A Wonderful Woman.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 456, 22 March 1890, Page 6

A Wonderful Woman.

By MAY AGNES FLEMING, Author of “Guy Earlescourt’s Wife,” “A Terrible Secret,” “ Lost for a Woman,” *‘A Mad Marriage,” eto BOOK 11. CHAPTER XII. ‘ THE" battle of fontenoy.’ The small parlour of the Silver Rose looked very much to-day as it had done this day six years, when little Mrs Vavasor had been its occupant. A trifle dustier and rustier, darker and dingier, but the same; and in one of its venerable, home-made arm-chairs, tinder its open front windows, sat another little lady, .looking with weary eyes up and down the street. It was Rose O’Donnell the captain’s sister. She was a littie creature, as petite, as Mrs Vavasor herself, of fairy-like, fragile proportions, a wan, moonlight sort of face, lit with large melancholy eyes. Those sombre, blue eyes, under their black brows and lashes, reminded you of her brother; the rich, abundant brown hair, that was but a warmer shade of black, was also his ; otherwise there was no resemblance. In repose the expression of that wan, small face was one of settled sadness ; at intervals though it lit up into a smile of wonderful brightness and sweetness, and then she was more like her brother than ever. She wore grey silk, without ribbon, or lacs, or jewel, and she looked like a little Quakeress, or a small, gray kitten, coiled up there in her big chair. She was quite alone, her delicate brow knit in deep and painful thought, her hands clasping and unclasping nervously in her lap, her great eyes fixed on the passers-by, but evidently not seeing them. ‘ This is the place,’ she said to herself in a sort of whisper : ‘ this is the town, and Scarswood was the house. At last —at last! But how will it end ? Must Igo on to my grave knowing nothing—nothing— whether he be living or dead, or am I to find out here? If I only dared tell Redmond—my best brother, rnv dearest friend —but I dare not. If he be alive, and they met, he would surely kill him.’ An inner door opened, and her brother, a straw sombrero in one hand, a fishing-rod in the other came, in with his sounding trooper tread. 1 Rose,’he said hurriedly, ‘ I did not mention it at breakfast, but I was absent last night. I met an old acquaintance, and he insisted upon taking me with him. I spent the evening at Scarswood Park.’ ‘ Scarswood Park !' It was almost a startled cry, but he did not notice it. ‘ Yes, Scarswood Park—place some three or four miles off—belonging to Sir Peter Dangerfield. Didn’t see Sir Peter—saw my lady, though, and—here is where the interest comes in. She insists upon your leaving this hostelry and becoming her guest.’

‘ Yes. I chanced to do her some trifling service the other day—absurdly trifling to make such a fuss over—and she insists upon magnifying a mole-hill into a mountain, saying l saved her life and all that. She is really the most hospitable lady I ever met —wanted to insist upon ua both pitching our tents in Scarswood. For myself, I declined, and do so still,, of course ; but for you—l have been thinking it over, and am not so sure. This isn’t just the place of all places I should choose for you ; perpetual skittles in a back-yard can't be agreeable to a well-constructed femalo mind. They are going to call today, and if they insist, and you prefer it, why. go with them, if you will.’ ‘They—Sir Peter and Lady Dangerfield, do you mean ?’ ‘No : Lady Dangerfield and her cousin, the Lady Cecil Clive. By the bye, I neglected to mention that I knew Lady Cecil and her father Lord Ruysland.years ago, in Ireland. They're very civil and all that, and if they insist, as I said, and you prefer it— Her large eyes lit with an eager light. ‘There can'be no question as to my preference, brother ; but if you object to it in any wav—’ * Oh, I don’t object. I would just as soon sooner, indeed—you went, as you insist upon staying in this place at all. I shall remain here and run down to see you every day until you have had enough of Castleford and Scarswood. And now, an revoir for the day I’m going fishing.’ He left the room whistling, flinging his sombrero carelessly on his dark curls, and throwing his fishing-rod over his shoulder. His sister watched his tall figure out of sight. ‘ So he knew this Lady Cecil years ago, in Ireland, and never told me ! Odd ! I wonder if Lanty knew her ! I shall ask.’ As if the thought had evoked him, enter Lanty Lafferty. a brush in one hand, a pair "of his master’s riding-boots in the other, darkened by an Algerian sun, otherwise not a whit changed by wear and tear of six years’ soldiering. He deposited the boots on the hearth rug, and stepped back, like a true artist, to survey his work.

‘Thim’s thim,’ said Lanbv, ‘an’ polished bill ye might a’most shave yersilf in thim Miss Rose, alanna ! is ther anything in the wurruld wide I can do for ye? Shure me very heart’s broke intirely since we kem to this nlace, wid sorra hand's turn to do from mornin' bill night.’

‘ What! And you complain of that, Lanbv !’ his young mistress said, with a smile'. ‘Now, I should think you would be glad of a holiday after vour active life out n Algiers. Surely you are nob longing so soon to be off again soldiering?’ • Sodgering, is it? Oh, thin, ’tis wishin’ t well I am for sodgering. Sorra luck or grace is thir about sich murtherin’ work. I'm not saying agin fightin’. mind ; thir wasn’t a boy in the barony fond her av a nate bit av a scrimmag thin meself ; but nut there among thim black haythins av Arabs, an’ thim little swearin’ divils av Frinchmin, that wor wurse nor onny haythin—oh, thin, sweet bad luck to it all! Shure. what the captain can see in it bates me intirely. As if it wasn’t, bad enough to be starved on . black bread an’ blacker soup, and if ye said “ pays about it, called up afore a coot-martial an’ shot in the elappin’ av yer hands. Faith, it turns me stomach this minute when I think av all the tidy boys I’Ve seen ordhered out at daybreak to kneel on their own coffins an’ be shot down like snipe for mebbe stickin’ a frindly Arab, or jtrivin’ a word av divilmenb or divarshun to their shuperior officer. May ould Nick fly away wid Algiers an’ all belongin’ to it afore Misther Redmond takes it into his head to go back there again. It s little I thought this time six years that I’d iver set fut in it or any other haythin lan’ liko it, whin Mither Redmond an’ that beautiful young slip,.the lord’s daughter, wor cootin beyunt in Torryglen.. Faix ! it’s marred I thought they’d be long an’ many a day ago, wid’mebbe three or four fine childer growin’

up about thim an’ myself dhry-nuree to thim same. But, oh wirra! shure the Lord’s will be done !’

Mr Lafferty, with a sort of groan over the hollowness of human hope, shook his head, took a last admiring look at the glitter of the master's boots, and then turned to depart; but .the young lady detained him.

* It’s a harrowing case, Lanty. Don’t be in a hurrv. So the Lord (I suppose you allude to Lord Ruysland, and don’t mean anything irreverent) and his daughter were in Ireland then before you ever went to Algiers ?’ *Ay ; ye may well say they wor. An’ maybe it isn’t in Algiers we’d be to this day av it wasn’t, for them. Heaven forgive me, but the thought o’ thim goes between me an’ me night’s sleep. Och ! but it’s the desavin’' pair they wor. But shure what betther cud ye expect —didn’t the English iver an’ always discave the Irish — the curse o’ Cromwell on thim ! There they wor—an’ it’s the smile and civil word an’ the “God save ye kindly, Mister Redmond acushalla,”thevhad for him until a blind man cud see the sthate he was in. Sorra a hate they did but coort — Misther Redmond and herself--an' the ould lord lookin' on as plazed as Punch. Ay, faith, an’ their looks an’ their picters — wasn’t she foriver taken off the old rocks and the castle an’ meself, for that mather as if I was a baste. An’ thin whin it’s wantin’ to marry her he was—shure I could see it by the powers ! it’s up an’ away they wor like a shot, without so much as a good-bye to ve, or go to the divil, or the laste civility in life. An’ the young masther iroth !it ’ud take a drop from ye if it was the last in yer eye—to see the shtate he was in, nait.her aibin’ nor slapin’, and failin’away to dog-dhrive afore me very eyes. An’ thin all at once Algiers kem in his head, an’ he was off hob foot. Ye might as well thry to sthop Torrybahm whin it’s spouhtin, as sthop him whin he takes a notion into his li u ad. An' av coorse I wirit wid him didn’t I mind him an’ look afther him since he was a weeny crathure in my arrums : She was an inticin’ young slip, I say, but upon my conscience, av’ she was tin lords’ daughters, it was a mane-shpirited way to sarve him, afther him savin’ her life, boo. Divil a dirthier brick iver I heerd tell of.’

Rose O’Donnell smiled bitterly. ‘ A very common thing in her world, I take it, Lanty. And that’s Redmond’s secret? and 1 am to see her? She was pretty, you say, Lanty ?’ ‘ The purtiest darlin’ iver me eyes looked at, barrin’ yersilf. ’ •Thanks, Lanty. Barring myself—that’s understood, of course. Was she fair or dark ?’

She asked the question with a woman’s minute curiosity about such things. It was so hopelessly dull here at the ‘ Silver Rose,’ that she felt strongly inclined to accept the invitation to Scarswood Park, if that invitation were tendered. ‘Fair.’ responded Mr Lafferty; ‘ a skin like the shnow on the mountains, hair like sthramin’ goold, an’ eyes—oh musha ! bad scran to thim, the beauties o’ the worruld they wor ; sure it’s no wondher at all Masther Redmond wint out o’ his head a’most about her. Troth she was pu’-ty, Miss Rose ; it used to do me good only to look at her an’ wid iver an’ always a smile on her beautiful face, an’ a civil word for ye whiniver ye’d meet her. But I always said, an’ I say again, it wasn’t the action av a rale lady to thrate masther as she did, not if she were twinty earls’ daughters. It’s like a gintleman from Ireland, an’ an Irish gentleman ; av ye wern’t tould the difference shure ye might think they wor the same.’ ‘ And aren’t they, Lanty ?’

‘Sorra taste—there’s all the difference in life. A gintleman from Ireland is anybody, faith—meself an’ the likes o’ me, for that matter ; and av ye come to that, the Laffertys wor the hoith o’quality when the O’Donnells wor kings and quanes. Bub an Irish gintleman ! Oh, be me Sokins ! an Irish gentleman’s a gintleman include.' Bub Lanty’s mistress did not hear the last of this eloquent explanation. She was gazing from behind the window curtain at a stately barouche,containing two elegantlydressed ladies, which had just driven up before the door. Lady Dangerfield and the Lady Cecil Clive, she felt sure—no such visitors ever stopped at the door of the Silver Rose.

The bowing and obsequious landlord and landlady bustled out to meet the distinguished arrivals. A moment later, and the cards of the two ladies were borne upstairs and presented to Miss Rose O’Donrell.

* You will show them up here, immediately, Mrs Norton,’ she said to the dipping hostess of Silver Rose. And then, with a soft rustle of silk and muslin, a faint, sweet perfume, the baronet's petite wife and the earl’s tall, graceful daughter were in the shabby parlour of the inn. Rose O’Donnell came forward to meet and greet them with a calm, high-bred com-, posure that was very perfect. In her southern home she was not, perhaps, accustomed to Indies of title, but she certainlyhad mingled in the highest society of New Orleans. How pretty she was, and how like those dark large eyes of blue were to her brother's. It was Lady Cecil’s first thought, and as their hands clasped, and Cecil’s grave, sweet blue eyes were lifted to her face, she stooped down with a sudden, swift impulse and kissed her. From that hour these two were ever warmest friends.

‘I think I should have known you anywhere, Miss O’Donnell,’ Lady Dangerfield said, ‘ you are so like your brother, only wanting that half-cynical, half-sarcas-tic air he and all men nowadays, it seems to me, wear. I suppose he is one of the believers in the “Nothing is new, and nothing is true, and it don’t signify ” doctrine ;he looks as though he were. He has told you, of course, how he saved my life two days ago, when our boat upset ?’ * Saved your life ! Indeed, he has not.’

Lady Cecil laughed softly. ‘That’s like Captain O’Donnell —“on their own merits modest men are dumb; ” and he is very modest. He saved mine too —did he ever tell you that ?’

1 No,’Rose said, with an amused smile; ‘ but Lanty has. Perhaps, however, you have forgotten Lanty !’ ‘ Lanty—Lanty Lafierty—is he here ? How glad I shall be to see him. Forget Mr Lafierty I Not likely ; he was my first love. I don’t think be ever knew it, and in all those years no one has ever replaced him.’

Lady Dangerfield looked at her laughing cousin with something of a malicious gleam in her black eyes.

‘ Substituting. the name of Redmond O’Donnell for that of Lanty Lafierty, I dare say what she says may be true enough,’ she thought. * I should like to read the record of those seven Irish jweeks, my handsome Cecil, and see if I could not find the key to your noted indifference to all men. Miss O’Donnell,’ aloud, ‘at least I hope that secretive brother of yours has told you we came to tender the hospitality of Scarswood Park—to insist indeed upon your becoming our guest. If you knew how much we desire it, I am sure you would not refuse us this pleasure. W e are all most anxious— Sir Peter, myself, Lady Cecil—all. It must be so horribly: dull for you here alone, for, of course Captain O'Donnell, like all of his, kind, brothers and husbands, is no company

whatever. Except as lovers, men might as well be images of wood, for all the pleasure one has in their society, and even then they are bores to all but one. We will take no denial; we positively insist upon it.’ She was really in earnest she really wished it most eagerly. Whenever anew fancy struck her, she hunted it down with the feverish intensity of an aimless, idle life, and she had a fancy for this pale, silent young Irishwoman becoming her guest. Her liking for the brother extended to the sister, and through her artificial manner sincere cordiality shone now. ‘ You will come ?’ Lady Cecil added, with a smile and a glance that went straight to Rose O’Donnell’s heart. 'Your brother was hopelessly obstinate last night; don’t make us think obstinacy is a family failing. You will come, and this evening ; Scarswood is the pleasantest country house I know of.’

There could be no doubting the sincerity of the invitation—none but. a very churl could have refused. Rose O’Donnell, under a cloud just at present, was the farthest possible from a churl. With a smile that again made her excessively like her brother she promised, and the ladies from the Park arose to go.

‘ The carriage shall come for you this evening,’ Lady Dangerfield said. * Your brother will accompany you, and dine with us, at least. This evening at six, then, we shall expect you.’ And then the cousins swept away down the narrow stairs, where such shining visitors were rarely seen, and into the barouche, and away through the July sunshine back to luncheon. ‘ Pretty,’ was Lady Dangerfield's verdict, ‘ but passee. Looks as though she were in trouble ot some sort. ; Crossed in love, probably,’ with-a short, laugh, ‘out in her American French city.’

* She is in ill health ; did not Captain

O’Donnell say so ?’ replied Lady Cecil with grave rebuke. *ltis a lovely face to my mind—brunette with blue eyes a rare type.’ *lt is a feminine repetition of Redmond O’Donnell’s face ; the eyes and smile are as like as they can be. He is very handsome, very dashing, very distinguished, Queenio,’ maliciously ; ‘ how is it you never chanced to tell me you spent seven long weeks with him among the hills of Ulster ?’ If she expected to see hesitation or embarrassment in her cousin’s face, she was mistaken. That proud, fair face, those luminous dark eyes, those lovely lips kept their secret —if secret there were—well!’ ‘ Hardly with him, I think—with papa, Ginevra. And really, how .vas Ito cell the circumstance would interest you ? that you would honour Redmond O’Donnell with such signal marks of your favour? It would be some trouble to keep you an courant of all my gentlemen ac uaintances.’ * And lie saved your life; and you were only sixteen, and he—was he as eminently good-looking six years ago as he is to-day, Queenie ?’ ‘Better t.o my mind,’ Lady Cecil responded calmly ; ‘ he looks blase and cynical now, as you say. He had not worn out his trust in all mankind then ; and I confess I rather prefer people who haven’t outlived all faith in their fellow-creatures, and who

have one or two human emotions left.’

‘ My dear,’ Lady Dangerfield said, laughing, * he has had the misfortune to know La Heine Blanche. Did you flash your maiden sword upon him, I wonder ? You had to begin your career with some one—as well a wild young Irishman as anything else. And you have been so reticent, my dear, on the subject—too tender to be touched. No, don’t be angry ; it isn’t worth while, and might spoil your appetite for game pie and Moselle. You knew Redmond O’Donnell six years ago, and—you are bo marry Sir Arthur Tregenna—next year is in ? What a farce life is. or a tragedy, which ?’

‘Life is what we make it,’ Lady Cecil answered, with a little, bitter smile : ‘ a tragedy to howl over, or a comedy to laugh at. The wiser philosophy is to laugh, 1 believe, since it is out of our power to alter or decide our fate. There is Miss Herncastle gathering flowers; how fond she seems to be of flowers ! What a dark, sombre face she has !—what an extraordinary person altogether-dike the heroine of a romance. But then governesses always are heroines, are they not ?—prime favourites with novelists. I rather fear she has found life too dark a tragedy, by any possibility to make a jest of.’

‘She is the best embroidress I ever saw,’ Lady Dangerfield said, sweeping her silken robes up the sunlit stairs. ‘ I found it out by chance yesterday. Her work in lace and cambric is something marvellously beautiful. I had some thought of sending her away one doesn’t want a person about the house who terrifies everyone she meets but now I shall retain her. Her embroideries are worth three hundred a year to me, and she certainly has accepted a very low salary.’ She certainly had, and that was a great consideration with my lady. As has been said, long years’ bitter battle with poverty had taught her the value of wealth, and though she squandered Sir Peter’s income recklessly on' her own pleasure and gratification, she yet could be unspeakably mean in small things. Now that she had discovered how useful she could make Miss Herncastle, she resolved not only to retain her, but to patronise her. Miss Herncastle also had exquisite taste and judgment in all matters pertaining to the toilet —why not dismiss her maid by and by, and iustal this useful and willing nursery governess in her place ?

Miss O’Donnell came over from Castleford in the grey of the summer evening, with her belongings, but alone. Sir Arthur Tregenna had sought out the chasseur at his fishing stream, and the twain would return together to dinner. She was shown to her room, and exchanged her dark grey dress for a dinner robe of blue silk, the hue of her eyes, and descended to find her hostess and cousin spending the long hour before dinner on the velvety lawn slouing away beneath the long, wide, open French window of the drawing-room. The children were at play on the terrace below, where gaudy peacocks strutted in the sun, a million leaves fluttered cool and green above them, and birds carolled in the dark shade of the branches. Miss Herncastle, in her grey silk dress, sat at a little distance, her fingers flying among my lady’s laces. Lady Cecil bent over a book, her fair, deli cate face and slight graceful figure outlined against the golden and purple ljght of the sunset, lilies in her bronze hair, a cluster of field lilies on her breast—tall, slim, sweet. My lady leaned back lazily in her rustic chair, doing nothing—it was an amiable trait in this lady’s character that she never did do anything beautifully dressed, powdered, painted, coiffured, and awaiting impatiently the arrival of the dinner hou and the gentlemen. Major Frankland wa absent with the earl, and her husband of course, whether in. his study or of it, did not count. In the absence the nobler sex, my lady always collapsed on principle—gaping piteously. She never read, she never worked, she never thought. Society and adulation were her stimulants—in their Absence life became an unbearable bore. .

She,hailed the advent of Rose O’Donnell now with relief. She couldn’t talk,to the governess— that were too great condescension—the children were noisy nuisances,

and Lady Cecil was interested in her book. The waving trees, the flushed sky, the sleeping sea, the. silent emerald earth—all the fair, evening prospect had no charm for her.

• You find us alone yet, Miss O’Donnell,’ she said, as Rose took a seat near. ‘Our fishermen have not yet returned, and solitude invariably bores me to death. Cecil has taken to literature, as you see, and is company for no one. I never read, Miss O’Donnell—books are all alike, hopelessly stupid nowadays. What is that you have there, Queenie ?’ Lady Cecil looked up. ‘ Ballads of Ireland. I came upon it by chance in the library half an hour ago. I am reading the battle of Fontenoy. Miss O’Donnell, did any ot your ancestors fight at the battle of Fontenoy ?’ ‘ Sobhelegends of our house say, at least. “ And by the same token,” as Lanty would observe, it was a Redmond O’Donnell who fought arid fell on the fatal field of Fontenoy.’

Lady Dangerfield looked interested. ‘A Redmond G’Donnell. Really! Read it, Queenie, will you ?’ ‘Never read aloud,’ Lady Cecil answered ; ‘ it is an accomplishment I do not possess. ’ She glanced suddenly at the busy fingers of the governess. ‘ Miss Herncastle,’ she called. Miss Herncastle caused in her work, and looked up.

‘ You will read it to Lady Dangerfield, will you not ? Somehow I think you can read aloud.’

‘lean try,’ Miss Herncastle answered. She laid down her work, advanced, took the book, and stood up before her auditors. The last light of the setting sun shone full upon her tall, statuesque figure, her pale, changele a s face, locked ever in the passionless calm of marble. She began. Yes, Miss Herncastle could read aloud. Lady Cecil had been right. What a wondrously musical voice it was—so deep, so calm, so sweet. She made a very striking picture standing there, outlined against the purple gloaming, the sunlight gilding her face and her dead-black hair. So thought Rose O’Donnell, so thought Lady Cecil Clive, so thought two gentlemen advancing slowly, unseen and unheard, up the avenue, under the trees-Sir Arthur Tregenna and Captain O’Donnell. Both, as if by some simultaneous impulse, stopped to listen.

‘“Push on, my household cavalry!” King Louis madly cried ; To death they rush, but rude their shock—not unavenged they died. On through the camp the column trod —King

Louis turns nis rein. “Notyet, my liege,” Saxe interposed, “thelrish troops remain.”

‘ “Lord Clare,” he says, “you have your wish ; there are your Saxon foes!” The marshal almost smiles to see how furiously he goes! How fierce the look those exiles wear, who’re wont to be so gay. The treasured wrongs o£ fifty years are in their hearts to-day— The treaty broken ere the ink wherewith ’twas writ could dry. Their plundered homes, their ruined shrines, their women s parting cry, Their priesthood hunted down like wolves, their country overthrown— Bach :ooks as if revenge for all were staked on him alone. On, Fontenoy—on, Fontenoy, nor ever yet elsewhere Rushed on to fight a nobler band than these proud exiles were.

‘ O'Brien’s voice is hoarse with joy, as halting, he commands. “ Fix bay’nets—charge !” like mountain storm rush on these fiery banns ! Thin is the English column now. and faint their volleys grow. Yet mustering all the strength they have they make a gallant show; They dress their ranks upon the hill to face that battle wind— Their bayonets the breakers’ foam ; like rocks the men behind! One volley crashes from their line, when through the surging smoke. With empty guns clutched in their hands, the headlong Irish broke. On, Fontenoy—on, Fontenoy, hark to that fierce huzza! “Revenge! Remember Limerick! Dash down the Sassenagh!” ‘Like lions leaping at a fold when mad with hunger’s pang. Right up against the English line the Irish exiles sprang! Bright was their steel, ’tis bloody now, their guns are tilled with gore; Through shattered ranks, and several files, and trampled flags they tore: The English strove with desperate strength, paused, rallied, staggered, fled— The green hillside is matted close with dying and with dead; AcrossJhe plain and. far away passed on that hideous wrack. While cavalier and fantassin dash in upon their track. On, Fontenoy—on, Fontenoy. like eagles in the sun. With bloody plumes the Irish stand—the field is fought and won!’ She paused. Sweet, clear, thrilling as a bugle blast rang out the stirring words. A light leaped into her eyes, a glow came over her paleface ; every heart there stirred under the ring of her tone, her look, her gesture as she ceased.; ‘By Jupiter!’ Redmond O’Donnell exclaimed. under his breath, ‘that woman is a marvel.’ Lady Cecil stretched out her hand for the book, a look of surprised admiration in her eyes. ‘ Miss Herncastle,’ she said, ‘ you read that splendidly. The poet should have heard you. I knew you could read, but not like that. You are a born actress.’ The governess bowed, smiled, and walked back with immovable composure to her place. ‘Shall we approach now ?’ Sir Arthursaid, in a constrained voice. There Was no reply. He looked at his companion the eyes of Redmond O’Donnell were fixed on Miss Herncastle with such a look of utter wonder—of sheer amaze and utter recognition —that the baronet stared at him in turn. Standing there it had flashed upon him like an inspiration where he had seen Miss Herncastle before. He started like a man from a trance at the sound of the baronet’s surprised voice. ‘How thunderstruck you look, O’Donnell;’ he said, with a touch of impatience in his tone; ‘did you never before hear a lady read ?’ The half-irritated words fully aroused him. Redmond O’Donnell turned away from the governess with a slight laugh. ‘Rarely like that, mon ami. And have just solved a riddle that has puzzled me since last night. I think I have had the pleasure of both seeing and hearing Lady Dangerfield's remarkable governess before to-day.' (To be Continued.)