CHAPTER XXIX—WELCOME HOME.

Waikato Times, Volume V, Issue 265, 22 January 1874, Page 2

CHAPTER XXIX—WELCOME HOME.

It would have been impossible to turn the Firs into a pretty •pot hy any method »l>ort of such a root-und-bianeh reformation as the pulling down of the old 'louse, and the construction of a new one on a totally diflerent plan and in nnother aspect.. But it possible to improve the ill-favored, neglected place materially, and Florence turned all her attention to doing this, during the interval which must elapse before Walter's return. It w»s a part of the fidelity of her nature that she never forgot the tastes, the fancies, the lightest expressed wishes of those whom she loved ; and the defects, shortcomings, and uglmrss of the Firs had be. n well known to her long before she had eyer seen the place, which wa* now her own property, and ehe was familiar with al! Walter's ideas as to what he would have done, had it been his. One of the most common formi in which such a morose and sullen temper as that with which Reginald Clint had been cursed exhibits itself is an unreasonable and i-nplious jealousy concerning the possession of its victim, which resenta a suggestion as an oqgre«sion, and the least manifestation of interest as a wrong. A constant uneasy suspicion that somebody wautud to interfere with him, a totally uncalled for spirit of protest that his possessions were hie own, possessed him. He would fret nnd fume for hours at a careless suggestion from Mr Mnrtin that the trees were too tbick m one of the plantations, or that the ponds below the cloverfields would be the better for cleaning. He affected extraordinary secrecy in all hie affnirs. and changed Ins employes so often that no one ever took any real interest in the place. Miriam and Walter understood him perfectly m these respects, and had early learned to abstain from saving or doing anything to imply » common interest in ihe Firs, or the assumption of even the most trifling authority withro its crates. In the ease of Minam, this indiflerenee was perfectly genuine. 'If tin* house were on fire, and 1 had got safel/ out of it, I should not turn my head to see whether it wns burned to ashes or not,' she had e*id to Florence once. This was but slight, if r.ny, exaggeration ; but it was not so with Walter. He had it lasting regard for the old place, and though he truly believed his father would leave it away from him, he had never arrived nt contemplating that contingency with total indifference. Hence Florence's acquaintance with Ins ideas of what might bt) done for the impro\ement of the Fin. The terms ot Mr Clint's bequest to hci did not impobe any conditions; and, in a. very short time after the donor's death, Miriam suggested to Florence that ehe would do well to get "Walter'i consent to

foiling t<e .M'oin; iv ou )iu return Tne ne.g ibuurhooil »as a rwng one. W i.ik row* of .twinsi ugly red brick houses, and diinirativc villa*. »ilh uvui V-rietian blind* and topliowv porticoes, had sprung upliulween the Firs and Dringto » station. T.u Fiu would b3 v .luable building-ground. BuL Florence <hd m.l, take kindlr tv t!>e b-ujqestion. Hinam did not know Low ma h Walte-- li c,« the pljoe, n id v\!>al Bride and pleasure it> *o ild talt! in emy* q out at! 111 1 jold plans for -»t> w.protxu enl. 'Bt-SHl' »/ u.ged Flor<-H<*>, hou, must remember tliut ido not hato mralit) asjcu- dr. a | 'No, indeed,' dad Mtrura replied to thid j *)»u »«• jutf fit lor it. Only I don't ihml you mill ever have y«,ur Own meat killed en the promises ! My dear Roae, ull your muttons are pot lambs! and you will let your fowls die of old age! It is a fine thing to be in lo\c. the went ou, somewhat iirovahwtly. ' I do bchovo you could hvo happil> with Walter, If he iiad everything ha wanted, and Ae^vas perfectly couifoit ible, in a baek-kitcliou or a snail-sboll. ' ' Oi" course 1 could,' replied Floience seriously ; and then, after a moment, she smiled : ' I won't answer for tbe backkitclien, Miriam ; I'm afraid I should bo a nuisance there j I'm horribly afraid of beetles.' 1 1 don't behevo you're a/rajd of anything, except Walter's being delayed, or something happening to him. There, the colour ban gone from your face in a moment! Ah, well, that is tbe only thin? / fear eitlior, so that wo are alike there. And you aro really going to begin your renovations pa soon as you got rid of us— a precious incubus we are to you ! _ Florence protested earnestly against thin Miriam she dearly tared, and Mr St Queutin bad been decently civil to her She had hoped they would remain until Walter's return Surely Miriam must feel that the bouse and all in it was as much hevs as it had ever been. 1 An unluoky comparison !' said Miriam with an uneasy laugh 'If I had ever felt as much at home at the Firs as I feel now, I should not have been m such a hurry to esc i c from it. You must not be deceived by Mr St Qucntm's civility, my dear : it does not mean much of anything, prubibly, but what, it does not mean is, that I am to have the indulgence of being with my brother. He cannot endure the mention of him ; if he rinds out I hai c heard from him he sulks for days together. He is more jealous of him than he is of you The tact it, notwithstanding all my praisewoithy and perse* ering efforts to m^lead him, I believe he has not sued eded in persuading himself that I hare a lover, and tuorefore hn jealousy is obliged to feed itself on my one real and acknowledged Ktfection ; and .the aliment is deciJedlv uurtholesome. I can't altogether blame bun for being rai her suvage, though he did bring it on himself, for, oi course, if I hare not sued eded in persuading bun that there is something real which I am hiding from him, he must know that I have been deluding and laughing *t him.' ' Miriam, Miriam^ 9 dangerous game!' 'Florence, Florence, don't preach! If— here Miriam's face changtd and darkened — 'if you could know how degrading and dete»table a lot mine is, you would wonder I cou.tl play at any game l<-as serious or final t'lan drowning myselt ! As for my seeing Walter, I doi *f expect it, unless he come-" to me, undeterred by Mr St Quentin's exquisite fe'ieiM lor muking people uncomtortnble. No, no; depend upon it, I shall be permitted to come here only as a bribttor future good behaviour. Well, it cannot lust for e»er, that's one comlort — not but it may list my time.' Then she lelt Florence, and did not afterward* renew the conversation. She was right, as has been seen, in her surmise. Mr St Quentm took her away, and Florence was left, with cvi n incr ased misgiving about her Bister's future, to her engrossing and delightful preparations for Walter's return. Tne lawn was transfrrmed after a fas'iion, which it» late proprietor would have regarded as wasteful to the last decree. Ajpecp sunken fence, faced with stone, a,nd sur mounted 'By a handsome railing, over winch plants were in, tune to climb und twist, would henceforth keep the cut It?, nt a.di-tancc, to render them picturesque but not iiitr sue j and the ground thus abstracted from tie purp >ses of severe util tj win turned into j,u»t su"h u flower-Burden as Florence atid Waller n«ed to sketch, Alnasclur-hke, in tuoir cutt ige in Gb-o'ge Lime. J Liglit paper nnil hangings, and some pretty new furniture, did wonder* for theufootny sitting-rooms, and n.i one W.iuld have lesounised the stuly, a room which Flore ice knew hud more unpleasant associations for Walter than any other vi tne house. W fii the changes were all made, F'orence still had plenty ol tune on her hands to think of the strangeness of her |)O»iti m, an !, having 1 bought it out, to grow used to it. A' tins; on the concurrent advice of Mnia'ii and Mrs Cooke, she hud di.oiiiisse all the servants, und enunged, otheis. They h-i I been libeially treated, but of course thet \»ere rlwoontfut.fi, ami hquilU of o<>ar<t» tliev «or»» <u»ns irintti S'lsanww lnp^i'linent nU<>, an I took >'ccii>i>>n to menhi>n prelt-, wilelv in tho neighbour'ioo 1 tliat t'tere w>i« more in all tit nt ntl'iir ut t leFira than people under»to«id, or tliouif'ir for. Only Mrs Ritchie was equal to the occasion — she resume 1 ! It would be a false position, she observed, for >irs Walter Clint and for herself, and she hud, till her life, avoided fiilse positions. Sj she departed from the Firs ; and whether R ibert attached himself to her fortunes, as he had given her every reason to believe ho would do, or whether he kept his often, plighted troth to Su->an, this chronicle does not record. Florence found ardently zealous supporters in the small world of Drington and its environs. Probably it would never bare occurred to her to caro or inquire what people of whom she knew nothing thought of the strange events in which she was so deeply concerned. She knew little of the world, and was so far from, self engrossed that sho would not have regarded herself as a subject for anybody's curiosity, had not Mrs Cooke enlightened her. That excellent women, who was very muuh. distressed by the remembrance of her own unintentional mistake, made amende honorable in the handsomest and frankest manner to Florence, and became her very sincere and efficient friend. Mrs Cooke had not only the legitimate prettigeof hen position, but she was personally popular and luiluential, and when sho was resorted to, in the agonies of their curiosity amid the conflicting rumours afloat in tho neighbourhood, by the lqdie* of her acquaintance, she related the truo story with much pathetic effect, and never failed to declare her belief that the neighborhood had gained a ' decided acquisition ' in Mrs Walter Clint. ' You can easily imagine the difference it makes to Mr Cooke and myself to have such a charming eighbour at the Firs,' she would say to each questioner, and then hint at the pleasure it would give her to uiTilt the individual in question to meet Mrs Clint at dinner at the Rectory, when the would be going out again. In a short time, people who had nerer been inside the gates of the Fir 3 were asking Mrs Cooke how soon they might venture to call on Florence ; and long before Walter's return, his pretty, gentle wife hud become a <iener.il favorite Tim com~it f tec of the Lilies' Book-club, a most exclusive institution, under the rigid censorship of a literary lady— who had written ' quite an immense deal ' but had not appeared i» print, because her family considered that sort of thing 'low' — had invited her to become a member. The Drington Dorcas meetings warn bnchtened by her sweet face, and a ded by her'ttusy fingers. Mr Martin was her «worn ally y. and Mr Stand ish confessed to that gentleman — who had never liked him, and thenceforth, rather unreasonably disliked him, more than ever — that he hai belie lod the sexndal abput her until the day of reading the will, and that then we was ashamed of himself. ' And so you ought to be.' was Mr Martin's brief comment ' You must recollect, Clint's w.ll was a very extraor Unary one, and I ha.d never seen her before it was made, and only once afterwards for a few minutes. ' Half a minute ought to have been enough to make you ashamed then of such a belief,' said Mr Martin irascibly. Whereupon Mr Standish called to mi id the coaruo sarcasm which Mr Si Qurntin had uttered in his wrath, with reference t<> Mr Martin's bachelor condition, and murmured to himself: 'I fchould not wonder if tho old nabob were right, and Martin were spoons on her too.'