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

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10013, 8 April 1910, Page 2

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

/ BY EMMA GAEU OH JOKES. * b jj[ Author of "Pelf and Power," "Strathaior&'s Sin," / Etc, etc.

CHAPTER XV. —Continued,

'Lnok dearest, hce is your bridal present,' he says, displaying an exquisite set of pearls and diamonds, and here is your wedding-ring, the mystic little circle tliat will make us two one.' Ishbel screams and claps her nands like a child. 'Oh, how lovely! Oh, if Maudie could see them! Arthur, Arthur, you are so good to nie!' He smiles with pleased admiration. 'l'm glad you like thtm, dear. By and by, when you are Lady Marlowe, you shall -have costlier gems and finer robes than these.' 'She couldn't well have finer nor handsomer than these, if you please, sir,'puts in Belindy Jane, pushing up with an open parcel in her hands. She shakes out a gay robe of flimsy silk, pea-green in hue, and profusely adorned wilh flashy bugles and clean lace. Ishbel stares with round, amazed eyes, while her lover swallows something very like an imprecation. Ii soon becomes apparent that the gaudy and flimsy fineries purchased by tfelmdy Jane are utterly unsuitable for a bride. With an angry exclamation Arthur kisses Ishbel, begs her to be patient for an hour or so, and hastens from the house. Ishbel is still gazing from the window, two hours later, when through the heavy rain a cab whirls up to the door. Arthur comes, and brings with him an immense covered trunk and a small, sharp-eyed. slim waisted French modiste. She hastens up the stairs and flutters into the dull room like a bird, aud the great trunk follows. It is packed to the brim with all sorts of dainty feminine articles, on the very top a bridal dress of mouse-grey silk, with lace . at the cuft's and throat, that a duchess might wear. It is brought forth, with a little gem of a hat and tiny gloves and boots to match, and with much chattering and gesticulation on the part of the modiste. Ishbel, like a second Cinderella, is relieved of hei crumpled robes and attired for her bridal. All her brignt curls are rearranged, and she smiles, and dimples, and blushes, and looks the very fairest bride in town. By and by a second carriage comes, and Arthur leads her down and seats her amid the cushions at his side, and they are whirled away, through the dainy twilight, to the old church called St. Elfrida, and there, in the presence of pictured saints and sculptured mouks, while the organ thunders, and the dreary winter night falls, they are marie man and wife. 'What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder!' Ac the same hour, just as the wintry day dies and the twilight falls, down in the old Fellside farmhouse, Squire Melville breathes his last. He has never rallied from that awful shock which struck him down like a cruel blow. He opens his eyes and looks about him with conscious glances, for the first time, as the wintry sun goes down. 'Maud!' he calls in a whisper. She bends over him, and lays her tender hand on his brow. 'Maud, did they find the little lass? Did they fetch her back?' Maud crushes down a great sob. The truth must he told. '■No father they could not find her.' He groans, and turns his face to the wall. When he looks back again, that gray Bhadow which sooner or later falls on all human faces, dark ens his solemn eyes. 'Poor little lass; poor foolish lamb,' he murmurs brokenly. 'They'll break her heart! I shall never see her again, Maud —I'm going out with the winter day—but vou'll find her. She'll come back to you in her sorrow and shame. Poor little lass! I cursed her in my wrath, but I didn't mean it. Tell her, when she comes, Maud, that her old father forgave her,and blessed her with his dying breath —my poor little tender lamb.' And these wnre his last words. When the oaikness fell, Maud sat alone with ner dead.

CHAPTER XVI. SPIRITED AWAY. Man and wife—Sir Hereford Marlowe's only su i and heir, and Ishbel, the, Scottish Lcrdman's daughter. They leave London in the gray of another morning fur the ancestral mansion, Marlowe Hall. Arthur sent his message a few hours prior to his marriage, informing his fathir of the step he had taken despite his express commands, and begging permission to bring his wife home, with little hope, howe\er, of receiving anything in reply but a repetition of his father's former de cision; for, of all men, the baronet was the last one to change his mind and revoke his spi.ken words. Still, hoping even against hope, Arthur sent his message, and with it a letter to his only sister, entreating her to'intercede for him and get permission for him to bring his wife

; home. When they had once seen his little Ishbel, he felt pure of 1 pardon from them all. I And the answer comes at ten 1 o'clock of his wedding-nieht, brief and to the point, only four words 'Bring your wife ho ne.' Arthur is fairly bepide himself with rapture in his glad surprise. 'Ho*' good of them all!' he said a dozen times over. 'I reailv did not expect it; but it is Edith's work. She is my only sister, you know, Ishhel, and just the handsomest and the best girl in England. I can fancy how you will love her, little one.' Happy Ishbel smiles, up at her handsome bridegroom,her silly heart fluttering like a bird in her breast at thought of all the grandeur of the home and kindred to which she is g«)i n g. Poor little girl, she quite forgets the old roof tree beneath which h?r young life had passed so happily; and she is not a clairvoyant to see the white face and folded hands of the old father whose fond heart her waywardness has broken. Her sleeo is disturbed by no remorse, no regret, and in the gray of the following morning they leave smoky London for Marlowe Hall. It is an imposing old pile, on the seacoast of Lincolnshire, and the young couple reach the station, and get their first glimpse, of the gray turrets in the wane of a winter day. 'See, Ishbel, little wife, yonder is your future home,' cried Arthur excitedly, pointing across the yellow downs; 'and here comes the carriage to take us there. How good my people are. Ishbel, little one, you must love them very dearly for my sake." His handsome eyes actually fill with tears in his relief and gratitude. He is romantically in love with the hs pretty child-wife; but it would hurt him keenly to be scorned and cast off by bis family, and beggared | of all his splendid heritage even for ; her sake. Ishbel looks at the stately turrets and ivied walls glowing in the yellow light, and a little thrill of terror and misgiving stirs her heart. 'I shall love them, Arthur, if ! they'll only let me,' she faltered, t adding, with an upturned glance of j her sweet eyes; 'but will they? Do you tsink they'll be sure to like me. Arthur?' He would like to take the pretty child's face in his hands and cover it with kisses, but there are loungers in and around the station, hence he refrains and answers with tender ardour: 'I do not think so—l know so. Not one on earth could help liking you, my precious little wife! Have no tears; you ' shall be the happiest and grandest little lady in old England.' Her face flushes rosy red with joy, and her heart dances in her bosom. 'Oh, how much better this is,' she thinks 'than marrying Ambrose, and living in that horrid Highland hut all my life!' 'Here you are, Hastings,' cried Arthur, addressing the liveried coachman. 'All well at the Hall, of course?' All well, Mr Arthur.' g) The coachc an doffs his gold-laced , hat; the splendiu carriage, all j aglittir with the Marlowe arms, I rolls up; the high-stepping bays are reined in, ar.d iiitie Ishbel, who has I trod the brown heather all her life, ! is lifted by Arthur's caressing arms, | and seated on the silken cushions, j Then they whirl away, just as the red winter sun drops out of sight 'Was ever any girl so fortunate or ho nappy as I?' thinks the bride, nestling close to her lover's side. 'lf onlj Jenny Slater and the rest of the girls cou'd see me now !' The lamps are all lighted above the arched gateway, and over the portico, with its huge stone pillars, when they reach the Hall, and through the open door a flood of dazzling light streams osk. I 'Jolly old place, eh, little one?' I laughs Arthur, looking down at Ishbel, whose eyes are all alight with wonder and admiration. 'Oh, Arthur, Arthur!" she half sobs, 'it must be like heaven!' He lifts her out, and a stately powdered footman, that simple Ishbel fancies must be old Sir Hereford himself, bows them into the radiant hall, and informs Mr Arthur that my lady awaits him and the lady in the cedar drawing-room. So, up the grand black oak stairs, and into the cedar drawing-room they go; the poor little bride, awed by such untold splendor, resting in her , husband's arm, and trembling in every limb. Lady Marlowe and her daughter are the sole occupants of the drawingroom, and both rise to their feet as Arthur, with some slight trepidation, leads nis bride in. • TO BE CONTINUED