CHAPTER XII. THE TELLING OF THE SECRET.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 422, 23 November 1889, Page 6

CHAPTER XII. THE TELLING OF THE SECRET.

Where was the bridegroom ? Gaston Dantree bade good-by to Katharine Dangerfield, and rode down that noble avenue of elms leading to the ponderous gates. His horse's footsteps rang clear and sharp through the still, frosty air, the silvery mfst of moonlight bathed all things in its pale, mystic glow. He paused an instant to look back, ere ho rode away. What a fair domain it was — what a stately sweep of park, and glade, and woodland — fairer than ever in the pearly light of Christmas moon. How noble the old house looked, with ib_ turrets, its peaked gables, its massive stack of chimneys. And to-morrow all this would be his — he an outcast of the New York streets'. He laughed softly, exultantly to himself, as he turned and rode swiftly away. ' It's bett6r 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 up in the streets, adopted ont of charity,* 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 — tomorrow is my wedding-day, and a baronet's daughter and the heiress of eight thousand a year to be my bride. Gaston Dantroe, I congratulate you again, and still again, you're one ot the very cleverest fellows I ever knew in the whole com-se of my life/ And then, as Mr Dantree rode over the moonlit high-road, he astonished the belated wayfarers by uplifting his voice in melody, so sweet and clear, that even the sleeping nightingales, had there been any in Decembei*, might have awakened to listen and envy. The 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. llf she should come, after all ! and Satan himself I believe can never tell what a woman may do. You may be as certain as that you live she will take one course, and ten to one she takes the direct opposite. For Marie De Lansac to pursue any man, though he sat on the throne of the Ctesars, is the most unlikely thing on earth, and for that very reason she 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 hencB, and proclaim my secret and her wrongs ! 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 see 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 dismal dawn, with a curse upon his lips. Sleeping or waking, the face of Marie De Lansac haunted him like an avenging ghost. The storm had come with the 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 influences 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 — cursed the pursuing memory that drove liim 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 fire. He primed himself with eau de vie until the breakfast bell rang, and then descended to meet his host and his sister, and get the vapours of the night dispelled in their society. Miss Talbot departed for Scar? wood almost immediately after breakfast. Mr Dantree escorted her to the cariiage, and moodily watched her drive away. 'I suppose I am to give your love to Katherine ?' 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 yourself. It's a serious occasion, beyotfd 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 — he drank more brandy than was at all prudent or usual for bridegrooms — he went in and out in a # restless fever, that would not let him sit down. Ho paced up and down the liefiess aisles, 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 conscience ? 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 December day. If the infernally long day arere ended, and the hour come, I should feel all right, I know.' His 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, but not such restlessness as this. "There's something on that fellow's mind,' the young Sussex squire thought. ' He has the look to-day of a man who is afraid, and|l don't think he's a coward as a rule. I've thought from the first this marriage 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 ; rides to hounds like a born Nimrod — esp, dances like a fairy, plucky, and thoroughbred from top to toe. And she's going to throw herself away on this duffer, for no reason under heaven but that he sgot a good-looking face. Hang it all ! Why did I ever fetch him down to Morecambe, or why need Katherine Dangei-field be such a little fool ? Who's to tell ua the

fellow hasn't a wife already out in New Orleans ?' 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 — Che beneficial effect of French brandy, no doubt. The short dark day had faded entirely out — the candles were lit, and Squire Talbot'a man stood o\er him adjuring him to rise. ' Beg pardir.g, sir, for disturbing you, but master's borders, sir, and it's 'alf after six, Mr Dantree, sir, and time, master pays, [to get up and dress. And master's horders, fcir, is, that I'm to assist you.' Mr Dantree leaped from the bed. Halfpast six, and time to dress. No more endless hours, to think and fidget,— -that was a comfort, at least. ' How'd the weather, now, Lewis ?' he asked, ' Storm held up any ? No — 1 see it has not — rather worse, if anything. Where's the squire ?' lln his hapartment, sir — dressing, sir. Permit, we to do that, Mr Dantree, sir — 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} seven Mr Dantree descended to dinner in full evening suit — white waistcoat, diamond studs, dress coat, shiny bools — robed for the sacrifice ! He and the squire dined tete-a-tete. Neither ate much — both were nervous and silent. ' What the deuce ever made me biing the fellow down ?! the squire kept thinking, moodily, casting gloomy athwart the tall epergne of flowers between them. A*nd • Will anything happen after- all ?' die bridegroom kept saying over and over ; 1 will the heiress of Scarswood be ray wife to-morrow mopnipg, ok will something prevent it at the eleventh bour, and expose me? It i would be just my usual infernal luck.' ' He went back to his room after dinner. They had not lingered, and it was still only eight o'clock. 4 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, aloud, almost savagely. • I wouldn't undergo such an ordeal again for all the heiresses in Great Britain.' 'It ?S a nervous business,' a voice in the doorway responded ; * but take courage. There's many a slip, you know, and though it wants but two hours to the time, you may escape the matrimonial noose after all.' Gaston Dantree swung round with an oath. There, in the doorway, stood Peter Dangerfield. 'I beg your pardon, Mr Dantree,' th© lawyer said glibly, coming in and shutting the door. ' You don't look best pleased to see me, but that is not to be wondered at.' 1 Where the devil did you spring from ?' Mr Dantree demanded, angrily. ' I sprang from nowhere — I've given up gymnastic. I drove over from Castleford, in the rain on important business — important business to you. A quarter past eight,' he drew out his watch, ' and 1 see you are all drepsed for the ceremony. That gives 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 loss to — ' *To understand me — exactly — quite natural that you should and all that. I'll explain. Circumstances have come to lig-ht concerning Sir John Dangerfield and — well — and the young lady you are going to marry. Aa a friend of yours, Mr Dantree, I consider it would bea shameful deception to let the marriage go on while you are inignorance of those circumstances. Sir, you have been grossly deceived — we have all been and— but it is impossible for me to explain. Thereby hangs a tale, and all that— which I don't wish to tell. The person who told me is waiting at Castleford to tell you. I drove here 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 Castleford at once.' Gaston Dantree stood very pale, listening to this lengthy and rapid harangue. His presentiments were all true, then something was going to occur. At the last hour the glittering prize for which he had fougbt and won was to be snatched from him. His lips were set hard, and there was a dull red glow not good to see in his black eyes. But he kept hia temper — under all circumstances it was the rule of his life I 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 are the circumstances ? Whom am Ito mcct — and how have we all been deceived ? Do you wieh to insinuate anything against Miss Dangerfield V 'Not a word — not a syllable. She is blameless and I don't wish to stop your marriage — Heaven forbid ! No one will wish you joy, two hours hence, when the ceremony is over, more sincerely than I.' Gaston Dantree looked at 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 wish you would explain. I'll go with you to Castleford — it will kill the intervening time as j 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 slight laugh. 'Be it so, then. Lead on, as they say in novels, I follow — and, my good fellow,drive like the very deuce.' He ran lightly downstairs— Peter Dangerfield followed. There was a flush on the lawyer's sallow parchment cheeks, a fire in | his dim, near-sighted eyes, all unusual there. Ttay met no one. The squire was still in his ' hapartment,' the servants ! were.busy. The.gig lamps of Mr Dangerfield Vtrap loomed like two fiery eyes in the stormy Slackness. Dantree leaped in, Dangerfield followed, snatched up the reins, and sped away like the wind. It was a dead, silent drive. t ,lt was all Peter Dangerfield could do to hold the reins and moke his way through the double darkness of night and storm. Gaston Dantree sat 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 tnen sprang out, a hostler took charge of the conveyance, and Peter Dangerfield with a brief, I ' This way, Dantree,' sprang quickly up the strirs, and rapped at a door, on the first landing. It was opened instantly, and Gaston Dantree saw — Mrs Vavasor. She was magnificently dressed to-night. A rich robe of purple silk, en traine, swept behind her— diamonds flashed on neck and fingera — and white perfumy roses nestled in [ the glossy masses of satin, black hair. The

rouge bloomed its brightest, the enamel glibterod with alabaster dazzle, the almond eyes were longer, brighter, blacker than ever, and that peculiar smile ou her squirrel-shaped mouth was never so radiant before. • You did not expect to see me, Mr Dantree, did you ? You didn't know I have been in Castleford a whole week. And I've come for the wedding all the way from Paris. I crossed the channel at the risk of expiring in the agonies of seasickness, I braved your beastly British climate, I have buried myself alive a whole week here, without a soul to speak to— all — to be present at Katheiine D anger field's wedding, if — that wedding ever takes place.' Mr Dantiee looked at his watch, outwardly, at least, perJectly cool. 4 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 ior Miss Dangerfield does credit to your head and heart, but I fear it is unreciprocated. She loves you as Old Nick loves holy water.' • Nevertheless, l shall go to her, wedding. I told her so once, and moan to keep my word, if — as I said before — that wedding ever takes place.' 1 Will jou be kind enough to explain ?' 1 He was quite white, but braced to meet the worst. He looked her stoadily between the eyes. She stood and returned tint gaze smiling, silent, with a devil in either glittering eye. For Peter Dangerfield, he stood aloof atid listened. • What a fortunate fellow you are, Gastoji Dantree,' Mrs Vavasor said, after that short pause. ' You are the very handsomest man, I think, I ever saw ; you are tho best singer off the operatic stage I ever heard ; your manners are perfect in their insolent ease ; you are seven-and-twenty — a charming age —and you possess what so seldom goes with beauty, unhappily— brains. Tho world is your oyster, and you open it cleverly ; you are a penniless Yankee adventurer, and a baronot's daughter, and the heiress of eight thousand a year ia waiting at Scarswood to marry you to-night. Under what fortunate combination of the planets were you born, I wonder ; you don't lovo this young lady you are going to marry ; but love is an exploded idea the stock in trade of poets and novelists. People with eight thousand a year can dispense with love ; 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 so, having heard it, allow me to take my departure. 1 • Don't be in a hurry, Mr Dantree— there's no occasion. Ten o'clock will come, bub I don't believe wo'll have a wedding to-night after all. 1 ' You have said that three limes !" Gaston Dantree's eyes were growing stern, and his mouth was set in one thin hard line—' the same thing repeated too often grows a bore. Be kind enough, if you mean anything, to tell me ivJiat you mean.' ' I will ! I mean this, my handsome Louisianian — that your bride-elect is no more a baronet's daughter — no more Sir John Dangerfield's heiress — than I am !'