Through Wind and Rain. BY THE AUTHOR OF 'OLD MYDDLETON'S MONEY.'

Waikato Times, Volume X, Issue 669, 2 September 1876, Page 1 (Supplement)

Through Wind and Rain. BY THE AUTHOR OF 'OLD MYDDLETON'S MONEY.'

Yes, that is the portrait of the presort Squire Handsome ! No, I don't think ye old servants ever call him handsome. I daresay you are right, though, and if we'd known him less, we might have spoken of his being handsome. We only know him as the kindest master and tendereat son in the whole world. Yet I daresay you are right, for when I'm hero by myself among the portraits (the servants wondering why their old housekeeper wanders over the house so much alone) it is always to bis face that I turn w\th the best memories, and there is nothing there to aim my spectacles, as there is when my eyes rest upon the portraits opposite — you see them P the portraits of his father and grandfather. It was just such a night ts this that ushered in the new year five and twenty years ago ; and even now, that evening is as clear in my memory as this has been, though Westmode to-day is filled with guests and guyety, * n d the old house echoes music and laughter, instead of that one strange cry. Promised to tell jou, did I ? Come nearer to the fire then, and throw on another log. Many a night I've sat just hero to see the old year die. Sometimes in the wonderful silence of that starshino ; sometimes in brilliant moonlight, when that line of heath-road beyond the park lay a broad white ribbon on the brown ; and sometimes, as it does to-night— and did that other night just five and twenty years ago— panting for its breath and dying in passionate tears. You can see now how the poplars, far away against the sky, there, bend like reeds ; and when the hurrying clouds fly by and leave the young moon uncovered, you can trace the bridle-path across the heath, glistening like & shallow brook. Just such a night it was, wild, wet and gusty, when the old Squire and I stood watching. But how is this ? I ought not to be in the middle of my story before I begim. Let me see — there's another New Year's Eve that I can remember, fifty years ago, when the Squire held his new-born infaint in his arms, with such a smile at we had never seen upon bis face before, and stood there in a dream until they roused him to tell him that his young wife could not lire. All in all, was the boy to his father from that very night, yet at first there was sometimes a fancy among us that our master's great affection for his son came second to his pride in his heir. He was growing old, you see, and of course there must have been times when be had feared that the proud old name would die, and the place he loved so well go to that distant branch of Capletons, of which Captain Warder was the living representative—a cold, middle-aged man, who the Squire never bad liked. But now that the son and heir was born, Mr. Capleton. (with tome sew feeling) turned round and seemed to grow fond of thit heir presumptive — a* they called him. But we didn't, and there was a conviction among us that whenever he came to Wesmede it was because he either wanted money in a liurry> or had nowhere else to go. For years after the little heir was born, Captain Warder didn't come to Wesfcmede at all. lie might have toon too angry, or he might have been really abroad as it was reported. But gradually his visits were resumed, and then, year by year, they grew longer and more frequent. At Wesmede everything went smoothly and happily for the Squire through his son's boyhood; for though, of course, Mr. Will got into trouble sometimes, as schoolboys will, the trouble never lasted ; for the boy was gentle and true-hearted, even if be had a share of his father's %eUI will. So the time went on until within a I few days of Mr. Will's leaving college, ! when he was to come home for a. few weeks and then join a party of friends and travel i for a year before settling at Westmedo , and taking the Squire'i duties upon him1 self. Just as we were dreading leat Mr. Capleton should fret through his son's ' long absence, a distant connection of his died, leaving an only daughter unprovided for. So the Squire, when he heard this, went off at once to Scotland and brought back the orphan with him. Her portrait here P Of course it is, for •he was ono of the Capletons, you know,

though she was 10 poor that I've seen her turn tbo bows of ribbon on her dreas, and natch the pages of b',* music. Beautiful P I don't know, because I've seen so many different faces * 0 be called beautiful At first the servants called her ' puny,' then I noticed Vnat the maids grew to imitate her, ap,j dropped their voicei when they spo'^ of her. As for me, from the very f.rst moment that my eyes rested on her, luv what won my heart. Her face was narrow and delicate, yet there was a sweet and steadfast light npon it, which made it bountiful beyond what I had ever before understood of the word. How well I remember the day Mr. Will came home from college and found her stand, ng shyly at his father's sido wniting for him. Such a glance came into his eyes, that, thoug I'd known them all his life, I frit I'd never seen them property till then. Of course I could only guess how he spent that evening, the first through which he hnrt ever had a gi'i companion at home ; but before a yev ee k had passed I had seen what had made me sad enough. , ' does her duty, Will,' I heaj** tho Squire say one morning, while Mr. T/ill stood against the low oak ch^ney- i piece in the hall, with his faco l«ent, ' I I ■hall givp her a wedding portion and marry I her to Warder. I shall bp doing both of thpm a eood turn. And that reminds me, Will, Luxleierh tells me his daughter returns from Paris next year to take her plaeo at the he/id of hi* hous*.' No answer from Mr. Will, but the •quire diila't notice, and went on in a pleasant, satisfied tone. 1 I've never kept, you in the dark ns to my intentions. Will, have I? Yon've always been fully awaro of tho good fortune in itore for you. Lnxleigh'i estate, and Lnxleigh'a daughter go together, and the prize ii to be youri on your return ; always supposing. Will, that you act your oirn part like a gentleman and— a lover.' • An i if I don't P' The Sqnire's laugh rang out with a merriment which had not a grain of suspicion in it. • If you lose your reason during the next year— put it that, way, Will.' WYn Mr. Will looked up, I was p»si« intr him in leaving him in leaving the hall, and 1 remember wondering how it wjh the Squire could he so unsuspecting. Whoa 1 hid reached my own room, still thinking ovot that expression on my young master's face. I found Mi»s Agn^s standing at the win low. looking o^r Into the parkas she waited for me, When we had held our usual tnorp,',ng discussion, she turned to the window before leaving the room • Tf you ar<* looking for Mr. Will, Miss A^nes,' said I, standing with my back to ner. and speaking easily what, with my old fashioned notions, I fancied would b<> wi>e to say, 'hpii in the hall. The master has been talking to him of his wedding with Miss Luxleigh. I was rearranging tho enrttins and the master told me not to go, so I heard them.' She was facing me now, innocently and wistfully looking into my eyes, so my next words nearly choked me. 1 For yean this ha* been an understood thine. Miis Aenei— ;did you never hear it ? You see the Luxleigh property touches ■WVntnipdo north, soath and east. Of course it will be a wise marriage.' She was looking at me still, and the old light was within her eyes and the gentle smile npon her lipi ; but oh, the whiteness <»f Ratface! „ , , ' T dare say, Miss Agnes,' itvl T, bending over my fire, • that you have never even heard of it.' • Not— Yet.' When she went away from tho room so quietly, of coarse I wished I hadn't siid a worn : but stilt I'd done it wi ( h the fancy that it migh* be kinder to do it at once Somehow it n*ver seemed <-o rn'er the Squire's head that th*re couH br danger to his plans in the close intimacy between his son and Miss Agn^s ; or m tho chtrm to Mr Will, of swh a sweet eirl-rompan-ion in the home in whi<«hhe'd nover known a mother or sister. As for Mr. Will. I don't think he ever even tired to teel that Miss Agnes was like a si«ter to him. for from the first he had loved her as brothers don't love ; and— jn ; »fter all these years I can my as confidently as I said it then —firmly as Mr. Capleton's heart wai set npon that projected marriage for his son, eTerything would hare ended happily for Miss Acnes and Mr. Will, if it had it not been for Captain Warder. No ; even yet I cannot tell how. but I feel at sure of it as I am that that's the wind, sobbing on iti w«v across the heath. When the day came for Mr. Will to ]f*r« home, no one saw his parting with Miss Agnei. b«t two hours after I had watched the carriage out of sight, I found her at the window. wi*h her eyes fired on the spot where it had disappeared, and though they were filled with tears, I never ■aw that trustful look upon her face so trustful as it was at that minute. T think that Miis Agnes had made a determination that, as far as «he positbly could, she would be both ion and daughter to Mr. Capleton in his son 9 absence ; and it was prettier than any picture to tee them together— always together. She would walk with him ronnd the estate, discussing alterations and improvements, iust as his son wonld have done ; bis arms in hers, and always the brightest interest in her face. She would drive him for hours among his tenants, remembering everything for him, and doing as ranch m her gentle, qni't way to win their hearts as ho could do with all his wealth and power. She would ride beside him into Exeter on his weekly viuts, and the two horses, by force of habit, kept so closely together, that it became a proverb there She would go with him to the heavy country dinners, leaning on his arm as his own daughter Would have done, and so gratcfnl to him for her pain white drew (and making so mu*h of it in W PW»wnt way) thatoften whrol^T^fceJ tfMWioff. my ey« hay- been to fiifc » meet hw--the idea of it ! Tears, beeauit she loved the old man so well. Z "' But best of all wa» it totee themtogether through tho lone winter evening at home when she would sine and read to him, taiic to him— th. well, it i% such a nature as hers, I think, that can make home for a man in its highest and !»«[>.«*■«;*;• c , For mtny we«ki aftor Mr Will left vi Captain Warder did not show himself at Wostmede. and when he came at lait, walking quietly and undemonstrative^ through tho little eaitern door, it wasn t T ery wonderful that none of us conld inspect or be guarded against the misery he brought. After that firit vi lit others followed rapidly ; and I undentood very

1 well how the Squire, having planned the marriage between Captain. Warder and I Miss Agnes, should bo willing to throw ' them togetehr. But still Miss Agnes ; avoided him whenever she could, and i when I asked her (just for no purpose at i &\]J wbich of her cousins she liked best. ' the rash of pink to her face, and the ' trembling of her lips when she said 'one , was all truth and honor' — and then she i failed for words— was proof enough that ; she had sounded Captain Warder's nature. I 1I 1 Gradually, during those visit*. 6f Cap- » , tain Warder to Westmede, th«re came a ' consciousness of something Being wrong [ I Idon'tsupposelcanmake/ou understand, • i for I couldn.t understand it myself, but all ; the peaceful calm of t&« old house seemed i ruffled, .and not opty did we see that the Squire had gro*n suspicious of hii adopt - . ed daughter, out we noticed that in every i word he Stored of his absent son his » voice had a frctfulness which I had never ; hearJ mit before. Quite sure I felt that i - Captain Warder's influence was effecting I fftis change, but I could never have fully I comprehended it if I had not once chanced I to overhear him speaking unrestrainedly. i The mister had sent for me to the library I to check some bills for him, and while 1 I did it. Captain Warder came in, bringing two foreign letters which he had called for in TSxeler ; thinking — so he said — to please his consin by anticipating next morning's post. The master's eye brightened at sight of his son's hand ; but with a slow smile — 1 remember thinking it the ugliest smile 1 ever saw— Captain Warder laid upon the Squire's letter one addrtssed in the snrao hand to Miss Agnes. • Well ?' questioned Mr, Capleton. ' May 1 hear before 1 deliver this, of my consin Will's health and welfare P' asked Capt. Warder, putting his arm throngh the Squire's and sauntering with him to the next room, Miss Agnes's letter in one hand. didn't pretend to go on with my figures, for every word they uttered reached me through the curtains. and presently 1 understood well enough who wai making Mr. Will's absence so fatal to the old home. From that very hour the end followed so naturally in spito of its misery, that 1 seemed to hare been expecting it all just as it came. That very night, when 1 was sitting alone in my room, fancyinethe wholehousehold was in bed, my door was softly opened, and Miss Agnes came in in hor white drew, far more like a ghoit than — . She came in, 1 say, almost without a sound, and dropped upon hor knees by tnv side just a* she might have dono if 1 had been hormother, and she — broken hearted 1 conldn't say a word ; 1 only nut ray hands upon her soft dark hair, and tried to keep back the tears ; old women are so silly with their tear*. ' This is go id-bye,' she said vrr senfcly, raising her white face ; and at that moment tho steadfast light within her eyes was sad to see. 'Good-bye. This dear life is over for me— from to-night.' ' Vty dear,' I cried, as I took both her chilly hands in mine, ' what is it that you mean, Miss Agnes ?' 'I am— going.' Her voice sank to a rery whisper at the last word, so no wonder I could not feel sure that I had heard aright. Yet not for anything could I a«ked her again, because I seemed to understand it all so well, after thoso suspicions of Captain Warder's which 1 had overheard. 'I am going — to-morrow,' she whispered' her wide eyes meeting mine with an unutfered longing in them. 'I am going because — my uncle has lost — his trust in m<». He tilings I would ruin— his son's— 1 life. I ruin it ! 1 have an old friend who will receive me — 1 think. She is poor, but I— will help her, I— need not be a burden.' • Where is she Miss Agnes ?' But no, not by hinting, or asking, or even entreating, could 1 win that information. She would not leave me the power of telling Mr. Will where she had gone. • But tell him,' she whispered very softly, ' pleas tell him— only this one thing that kneeling here, just as 1 might have knelt at my mother's side, 1 pray that he w : " '• m his father wishes. 1 shall be qnite happy — presently. Hit father has been as my father, and 1 have no word to say to night, or ever, but — God bless him.' 1 don't know whether 1 answered at all ; 1 fancy not ; but 1 held her to my breast an d — well, never mind that. Strange to say, it was on the very next morning, just before Misi Agnes left us, that Lord Luxleigh brought his daughter to Westmade; theb, of course, but 1 did think that the trail, sad girl, who was going alone into the world for the sake of Mr. Will, was|far better worth his love than the girl who, with her foreign voice, and dress and manner*, was come to win what my dear was resigning. Quit© courteously the Squire introduced his young cousin to Miss Luxleigh, but lomehow, his voice tounded all different. Ah ! how the minutes fled till she was gone, then how they crept by us, bringing us nerer the music of a girlish voice and willing step; bringing us even no word from the outer world to tell us of her. Though I could see that the Squire missed her more than words could say, he never even uttered her name. Captain Warder did wisely not to leave him alone just then, knowing what the empty rooms would be for him, after the bright companionship of his adopted daughter. The intercourse between Luxleigh and Westmedejbecame very close. Perhaps Miss Luxleigh enjoyed the Squire's perpetual narratives of his son* perfections, and perhaps adultation of every kind was welcome to her. In any case she came very frequently to Westmede. and »o aided Captain Wardar's attempt to keep Mr. Capleton from being solitary. So the time went on till Mr. Wills return. Of course I know nothing of what passed in that first interview betweon the father and son, but I happened to meet my •ym^ig master on the stairs jult alterwards, and he passed mo without a word or glance, his eyes burning, and his lips drawn tight upon his teeth. Later on, when I was tired of hearing him pacing to and fro in his room, I ventured quietly in to him, to give him the welcome I'd always fciven in olden times, when he had come homo from ichool or college. At first 1 thought he was going to turn away from me, but quite suddenly (as if he remembered that his secret was in my keeping) he turned and greeted me. It wa» a *ood while, though, before 1 trusted myself to give him Miss Agne*'s message, and almost as. soon as ever 1 repeated it— he, standing in utter stillness to listen— the door opened, and Captain Warder came in wttbjhis greeting,

far too loud and cordial to be quite hones* from him. Mr. "Will looted down with silent contempt upon his cousin's outstretched hand, and then he turned to mo as if lie were not even aware that any one else j stood there. ' Old friend,' he said, 'lam ' going away again, to fetch my cousin .Agnes back, to Westmede ; so you see 1 must answer your welcome by another good-bye.' 1 was looking straight into Captain Warder's fade, but 1 could not find out whether his surprise was real or feigned. ' Tour father found himself deceived in Agnes Capleton,' he said, • and naturally he will never consent to her return here.' Shall 1 ever forget my young master's fierce reply, or the savage gloom of Captain Warder s face when he left the room P Mr, Will had a long interview with his father after that ; and from what he told me afterward, when hs camo to see if I could help him by the faintest clue to Miss Agnes's present home, 1 understood that my master had said if he could not return to marry Miss Luxieigh, he need never return at all, and had strictly forbidden him to bring Miss Agnes to Westmede. Prom that — even without being told — 1 could guess that Captain Warder had been present at the interview in spite of Mr. Will's earnest wish to see his father alone ; but 1 did not wonder the father should fear trusting to himself this refusal of his son's anxious prayer. Not for months after Mr. Will's departure, did the Squire betray any symptom of having taken to heart the defeat of his soeeme or the absence of his son ; and so the people grew to say he didn't care, and that Captain Warder was as good as any son to him ; bmt 1 knew better. Sometimes, •wandering to his door late in the night to be sure that all was well, 1 would hear the old man weeping like a girl ; and a year afterward 1 found thoie letters of Mr. Will's, which were never answered, worn to shreds, as a century could not have worn them bad they lain in the Squire's desk instead of — whero they did He, As time went on, and the old Squire's strength and spirit, gradually failed him, he graw to loan more and more upon me ; a sure sign that his hard resolves were outliving his physical strength. But no wonder, for those resolve* were constantly propped by crafty words and deeds of apparent devotion from the one enemy of all his good and kindly impulses. Just as if she understood the state of the case, Miss Luxieigh leftoff coming to Westmede; and this served Captain Warder for another argument against Mr. Will, as I knew, because I was so often with my master now. He had grown so to depend upon my always being ready to his call, thit I hrard the tales Captain Warder brought of Mr. Will's past life ; stories, whether true or false, which he simply raked up to widen the present breach, and which fulfilled their purpose with cruel success. If I could by any means have discovered where Mr. Will was, all this time, I would myself have written him an entreaty to return aud put an end to this misery ; but I have shown you wherethose unanswered letfers lay, and no\r they had ceased altogether. Never had the Squire let any one look upon these, and Captain Warder's poison had done its work so well, that the very mention of Mr. Will's name now was enough to throw my master into a stato of suppressed passion which was most dangerous for him in his enfeebled condition. At last, one day — nearly a year had passed since Mr. Will had followed Miss Agn«s from Wfistraede, and though Captain Warder had heard of th<?ir marriage, he said, we did nob kuow whether to believe it or not — the Squire's lawyer came over from Exeter, m a dogcart, which Captain Warder hnd driven in, and spent a long d*y at Westmede, closeted with Mr. Capleton, whose raised unsteady tones readied mo often as I passed the library door. There were many surmises among the servants as to the business in hand, but I never had a doubt at all ; and when I went into the master's room at night (as I always did now, inventing some excuse or other just to see him the last thing, for I pitied him in the soro companion he had in his unquiet conscience,) and he bid me wait for a few minutes, I knew quite well whut he was going to tell me. My guess was right. Squire Capleton had made a new will that day, disinheriting his only son, and leaving the whole of his property to Captain Warder, who was to assume the old name when he took possession of Westmede. 1 stood near my master's chair, listening while he told me all this, and my lips seemed glued together ; for if any sound had escaped them just then, it would have been a cry of anger which would have shut out from me my master's confidence forever. •You henr?' he questioned sharply, when he had finished ; and 1 thought there was a great eagerness, in his sunken eyes — a great eagerness to hear some one say he had done right. 1 1 hear, sir,' 1 said when 1 could speak quietly without exciting him, ' but it signifies little to any of us. It isn't very likely that we old servants will stay at Wesmede to see Captain Warder take our young master's place ; or hear our old master's name to make it hated.' He turned to m«, and his anger was too fierce to be more than instantaneous, and then there dawned upon his poor, weak face a pitiful questioning. ' I've done — the only thing 1 could have done,' he said, his voice rising. * You are a silly, prejudiced woman ; faithful as far as a woman's nature can go, but silly and prejudiced. Go to b' d ' After that 1 threw away all fear of my old master, and talked to him daringly, often and often and often, both of bis eon and Miss Agnes. You see 1 could do them no harm fcbon. He had done bis worst. He could not either nlake them unhappier or leave them more destitute, •o 1 had no longer any fear for the effect of those words which would rise hotly and anxiously to my lips. Sometimes he was almost patient with me, and would murmur the old reply, which he always ottered so very slowly, •1 am glad 1 did it — very glad 1 did it.' But at other times he would loudly and fretfully silence me, ordering me from his presence. Yet— and this was and even to me, because it so plainly betrayed his growing weakness — he would summon me again almost immediately, and presently would once more repeat the old assurance' which it was so plain to see he could not believe, repeat it as constantly as he might.

A<? the winter closed in, Captain Warder hardly left him. Perhaps even ho could «<ce now that the hardenrd spirit was wearing out, as well as the thin bent form, and he feared more than ever to remove his influence. Day by day now my master clung more closely to his old servants jmi-V- frette^T^o~ when 1 left him that 1 got into the habit of bringing my w6rk and my accounts 1o his room mitto naturally ; then of reading to him, as if that had always been part of my day's work ; and bringing him messages from the tenants ; and of getting somehow to make him feel it natural to listen to me while he rested. Then you may be sure 1 let him feel what his people would think if (1 never made it when) they were to have for their master and their landlord, a nan whom they had always honestly disliked, as they honestly disliked Captain Wirder. But though, in time all this grew natural to us, tha Squire would never let me utter two sentences together of Mr. Will's return, or for forgiveness of bin; and Miss A<rnes. At last this day came round— Mr. Will's birthday, and the las'; day of that year which had been so wntched for us all. The Squire had been so icstless and ill the day before, that 1 had sat up in his room all night, and 1 renember noticing with what a start he rosi from his pillows when 1 let in the dajlight, asking me sharply what day it waa Standing beside him— and 1 knew 1 must have looked as anxious as 1 frit — 1 tdd him. And then 1 gontly led him on to recall those happy birthdays, Mr. Wil had always spent at home ; going bacc even to that one when he had taken his baby as a New Year's gift from Hetven. Quite silently he listened to me, but his weak, white fingtrs were pressed upon his eyes. 'Oh. master,' 1 cried, folding my hind" just at if 1 cried to my master in heavai. ' forgive him and bring him horns once more.' Though all its pain his face* darkened with ?reat anger when 1 spoke, aad he sent Qe from him as he had <?o often done before. But when 1 returned 1 found him sitting at the window in the feeble winter sunshine, looking himself more feeble than 1 had ever seen him look before' kit with a gentleness in his face and attitule which almost frightened me by its strong contrast to the passionatr vehemence with which he had dismissed me an hour before. ' Hester,' he «aid, calline mo by the name he had been used to call me when I was a young girl about the house, learning from my mother how to take her place (the place I've filled for fifty years), • Hester, perhaps he will come to-day.' 1 had the hardest work in the world to prevent doing something foolish in my joy at hearing only those fey words. To think that at last he should of hit own accord, and so gently, speak of Mr. Will's return ! Ah, if it could but happen on that very day— that birthday which they had always spent together ! [To be continued.)