Fotheringay's Son.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 10713, 13 January 1913, Page 2

Fotheringay's Son.

? (OUR SERIAL i

J BY ALLAN ADAIR. 5 1 Author »f "An Ulland PHiioms," "A Msrrlaga of Fello- £ 7 It y" Eta. . ftj

CHAPTKR XXri. (Continued. f Do nld La vendor hailed Doctor j Bernard's recommendation to accept ithe post of tutor with delight, Ho j was staying with his mother at Alder- ! ley when he received it. Life had been very dull in the North country ' town where .he had spent the last , throe yeans. His fastidiousness pre- ! vented him from making many 'friends. Ho could have gained the affection of every girl in the place had ho so wished, but he never encouraged advances from the. fair sex. , Not that he had never thought of love | but h<> knew well that .his ideal could I never be reached by those around ihim. He knew well that he could never hope to win si woman whom ho could love, and he would not d r er""> of lowierinsr his ideal. He took Lady "V,,,!,••.„,]<'... letter straight to Doctor I Bernard. i "r ':i'i>iv--'< y'>" kmw all about it, si- " b- -vd. ' "Wb'il «hnl! T do—go or .:+o V ?" "C-- "f course!" said the. doctor. "T <->o'- my boy. you threw away n"-'> ~''..i.-( . n_j,.ii-)ther has conic t') vnit. i The Gbiyebrooks ar« prominent politicians. Tbip ycinr m:;n U deben +-\ bnt I believe be 1-tk bis Father's brains and will one day take, j a nlaco in the government i of the country. Tt will lie something j for you to be known as his tutor. , And veil will enjov it.'' "Without doubt I should enjoy it. But my mother may object." "Your mother cannot go on objecting. You threw away the best chanco a man ever had to please her." "No, I saw the justice of her argument," "But now you have passed the time when things would tempt you. i You are a man now, and I have reason to be proud of you in every way. You would not do anything to give me occasion to blush for you, and your mother, if she. is wise, will realise that. Write and accept before you talk to her about it." "You think I am very weak, sir." The doc-or smiled. "A. strong man is generally weak where a woman is concerned," be mi id. "But do as you like.-'" "Then 1 think it would lie straight-er-if 1 saw my mother first." "All right,' if you will not allow her to ehango your mind for you." "She will not do that." Donald walked from the grammar school to the cottage by the longest I way. Ho wanted time to think. Now I that he had again, arrived at a crucial ! part of his. life, his thoughts went back to the revealation that had broklen his career. He recognised that his mother bad never been quite the same to him since that day. But he thought the la use of years should have softened her heart —a woman should forgive. She was looking older and thinner than before bo went away. She lisj tenod quietlv to his story, and at the | end asked him what he was going to j do. When he told her, she made no comment. He then wrote accepting the appointment, and made his preparations for departure. Donald was not'a. : little astonished to find his mother show so much emotion at parting from him. "I boue you will tell me if you are not feeling well," ho said 'sympathetically. "I shall be all right, my son," sho answered, with her usual sad smile. He considered a few moments. It had not occurred -to him how lonely his mother must bo when he had gone. They had led a very quiet life together, but,, as he had never been allowed to become intimate with other families, he had not discovered haw much lonelier sho was than most people.

"I wish there was some one who could come, in and cheer you up now and again." "You know why I have never cared to mix with people," she said. "Tho reason remains unchanged." It seemed to him almost as if sho were silently condemning him for feeling so elated at the change in bis life. A smart conveyance was waiting for him at the station when he arrived at Glazebrook.

The carriage drew up at the low flight of steps that led into the house, the great outer doors of which were thrown open. In the inner hall Donald encountered a youth of about eighteen, with a plain, pale face, but full of intelligence. It was Mortimer, Lord Glazebrook, who at once fell a victim to tho newcomer's charm. "Our' train must Have been late," he remarked. "We dine at half past i eight to-night—earlier when we do , not expect any one by train. The man will show you to your rooms; We assemble here for dinner."

Lord Glazebrook spoke with an air of authority natural to a lad who was master in his mother's house, which would soon bo his own. Donald liked his voice, which was quiet and clear, and rather low.

Donald was ushered into a spacious j bedroom which opened on to another, i A man assisted him to unstrap his j trunks and then proceeded to layout his dross clothes. Ho did not feel constrained or awkward or awed by this unaccustomed magnificance.' Ho dressed quickly and soon found him- I self again in the hall. ' A tall, rather angular woman was

sitting by a small table. She was , knitting. It was one of Miss Morse's 'peculiarities that she muHt always i occupy her hands. She was, indeed, : a verv clever woman, but she lacked ; womanliness to a great extent. Seeing her, one understood Lady Glazebrook's malicious little sneers at her. Lord Glazebrook introduced Miss : Morst to Donald. I "We aro only dining together in your honour," ho said. "Usually Miss Morse and mv .sister dine in the schoolroom, but we thought it best that vou should become acquainted with the whole family. My brother, luckv fellow, is at school. Shall we i wait' for Sylvia, Miss Morse?" I "I wi'l wait for her," said Miss i Morse stiffly. ' At that moment a beautiful girl [appeared. She was tall and slender, •with a light-brown hair and deepblue eyes. She Mushed as Donald bowed to her. . I "I am sorry to- be late," she snul. ' "But I was so interested in a book T was reading that I forgot the time." , "What are you reading?" asked Miss Morse. Svlvia mentioned the name ot a, book, and Miss Morse's lips tighton''Rather n waste of time, is it not. Svlvia ?" she said. "No I don't think so," answered the girl- "I.like modern poetry, you know. Miss Morse." '•[ like that book, too," said Donald warmly. It seemed to him that if Sylvia' Glazebrook had professed an ardent admiration for nursery rhymes lie would have backed her np. "Do you?" asked the girl shyly. "I am glad." Miss Morse had all three young people against her. "I see it is a question of age against youth." sho said good-humoredly. After dinner thev betook themseliVes to the drawing-room, which opened on to a terrace. . ! "Do you want some music to-night, Mortimer?" a.sked Sylvia,' "If Mr Lavender does not object, said the young man, going toward the l piano. I" Donald expressed himself delighted, as, indeed, he was. He sat in a deep chair and watched the group. The governess was at the piano. Lord Glazebrook played the cello, and Sylvia the violin. Donald lost himself in ecstastic wonder at the beauty of !the girl, and when he retired to his room* that night he could not help realizing that life had in store for him keener suffering than he had as yet undergone, for he knew thai; he was destined to love without hope of return—that it was in him to love madly, passionately. CHAPTER XXIII. Donald Lavender did not see much of Sylvia Glazebrook in the. week that j followed. Miss Morse was aware that sho had a pupil of great loveliness under her care. The young couple seljdom met excepting for a short time in tho evening, when they all assembled hi the drawing-room. But Donald had l>egun to hunger to know more of Sylvia. She filled his thoughts. Life was very pleasant at Glaz~j brook. Donald' was expected to do j everything his pupil did. Every day jf-he two rode together for a couple of hours. Donald, who had never been astride a horse before, rode with remarkahle elegance and ease. "You ride wonderfully well." remarked Lord Glaze-brook. "Have you been used to horses?" "I have been used to nothing but grinding," Donald answered with a laugh. "That and living in a little cottage on a pittance." "Well, you do not look like that." Glazebrook iwnVl bluntly. "You look as if you ought to be the heir to a •peerage!" <;' I ' (To he Continued.)