Lady Marjorie's Love

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXV, Issue 10713, 17 February 1913, Page 2

Lady Marjorie's Love

(OUR SERIAL

By Carl Swerdna Author of "To the Uttermost Fartli- ing," "A Mere Ceremony," "A Fight for Honour, - ' Etc.

CHAPTER VII. (Continued.) "Sr. i should— very true!" Mr Chadburn assented, with a nod. "Per11,\ji > it would be better, ou second thoughts, if Harrington went down; he is more up to that sort ot tiling than you are. To tell you the truth, Jim, I'v luicl some idea- ot jjliintihim down there permanently. IVtiierick gave me a pretty strong hint that the there- now —Brent, 1 think Ins name is —i, hv no nu-•> "> the right man in the right plaee. "We .shall have, to send him packing', I ianey, and, also, 1 don't think we ean do better tunn put Barrington into his shoes.'' "Quite, right!" His sou nodded cordially. "Barrington is a. hriek! Tf the post is a good one let him have it by all means. What about his going downy Is iio at liberty at present?" "Oh, yes! He was back in town a couple of days ago, and is waiting now to know what 1 want him For next." Mr Chadburn glanced toward the writing table again. "There's his letter there somewhere," he said. "I don't exactly remember the address. You might look for it, Jim, and drop him a line." Young Chadburn crossed to Hie table, turned the scattered letters over, and presently selected one From the heap. "Here we are, sir, as large as life —'Faithfully yours, G. Barrington'! What a hand the fellow writes! One could read it across the room!" He sat. down, glancing over his shoulder a.s he took up a pen. "What shall I say to him ?" "Oh, nothing particular, my hoy! Just ask him to step round, you know," Mr Chadburn returned comfortably. "Tim c enough to explain when he's here."

nothing from morning until night. Mi- L'etherick was saying when he was in.'re yesterday that he was quite shocked at the change in you. I toid him that nothing else could be looked lor unless you would try to rouse yourself. If you don't care to work or read you would at least do better out in the air than moping about the house from one room to another. The best thing you can do is to get your hat. 'J he morning is lovely!" "is u.?" She glanced out, for in truth she might have been looking at, gray rain and leaden sky for all she knew. She did not want to go out; it seemed that she wanted to do nothing from dismal morning to dreary night, but to go out would he less trouble than to listen to Feneila's cold re-monstrances and rebukes, which the girl felt she could not an-, •swer saucily and gayly as she used to do—she was a very meek and subdued little creature now. "Very well, Feuella," she said languidly, "I'll go presently." "Pray do; and, if you stay out all the afternoon, so muc'h the better. You are dull, J dare .say. "Why don't you call at the rectory?" "I don't care to, thanks! I'd rather be by myself." "Oh, well, child —if you will mope!" Tho countess shrugged her handsome crape-clad -shoulders, half turned away, and turned back again. "By tho way, did you hear from Loftus this morning?" "No, not this morning." No? It is time he wrote, is it not?" | "I don't know —I suppose so! He i wroto last week, I think." j "Did he say when you were to c*- ! poet him down here?" "No. Fenclln." Tho tone was utterly indifferent, spiritless. Lady Marlingi'ord frowned. She was not at all hard, and she was j angry with Loftus Bligh, although she 1 had said to Mr Petherick : "Wo shall see!" 1 "When do yon expect him, child?" she asked sharply. | "Oh, I don't know!" Marjorie glanced round with a look of wonder. I "He will come down before long. 1 suppose, but 1 think he is busy. He said something about it in his letter, ! T remember. And he doesn't much , care for the castle, you know; lie says is is so dull. He—ho would think it duller than ever now!" j A gulp came with the last words, almost a sob. Marjorie hastily put , Jack down, stooping to hide her face r —tears did not find favour with the , countess. She would have 'Lurried , away with some hastily muttered.* I words about getting her hat now, but I the countess checked ttOr peremptory 1 i!y,

CHAPTER VIII. Sunshine hot and brilliant lay round Castle Marling; its rooms were no longer darkened, for more than a month had gone by since the funeral of its late master; in outward aspect, at least, it was a .house of mourning no longer. Nor did its indoor face present any of the usual signs of misery, distress, desolation such as are the accepted tokens of ruin and death. The bright sunlight- streaming in at the many windows of the great hall, throwing through their stained glass vivid splashes of crimson, purple, and yellow -upon its floor, showed tho somber stateliness of the splendid old room qui to unchanged, It made visible but oiie 'ominous and expressive token—the black dresses of Ladv Marlingford and her stepdaughter. The countess certainly bore no other look of sorrow. Standing by a table where she had halted tn read a halfperused letter, her firm figure, her white hands, her fair face were all theiv handsomest; black suited both her complexion and her style; the tiny piece of White frippery upon her luxuriant hair was merely an elegant finish off —a dainty adornment, rendering tho tout ensemble complete. Whatever shock, chargin. grief had been inflicted upon her by her husband's ruin and death, it was plain that her ladyship's admirable common sense had triumphantly conmiered them all. To mourn tho inevitable, whether past or to come, is surely the height of follv. Lady Marlin<rford. was so philosophically assured of this undeniable fact that she had nassed through life with as little emotion of any kind as ever was experienced by mortal woman. Her husband was dead, and certainly could not he brought back again; he had died ah- I solutely ruined, which was clearly the , [ worse misfortune of the two. What | followed ? Her ladyship, as a sensible woman who could accept the inevitable, had got over the one trial, and had made up her mind to make the best of tho other. As she said nioro than once to her stepdaughter, whose obstinate unreason had several times proved a trial to her calm patience, there wits no use, absolutely no use, in attempting to do anything else, and any one who chose to exert her common sense must perforce acknowledge as much. For Lady Marjorie had exhibited no philosophy whatever, and' had grieved for her dead father and for last Castle Marling as passionately as though grief were not as empty as air, as useless as water that is past. "As though there was the least use or sense in it at all!" said the countess, out of patience with her lecturing. She looked inclined to lecture again now as she finished her letter and glanced across at the small black figure standing by one of the windows, a. great crimson splash of color lying upon the brown head. Marjorie had Jack hugged up in her arms, her chin resting upon his fat white back; listless dejection was in her whole air and attitude. The countess, glancing across at For, looked provoked and spoke sharply. "What do you intend to do with yourself this morning, Marjorie?" The girl turned, showing a pale little face that looked all big, brown, ' pathetic oyos. "Oh, I don't know, "Fonolla! Noth;nsr! What is there to do?" "What?" echoed the countess. "Plenty, if yon choose, my -dear i Really, I don't wonder that you are out of spirits and look so wretchedly white —you appear to do literally

"Let Alice get your hat," she said. "Ring for her: you may fls well have tho benefit of her services whilo volt can." A tone had sounded in her voice here which she renllv had not mean t to use, ,-ird «lio changed it. ""Have you asked Mr Bligh when you mn r- "xp"ct to ton him 5 " "No, Fen el la."