CHAPTER VI.—(Continued.)

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 403, 18 September 1889, Page 3

CHAPTER Vl.— (Continued.)

One especial afternoon, Edith fell asleep after luncheon, on a sofa, in her own and Trixy's cabin, and slept through dinner and dessert, and only woke with the lighting of the lamps. Trix lay, pale and wretched, gazing out of the port-hole, at the glory of moonlight on the heaving sea, as one who sorrows without hope of consolation. 1 1 hope you enjoyed your forty winks, Edith,' she remarked ; ' what a Kip Van Winkle you are ! For my part, I've never lept at all since I came on board this horrid ship ! Now, where are you going ?' * To get something to eat from my fiiend the stewardess,' Edith answered ; ' I see I i am too late for dinner. ' ( Miss Darrell went, and got some tea and ' toast. Then wrapping herself in a blanket shawl, and tying a coquettish red wool hood over her hair, she ascended to the deck. It was pretty well deserted by the ladies — none the worse for that, Edith thought. The full moon shone w'th untold splendour, over the A'ast expanse of tossing sea, heaving with that majestic swell that never quite lulls on the m'ghty Atlantic. The gentlemen filled the smoking-room, the ' Tabak Parliament' was at its height. She took a camp stool, and made for her favourite sheltered spot behind the wheel-house. How grand it was— the starry sky, the brilliant white moon, the boundless ocean — that long trail of silvery radiance stretching miles behind. An icy blast swept over the deep, but, wrapped in her big shawl, Edith could defy even that. She forgot Sir Victor and the daring ambition of her life. She sat absorbed in the beauty and splendour of that moonlight on the sea. Very softly, very sweetly, half unconsciously, she began singing ' The Young May Moon.' when a step behind made har turn her head. It was Sir Victor Catheron. She awoke from her dream — came back to earth, and was of the world worldly, once more. The smile that ■welcomed him was very bright;. She would have blushed if she could ; but it is a disadvantage of pale brunettes that they don't blush easily. 'I heard singing sweet and faint, and I give you my word, Miss Darrell, I thought it might be the Lurline, or a stray mermaid combing her sea-green locks. It is all very beautiful, of course, but are you not afraid of taking cold ?' 'I never take cold,' Miss Darrell answered ; ' influenza is an unknown disease. Has the tobacco parliament broken up, that I behold you here V ' It is half-past eleven— didn't you know it? — and all the lights are out.' * Good Heaven !' Edith cried, starting up aghast ; ' half past eleven ! What will Trixy say ? Really, moon-gazing must be absorbing work. I had no idea it was after ten.' ' Stay a moment, Miss Darrell,' Sir Victor interposed, * there is something I would like to say to you — something I have wished to speak of, since we came on board.' Edith's heart gave one great jump — into her mouth it seemed. V\ hat could such a preface as this portend, save one thing ? The baronet spoke again, and Miss Darrell's heart sank down to the very soles of her buttoned boots. *It is concerning those old papers, the " Chesholm Courier." You understand, and — and the lamentable tragedy they chronicle.' * Yes,' said Mis 3 Darrell. shutting her lips tight. 1 It is naturally a deeply painful subject to me. Twenty-three years have passed" ; I was but an infant at the time, yet if it had occurred only a year ago, I think I could hardly feel it more keenly than I do — hardly suffer more, when 1 speak of it.' ' Then why speak of it ?' was the young lady's very sensible question. ' / have no claim to hear it, I am sure.' ' No,' the young man responded, and even in the moonlight shs could see his colour rise, ' perhaps not, and yet I wanted to speak to you of it ever since. I don't know why, it is something I can scarcely bear to think of even, and yet I feel a sort of relief in speaking of it to you. Perhaps there is "rapport" between us — that we are affinities — who knows V Who indeed ! Miss Darrell's heart came up from her boots, to its proper place, and stayed there. 'It was such a terrible thing,' the young man went on, 'such a mysterious thing. To this day it is wrapped in darkness. She ~was so young, so fair, so good — it seems too horrible for belief, that any human being could lift his hand against so innocent a life. And yet it was done.' ' A most terrible thing,' Edith said ; * but one has only to read the papers to learn such deeds of horror are done every day. Life is a terribly sensational story. You say it is shrouded in darkness, but the * Chesholm Courier' did not seem at all in the dark." ' You mean Inez Catheron. She was innocent. ' 'Indeed!' ' She was not guilty, except in this — she knew who was guilty, and concealed it. Of that, I have reason to be sure.' ' Her brother, of course — the Juan Catheron of the papers ?' ' Who is to tell? Even that is not certain. No,' in answer to her look of surprise, 'it is not certain. lam sure my aunt believer in his innocence.' ' Then who — ' ' Ah — who ?' the baronet said mournfully, * who was the murderer ? It may be we will never know.' ' You will know,' Edith said decidedly. <I am sure of it lam a firm believer in the truism that ' murder will out.' Sooner or later you will know.' She spoke with the calm conviction of prophecy. She looked back to shudder at tier own words in the after-days. ' Three-and-twenty years is a tolerable time to forget even the bitterest sorrow, but the thought of that tragedy is as bitter to my aunt to-day, as it was when it was done. She cannot bear to speak of it— l believe she cannot bear to think of it. What I know, therefore, concerning it, I have learned from others. Until I was eighteen, I knew absolutely nothing. Of my mother, of course I have no remembrance, and yet ' — his eyes and tone grew dreamy — ' as far back as I can recall, there is in my mind the memory of a woman, young and handsome, bending over my bed, kissing and crying over me. My mother was fair, the face I recall 'is dark. You will think me sentimental — you will laugh at me, perhaps,' he said, smiling nervously ; ' you will set me down as a dreamer of dreams, and yet it ift there.' Her dark, earnest eyes looked up at him, full of womanly sympathy. * Laugh at you ! Think better of me, Sir victor. In these days it is rare enough to see men with either memory or veneration for their mother — whether dead or alive.' He looked at her; words seemed struggling to his lips. Once he half

spoke. Then he checked himself sud denly. When ho did speak ib was with a total change ot voice. ' And I am keeping you selfishly here in the cold. Take my arm, Miss Darrell ; you must not stop another instant. ' She obeyed at once. He led her to her cabin-door — hesitated — took her hand and held it while he spoke : ' I don't know why, as I said before, T have talked of this ; I could not have done ib with anyone else. Let me thank you for your sympathy with all my heart.' Then he was gone ; and, very grave and thoughttul, Edith sought Trixy and the upper berth. Miss Stuart lay calmly sleeping the sleep of the just and the sea-sick, blissfully unconscious of the traitorous goings on about her. Edith looked at her with a sort of twinge. Was it fair, after all ? was it strictly honourable ? 1 Poor Trix,' she said, kissing her softly ; ' I don't think it will be you /' Next morning, at breakfast, Miss Darrell noticed that Mr Stuart, junior, watched her as he sipped his coffee with a portentous countenance that foreboded something. What ib foreboded came out presently. He led heron deck offered her his arm for a morning constitutional, and opened fire thus wise : ' What were you and the baronet about on deck at abnormal hours of the night? What was the matter with you both ?' ' Now, now !' cried Edith, ' how do you come to know anything about it ? What business have small boys like you, spying on the actions of their elders, when they should be safely tucked up, and asleep in their little beds?' ' I wasn't spying ; i was asleep. I have no restless conscience to keep me prowling about at unholy hours.' ' How do you come to know, then ?' * A little bird told me.' • I'll twist your little bird's neck ! Who was it, sir ? I command you.' ' How she queens it already ! Don't excite yourself you small Amazon. It was the officer of the r leck.' ' The officer of the deck might be much better employed ; and you may tell him so with my compliments.' 'I will ; bub you don't deny it — you were there !' 1 1 never deny my actions,' she says with royal disdain ; ' yes I was there.' ' Wich Sir Victor— alone ?' 1 With Sir Victor— alone !' ' What did you talk about, Miss Darroll ?' ' More than I care to repeat for your edification, Mr Stuart. Have you any more questions to ask, pray ?' ' One or two ; did he ask you to marry him. Edith?' <l Ah, no !' Edith answers with a sigh that is genuine ; ' there is no such luck as that in store for Dithy Darrell. A baronet's bride — Lady Catheron ! no, no — the cakes and ale of life are not for me.' ' Would you marry him, if he did ? Will you marry him when he does ? for bhab is what ib comes to, afber all.' ' Would I marry him ?' She looks at him in real incredulous wonder. ' Would I marry Sir Victor Catheron — I ? My dear Charley, when you ask rational questions, I shall be happy to answer them, to the best of my ability, bub not such absurdity as bhab.' 'Then, you willY ' Charley, don't bea tease — what do young persons of your juvenile years know about such things? I don't like the turn this conversation has baken ; let us change ib, leb us talk about bhe weabher — thab's always a saf« subject. Isn't it a splendid morning ? Isn't it charming to have a perpetual fair wind ? And how are you going to account for it, that the wind is always fair going to England, and always ahead coming out? ' " England, my country— great and free, Heart ot the world— l leap to thee !" ' She sings, with a wicked look in her dark eyes, as she watches her cavalier. Charley is not going to be pub off, however ; he declines to talk of either wind or weather. 'Answer my question, Edith, if you please. If Sir Victor Cabheron asks you, will you be his wife ?' She looks at him calmly, steadily, the man she loves, and answers : 'If Sir Victor Catheron asks me I will be his wife.'