CHAPTER IV. CHAPTER V.

Waikato Times, Volume XIX, Issue 1598, 30 September 1882, Page 1

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER Y.

Summer had turned to autumn, and autumn to winter, when, one stormy November night, my father sent for me just before his hour for going to bed. I had heard nothing in the meantime of any syping or listening on Glika's part, or of evil temper on that of Miss Kempsford. Indeed, the latter showed herself so good-humored and pleasant in our daily intercourse, that I began insensibly to discredit the tale I had heard, and it was therefore with no small pleasure that I learned the object of my father's present summons. The room which he now occupied as a study was a smaller and warmer one than that which he used in summer. It was situated in a somewhat isolated portion of the huge rambling pile, and, with his bedroom and dresaingroom, looked out upon a part of the garden which had for some inscrutable reason been cut off from the rest by a high wall. In this wall was a small gate, which was always kept locked, and in the other wall, at the opposite end of the strip, was a corresponding gate, which gave access to the stable-yard. A passage which led past the door of the study also opened upon this little garden, and some distance up this same passage there was a massive door, designed to cut off communication between the three beforementioned rooms and the rest of the house. It was furnished with a shoot-bolt, but, as it was always left open, we had no key for it, and the consequence was that when, as sometimes happened, it was suddenly closed by the wind, the main part of the house could be reached only through the stable yard. So massively was it constructed, however, that only a very violent gust could move it, and though the wind was high to-night, the door showed no signs of moving when I passed through. My reasons for thus particularly describing the locality will be rendered apparent by what followed. I found my father seated before the fire, with one hand resting on the gigantic head of Atlas, the oldest and most favorite of his mastiffs, and the only one which was admitted to the house, " My dear boy," he said, " I feel worse than usual to-night, and I will therefore say what I have to say as briefly as I can. In a word, then — I have repented of the ungracious and superfluous permission which I gave you some tune ago to marry as you choose after my death. By-the-way, though, how do you stand now with Miss Kempsford ?" " I have never asked her yet ; but I do not think her answer would be unfavourable." " Very well then ; I wish to tell you now that I withdraw my objections to the match, though I must confess, my boy, that I would like you to see the end of me first." "My dear father," I cried, "I will never marry while you live !" " It seems hard to bind him thus," he said abstractedly ; " but it will not be for long. Any day — any hour — the Message may come !" There was a pause : while I stood with my hand in his, the wind lulled and there was a deep silence. Then came a low growl from the dog — a sudden and tremendous gust swept round the house, and the great door in tlie passage was closed with a bang like the report of a cannon. Scarcely had the sound ceased to echo when old Atlas sprang to his feet with a thundering bay and rushed to the door, which I opened just in time to hear the closing click of that which led into the garden. Quick as lightning it flashed upon me that the Eussian had been listening again, and, trapped by the unexpected closing of the great door, had fled into the garden ; but remembering almost in the same instant that any excitement might prove suddenly fatal to my lather, I called ijhe dog into the room again and remarked that the noise of the wind must have deceived him. " Very likely," said my father. "He grows old. He kept growling and moaning in his sleep last night, and disturbed me a good deal. You-will have to go round by the yard, at" anyrate, now ; I wish you'd take him with you." IPhis was just what I wanted. I knew that if the Eussian girl was in the small garden she could not get out, as both gates were Looked and the walls were high. But as the night was very dark, and the garden had in it a good -many pines arid gloomy trees of'thatland, the fugitive might easily 'conceal- herself Erpm'my^unassisted.seareh, whereas with" the log Ijjooiewll should findJier.V v'/ ~ 2si r Bidding ;my,r,faliier good night^'l stepped^ outsmtoj|theJ'dOTknessJ Alfcsnrst)Pcquld:jee^ dotliiSg/bbu%^s^^n|^'^c^u^^distinguisl^tHe>«

in o r pacewlthineTand no doubt wondering v what we were about, lifted his head suddenly towards the tree, and, after a preliminary sniff or two, would have raised his mighty voice in warning had I not checked him by a signal which he well understood. I looked up into the tree, but could see only blackness. " Whoever is in that tree," I said in a low voice, i' had better come down!" No answer. " If you do not choose to come down now," I said, " do not attempt it while I am gone. The dog will knock you down and hold you, if you do." Setting Atlas to guard the tree, I made the best of my way to the yard-door, of which I carried a key, and, entering the stables, lighted a lantern. With this I hurried back to the garden, and, holding it high above my head, soon discovered, as I expected, the face of Glika Nasilovitch amongst the branches. White as marble, with hair dishevelled by the wind, and great eyes shining in the pale light of the lantern, she gazed defiantly down at me as she hissed out what I took to be a malediction in her native tongue. "Now that you are discovered," I said quietly, " you may as well come down." " The dog?' she queried. " The dog will not interfere with you now. What is your object in thus lurking and spying about the house?" I continued when she had reached the ground. "You don't do it for amusement, I presume." " Perhaps!" she answered, with a flash of her white teeth. i " In any case I shall not tell you my reasons." " I did not expect that you would." I replied. " You are a woman who could be obstinate to the death; so I shall say no more on that point. I bid you remember, however, that though, for your mistress's sake, I shall not mention this matter, I shall in future keep a sharp look out for eavesdroppers, and will be no way backward in firing at any suspicious object." " Bah I" she exclaimed. "Do you think I fear your pistol ?" " I neither Itnow nor care. But I mean what I say, and I advise you to remember my words. This way 1" I accompanied her through the stable-yard to guard her from the dogs, and as we crossed it we met the groom making his final rounds for the night. " This young woman has been accidentally shut in the little garden, Stubbs," I said to the old fellow, who was staring at us in amazement. " See her to the side door of the house, will you ?" "Yes, sir, answered Stubbs sedately,'but with a sceptical twinkle in his eye that showed he was inclined to put a different construction on the affair. " I wish you to remember, Stubbs," I said to him when he came back, " that should that girl attempt at any time to reach the small garden through your yard, you are to turn her back." " I scarce ever has the garding gate open, sir," said Stubbs, " but I'll allus keep it locked in futur'." " Very well. Good night!" and I left the old man rather at a loss to reconcile my final instructions with the theory which he had at first formed about Glika and myself.

" Giustiniani—Giustiniani 1" said my father next morning, looking up from his Times. "Why, this must be the son of my old Mend Count Giustiniani. You have heard me speak of him, Harry?" " Frequently," I answered. " A Venetian, was he not?" "Yes, and one of the real old Venetian families, which have been identified with Venice since Venice became a city. They claim to take their descent, as they do their name, from the Emperor Justinian. But. my friend had a higher claim to distinction ; he was a man of commanding intellect and vast acquirements, joined to a noble and gentle disposition. I see by the paper that the Count Giustiniani who has just arrived' in London, and who must be the son of my early friend, is also a man of distinguished attainments, though he must be quite young. Let me see ! He was a lad of about five when I knew his father, and that must be fully thirty years ago. By-the-way, Elizabeth, your father was slightly acquainted with the Count, too." "Indeed!" said Miss Kempsford. "He used always to express a great antipathy to foreigners." " He made one exception to his rule, then. Your mother was a foreigner!" " Malta belongs to England!" " Yes, but we are now speaking of race, and not of nominal nationality. But with regard to this Count; I see he has—almost as a matter of course—been in political hot water, and has come to England to avoid a to*o pressing desire on the part of the Austrian Government to cultivate his acquaintance. I think I'll ask him down here. If he's anything like his father you'll be delighted with him, Harry, and you and Elizabeth will be able to air your Italian." "Perhape we shall not understand each other," laughed Miss Kempsford. "The Venetian dialect, I have been told, is very different from pure Italian." " Have no fears on tliat score, young lady. People of the Count's class do not talk in dialect. If your Tuscan will pass muster with him you may be proud of it. I'll write to him at once." And so, in clue course, Count Giustiniani came to Monkton-Edgett, and I made the acquaintance of the most extraordinary man I have ever known. It was not that he was profoundly learned —a distinguished metaphysician, physiologist and ethnologist — —a sound classic and 'an accomplished linguist. These things were remarkable enough in a man scarcely turned of thirty, but what astonished me most was the extraordinary activity of his intellect as distinguished from its capacity. In the discussion of a subject he seemed to seize at one grasp upon all those various aspects of the question which, with the ordinary thinker, are successively suggested the one by the other. He would follow another man's train of thought, anticipate his arguments, and actually present him with the refutation of his case before it could be clothed in words. I have not only experienced this myself, but have been frequently amused at the astonish,ment of other and more pretentious dialecticiansat finding their mental processes traced with a fidelity ..that savoured of magip, and their positions^ demolished before they could bo stated. - '""': , Still there was'nothing dogmatic or pretentious about the manl, an<this quiet courtesy of manner accorded welj^vrith'what would, have been a noble and Btriking^ physique but for it's owner's utjfer^indiffereiijee to personal adornment. His figure was stall and spare, but powerful, vwith a slight stoop in the, shoulders, caused apparently by his habit, of walking with his hands clasped behind him, head bentdown^and eyes fix&l reflectively frn. ) And what' eyeß-tthoser,' were! JDwge^almY'mild yet, penetratingl, and dfthat ?sof issp different from Beady blackness; characteristiclof,

Mend," said my father, as he welcomed the visitor and introduced him to Miss Kempsford, who could scarcely refrain from laughing at the oddity of the Count's attire. My father saw her amusement, and frowned, but in truth there was some excuse tot her. From his black cravat, tied all on one side in an immense and slovenly bow, the Count's huge shirt-collar rose almost to his ears; his illfitting frock coat was buttoned awry, and his tight check trousers, a world too short for him, were separated from his low shoes by fully six inches of rough worsted sock. But, supremely unconscious of the shortcomings of his outer man, the Count fixed an ethnologic eye on Elizabeth Kempsford's features, and covered that young lady with confusion by abstractedly muttering — " Tinge of Arabic blood there, to a certainty ! Maltese perhaps 1" with which he gravely followed the servant out of the room. This habit of talking to himself, we soon found, was only indulged in by our visitor during occasional lapses into scientific abstraction, and though naturally the most couiteous of men, he would become at such times temporarily oblivious of his surroundings, and say exactly what was passing through his mind. He had with him an Italian servant — a litfclo, shrill, mercurial Neapolitan, and Baldovino, as his name was, looked upon his master as incontestably the greatest personage in the t world. He was never weary of expatiating hi the most astonishing broken English upon the merits of " II Signor Coute," who, by-lhe-way, spoke our language perfectly himself, and even used it in preference to his own. " The English is a noble language," he said to me, in answer to a remark on the subject, " and it is idle to depreciate it because it is so composite in its construction. All languages are thus built up, though the process may bo less apparent in some than in others. But, putting that out of the question, the English tongue plays far too important a part in the affairs of the world to be undervalued or slighted on any such hypercritical or abstract grounds. It is already, far more than any other, in u&e by those to whom it is not the mother tongue, and if the world shall ever have a universal language — that language" will be English I" (To be continued.)