CHAPTER IX. ALAS FOR TRIX !

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 405, 25 September 1889, Page 6

CHAPTER IX. ALAS FOR TRIX !

' And after to-night we will all have a rest, thank Heaven ! and my pilgrimage will come bo an end. A fortnight at Powyss Place before you go up to London, m y dear Mrs Stuart — not a daj 7 less.' Thus spoke Lady Helena Powyes, eierht days later, seated luxuriously in the firstclass carriage, and flying along by express train between Dublin and Kingston, en route for Cheshire. They had ' done ' the south of Ireland, finished the Lakes, spent a pleasant halfweek in Dublin, and now, in the light of the May afternoon, were flying along to meet the channel boat. Captain Hammond wa e of the party still, and included in the invitation to Powyss Place. He sat between Lady Helena and Sir Victor now — Miss Stuart, in charming travelling costume, in the sunny seat next the window. On the opposite seat, at the other extreme end, sat Edith Darrell, her eyes riveted upon the pages of a book. Since that night in the boat Mis 9 Stuart had quietly but resolutely taken entire possession of Sir Victor. He was hers — she had the right. If a' gentleman is modest to a fault, mayn't a lady overstep, by an inch or two, the line that Mrs Grundy draws, and meet him half-way? There is an adage about helping a lame dog over a stile — that work of mercy is what Trixy was doing now. Before she left her room on the ensuing jnorning following thafc never-to-be for-

gotten night, Edith had entered and taken i Trix in her arms and kissed her. * I was stupid and out of sorts la&t night, Trixy,' she had said. 'If I seeraetehchurlish, I ask your pardon, dear, with airmy heart. I was surprised — I don't mind owning that — and perhaps a little, just a little, envious. But all that is over now, and I do wish you joy and happiness from the bottom of my heart. You're the best and dearest girl in the world, and deserve your fairy ; fortune.' ; And she had meant it. Trix was one of the best and dearest girls in the world, and it Sir Victor preferred her to herself what right had she to erudge her her luck ? Against the baronet himself, she felt anger deep and strong still. How dared he seek her out as he had done, select her for his confidante, and look love < in fifty diflerent ways, when he meant to marry Trix? What a fool she might have made of herself had she been a whit less proud than she was. Since then she had avoided him ; in no marked manner, perhaps, but she had avoided him. He should pour no more family confidences into her ear, that she resolved. He belonged to Trix — let him talk to Trix, then ; she wanted no other girl's lover. If he felt this avoidance, he showed no sign. Perhaps he thought Mi&s Stuart had dropped some hint — girls, despite their promises, have been known to do such things — and this change was becoming maidenly reserve. Sir Victorliked maidenly r^BDi'VA nt>»« of your Desaemonas, who meet their Othellos half way, for him. Trixy's unremitting attentions were sisterly, ot coui-se. He felt grateful accordingly, and strove to repay her in kind. One thing he observed, too, and with great complacency — the friendship between Miss Darrell and her cousin Charley had come to an end. That is to say, they rather kept aloof from each other — beyond the most ordinary attention, Mr Stuart seemed to have nothing whatever to say to his cousin. This was as it should be ; certainly Beatrix must have dropped that very judicious hint. He was glad he had spoken. They reached Kingston in the early twilight, and embarked. It was rough crossing, of cour&e. Trix was seized with agonies of mal de mor once more. Edith f waited upon her assiduously. Mrs Stuart and Lady Helena had a stewai'dess apiece. Happily, if severe, it was short ; before midnight they were at Holyhead, and on the train once more. Then off — flying through Wales — whirling by mountains — illuminated glass stations— the broad sea to their left, asleep under the stars, the spia\ at times almost in their faces. Fast villages, ruins, castles, and cottages, and at two in the morning thundering into the big station at Chester. Two carriages awaited them at the Chester station. Into one entered Mr and Mrs Stuart, Sir Victor, and Beatrix ; into the other, Lady Helena, Edith, Charley, and Captain Hammond. They drove away through quiet, quaint Chester, ' rare old city ot Chester,' with its wonderful walls, its curious old streets — looking like set scenes in a theatre to American eyes — glimpes of the peaceful Dee, glimpses of Curson Park, with its stately villas ; away for miles over a country road, then Chesholm at three in the morning silent and asleep. Presently an endless stretch of ivied wall appears in view, inclosing a primeval forest, it seems to Edith ; and Lady Helena sits up and rubs her eyes, and says it is Catheron Royals. The girl leans forward and strains her eyes, but can make out nothing in the darkness save that long line of wall and waving tree 3. Thi=< is to be Trixy's home, she thinks — happy Trixy ! Half an hour more of rapid driving;, and they are at Powyss Place, and their journey is at an end. They emerge from the chill darkness of dawning day into a blaze of light — into a va.°t and stately entrance-hall. A long file of servants are drawn up to receive them. And ' Welcome to Powyss Place,' Lady Helena saya with kind courtesy. ' I can only wish your \ isit may be as pleasant to you as you made mine in New York.' Without changing their dresses, they are ushered into a lofty and handsome diningroom. More brilliant lights, more silent, respectful servants, a round table luxuriously spread. They sit down : eat, drink, and are merry ; and it is five and quite day before they are shown up to their rooms. Then, hasty disrobing, hasty lying down, and all are at peace in the land of dreams. Next day, somewheie about noon, Miss Stuart, clicking 1 along in her narrow-soled preposterously high-heeled boots, over a polished oaken corridor, as black as ebony, and several degrees more slippery than ice, lost her footing, as might be imagined, and came down, with an uneaithly screech, on one ankle. Of course the ankle was sprained ; of course every one flew to the rescue. Sir Victor was first on the field, and in Sir Victor's arms Miss Sluarfc was lifted and borne back to her room. Luckily it was near, or even Sir Victor's chivalry and muscular development would not have been equal to it, for \ Trix was a ' fine woman.' The ankle wa 5*5 * bathed and bandaged, the invalid's break fast brought up — everything done for her comfort that it was possible to do ; and in the midst of their fussing, having cried a great deal, Miss Stuart suddenly dropped off asleep. Edith came out of the room looking pale and tired. In the slippery passage she encountered Sir Victor waiting. 'I have waylaid you on purpose, Miss Darrell,' he said, smiling, ' le&t you should meet with a ml- hap too. A carpet shall be placed here immediately. You look pale — are you ill V' There was a solicitude in his face, a tremulous, suppressed tenderness in the commonplace question, a look in bis eyes that had no busine c s in the eyes of another young lady's betrothed. Bub Edith felt too fagged and spiritless just at present to notice. ' I feel well enough ; nothing is ever the matter with me ; bub lam rather stupid. Stupidity,' she said, with her odd laugh, ' is fast becoming my normal state.' ' You will come with me for a walk, will you not ?' he asked. ' The park is very well worth seeing. To-morrow, Miss Stuart's sprain permitting, we will visit Catheron Royals. Do come. Miss Darrell ; it will do you a world of good. ' j She hesitated a moment, then went What difference did it make ? Trix wouldn't be jealous now. What difference did anything make, for that matter? She wasdnll and low-spirited ; she needed a walk in the fine fresh air. So they went on that fateful walk, that walk tha^. was to be like no other in all Edith DarrelPs life. It was a perfect May day, an English May day, the grass green beyond all ordinary greenness, the fragrant hawthorn hedges scenting the air, the thrush and linnet singing in the tree?, cowslips and daisies dotting the sward. A fresh, cool breeze swept over the uplands, and brought a faint trace of life and colour into Edith's dark pale cheeks. ' This is the Lime Walk — the prettiest at Powyss Place, to my mind.' This was the young baronet's first commonplace remark. 'If you will ascend the eminence yonder, Miss Darrell, I think I can point out Catheron Royals ; that is if you think it worth the trouble. 1 It wa3 all the same, to Editli — the Lime Walk, the eminence, gr any other quarter

of the park. She took Sir Victors arm, as t he seemed to expect it, and went with him 3 slowly up the elevation. Pale, weary, list- 1 less, she might be, but how charmingly pretty she looked in' the spaikling sunshine, the soft wind blowing back her loose brown hair, kindling into deeper light her velvety- brown eyes, bringing a sea-shell pink into each creamy cheek ! Beautiful beyond all ordinary beauty of womanhood, : it seemed to Sir Victor Catheron. * It is a wonderfully pi-etty place,' she said. 'I should think'you English people, whose ancestors, time out of mind, have lived and died here, would grow to love every ivy-clad stone, every brave old tree. If I were not Alexander J would be Diogenes — if I were not an Americaii girl, I would be an English miss.' » She laughed and looked up at him, her spirits rising in the sunshine and the free, fresh air. His eyes were fixed upon her tace — paesionute admiiation, passionate love, written in them far too plainly for any girl on earth not to raacl. And yet — he had proposed to Trix. 1 You would V he eagerly exclaimed. ' Mies Darrell, do I understand you to say you could live in England all your life — give up America and your friends, and pass your life here ?' She shrugged her shoulders, 'It would be no great sacrifice. Apart from my father, there isn't a soul in all wide America 1 care a farthing for, and your English horno 1 -, avo vei y charming.' The last barrier btoke down. He had not meant to speak — he had meant to be very prudent and formal, to tell Lady Helena first, to refer the matter to Mr Stuart next. Now all prudence and formality were swept away. Her hands were in his — he ( was speaking with his whole heart in every word. ' Then stay and share an English horne — share mine. Edith,! love you — I have loved you, 1 think, since I °aw you lirst. Will you be my wifo ?' Alas for Trix ' — that was Edith's first thought. To burst out laughing — that was Edith's tirsb impulse. Not in triumph or exultation — just at this moment she felt neither but at the awful blunder Trix had made ; for Trix had made a blunder that was clear as day, else Sir Victor Catheron had never said those words. ' I meant to have spoken to Lady Helena | and Mr Stuait first," Sir Victor went on ; 1 but that is all over now. 1 can't wait longer ; I must take my seuDence from your lips. I love you ' What more can 1 say ? You are the first my lips have ever said it to — the first my heart has ever felt it for. Edith, teil me, may I hope ?' She stood silent. They were on the summit of the hill. Away, far off, she could see the waving trees and tail chimneys of a stately mansion — Catheron Royals, no doubt. It looked a very grand and noble place : it might be her home for life — she who, in one sense, was homeless. A bai'bnet stood beside her, oflering her rank and wealth— she, penniless, pedigreelcss Edith Darrell ! All the dreams of life were being realised, and in this hour she felt neither triumph nor elation. She stood and listened, the sunlight on her gravely beautiful faco, with vague wonder at hercclf for her apathy. ' Edith !' he cried out, ' don't tell me I am too late — that someone has been before me and won your heart. I couldn't bear it ! Your cousin assured me that when I spoke the answer would be fa\ourable. I spoke to her that night in Killarney — I did not mention *y° ur name, but she understood me immediately. I told her I meant to speak as soon as we reached England. I asked her if she thought there was hope forme/ and she — ' The passionate eagerness, the passionate love and fear within him checked his words suddenly. He stopped for a moment, and turned away. ' Oh Trixy ! Trixy !' was Edith's thought; and, ridiculous and out of place as the emotion was, her only desire still was an almost uncontrollable desire to laugh outright. What a horrible- what an unheard-of-blunder the child had made ! She stood tracing figures on the grass with the point of her parasol, feeling strangely apathetic still, If her life had depended on it, she could hardly have accepted Sir Victor then. By-and-by she might feel half wild with exultation— 7 not now. He waited for the answer that did not come. Then he tinned fiom her, pale with despair. ' I see how it i&,' he said, trying, not quite successfully, to steady his voice ; ' J am too late. You love your cousin and are engaged to him. 1 feared it all along.' The br nvn starry eyes lifted slowly from the grass and looked at him. 'My cousin? You mistake, Sir Victor; lam engaged to no one. %I % I' — she set her lips suddenly and looked away at the trees and the turrets of Catheron Royals, shining in the brilliant &un — • 1 love no one.' 'No one, Edith ! Not e\ en me ?' 'Not even you, Sir Victor. How could I? Why should I ? I never dreamed oft this.' " I 'Never dreamed of this !' he repeated,' in amaze ; ' when you must have seen— > must have known — ' She interrupted him, a faint smile curling her lips. 'I thought it was Trixy,' she said. ' Mise Stuart ' Then she ha? told you nothing of that night at Killarney — I really imagined she had. Miss Stuart has been my kind friend, my one confidante and sympathiser. No. sister could be kinder in her encouragement and comfort than she.' • 0 poor Trix — a sister !' Edith thought, and in spite of every effort, the laugh she strove so hard to suppress dimpled the corners of her mouth. ' Won't there be a scene when you hear all thib ?' 'For pity's sake, Edith, speak to me!' the young man exclaimed. I love you — my liie will be miserable without you. If you aro free, why may I not hope? See ! I don't even ask you to love me now. I will wait ; I will be patient. My loVe is so great that it will win yours in "return. 0 , darling i say you will be my wife.' > Her hands were in hi&. The fervour, the passion within almost frightened her: ' Sir Victor, I—l1 — I hardly know what to say. I wonder that you care for me. I wonder you want to marry me. I am not your equal ; I have neither rank, nor wealth, nor descent.' ' You have the beauty and the grace of a goddess — the goodn ss of an angel ; I ask nothing more. You are the mate of a prince ; and I love you. Everything is said in that.' ' Lady Helena will never consent,' ' Lady Helena will consent to anything that will make me 1 happy. The whole happiness or misery of my life lies in your hands. Don't say no, Edith— don't for Heaven's sake. I could not bear it— l cannot lose you ; I will not !' he cried, almost fiercely. She smiled faintly again,, and that lovely rose-pink blush of hers deepened in "her cheeks. It was very nice indeed to be , wooed in this fiery fashion. ' Fortes Jorlunajuvat,' &he said, laughing, | 'I learned enough Latin, you see, to know ; that fortune assists the brave. People who wbn't have "no" for an answer must have ■ " yes," of course. 1 ] - l And Hi is " yea I" Edith—! , . ] ',Be quiet, Sir Victor, it isnot " yes" just 1 yet, neither is it " no." , You must let me . <

1\ / 1 think all this ov^ ; by head isgjddjy with your vehemence &ive me — let' f me"see— until to-morrow ] can't answer now.' 'But, Edith-J I ' . , ' That mUch idie to me,' she interposed, proudly ; ' rem nbei', I have not expected this. You haveurbrised me this morning more than 1 ci say. lam proud and grateful for you areference and the honour you have done c,' but— l am honest with you — I don't lo\ybu.' ' But you love o.one else. Tell me that again, Edith !' ' She grew pa suddenly. Again she looked away fro him over the sunlit slopes j before her. 1 ! 'I am a very llfeh and heartless sort of girl, lam afraid sic answered. ' I don't know that ib is \ lie to love anyone as I ought — certainlyiicb a.s you love me. If you take me, yo slall take me ab my true value. lam rid ai angel— -ah, no ; the farthest in the wrl< from it — the mosb seliish of the selfish t like you very much ; ib is not hard to o hat. To be your wife would be my hihtst honour, but still I must have time. Cine to me to-morrow, Sh Victor, any mi, and you shall have your answer. I)ns say one word more until then. Novleus go back.' He bowed and li'eod his arm. She took ib, and in profc no silence they walked back. The one tpilthat filled him, heart and soul, strengt, aid mind, was forbidden —it was simply ijip'S&ible for him to speak of any ofher. 'Fo Edith, she walked calmly beside him -j- her mind a serene blank. The) retcbei Powvs Place — they entered the drawiig-'Oom. All were thote — Trixy lying on asofa, paleand interesting. Lady Helena bejde her, Charley lounging in the rocess of ajunny.'whdow. All eyes turned upon the invcorners Trix's with suspicious jealousy . [f Sir! Victor were in love with herself, w;i not lj,s fitting place by her side in this bring hdir, instead of meandering about wib Ditly ? And whab business had Dibhj moropolising another girl's lover ? | ' I thin I &!all ride over to Drexel Court betveen bjs and dinner,' Sir Victor said. 'I fomise Hampton — ' Lady Htena la'ghed and interrupted : ' And jady is there — I understate Ooby all means, A^icbor, and give Gwenloline jy love. We shall expect you back to dinnj.' The youig mancoloured like a giri. He glanced unapily b Edith, but Miss Darrell had taken p a pttograph book of literary celebrities.and \\|s immer&ed therein. Would so undrsband him, he wondered — would sh knov it was because he could not endurebho &spense at home? How should he dag tljough all the long, heavy hours bebwen bis and bo-morrow? And when to-mcrowjaine if her answer were no ? He sei his eeth at the thought — ib could not beno— b should not ! She loved no one else— she tust learn bo love him. Captain lamibnd and Charley betook themselves o tb billiard room. Trixy burned her sispious eyes upon her cousin. * Where wiro vu and Sir Victor all day, Edibh? 1 "i 'I and Sii VLor have nob been anywhere all day, ißeabrix. Duiing the last hour we hao been walking in the grounds.' | ' Whab weto ye balkiner about ?' 'Many things, )liss Dai-rell responded, promptly. 'Thbcauty of the prospect — the comfort of ]igli&h homes, and the weather, of cours! If I understood shorthand, and had bin aware of yonr anxiety on bhe subject, I ighb have baken notes of our conversation r yonr benefit.' * Did you talk &me V ' I believe yourame was menti mcd.' ' Dith >' in a wfeper, and raising herself on her elbow, 'dj Sir Victor say anything about — about — y( know what ?' ' He did not sapne word about being in love with you, oruarrying you, if that is what you mean, ifow please stop catechiiing, and let me lck at the pictures.' Twilight fell — nner hour came ; with ib Sir Victor. He liked pale, anxious, tited. He answered all is aunt's inquiries about the Drexel familjin the briefest possible manned. His oWfond aunb looked ab him a libble uneasily — b was so unlike himself, and presently dre' him aside, afber dinner, and spoke. j ' Victor whab 1 the mabtor ? Are you ill?' , ' 111 ? No. Mj •jlear aunt,' smiling, 'don't wear thaf altrmed face — there" is nothing bhe matte 1 wfch me.' 'There is somehitg the matter with you. You are palj, y»u ate silenb, you eat nothing. Victor, vhto is it ?' 'I will tell you b-norrow,' he answered. ' Spare me until Ihei. I am anxious, I admit, bub nob evej tcyou can I bell why to-night. You slall 1 know- about ib tomorrow.' i No glimmer of tie truth dawned upon her as she left him.' Sic wondered whab ib could bo, but shejwwld not press him further. I , F r or Edith— she \vs in that mood of serene recklessness |bih Of to-morrow she neither cared to thiil nor tried to bhink. The tide of her lie was at its flood ; whither the sbreami right bear her alter this nighb, jusb now ; se neither knew nor cared. For the preset s-he was free, tomorrow she mighb be ; bondwoman. Her fetters would be of ted and roses ; none the less though woulc tiey be fetters. She played chess ,vth Sir Victor— his hand trembled — hers Us steady. Captain Hammond asked he tor a Scotch song. She went bo bhe pianijand sang, never more clearly and sweetly irjher life. ' Sing "Charley Hs My Darling," suggested Trix, maliciouy ; ' it's one of your favourites, I know." Oharley was reposit on a sofa near — bhe wax lights streamint over his handsome, 1 placid face. ' Yes; sing ib, Dibh,' he said, ' ibs ages ,since yon sang ib tor 13 now:' ' And I may never ng ib for you again,' she answered, vvibh ajareless Jaugh ; ' one ; so soon grows tired of these old songs.' 1 She sang it, her. ey<s alight; her' cheeks flushing, thrilling &pirii and life in the j merry words., Sir Vicbo' stood beside her, I drinking in until he was'ntoxicated by bhe spell of her subble wibohry. ' And Charley he's iy dailinQ— My darling, my davng ! ' Edibh's contralto tond rang oub. She had never looked so reaY beaubiful, perhaps, before in her lite — appressed excite menb lent her such spi'kle and colour. She finished her song ancarose. And presently bhe evening was over and it was half-past eleven, and one>y one they were taking their candles, and3traggling off td 1 bed. Edith Darrell did not go to bed. She pub the lights away on tb toilet-table in bhe dressing-room, wraiped something around her and sat downjy the window to think it out. Should she marry Sir Victor Catheron, or should she not ? She cared nothing fi- him— nothing whatever — very likely . sio never would. She loved Charley Stuoib\wibh all the power of her heart, and jisk at present it seemed to her she always must. That was how bhe problem stood. If she married Sir Vjctor, rank and wealth beyond all her qreams would be hers, a life of luxury, all t the joys and de lights great wealth can bring. She liked pleasure, luxury, boautyypank. For love — well, Sir Victor loved her, and for a woman

it is'- always better, safer, to be loved than 'to love. ~- - ' I That was one phase of the case. Here was the other : She might got o Charley and say : * Look ' here — I care for you so much that life without you isn't worth the, living. I will marry you, Charley, whenever, you like.' He would make her, his ' wife. Alone in darkness, her heart thrilled' j at the thought of it — and the intensest joy |of life would be hers for a while. For a while. They would be poor — his father i would cast him off — he must, for the first ; time in his life, begin to work — the old story of pinching and poverty, of darning land mending, would commence over again | for her ; poor food, poor clothes, all the untold ugliness and misery of, penury. Love is a very good, and pleasant thing, but not ' \yhen bought at the price of all. the glory and pleasure of the world. She turned from the life she pictured , with a shudrler of abhorrence. And Charley j was not of the stuff the toilers of the earth | are made. She would never spoil his life for him as well as her own — not if her heart broke in giving him up. But it would not break — who breaks her heart in these days ? She would say ' Yes ' to-morrow to Sir Victor Catheron. Then for a moment the thread of thought broke, and she sat looking: blankly out afc the soft spring night. On the day she pledged her&elf to Sir | Victor she must say good-bye for ever to Charley — so it began again. One house must not contain them both ; her word, her plight must be kept bright and un-! tarnished — Charley must go. She tried to think what her life would be' like without him. It seemed to her, she could think of no time in which he had not belonged to her ; all the years before that night in the snow were blank and void. And now, for all time, she must give him up. She rose, feeling cold and cramped — she undressed with stiffened fingers, and went, to bed. She would think no more, her head; ached she would sleep and forget. ! She did sleep, deeply, dreamlessly. The sunlight was pouring into her room, flooding it with golden radiance, when she awoke. She sprang up ; her heart gave one bound of recollection and rapture. Sir Victor Catheron had asked her to be hie wife. Doubt was at an end — hesitation was at an end. ' Colours seen by candle light Do not look the same by day.' Last night a hair might) have turned the scale and made her say • No,' reckless of consequences -to-day a thousand Charleys would not have influenced her. She would be Lady Catheron. She sang as she dressed. Not the May sunshine itself was brighter than her face. She left the room, she walked down the corridor, down the stairs, and out upon the emerald green lawn. A well-known tigure, in a grey suit, stood a few yards, off, pacing restlessly about and smoking. He flung away his cigar and hurried up to her. One glance at her smiling face was enough, his own flushed deep with rapture. ' I have come for my answer,' he cried. 10, Edith, my darling, don't let it be "No."' She laughed aloud at his vehemence — it was the sort of wooing she liked. ' I should like bo please you, Sir Victor — what, then, shall it be ?' • Yes ! a thousand times yes ! Edith, my love — my love, yes !' She was smiling still — she looked him Irankly in the eyes as no woman on earth, in such an hour, ever looked at the man she loved. She laid in his one slim, brown, ringless hand. 1 Since you wish it so much, Sir Victor, let it be as you please. Yes !'