A GREAT WRONG, Or, The Mystery of Black Hollow Grange.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10008, 2 April 1910, Page 2

A GREAT WRONG, Or, The Mystery of Black Hollow Grange.

BY EMMA GARRI ON JONES. Author of "Pelf and Power," "strithmore's Sin," Etc, etc

CHAETER XII. : I i •THEKE'S MANY A SLIP "IWIXT j! THE CUP AND THE LJP." Hardly aware of the extent of his injury, but conscious of his fast waning strength, he atru.. gles to his feet and staggers around. For nnly a few moments he is able to keep his feet, and then he drops unconscious in the snow. The old Fellside farmhouse gleams with ruddy lights and rings with merriment. Great fires roar in every chimney, the old-fashioned halls glow witn warmth and comfort, and down the length of the oaken diningroom a long table extends, white with homespun damask, and all agliter with quaint china and silver, and laden with the tempting* array of edibles. In the main room the wedding guests are momentarily assembling, and in hi 3 armchair, on the right side of the blazing hearth, sits Squire Mehille, master of the Fellside f <irm, and father of the bride. Pretty dove-eyed Ishbel, the youngest bore, and idol of her old father's heart, ia in her chamber, being airayed for her marriage. The old man, sitting in his cozy corner, hears the patter of her light feet overhead and a smile lights his lound, rubicund face. How pretty she w.ll look, he thinks, whe » she comes down in her white wedding robes. He has expended a ruind little sum on her outfit, jußt to please her, the vain, childish thing, for be could well afford it, and Ishbel was the apple of his eye. bhe was a babe when be buried her pretty young mother beneath the moorland grasses, and he has rtared her through all the years of her young life in his very bosom, so tj speak. And she is such a beauty, and so fond of pretty fintry. Hence Maud, her elder sister, was sent to Edinburgh to purchase an exceptionable trousseau to please little lihbel, and to reward her, in a measure, for being a good, obedient child, ai/d accepting the husband of her father's choush.g. For be it known, Ambrose Gerhart was not the little moorland belle's sole lover. She had them by dozens, great, horn st, lumb ring iellows who worshipped tile very sod presstd by her dainty feet, and for not one or whom ti.e little coquette cared a fig. But there was one, a young Englishman, of whom she had grown very fo.id. He was down at his father's shooting box, for the summer mouths-, and cnancedrew him to the Fellside farm. A handsome, scholarly thoroughbred gemlen.an was Arthur Marlowe, Sir Hertf rd Marlowe's oiily son and heir, a born aristocrat, with some of the bluett of British blood in his veins, and a rent roll latf>e enough to satisfy a prince. Moreover he was the betrothed lover and elected husband of Lady Bianca Driscol. The engagement was of long standing- a sort of family arrangement, in which the young heir expectant had no say whatever, but was called upon to obey the will and wish of his seniors. " Hitherto, he had shown no unwillingness to obey, and had rendered a sort of passive homage to the patrician face of Lady Bianca, heiress in her own right to a fortune of some twenty thousand pounds per annum. No small consideration truly, and Sir Hereford, a man of inordinate pride and ambition, entered into the negotiations touching the alliance, and had the preliminaries all arranged long before his son attained his majority. The Lady Bianca wore a sparkling engagement ring on her slim, white finger, and was haughty and dignified, as became a peeress of her standing, her mind chiefly intent upon the acquisition of accomplishments, requisite of the high station she was destined to fill. Meanwhile, , young Arthur went through his university course at Oxford, and one autumn day fate took him to the Highlands, and the Fellside Farm. He met little Ishbel, and straightway, did what h : had never dreamed of doing before, affianced as he was, fell in love. The details are always the same the world over, with a little more or lees romance, hence it will suffice to say that Arthur met the little moorland be; uty, and loved her madjy from th> first. She loved hnn in return, or fancied she did, which was all the same, for she was a sweet, dovelike little thing, all heart to the tips of ner pretty, dimpled fingers; and the young Englishman was a bold and resolute wooer. When he asked tier to be his own, forgetful, in the romance of his delirious dreams, of those other charms that bound him, ißhbel drooped her ! dove eyes and hid her blushing I cheek upon his shoudlder, and answered 'Yes.' But it turned out that the master , of Fellside farm was made of ster- [ ner stuff than his pretty daughter, and when the baronet's son sought hira a little later, and requested } his sanction to the engagement, he

received for answer a procr.pt denial. 'No, sir. What do you take me for, demanding my daughter's hand in this off-hand manner, and you a lad barely out of knee breeches?' «I_l_am one and twenty,' faltered Arthur, 'and I love vfiur daughter, sir, and she loves ire!' The squire's stern face softened. 'She does, eh? the little fool. Well, young man, I've no fault to find with you, and I don't care to make my little girl unhappy. She is I as good as she is pretty, and worthy to be the wife of the best man in | England; but there's a difference you sea, betwixt your family and mine Your father is Sir Hen-ford Marlowe, baronet, and I am plain Hugh Melville, of Fellside farms; not that I think myself one whit the worse for it you understand. ! But I never did believe in mating j sparrow-hawks with No good ever comes of it; and I've excellent prospects for Ishbel. She can wed with one of the worthiest lads in the land any day she'll say tne word. But like enough, she won't say it, now that you've turned her silly brain with your nonsense.' 'She never will, sir,' put in the baronet's son indignantly. 'She has given me her pron.ise never to marry any man exc< pt myself!' 'Pudge! What does her promise amount to, or yours, either, for that matter' laughed the farmtr. 'Both of you are too young to know your own minds. And let me p-.li you, sir, my little girl, pretty as she is, won't suit you. You'll come into your title by and by. You should marry some stately lady suited to your position. What would my little i Ishbel do in your grand house, amid all your lords and ladies? Why, she'd droop and fade like a mountain pink shut up in a hothouse; and in six months' time you'd feel ashamed of her, and regret your marriage.' i 'No, sir, never' I love her too well for that,' cried the young lover excitedly. 'No daughter of mine shall ever enter any family uninvited,' the old man continued. I'll tell you what I'll agree to. Let your father, Sir Here- ! ford Marlowe, send me a line, stating | that he is willing that his son and heir shall wed ray daughter, aid then, sir, if after twelve months' probation, you and the lass still keep i»i the same mind, you may marry as, soon as you please. Now, that's fair . enough, isn't it?" ' '^w , Arthur's countenance falls, and he , seeks Ishbel, and complains sorely of ! her father's hard decree. But in the , end he is forctd to submit: for when ', once his mind is made up the farm- . er is as immovable as one of the , great oaks that flank green meadows. The young man, however, is madly in love, and bent upon having the moorland beauty for his wife He 1 makes a flying visit to the ancestral mansion. Marlowe Hall; seeks an interview with Sir Hereford, and with great trepidation and hesitation gets him tc» understand the nature of his wishes. j 'You wish to hreak your] engage- : ment with Lady Bianca Driscol, and marry the daughter of a Scottish farmer?' Arthur bows, his heart beating , too rnpidly to admit of words. Thfc old peer lays aside his gold spec- , tacles, and laps his jewelled snuffbox with highbred composure. 'very well, sir,' he answers deliberately, but with an ominous , gleam in his eye; 'yiu come of age next week, anci can then do as you like. Break with Lady Bianca, and I marry this girl if you see fit; but remember, sir,' and he strikes the , table with a force that makes the , young man jump in his heat, 'the day and hour you do it I cast you off , for all time! I have the power to do it, you know. The bare title will \ be yours at my death; but not one rood of the Marlowe lands, not one shilling of the Marlowe income, is entailed. A word of mine can cut , you off a beggar, and, by Heaven, \ sir, the hour you break your engagement a beggar you shall be, and my curse shall follow you till I your dying d<*y. There, sir, you have my answer; and since you request it I'll send it over to your , Scotch farmer by the next post.' [ Sir Hereford keeps his word. [ When Arthur again visits the Fell- [ side farm, which he does with all \ possible haste, finds that his father's letter is ahead of hLn. Maud, Ishbel's eldest sister, meets him, and ushers , hirn into the best room, where the ' squjres receives him. 'I have received your father's reply, sir,' the uffended farmer begins' at once, 'and no words are nee'ded between us. If you are a man of honor you will leave my house at once, and \ never seeK to see my daughter ( again!' Arthur tries to expostulate, but the , squire, whose pride is sorely hurt, cuts him Bhort; and he departs without one glimpse of his charmer, and , feeling like one stunned in his misery. 1 { TO BE fONTINUED