CHAPTER XII. THE TELLING OF THE SECRET.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 420, 16 November 1889, Page 5

CHAPTER XII. THE TELLING OF THE SECRET.

Whkrk was the bridegroom ? Gaston Dantree bade good -by to Katherine Da'igeriield. and rode down that noble avenue of elms leading to the ponderous crates. His horse's footsteps rang clear and sharp through the still, frosty air, the silvery mist of moonlight bathed all things in its pale, mystic glow. Ke paused an instant to look back, ere he rode away. What a fair domain it. was — what a sfcabaly sweep of park, and glade, and woodland — fairer than ever in tho pearly light of Christmas moon. ITow noble tho old house looked, with it turrets, its peaked gables, its massive stack of chimneys. And to-morrow all this would be his — he an outcast of tho New York streets. He laughed softly, exultantly to himself, as he turned and rode swiftly away. ' It's better to be born lucky than rich — it's better to be born handsome than lucky. A clear complexion and a set of regular features, a tenor voice, and insinuating manners have done more for me than they do for most men. They have made my fortune. Half the men and women in the world are fools at best, and don't know how to use the gifts with which nature endows them. I was born in the gutter, brought j up in the streets, adopted onfc of chanty, turned out for my shortcomings, to starve, or steal, to go to State prison, or — become the literary hack ot a sporting paper, illpaid and ill-used. And now — to-morrow is my wedding-day, and a baronet's daughter and the heiress of eight thousand a year to be my bride. Gaston Dantree, I congratulate you again, and still again, you're one ot the very cleverest fellows I ever knew in the whole course of my life.' And then, as Mr Dantree rode over the moonlit high-road, he astonished tho belated wayfarers by uplifting his voice in melody, so sweet and clear, that even the sleeping 'nightingales, had there been any in December, might have awakened to ilsten and envy. Tho wheels of the world were greased on their axles for him. A bride and a fortune, and a life of perpetual pleasure lay beyond to-morrow's sunrise. There was only one thorn in all his bed of roses — Marie. ' If she should come, after all ! and Satan himself I believe can never tell what a woman may do. You may be as ceitain as that you live she will take one course, and ten to owe she takes the direct opposite. For Marie De Lansac to pursue any man, though he sat on the throne of the Ca?sars, is the most unlikely thing on earth, and for that very reason &he may turn up now. If she should appear to-morrow and forbid the banns ! Such things happen sometimes. Or. if she should turn up a year hence, and proclaim my secret and her wioncs ! And bigamy's a devilish ugly word !' The shadow of the avenger pursued Mr Dantree into dreamland. His visions this ante-nuptial night were all dark and ominous. He fell asleep, to tee the face of the woman he feared, dark and menacing ; he awoke, and fell asleep again, to see it palid and despairing, wild with woman's utmost woe. He started out of bed at last, at some abnormal hour in the dwnal dawn, with a cur»e upon his lips. Sleeping or waking, the face of Marie De Langac haunted him like an a\enging ghost. The storm had come with tho new day— rain and sleet beat the glass, the wind howled dismally around the house and up and down the draughty passages. Mr Dantree scowled at the distant prospect—atmospheric iniluences did not affect him much as a rule, but they affected him to-day. I suppose the least sensitive of human beings likes bright sunshine, balmy breezes, and cloudless skies for his wedding day. Mr Dantree cursed the weather — cur&ed the pursuing memory that drove him from his bed— cursed his own folly in letting superstitious fears trouble him, and having finished his litany, produced a smoke-coloured bottle of French brandy, a •case of manillas, and flung himself into an •easy chair before the still smouldering lire. He primed himself with enu de vie until the bieakfast bell rang, and then descended to meet his host and his sister, and get the vapours of the night dispelled in their society. Mi&s Talbot departed for Scarswood almott immediately after breakfast. Mr Dantree escorted her to the carriage, and moodily watched her drhe away. 'I suppose I am to give your love to Katherine V the young lady said, gayly ; * and I suppose we won't see you until the hour. Try and wear a less dolorous face, signor, when you do present yoursolt. It's a serious occasion, beyond doubt, but not even matrimony can warrant so gloomy a countenance as that.' How the long interminable hours of that day wore on, Gaston Dantree never afterward knew. Something was going to happen — he simply felt that — what, he did not know. Marie might come, or she might not ; but whether or no, something would happen. The dark sleety hours dragged slowly along — he smoked furiously — hellrank more brandy than was at all prudent or usual for bridegrooms— he vent in and out in a restless fever, that would not let him sit down. He paced up and down the liefiess aisle 3, the sleet driving .' sharply in his face, the keen wind piercing him, for he was of a chilly nature. Were presentiments true? None had ever troubled him before. Was it a guilty conpcience ? It was the first time he ever realised he had a conscience ; or was it a worse demon than either— the gloomy fiend of — indigestion ? ' A sluggish liver has made men blow their brains out before now, and a dyspeptic ■stomach has seen ghosts. Presentiments .are sentimental humbugs — it's the heavy dinners at Scarswood and the .French cookery' at Morecambe, combined •with a leaden sky, and a miserable JDecember day. If the infernally long day .vere ended, and the hour come, I should feel all right, I know.' Hi 3 host watched him curiously from the window, wandering about in the storm like an unquiet spirit. Bridegrooms may be restless as a rule on the happy day, bub nob such restlessness as this. 'There's something on that fellow'a siiind,' the young Sussex squire thought. •* He has the look to-day of a man who is mjraid, andJl don't think he's a coward as a ,r<u4e. I've thought from the first this marxuage would be a deucedly bad job, and it's no end of a pity. She's such a trump of a girl — little Kathie — no nonsense about her, you know j rides to hounds like a born Nimrod — ess, dances like a fairy, plucky, and thoroughbred from top to toe. And she's going to throw herself away on this buffer, for no reason under heaven but that Sic's got a good-looking face. Hang it. all ! \Wfl»y did I ever fetch him down to Moreicafiibe, or why need Katherine Dangerfield ixe fiueb a little fool? Who's to tell us the

fellow hasn't a wife already out in New Orleans V Sometime after noon the bridegroom-elect flung himself on his bed and fell heavily asleep. He did not dream this time ; he slept — for hours — the beneficial effect of Fronch brandy, no doubt. The short dark day had faded entirely out — tho candles weie lit, and Squire Talbot'e man stood over him adjuring him to liso. ' Beg pardi:;g, sir, for disturbing you, but master's borders, sir, and it's 'alf after six, Mr Dantree, sir, and time, master says, to get up and dress. And master's borders, tir, is, that I'm to assist you.' Mr Dantree leaped from the bed. Halfpast six, and time to dress. Ko more endless hours, to think and fidget, — that was a comfort, at least. 1 How's the weather, now, Lewis ?' he asked. ' Stoi in held up any ? No — 1 see it has not — rather worse, if anything. Where's the squire V 'In hte hapartmenb, sir — dressing, sir. Permit, me to do that, Mr Dantree, fair — if you please. Dinner's to be arf an hour later than husual, sir, on this occasion — you'll 'aye just time to dress and no more.' Lewis was an adept in his business. At half-past f-e^ en Mr Dantree descended to dinner in fulleveningoiiit — white waistcoat, diamond studs, dross coat, shiny boobs — rolted for the sacrifice ! He and the squire dined tetc-a-tetr Neither ate much — both weie nervous and silent. ' What the deuce ever made me bring the fellow down V the squire kept thinking, moodily, casting gloomy athwart the tall epergne ot flowers between them. And ' Will anything haopen after all ?' the bridegroom kept saying over and over ; * will the heire&s of Scarswood be my wife to-inoriow morning, or ■will something prevent it at tho eleventh bour, and expose me ' It would be just my usual inlernal luck.' He went back to his room after dinner. They had not lingered, and it was still only eight o'clock. A quarter before ten would be early enough to arrive at Scarswood, and run the gauntlet of threescore curious eyes. ' I wish it were over,' he exclaimed, a'oud, almost savagely. ' I wouldn't undergo such an ordeal again for all the heiresses in Croat Britain.' 'It U a nenous business,' a voice in the doorway repponned ; ' but take courage. There's many a frlip, you know, and though it wants but two hours to the time, you may escape the matrimonial nooie after all.' Gaston I>antree swung round with an oath. There, in the doorway, stood Peter Dangerfield. 'I beg your pardon, Mr Dantiec,' the lawyer said glibly, coming in and shutting the door. ' You don't look best plea&ed to see me, bub that is not to bo wondered at. 5 ' Where the devil did jou spring from?' Mr Dnntreo demanded, angrily. ' I sprang from nowhere — I've given up gymnastic*. I drove over from Castleford, in the rain on important business—important busines;> to you. A quarter past 3ight ' he drew out his watch, ' and 1 see you are all dre«sed for the ceremony. Thafgives us an hour and three quartersplenty of time for what I want you to do.' ' What — you — want — me— to— do ! Mr Dangerfield, I confess I am at a loco to — ' 'To understand me — exactly—quite natural that you should and all that. I'll evplain. Circumstances have come to light concerning Sir John Dungerficld and— well —and the young lady you are going to marry. As a friend of yours, Mr Dantree, 1 consideritwould bea shameful deception to letthe marriage uo on while jou are inignornnce of those circumstances. Sir, you have been grossly decehed — we have all been and— but it is impossible for me to explain. Theieliy hangs a tnle, and all that — which I don't wi-h to tell. The person who told me is waiting at Cattlcfoid to tell you. I dro\e heie at once— my trap is waiting outside now. I made my way to your room unannounced. I know the house, and I want you to put on your hat and greatcoat, and come with me to Cajtleford ab once' Gaston Dantree stood very pule, listening to this lengthy [and rapid harangue. His presentiments -were all true, then — something was going to occur. At the last hour the glitteiing prize for which he had fougbt and won was to be snatched from him. His lips weio set hard, and there was a dull red glow not good to see in his black eyes. But he kept his temper — under all circumstances it was the rule of his life to keep that. ' Mr Dangerfield,' he said ' will you be so good as to open the mysteries a little ? Your speech sounds melodramatic — and I don't care for melodrama off the boards. Why am Itogo to Castleford ? What aie the circumstances ? Whom am Ito mcct — and how have we all been deceived ? Do you wish to insinuate anything against Miss Dangrerfield V • Nob a word —nob a syllable. She i.s blameless and I don'b wish to stop your marriage — Heaven forbid ! No one will wish you joy, two hours hence, when the ceremony is o\er, more fincerely than I.' Gaslon Dantree looked ab him, staggered a little. The marriage was not to be stopped, then. He drew a long, tense breath of relief. • This is all very strange. I visit you would explain. I'll go with you to Castleford — it will kill the intervening time as well as anything else — but, I'd rather not go in the dark.' ' You must. Take my word for it, Dantree, it is necessary. It is impossible for me to tell you —I am bound by oath. Come with me— come ! I swear you shall be at Scarswood by ten o'clock.' For a moment Dantree stood irresolute, Then curiosity overcame every other feeling. He seized his hat and coat with a slighb laugh. IBe it so, then. Lead on, as they say in novels, I follow — and, my good fellow, drive like the very deuce.' He van lightly downstairs — Peter Dangerfield followed. There was a flush on the lawyer's willow parchment cheeks, a fire in his dim, near-sighted eyes, all unusual there. They met no one. The squire was still in his ' hapartment,' the servants were busy. The gig lamps of Mr Dangerfield's trap loomed like two fiery eyes in the stormy blackness. Dantree leaped in, Dangerfield followed, snatched up the reins, and sped away like the wind. It was a dead, silent drive. It was all Peter Dangerfield could do to hold the reins and msjlce his way through the double darkness of night and storm. Gaston Dantree sab with folded arms waiting. What was he to hear ? — where was he going ? whom was he to see ? A strange adventure this, surely, on a man's wedding night. The lights of Castleford gleamed through the sleet, the dull cannonading of the sea on the coast came to them above the shrieks of the wind. In five minutes they had driven up before hn inn ;-~the two men sprang out, a hostler book charge of the conveyance, and Peter Dangerfield with a brief, ' This way, Dantree,' sprang quickly up the .strirs, and rapped at a door, on the first landing. Ib was opened instantly, and Gaston Dantree saw— Mrs Vavasor. She was magnificently dressed bo-nigh b. A rjeh robe of purple silk, en traine, swept behind her— diamonds flashed on neck and fingers'— and white porfumy rose? nesbied in I tho glossy masses of satin black hair. The

rouge bloomed its brightest), the enamel glittered with alabaster dazzle, the almond eyes were longer, brighter, blacker than ever, and that peculiar smile on her squirrel-shaped mouth was never so radiant before. ' You did not expect to sec me, Mr Duntree, did you ? You didn't know I have been in Castlolord a whole week. And I've come for the wedding all the way from Paris. 1 cio^sed the channel at the risk of exphing in the agonies of seasickness, I braved your beastly British climate, I have buried myselt alive a whole week here, without a soul to speak bo — all — bo be present ut Katheiine Dangerfield's wedding, if — that wedding ever takes place.' Mr Dantice looked at his watch, outwardly, afc lea^t, perfectly cool. ' It will be an accomplished fact in one hour, madame. And there is a good old adage about its being well to wait until you're asked — wouldn't it have been better if you had remembered it ? Your affection lor Miss Danoerlield does credit to your head and heart, but I fear it is unreciprocated. She lovgcj you as Old Nick loves holy water.' ' Nevertheless,! shall go to her wedding. ' I told her so once, and mean to keep my . word, if— as 1 said before — that vvodding ever takes place.' ' Will jou be kind enough to explain ?' He was quite white, but braced to meet the wor&t. Ho looked her steadily between the eyes. She stood and returned that gaze smiling, silent, with a devil in either glitteiing eye. For Peter Dangerfield, he stood aloof and listened. ' What a fortunafce fellow you are, Gaston Dantioe,' Mrs Vavasor said, after that&hort pause. ' You are the very handsomest man, I think, I ever saw ; you are the best linger off the operatic stage I ever heard ; your manners aio perfect in their insolent ease ; you are seven-and-twenty — a charming a<je — and you possess what &o seldom goes with beau by, unhappily — brains. The world is your oyster, and you open it cleverly ; you are a penniless Yankee adventurer, and a baronet's daughter, and the heiress of eight thousand a year is waiting at Scarswood to marry you to-night. Under what fortunate combination of the planets were you born, I wonder ; you don't love this young lady you are going to marry ; but love is an exploded idea tho stock in trade of poets and novelists. . People with eight thousand a year can dispense with lo\e; but where the bride and groom are both penniless — oh, well ! that's another matter.' ' Mrs Vavasor, it is after nine o'clock. Did you send for me to listen to a homily? If i>o, having heard it, allow me to take my departure' ' Don't be in a hurry, Mr Dan tree— there's no occasion. Ten o'clock will come, but I don't believe wo'll have a wedding to-night after all.' ' You have said that three times !' (>aston Dantree's eyes were growing; stern, and his mouth was set in one thin hard lino—' the same thing repeated too often grows a bore. Be kind enough, it you mean anything, to tell me what you mean.' * 1 will ! I mean this, my handsome Louisianian — that your bride-elect is no more n baronet's daughter — no more Sir John Dangerh'eld's heiress — than I am !' (To b" Con' inucd. )