after all, I summoned up sufficient pluck to pay you a formal call. To tell tho truth, T was in two minds about doing so, and 1 even now have not dared ask for Mrs Shepperton.' 1 Oh ! Bob ! you'ro a sad coward.' * Yes, I suppose I am. But tell mo, how did you get on yesterday ? Did you catch a wigging ?' ' No ; wonderful to relate. I did not. They don't know to this moment that you and I went to the kennols together.' 'Really! How's that? You must have managed uncommonly cleverly, Dulcie.' ' No, I didn't. I didn't man ago at all, but the sight of Mr Denver, of Brabazon Hall, with his smart phaeton and splendid horses — which latter, by-the-way, he illuses most shamefully--stood me in good stead.' ' All's well that ends well,' said Bob, with a sigh of relief, lor since the previous day he had pictured Dulcie bearing the brunt of the battle while he was unable to offer any assistance. ' And now,' he went on, drawing his chair nearer, and scanning her featuies with the critical anxieoy of a genuine affection, ' I want to hear how you are feeling. You look a little flushed and feveiish. Has anybody been taking proper care of you, Dulcie? hot-water, poultices, warm diink.%, and all that sort of thing, eh ?' ' Oil dear, yes !' .she answered, making i light— with characteristic pluck— of the ailments from which she was suffering. ' I'm \ all right. As right as ever 1 was in my life' lie gazed at her for a few seconds in sceptical silence. ' You never would wy you were ill, Dulcie, however badly you might feel.' ' I hate making a lups about trifles, and really and truly, Bob dear, there's nothing much the matter with me. 1 did not sleep particularly well last night, and feel rather as if the old adage of a "woman, a dog, and a walnut-tree, the more you beat them the better they be," had been enforced upon my own person ; but that's all.' ' All ! he exclaimed, reproachfully, ' and quite enough too, I should say. You are far biaver than I, Uulcie. Tor my part, I have not jet recovered from yesterday's fright. It gave me a regular nightmare,' shuddering at the recollection. ' The sensation of being dragged was not pleasant, certainly, 1 admitted the girl. 1 Still, after all, 1 was nob trampled on, only bumped and bruised.' * Only ! ' thinking of her fi agile form and delicate limbs. Then he tinned hi& honest young face, all quivering with emotion, towards her, and said : ' Will you promise faithfully to be more careful in future. You may value your life lightly, bub, oh ! Dulcie — you do nob know — you cannob guess — how dear ibis to— to — to me.' The concluding words were uttered softly and shyly, bub they made the warm blood mount to her cheeks. Something in the Lone of his \oice lecalled the whole scene to her mind, how ho had held her in his arms, while the love-light shone in his clear truthful eyes, just as it was shining now, and called her by that sweet name l darling.' Any further confirmation was unneeded. With one quick leap into knowledge, she had learnt at that moment how dearly Bob loved her, and the certainty ot this fact sent a delirious thrill of responsive pleasure through her veinfc, such a& a true woman feels when bhe greatesb of God's gifts — the love of a good man — is accorded her. Bub Bob, as if afraid he had laid his heai b too bare, abruptly changed bhe conversation, and said : ' Well, Dulcie, and what sort of a fellow ij. this Mr Denver in your estimation? Did you like him as much as did your mother and Ethel ? ' No, nob I. I can't endure bhe man.' 1 Indeed ! That is a somewhat strong opinion to havo arrived at on such short acquaintanceship. And pray why ean'c you endure him ?' ' Shall I bell you ? I dislike him because he's aggravating, cool, impertinent, freeand - easy, self.- satisfied, bad - tempered, selfish, and ungenb'emanly, all in one, if you can imagine bhe combinabion.' 'Hea\en&! What a list!' exclaimed Bob, with a nob wholly ill-pleased laugh. 'Goon.' ' Well, then, Bob, I'm sure he's awfully cross. One of the horses shied yesterday ab an old pig on bhe roadside, and you should have seen how he struck the poor creature.' ' Perhaps there existed some good reason for his conduct. Anyhow, it seems hard to judge a person entirely from one act of which you disaoprove.' ' You would have disapproved, too, Bob, had you been there,' said Dulcie, sboubly. ' And bhe worst of it is, I foresee that the man will inflict a good deal of his society upon us, for he has already announced his intention of " calling at the earliest opportunity."' And Duclie mimicked Mr Denver's voice and mannerism so faithfully that Bob could not refrain fiom laughing outright. ' Well,' he said playfully, ' since you appear to entertain such a rooted objection to visitors, I suppose I had better at once remo\e my&elf. ' ' Bob, don't be a goose ! You know quite well that you and Mr Denver are two totally different'people.' • And yet,' he said, seriously, c I fancy, of the two, Mr Denver would be a far more acceptable visitor to your mother and sisters. My welcome lately has not been particularly warm.' ' Bob !' stretching out her hand wish a sweeb reproachful gosbure, ' you don't mean that for me, do you ? I am always glad when you come.' 'I was a brute, Dulcie, 5 he said, feeling suddenly ashamed of his passing fit of jealousy. ' I thought perhaps you were like the rest of them, ready to throw over an old friend for a new acquaintance.' 'No, Bob, I should never do that — at least, not willingly or intentionally.' ' I know you wouldn't. You are always the same, nice, kind, and sympathetic. Oh, Dulcie ! if '—and his voice began to tremble — 'if anything had happened to you yesterday, 1 should have had nobody in the world left to 1 care for ; nobody to encourage me when I despair, to lecture me when 1 do wrong, or to try and instil high and worthy ideas into my dull brain — nobody, in short, to act as my guardian angel, and givo me some definite objecb in life.' ' Bob,' she said simply. * I wonder why it is you and I have always gob on so well together ?' ' I suppose there must exisb some species of mutual attraction and sympathy between us, Dulcie. That is the" only \vay I can account for your being so good to a stupid waster like myself. Down, Nipper, down, I say I Have a care, sir,' as Nipper— after placing both fore-paws on Dnlcie's lap and gazing beseechingly into her face wibh his pretty speaking oyes, jumped up and seated himself cosily on the girl's knee. • You aie

taking liberties. He has got plenty of impudence, hasn't he, Dulcie ?' 'Who, Bob? The master or the dog? Never mind, let Nipper be,' she said. ' He's a dear, and we understand each other thoroughly.' * Poor Nipper ! He's fonder of you than he is of anyone else in the world, except, perhaps, me,' said Bob, thinking what a protty picture the pair made as they lay curled up side by side in the arm-chair. Then, after a blight pause, he added, 'If I go away, Dulcie, would you like to have Nipper ? Would you keep him as a hostage, to be claimed on my return ?' She grew suddenly pale. llf you go away, Bob ! she repeated, in , tones of vague alarm. ' Why do you say if? What do you mean by talking like that ?' and as she asked the question her pulses began to throb and her heart to beat. ' Oh, nothing. Only Uncle BeckwiLh arrived this morning on a visit, and lam in great hopes he may be persuaded into giving me another chance. I'm not a bib proud, as you know. All I want is work, and a prospect of making a little money. If I can accomplish the latter achievement, I don't care twopence what they put me to.'