CHAPTER XXXVII.—HALCYON DAYS.

Waikato Times, Volume V, Issue 287, 14 March 1874, Page 2

CHAPTER XXXVII. — HALCYON DAYS.

On a bright clay, one of the latest in March, as crisy^^H clear, as cold as that day, months ago, of which slip isH some unaccountable way reminded, Miriam is in her boudoH with the conservatory at tho end, where the fountain JH shedding its tinkling tears into the alabaster basin, and tS bright-winged birds are fluttering and cooing behind tfl silver wires of the aviary. H Miriam looks very handsome in her widow's dress, whifl has none of the eccentricities and exaggerations of l^J modern fashion in ' weeds.' Her bright hair 13 smoothH banded under the crimped borders of her cap ; and her larfl limpid golden eyes and broad low white brow are digmfic^B and lent an additional serene beauty, by the severe framH work in which they are set. The cabinet of ebony, ivorß and silver stands at her right hand, between her chair ail the fireplace. Its drawers are open, one drower 13 pAI out, and 1 any ouo who cared to inspect its contents nyH would find among them the miniature of a handsome' lacl with gray eyes, black hair, and a fine complexion, whol name was Kate ; the letter written by Lawrence Daly, fl Walter's dictation, which Miriam had discovered among !\fl St Quentin's papers-; and a number of enigmatical memfl randa, in which figures fill a considerable space, and whieM appear to refer to certain payments made at irregultfl intervals for some unspecified purpose. But tho meraoramfl which Miriam shewed to Walter at the Grand Hoed! :l Dover are not there ; she has destroyed them ; nud all til events to which they referred, together with the rage anl terror, the suspense, excitement, and the triumph of Uil time, are a* utterly gone and lost sight of as they are. I Just as Miriam- had concluded her task. Miss Monitl comes in, brisk and bright, light and talkative as ever, ail full of tho instructions which she has despatched to ill cook at the cottage at Blackheatb. I 'Only that Ruth has had her feelings. blnnted by coolirl for a girls' school for eight years, and is not easily put oil she might bo alarmed at the idea of such a- grand visitor I you, my dear!' said tho happj little lady. 'I hope she- has not left off making small currant duilH lings with powdered sugar over them,' replied Minam ' I yon only knew how often I have wished for one since '' I 1 Dear mo ! The idea of any one ever wanting to eat anl tiling again one has ever eaten at a school-room dinner! said Miss Monitor simply. ' Yon shall have them, my den! and then you will find out how nasty they are. Mercy ufl us, Miriam ! Is all that money for the Sisters ?' I 'All that money is for tho Sisters' poor people,' sail Miriam ; ' and it is sadly little among so many.' I ' Well, my dear,' said Miss Monitor admiringly, ' I mu« say ifc i* delightful to see money in such good hands as your J And it is more than I expected of you, much as I liked yoil for you were not very thoughtful or considerato, in tbl abstract, I mean — not unless you knew people, and lilu-J them individually — in the old times. I think HrJ» Quentin's influence and example must have done you a deal of good, strengthened and developed your characlei Don't yon think so, Minam ?' ' I suppose it' did,' answered Miriam indifferently. Sh was not to be tempted into talking of Mr St Quentin, aw presently-turned the conversation upon their journey ; upoi tho pleasurable business of selecting a house for Mirian in London; and upon nil that Miriam was to (1( and enjoy when she should have the house. She via in high spirits that day ; she was really happy. She die] not talk to herself about it, but she thoroughly apprcciatecl the difference which it had made in her life to be free fronl the presence of- a person whom she had come to dislike. ShJ felt this so strongly, that she, who had never known lovcl sometimes asked herself — when the subject would persist hi pressing upon her attention, would not be put anaafll whether the presence of the beloved could be such an even delightful, conscious, precious source of happiness, as thej nhsence of any one to dislike ; the freedom from daily J hourly, jarring chords in one's existence. Everything seemed! to be going perfectly smooth and easy with Miriam nowj and she looked as if it was so, handsome, grand, happy] generous, authoritative. Of future possibilities for hen heart, she had neither hope nor fear ; of future possibilities for her intellect, sha had grant store of hopes and plans. Mr St Quentin's notion of pleasant society had not comprised iutellect. Fashion, if not of the Tery first rank, of a very good second rank, ho had aspired to with some success, and ho did not mind its being combined with dullness, as for the most part it was. Miriam did. She had delightful visions of the society of * clover ' people, of a charming honse which should be frequented by charming creatures who wrote books, painted pictures, composed music, and understood the art of conversation. She had heard the word ' Bohemian ' somewhere, and sho belicved-sh© knew what it meant. There should bo no Boheminnism. in hor 'literary and artistic circlo ;' all the artists, authors, composers, ami talkers, should be quite respectable, but highly gifted. Sho revealed theso great designs to Miss Monitor, who receivA them coldly. Miriam was hardly ever silly, and a little silliness, onco in a way was easily pardoned by her good friend. • You can try it, my dear,' sho said dubiously. ' You may romember I told you my father was an author —in tho solid, biographical line — and he is as much forgotten as if ho had been one of the modern three-novels-in-three-volunics-caeh-a-ycar-pcoplo. He used to say there was no such mistake as literary society 5 no duller people any\> here than authors nnd artists, chiefly, I suppose, because they are erv tired with hard work, and want people to amuse them. I cant say I oared for any of them whom I used to see as a girl, especially if I had liked their books or then* pictures very much before I had made their acquaintance. They certainly never amused mo. However, as I said before, jou can try.' Miriam thought this was all rubbish, and resolved ihw sho would try. Tho last few days in Paris were Tery pleasant to tho friends. Miriam wa» rather sorry to leave hor pretty rooms when the time came, even for tho prospect of novelty in hor London home. She loved thorn, sho prized ever) thing 111 them. Sho was very generous, but sho had acquisitiveness largely, developed in hor character. If sho had been am in she would hare delighted in adding field to fidd, m Hoiks and herds, andiin money-bags, though sho would Liu* dispensed their contents with a liberal hand. Being a worn in, she loved her furniture, her rich carpets and hangings, the beautiful things which filled- hor rooms, her plate, and her porcelain, her equipages, and her jewels. Sho wouldh.uo shared them lavishly, but sho loved them every one, she \\lu> had never known what it was to love, beyond the ealui circlo of kindred, ami had no notion of & power winch could sinito these idols from their place in her heart, and daali them into dust. A few hours after Miriam and Miss Monitor had lefl, Paris, a well-appointed but plaiu coupr drew up at the ginl gato of the hotel, and a gentleman stepped out and actosteiL the concierge. This gentleman was a dapper parsonage, o™ middle height and spare figure, with, a clean shaven face .nul shrewd 1 observant eyes. ll* was dres-od with an aecuialo plainnes3 and elaborate neatness which gaw him somewhat the air of an Anglican clergyman of High Church principles. Since Mv St Quentin's death, this gentleman had not been seen at the hotel, and the present concierge; being new to the place, did not know him. After a few iniuutes' parloj, the dapper gentleman committed a card and a letter to the care of tho concierge, got into the coupe, and was driven away. At the same moment one of Mm St Quentin's servant?^ whom she had left m Paris, came in it the port coohere. " 'Hold! 1 oaid the cuncierge. 'Here hag been a hit to Monsieur inquiring for Madame, and much chagrined at her departure. He has. confided to roe this lttter and carJ, t'"> be scut to the address of Mada-nV

The lorranf loaned on the li'dge of the little window through winch the eonueige addressed him, and inspected these articles. 'Hold!' saul lie. 'Monsieur Caix! TV hy comes he hither again ? It usi'd to be for Monsieur only.' ' Who is hi\ this Monsieur Cau\ r The man laughed. ' What know I ? Ask that in (.lie Eve Jerusalem ' 'Ho, ho! Isheiliere? That understands itself — these old gentlemen, a* they tell mo Monsieur was, ham lived, in ordinary, and find aguits who might be trusted, comeiuent. But why ' ' I have changed my mind,' said a clear, quiet, polite voice behind the servant's shoulder, causing him to start auay from the aperture, and the concierge to look up surprised, ' and will forward my letter to Madame St Quentin myself, if jou can give mo her address in England.' ' Certainly,' said the concierge, on whom the mention of the Rue Jerusalem in connection with the name of M. Caux had produced a salutary effect. ' Perhaps Monsieur will copy the address himself;' and he laid a book open before 31. Cnux, from which that gentleman transcribed on one of Jus cards Miriam's address at Blackheath 5 while ho was doing this, the servant went on into the hotel. 1 That is much better,' said M. Caux, as he carefully replaced the letter in a case, full of neatly-folded papers, suspended in the carriage within easy reach of the hand— much better. She might take no notice of a written application, but she can hardly refuse me a personal interview, demanded on the strength of this. There may be something to como of it, and there may be nothing — time will shew. The old gentleman paid mo in full ; I have no claim, still this may be worth another fee to me, and it will certainty keep until she returns from London. 1 'Madame had left Paris that morning,' had been the answer of the concierge to M. Caux's question. Only a few hours, only an unpurchasable, immeasurrble, irreparable space betwoen her and the knowledge she might have gained of the truth ! The letter which M. Caux had decided te retain till her return was addressed to himself, and consisted of only a few lines, dated from New York, three months before, but which, by some accident, never explained, had not been posted until the last mail. The lines were were as olio we: ,L D intends to go to England in tho pring, and will then communicate with Mr St Quentin.'