A Wonderful Woman. CHAPTER X.—(Continued.)

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 418, 9 November 1889, Page 5

A Wonderful Woman.

CHAPTER X.— (Continued.)

By MAY AGNES FLEMING, Author of "Guy Earlesoourt'a Wife," "A Terrible Secret," " Lost for a Woman," <f A Mad Marriage,' 1 etc.

If early rising be a virtue, Miss Danger field possessed it. She might dance all night, until * the wee sma' hours ayonb the twal,' but she was prepared to rise at six next morning, as fresh as the freshest. When Sir John came out on the terrace for his morning smoke, he found his daughter pacing up and down slowly in the pale, chill sunlight. A scarlet bournous wrapped her, and her dark face looked wan and sombre from out its glowing folds. 4 You here, Katherine !' the baronet said, as he stopped and kissed her. He was very gentle with her of late ; there was a sort of sad, abnormal tenderness in his face now. It did surprise him to find her here so early, but, looking again at her, he saw how heavy the bright eyed were, how slow the elastic footfall, tho shadows on the tell-tale face. ' What is it, Kathio ?' he asked. ' You look as though you hadn't slept last night. Has anything gone wrong ?' • Well* no, papa ; nothing exactly gone wrong, perhaps ; but I feel unhappy, and cross, and mystified. I didn't sleep last night, and it's all owing to that detestable woman. Light your cigar, papa, and I will tell you while we walk up and down.' She clasped both hands round his arm, and looked up with dark, solemn eves. ' Papa, I want you to send her away. She is a wretch — a wicked, plotting, envious wretch ! I was happy last night -I don't think I ever was happier in my life. What business had she to come and spoil it all [ I hate to be unhappy — I won't be unhappy ! and, papa. I insist upon your sending the odious little killjoy away !' His bronzed face paled perceptibly ; an angry glance came into his steel-blue eye-*. 4 You mean Mrs Vavasor, I presume. What has she done ?' 'Done !' Katherine repeated, with angry impatience — 'she has done uothing — she is what she says, either ; it's her look, her tone, her smile, that insinuates a thousand things more than she ever utters. That horrid, perpetual simper of hers says, plainer than words, "I know lots of things to your disadvantage, my dear, and I'll tell them, too, some day, if you don't use me well." I hate people that go smirking through life, full of evil and malice, and all uncharitableness, and who never lose their temper.' 4 You seem to have decidedly lost yours this morning, my dear. May' I repeat — what has Mrs Vavasor done ?' 1 This, papa : she came to my room last night, instead of going honestly to bed like any other Christian, and began talking to me about my — mother.' Sir John Dangerfield took his cigar suddenly from between his lips, a dark red flash of intense anger mounting to his Vow. * About your mother !' he l-epeated, in a tense sorb of voice. 'What did Mrs Vavasor say about your mother, Kathie ?' ' She said, for one thing, that my mother once prevented her marriage. Now, did she?' ' Not that I am aware of. Was that all V * Well, that was all she accused her of, but there was volumes implied. My mother died in her arms, she said, and she had long ago forgiven her. Papa, if ever I saw a devil in human eyes I saw one in hers as she said it. She hated my mother ; she hates me ; and if it is in her power to do me or you anj' harm, she will do it before she leaves Sussex, as surely as we both stand here.' 1 Katherine, for Heaven's sake — ' ' She will, papa !' Katherine cried, firmly, • All the harm she can do us she will do. Bub is it in her power to really barm us? The will is there fast enough, but is the way ?' 1 My child,' he said, and there was a sob in every word, 'it is in her power to ruin us — to ruin you.' Kabherine looked at him— very pale, very grave, very quiet. You could see afc once how this impulsive girl, ready to cry out lustily with impatient anger over little tioubles, would bear great ones. * Then Heaven help us !' she said, * if that be true. I don't understand, and it seems to me you will nob explain until the blow falls. Perhaps I could bear it better if I knew beforehand what I had to endure. Just now it seems strangely impossible. You are a wealthy baronet and I am your only child — how can a woman like that injure or ruin us ? Papa,' suddenly, lis there any flaw in your right of succession to Scarswood — is there any heir whose claim is better than your own ?' He looked at her, a look that haunted ncr for many a day, with eyes full of trouble. ' And if it were so. If there were a claimant whose right was better than my own— if some day, and very soon, Scarswood were taken from u&, and we went out into the world poor, disgraced, and penniless, how would it be then ? I have asked you before, I ask you again — could you bear poverty, Katherine ? Could you bear to leave Scarswood and its splendours, anJ go forth among the women and men who work, and be happy V She set her lips close. • I could go, papa, I suppose, 1 ?he answered, in a hard sort of voice. eWe can endure almost anything, and people don't break their hearts for any loss in this nineteenth century. But — happy — that is quite another thing. I have told you many times, and I repeat ib now, I would rather die than be poor.' She stopped, and there was dead silence while they walked up and down the long stone terrace. Up in the bright October sky the sun rained its golden light, and up in the breezy turrets the great breakfast bell began to clang ; very fair Scarswood park looked in the amber radiance of the crisp early morning — the green and golden depths of fern, the grand old oaks, and elms, and beeches, the climbing ivy of centuries' growth, the red deer racing, and the stately old mansion, with its eastern windows glittering like sparks ot fire. Katherine's eyes wandered over it all — she had learned to love every txee, j ©very stone in the grand old place. ' Papa,' she said, at last, a sort of wail in I her tone, ' must we qo — muab we give up all this ? Was I right after all, and is this the secret Mrs Vavasor holds ?' ' Supposing it were— what then, Kathie?' 1 Then,' her eyes fla-hed, ' order her out of the house within the hour, though we should follow her the next.' * What — and brave ruin and exposure when we may avert them ?' ' You will not avert them. That woman wi'l not spare you one pang she can inflict,. And if we must go'— she threw back her head with right royal grace — ' I would rather we walked out ourselves, than wait to be turned out. So that I have you and Gaston left, papa, I can endure all the rest.' His mouth set itself rigidly under his beard, and the soldier-fire came into his eyes.

' Let us go in, papa,' Kabherine said, resolutely, 'and when breakfast is over. , give Mrs Vavasor her conge. It is for my f sake you have been afraid of her — nob for your own. Well, I hate poverty, I know, but I hate Mrs Vavasor much more. Send her away, and let her do her worst.' • She shall go !' ' Thank you, papa. It was nob Hire you bo be afraid of anybody. I will breathe freely again once she is outside of Scarswood. Shall she go to-day V 'Today -the sooner the better; and then, Kathie— ' ' Then, papa, when you and I and Gaston go, it will be together. If we are to bo poor, I will work for you — turn actress, or authoress, or artist, or something free, and jolly, and Bohemian, and try and remember Scarswood, and its glories, only as people remember beautiful, impossible dreams.' 'My dauntless little girl ! But wo won't leavB Scarswood ' — no, nob for all the little painted women this side of perdition. She shall go, and we will stay, and we will let her do her worst. While I live at least you are safe— after that—' ' Bub, papa !' with a sort of gasp, ' that other heir — ' The baronet laughed. ' There is no other heir, my dear — Scarswood ia mine, and mine only — Mrs Vavasor shall go, and we will have our wedding in peace, and if in bhe future any great loss or worldly misfortune befall you, let us hope Gasbon Dantree's husbaudlv love will make up for ib. Yes,' he lifted his head, and spoke defiantly, as though throwing off an intolerable burden, ' come what may, the woman shall go !' They found her m bhe breakfast parlour when they entered, looking out over the sunlit landscape, and waiting impatiently for her breakfast. Lafce hours did nob agree with Mrs Vavasor — ib was a very chalky and haggard face she turned to the baronet and his daughber in bhe garish morning lighb. Her admirers should have seen her ab this hour — the seamed and sallow skin — the dry, parched lips — the sunken eyes with the bisbre circles— even bhe perennial smile, so radianb and fresh under the lamps, looked ghastly in the honest, wholesome sunlight.' ' Good-moming, dear Sir John — gooduiorning, dearest Kathie. How well the child looks after last night's late hours ; - as freah as a rosebud, while I — but alas ! I I am five-and-thirty, and she is sweeb seventeen. Well, regieb for my losb youbh and good looks shall never impair my appetite ; so " queen rose of ihe rosebud garden of girls," bhe sooner you give me a cup of coffee, the sooner my nerves will be strung for the battle of life that we all poor wretches fight every day.' In dead silence Katherine obeyed — in dead silence the baroneb took his place. Her fate was sealed, her days ab Scarswood numbered. She saw ib ab a glance. ' I frightened her lasb night,' she thought, c and she has been laying in a complaint to papa this morning, and papa has piucked up courage from despair, and I am to get the rout to-day. What a fooi I grow ! Having waited nineteen years, I mighb surely have waited t»vo" months more. Well, as I must hold in my hand that promised cheque for ten thousand pounds before I cross this threshold, what does it signify? I shall go to London or Paris — my own dear, ever new, ever beautiful Paris — until the last week of the old year, and enjoy myself instead of moping to death" in this dull, respectable English houee, among dull, respectable English people. It is jusb as well as it is. 1 Mrs 'avasor was as agreeably conversable as usual during breakfasb, bub as three quarters of an hour's sbeady talking to people who only answer in tersely chill monosyllables is apt to be wearisome even to the sprightliesb disposition, her dreary yawn ab rising was very excusable. ' I believe I shall postpone my shopping expedition to Castletord after all this morning, and go back to bed. Oh dear !' another stifled yawn, ' how sleepy I am. And we dine this evening, do we not, dearest Kabhie, ab Morecambe?' 'Mrs Vavasor,' Sir John inbe rupted, with cold, curb decision, ' before you go bo Castleford or to sleep, be kind enough to follow me into my study. I have a word to say to you.' He led the way instantly ; Mrs Vavasor paused a moment and looked over her shoulder ab Katherine with that emile bhe girl hated s<\ ' I think I undersiand," she said, slowly. 'My time has come. If I shall not be able to put in an appearance ab the Morecambe dinner parby this evening, you will make my apologies, will you nob, dearest? And give my love to that perfectly delicious Mr Dan tree.' And then she went, humming a tune, and entered the study, and stood before the grim old baronet. He shut and locked bhe door, took a seat, and pointed imperatively for her to take another. All the time her eyes followed him with a hard, cold glitter, that seemed to set his teeth on edge. He looked her full in the face, and plunged headlong into his subject. 'Harriet Harman— Mrs Vavasor—whatever name you please, you must leave this house at once ! You hear — at once ! ' 'I hear,' she laughed. 'It would be a dull intellect; indeed, my dear Sir John, that could fail to comprehend your ringing military orders. I must go, and at once. Now, that is haid when I had made up my mind not to stir until after Christmas. Your house is elegant, your cook perfection, your wines unexceptional, your puise bottomless, and your friends eminently respectable. I'm nob used to respectable people, nor full purses, and I like Scars wood. Now, suppose I insist upon spending Christmas here, after all ?' She folded her arms, and looked at him exactly as she had done on the night of her arrival. 'I will suppose nothing of the sort— you must go.' 'Ah ! I must ! I like people, do you know, who say a thing/ and stick to it. Well, you're master here, of course, and if you insist upon it, what can a poor little helpless widow do? Bub, Sir John, I wonder you're nob afraid.' ' Beyond a certain point fear ceases and desperation comes. I can endure your presence, your sneers, your covert threats no longer. You are no fib companion, as I told you before, for Katherine— a woman noted as the naost notorious gambler of Baden and Homburg during the past ben years. The girl hates you, as you know, and you— how dared you go to her room as you did last night and talk of her mother ? How dared you do it ?' His passion was rising— there was a suppressed fury in his tone and look, all the stronger for being i-o long restrained. The widow met ib with a second scornful laugh. 'How dared I doit? You have yet to learn what I dare do, Sir John. Don't lose your temper, I beg — it's not becoming in a soldier, a gentleman, and a baronet. How dared T talk to Katherine of her mother ? Now, really, Sir John, that sounds almost wicked, doesn't it ? What more filial — what more sacred subject could I talk to a child upon than the subject of her sainted mother ?' m '• Harriet, I thought I would never stoop to ask a favour of you again, but now I do. Tell me—' * That will do, Sir John— l know what ie

coming, and I won't tell— never, never, never ! It would be poor revenge indeed if I did. What you know now is all you ever will know, or she either. I'll leave Scarswood to - day, if you like. After all, hum-drum respectability and stupid stuck-up country families are apt to pall on depraved Bohemian palates used to clever disreputable nobodies. Yes, I'll go, Sir John. (Jive me that ten thousand pound cheque. Mon Dim! the life I mean to lead in Paris on that ; delightful, respectable, orthodox — and I'll shake the dust ot Scarswood off my wandering feet — for ever ! ' ' For ever ! You swear never to trouble us more V ' 1 will swear anything you like, baronet. Oaths or words — it's all "the came to Mrs Vavasor.' • How can I trust you ? How am I to tell that after I pay you the exorbitant price you ask for your secrecy, you will not go to Peter Danger-field ond betray me?' Mrs Vavasor laid her hand on her heart. ' On the honour of all the Vavasors, whose sang-a'.v^e flows in those veins, I swear it ! You must take my word, baronet, and chance it. Have I not promised — am I not ready to swear — " by all the vows that ever men have broken ?" What more do you want? Give me the money, and let me bid you — "oh, friend ot my brighter days !" — one long, one la«t farewell !' He went to his writing-case, and handed her a crossed cheque for ten thousand pounds. Her eyes flashed with intense delight as she looked ah it. 1 Ten thousand pounds ! Ten thousand pounds ! and I never had ten thousand pence before in all my life. Sir John, a million thanks. May you be happy ! — may your shadow never be less ! May your children'bchildren (meaning the futuie little Dantrees) rise up, and call you blessed ! Those aged eyes of yours will never be pained by the spectacle of my faded features more.' I go, Sir John— l go— and 1 leave my benediction behind.' She went up to her room singing. Ninon was summoned, a chamber-maid was summoned, and Mrs Vavasor worked with right good will. Tw o little shabby portmanteaus had held Mrs Vavasor's wardrobe last September — now four largo trunks and no end of big boxes, little boxes, and hand-bags were tilled. And with the yellow radiance of the noon day sunshine bathing park, trees, turrets, and stately mansion in its glory, Mrs Vavasor was whirled away to Castleford station. She looked back as the light trap flew through the great gates and under the huge Norman arch. ' A fair and noble inheritance,' she s >id : 'too fair by far to go to her mother's daughter. Your sky is without a cloud now, but when next I come, ray brilliant, happy, haughty Katherine, look to yourself. This morning's: work is your doing — I am not likely to forget that.' Mrs Vavasor was gone. The news fel upon Mr Peter Dangerh'eld like a blow. As suddenly and mysteriously as she had at first appealed, she had vanished, and where were all her vague promises and bewildering insinuations now ? i Katherine was to be married, the wedding day was fixed, lie had been bidden to the feast. She had insulted him, scorned him ; he must pecket his rage, and live ! without his revenge. He was not prepared to break the law and commit a murder, and how else was he to pay oft' this insolent heiress, and her still more insolent lover ? Mrs Vavasor was gone, and all his hopes of vengeance went with her. Something might happen, to be sure, between this and the wedding day. Gaston Danfcree might be shown up in Ins ' true colours, as the unprincipled foitunohunter he was. People die suddenly, too, occasionally. Katherine might break her neck even in one of her mad gallops over highways and byways. While there is life there is hope. He went to Scarswood pretty frequently now — saw the lovers together happy and handsome, made himself agreeable, always in a cousinly way, and the weeks sped on. The trousseau was oidered, all was joy and gayety at the great house. Christmas week came and nothing had happened. Hesat moodily alone oneevening — Christmas Eve it chanced to be— before his solitary bachelor fire, brooding over his wrongs. Hissolitary bachelordinnerstood on thetable --he had been invited to a brilliant dinner party afcScarswood, buthewasgrowingtired of going to Scarswood, and hoping against hope. Nothing over befell this insolent pair— Katherine grew happier— brighter — more joyous every day; and that upstart, Dantree, moie invincibly good-looking. Nothing happened ; luck was dead against him ; nothing ever would happen. Thi3 night week was the wedding night— and what a life spread before those two in the future. It drove him half mad to look at them at times. And he — he must go on grubbing like a worm in the clay for ever and ever Katherine and Katherine's children would inherit Scarswood, and all hope 'vas at an end for him. He was only a rickety dwarf. Never while life remained would he forget or forgive those cruel words. 'If I live for sixty years to come, I'll only live in the hope of paying you off, my lady,' he muttered, clenching his teeth ; ♦it's a l~ng lane, indeed, that has no turning ! Curse that Mrs Vavasor ! If she knew anything, why didn't she tell me ?' There was a tap at the door. ' Come in,' he called, sulkily ; « it's time you came to clear away that mess.' He thought it was the servant, but instead a lady— dressed in black and closely veiled — entered. He arose in surprise, and stood looking j at her. Who was this ? Sf-e shut the door, turned the key, advanced toward him, and held out; her hands to the fire. | ' It is cold,' she said, ' and I have walked all the way from the station. Have you ' dined ? What a pity ! And lam hungry. Well, give me a glass of wine, at least.' He knew the voice. With a suppressed exclamation he drow nearer. 4lt is,' he said — ' surely it is—' *■ ' Mrs Vavasor !' She flung back her veil ! and met his glance with the old smile, the old malicious expression. ' Yes, it is Mrs Vavasor, come all the way from Paris to see you and keep her word. A promise should be held sacred — and I p.'omised you your revenge, did I not ? Ye?, Mr Dangerfield, I have travelled straight from Pariß to you, to tell you what is to make your fortune and mine— Sir John Dangerfield's secret !' (To be continued.)