CHAPTER XLIII.

Waikato Times, Volume XIX, Issue 1628, 9 December 1882, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XLIII.

When I arrived at Cintra on the following afternoon, I found the Count preparing to escort Euth Stone into town. Harrison, it appeared, had waylaid her that morning, not far from the house, and, becoming extremely violent at her refusal to listen to him, had been only prevented from striking her by a gentleman who happened to ■ come up at the time. A gentleman whom, from the description given of him, I conjee- ' tured to be the ponderous Mr. Fysshe. "A solemn-faced young man of about twenty-eight," said the Count, " with a formal manner, and a painfully elaborate style of expressing himself. '.Appearances' he said to me, l pointed, when I made a fortuitous appearance on the scene, to the conclusion that the unmanly miscreant was about to proceed to manual violence.' I found it difficult to keep my countenance as I listened to him." . " That was Fysshe, beyond all doubt," I said; "and his ' fortuitous appearance,' as he called it, was certainly lucky lor Buth. Of course she will let her father know of this." . "Yes. It is for that purpose she. is now going to town. Perhaps you will take charge , of her; you know that 'squire of dames' is not my mitier." > . % To this, I readily consented, and, as we journeyed, towards .Melbourne, Buth gave me the particulars of the occurrence. " Thou knowest," she said, V that Paola and myself feve been in the habit of walking out together every forenoen, Jbut, ss Paola was not very well this morning,' I went forth'alone. .Beuben Harrison must' have been watching, ? for scarcely had I got out- of sight of 'the. , house, when he jumped over a fence and stood . before me.- > What he said-I , need not ■ repeat to thee; it WftB,,both> wicked) and ;-Unjust,^ee^ . ing I have never,-encour&&ed him in*ny wHy; (• butj' when , I ,inBwted-,:on;, leaving , hun ( he ; seized' me bytheiarm andtibreatenedio'strike, me, asd venly jbelieye'.he,>would have, done, ' ibutthat.thetyo.urigi.man of ..thefstrange speech; ; ' t cain£ up?anijTp*6y'entsl hirn^ > "<V - ?'' z, si. ' b t '< r . X This'person^ (.

Friend. But' not quite ; with an effort Silas smoothed his brow, controlled his indignation, and said, as he rang a handbell : j " Verily the old Adam is strong in me still. I will not act in anger ; but the young man hath grievously offended. He must go! Send Reuben Harrison hither," he said to the clerk who answered the bell. "Nay, friend, do not go I" he added to me, as I rose to withdraw. " I have nothing to say that all the world might not hear. Beuben," he went on, in calm, quiet tones, when Harrison, sulky and defiant, had made his appearance, " thou hast exhausted my patience at last. Get thee gone from my doors forthwith 1" " Where to ?" " Whither thou wilt. I will not send thee away penniless, but go thou shalt, this very day 1" "What's all this about? What have I done ?" asked Harrison, beginning to bluster* " 1 need not recount unto thee what thou knowest already," said Stone. " Thou hast done that which must part thee and me 1" "Oh, I sec!" returned the fellow, scowling furiously at me, " that chap has been stuffin' you with a lot of lies ; but let him" " What I have heard I have heard from my daughter," said the Quaker, interrupting him him with a wave of his hand. " Even if thou has the hardihood to accuse her of falsehood, it will avail thee nothing ; go thou shalt— l haveflaidit!" Harrison turned white with rage. " I'll make you all sweat for this, he said, " all three of you I And there's plenty of women in the world besides your hypocritical little cat of a" "Take heed what thou sayestl" interrupted Stone, striding suddenly up to him. " Mention not my daughter's name but with due respect, lest thou provoke me to shame myself by smiting thee to the floor 1" "Eemember the religion of peace, father," said Euth, laying her hand on the arm of, Silas, as Harrison, terrified at a mocd in' which he had never before beheld the Quaker, slunk back, like the our he was. " I do remember it, Euth," said her father, controlling himself with an effort. "It is that alone which hath saved him from broken bones. Come to me in an hour," he added to Harrison, " when I have brought myself once more into feelings of charity towards thee, as towards all men, and I will provide thee with sufficient moneys to secure thee, for a reasonable time, against want. And remember that if thou dost any further molest my daughter, I will hand thee over unto the law. I think not that he will trouble thee more, Buth," he went on, when Harrison had left the room, " but thou hadst better not walk forth unaccompanied for some little time. My daughter saith, friend Baymond, that thou art acquainted with the person who interfered in her behalf." "Mr Fysshe ; yes, I know him slightly." " Convey to him, I pray thee, my hearty thanks, when next thou speakest with him, and Bay that if I can serve him in any lawful and reasonable manner, he will not find Silas Stone ungrateful." This I promised to do, and, happening to be in Melbourne again the same evening, I called at the office of the Century, in order to ascertain from Shuter where Fyssho was to be found. • "Lives in Fitzroy," said Shuter, whom I found hard at work, in his stuffy little sanctum. " Nicholson-street, I think ; but you wouldn't find him there now. Try at the office of his paper — the Telephone" " I wish to see him on a matter that is not without interest for you," I said, and went on to give Shuter an account of the episode between Euth and Harrison. "By Jove !" he exclaimed when I had finished. " Poor little thing 1 Infernal scoundrel 1 Capital fellow 1" — which apparently contradictory expressions, I had no difficulty in referring to the three persons concerned respectively. " Owe old Fysshe one for that. Wish Euth's father would let me take charge of her for good. Haven't seen her for an age!" " Why don't you call at Cintra, then," I asked." Count Giustiniani would be glad to see you. He says he met you once." "Yes; at a meeting of the Eoyal Society. Liked him much. Glad to cultivate the acquaintance. Can't come to his house, though, while Ruth Stone is there." "Don't think me inquisitive if I ask you the reason." "Just this ; Stone doesn't want me to continue my acquaintance with his daughter. Got some strange prejudice against the inkslinging fraternity. Used to go to his house, you know. Discountenanced my visits though, when he found I was taking a fancy to Euth. Know he expects me to keep away from her. Under no promise — but consider myself bound all the same." " Your scruples do you honour," I said, "but I think I see an easy way out of the difficulty ; that is, if Stone has no objectidn to you personally." " Not the least. Bather likes me, I think. What's your plan ?" " Simply this ; get rid of his objection to you as a journalist— by being a journalist no longer!" "Give up journalism!" said Shuter, running both hands through hjs unruly brown hair, and staring at me with all his eyes. "Bread and butter, my dear fellow I—don't1 — don't forget the bread and butter !" "I don't forget it. Accept Mucklebody's .proposal, and you'll have better bread and butter than you're ever likely to get out of a newspaper." , Shuter meditatively pulled his moustache. " Poor old Muckle," he said. " Swears he 11 make me his heir, whether I will or not." , ' " Very few men would hesitate to takesiich a pleasant way to their wishes',", I answered. " You mil not be wronging anybody, eitb.er, for I have heard Mucklebody sayi that, 'as;far as he knows, he has not a relative in the world. So think it well over," I , added, as, I rose to go, "As far as my opinion goes, it is , obviously the,' right thing.to do." Arrived at th*e TelepJione office, I was shown into a large,, untidy-looking apartment,' fur-, hished with chipped, 'and ink-stained desks,' high wooden stools, and dustY files of news- 1 papers. Broken pens, and, loose' sheets *pf paper, were spattered about iii?all directions; anddoggrel wees were scribbled on" this vyaii;' whioh was further decorated, above t the ,fire-, place, with' a, great variety of rough caricature 31 sketches! This vfas s the reporter's fpop; and Mr. Fysshe, seated , on one' 1 of . the [ aforesaid high stools, Happened at the time to; be its only.occupant/, ' ' •'•-•"-/- Made acquainted with; my, errand, he ,ex^ pressed, 'with 'his, usual magriUoquencey^his^ ,tance, and I was about to^tate^my^ea^e, off 'him,' whe^myj^y^ ,yas 'c^^g^by^a'^rJbraW %i) 'jSyishe'hjmself ) figOTiittg'p^minentlyamongiiit* the 'wo^'of ;arjS; Ib^fote^mentip^edl /^aw^| dature^a striking „li]};eipf,' and .-wa^^abelled.

which, I feel bound to observe, was appended by the artist himself. Warwick wad my mother's patronymic." " May I ask— as it is not a. common name — if you have ever had a relative in the ■ Guards ?" " My mother's elder brother, I have heard, was at one time in the Grenadier Guards, but, as his proclivities were unfortunately of a disreputable character, his career terminated in self-expatriation, and his subsequent history is enveloped in impenetrable obsourity." " I have stumbled on another link with the past, then," I said to myself, as ,1 heard Fysshe thus describe, in his ludicrously stilted phraseology, the circumstances whioh identified his mother's brother with the Lieutenant Warwick who had been ruined by my wife's father. " Am I justified in inferring from your inquiry," said Fysshe, after a pause, " that you are cognisant of any particulars in connection with my' long-lost relative's subsequent career?" "By no means 1" I answered. But, as it happens, I have heard my father speak,' in days long Jpast, of this very Lieutenant Warwick — your uncle." " Indeed 1 Well, if he is not defunct, he must by this time have arrived at a somewhat advanced stage of existence. He had disappeared some ten years before my mother irrevocably severed her connection with her only remaining brother, by contracting a matrimonial alliance with my father, who was a professor of the art of elocution." "And whose elocutionary tastes have taken a very absurd direction, in the person of his son 1" I said to myself, ad I took my leave. " I was never so be- worded in my life ; the man is a walking. paragraph I"