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

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10009, 4 April 1910, Page 2

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

&Y EMMA GARKJ ON JONES. Author of "Pelf and Power," "Strathmore's Sin," Etc, etc.

CHAPTER Xll.—Continued

He returns to Oxford and to his books, angrily determined to forget, but he finds it impossible. Weeks past, and he is once more in bis ancestral Lome. The bouse is full of gay guests. Lady Bianca among the number. He plunges into society with abandon of desperation and devotes himself to his titled fiancee with a zeat and ardor that brings a faint flush event to her aristocratic face. But he cannot forget. Day and night the sweet, childish eyes and wild-rose face of the Moorlande beauty are before him. His lady mother, who is in the secret, seeing his feverish unrest, suggests a trip to France and Italy, and he obeys her suggestion. Little Ishbel, pining at the Fellside farm, hears of his departure, and concludes that he has utterly forsaken ar.d forgotten her, and, with the changeful disposition of a child, turns her thoughts and effection in another channel. She is not the sort of woman to love once and forever. Her heart is like a vine, one support torn away, its tendrils grasp>t another. She prefers the baronet's son immeasurably, for, in her simple way, she is a vain, worldly wise little soul —women of shallow feelings almost invariably are—but since she has lost him why pine and spoil her fresh beauty? _ ! She soon grows gay and light of I heart, and when Ambrose Gerhart, at his mother's instigation resumes his wing, she receives him with favour. The squire likes Ambrose, and does all in his power to bring about the match and finally, by the aid of all parties it is brought about. An engagement ring is put on Ishbel's dimpled ting* r, and Maud tra vels to Edinburgh, and purchases the costly trousseau, which her fond old father bestows upon his favourite as a sort of recompense for her obedience to his wishes, and her good sense in getting the better of her disappointment. It is now tne bridal night, and while the fierce Highland storm gathers strength she sits in her chamber, being adorned for her wedding. Maud is tire-woman, of course ; she would not suffer one of the housemaids to dress her dainty little sister. For years she has performed this office, and her bosom heaves and her dark eyes fill with tears as she brashes out ttie bright chestnut curls, and thinks that to-morrow her darling little Ishbel will le gone from her forever. Lshbel herself sits in the great chintz-covered armchair, two tiny white slippered feet resting on a cushion, two small, diri pled hands locked on her lap. On the light hand a diamond ring glitters —a love-gift of Arthur Marlowe's. .brushing the tilken curls, and twining them over her fingers, Maud catches the flash of the gem as the firelight plays upon it. 5 'lshbel, love,' she says gently, but with sudden colour rising in her cheeks, 'you will let me take that ring off now, of course, and by and by I'll contrive to return it to its owner.' She puts forth her hand to remove the showy jewel, but with a petulant gestue ishbel snatches her hand away. 'You shall not take it off,' she cries. 4 1 mean to Keep it and wear it. Arthur gave it to me, and 1 shall never get another like it, now that I am to marry Ambrose.' Maud's eyes fill with shame and pain. 'Oh, Ishbel, dearest,' she remonstrates, 'you must .not be so childish now. Remember you will be a wife to-morrow, and you must learn to be a sensible little woman, and try to please husband. Are you fond of Ambrose, Ishbel?' She puts this last question with a curious tremor in her voice. 'Fond of him?' repeats the bride, tossing her smiling ringlets; 'oh, yes, I like him well enough. He's a good fellow, ai.vi handsome, too, almost as handsome as Arthur; but dear me, Maudie, I do dread that horrid home of his in the midst of the wild hills.' The bride is dressed at last in her shimmering wedding-robes, and as 'she suveys hei elf in the glass, she cannot resist t ie wish that her former lover, Arti.ur Marlowe, could see her. Walking to the window, she gazes out upon the wintry scene. 'What a dreadful storm,' cries Ishbel, with a shudder. 'I wonder if Ambrose has come? How provoking to have such a night for one's wedding; not one-half the guests will get heie.' In the midst of her lamentations she hears the clash of bells above the hoarse roar of the distant storm, and the next minute she sees an equipwge just below, drawn by two dark hort.es. It stops, and a man, (ail muffled in furs leaps out. 'Can that be Ambrose?' she wonders. 'Where under the sun did he ever get such a turnout as that?'

While she marvels the man comes 1 nearer, and the lLht from the lower j windows falls full upon his faeo. It 1 is Arthur Marlowe? He looks up, I sees her, smiles and kisses his hand. 1 Ishbel utters a shrill little shriek, j and retreats to the other side of the i room, her hands ciasped, her cheeks j on fire, her silly girl's heart in a flutter of delight. In five minutes Maud who had gone = below, reappears, wearing a grave and anxious countenance. , 'Ambrose has not come yet, Ish- | bel, 5 she begins, her voice unsteady, 1 'and the storm is fearful beyond the 1 moors. We are afraid he has lost his 1 way, and father has sent a party to I meet him/ 1 But Ishbel does not heed one word she utters. 'Maudie, Maudie!' she cries excitedly, watching her sister's arm, 'was that Arthur who just arrived?' 'Yes, it is Arthur Marlowe,' answers Maud reluctantly. 'I left him in the sit ting-room below. He says he heard of your wedding, and came uninvited. I am sorry, for papa is not at all pleased.' Ishbel gives her head an airy toss and the bloom in her cheeks deepens. 'I don't see why papa should be displeased,' she says petulantly. 'lt was kind in Arthur to come; in all this storm, too, and J'm very glad he's here.' Maud makes no answer. She only - goes to her sister's side and takes tbe hand upon which the showy diamond glitters. 'lshbel, child,'she says resolutely, 'I must take this ring off. Ambrose may come at any minute and then you must go down, and you shall not go among the wedding-guests wearingg Arthur Marlowe's ring.' But Ishbel snatches her hand away and darts across the room. 'And I say 1 will wear it,' she answers excitedly; 'no one shall take my beautiful diamond from me —the only one 1 ever had, or ever expect to have now. Go away, Maudie, or you'll make me cry.' Maude shoWB no inclination to trouble her again. I 'Very well; have your own way, Ishbel; I only hope you'll never repent it,' she replies, and turns to the window with an anxious face. Ishbel sits down before the hearlh and beats her satin slipper impatiently upon the floor, her soft eyes shining like stara, and an unwonted bloom in her cheeks. Hours drag wearily Dy, and the tall of snow increases steadily. On the sheltered moors the storm is comparativelv mild, but beyond the Highland peaks it is terrific. lhey can hear the wild riot of the winds from the farmhouse windows. The squire's ruddy face pales as he listers. 'l'm afraid the lad's come to harm,' he says, closing the door; 'he'd surely have been here. Ambrose is not the sort o' fellow to back out at a time like this Poor little Ishbel; run up, Maud, and try and cheer her.' Arthur Marlowe looks on and listens with suppressed anger. He has only just crossed from France, finding all his efforts to forget Ishbel worse than vain, and lost no a moment in seeking her, fiercely determined to make her his own, despite all op' position; and here he finds her in her bridal robes, waiting to become the I wife of another I '1 should think a man might face a | worse storm than this on his wedd- • ing-nignt,' he remark*. Ihe squire gives him a withering glance. 'You know njthing about our Highland storms, young man,' he makes answer. 'Ambrose Gerhart can do and dare what the likes of you would tremble at; and he'll be here to-night if he's alive. The baronet's son bites his lips till the blood comes. ' W B ell, it grows late. A quarter to eleven,' he continues consulting his watch. 'lf you say so, Mr Melville, I I'll jump in my sleigh and drive over to the hills.' I The squire shakes his sides in a scornful laugh. 'And get your neck broke for your pains. Much obliged, sir, but we've sent out a party who understands their business. If Amrbose can be found they'll find him; I'd advise you to keep indoors.' Arthur bites his lips again, flushes hot and red, and stalks out of the room in haughty silence. 'Oh, papa,' whispers Maud entreatingly, 'how couid you?' 'Easy enough, my lass,' replies the old man. 'What business has he here uninvited? The sooner he takes himself off the better I shall be pkased.' I 'He's gone now; I hear hio bells,' says Maud, a minute later. 'How it I does storm. I wish he had remained.' j TO BE roNTINUED