CHAPTER XIII. THE LITTLE ONE.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2131, 6 March 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XIII. THE LITTLE ONE.

There was no one down to breakfast the next morning when George Manners went away— no one but Mrs Manners, who felt uneasy about him ; and when sho heard him stirring at a very early hour in the morning, she rose quietly to see after his comfort and welfare. 'Why, mother,' he said, iv surprise, when he entered the diving-room, where she already had a bright fire burning to receive him, ' you dou't mean to say you are up at this time of day ?' ' I didn't know what train you were going by, dear,' she answered ; ' and so I got up to see after your breakfast. But Georgie, I hope you have cluuged your mind about leaving at all ?" ' No ; I start by the seven traiu to Oldcastle, and by the express South. Mrs Manners looked at him as he spoke, and in his haggard face read all he had suffered. ' The change will do you good,' she said, without further comment ; ' but be sure you take care of yourself my dear, when you are away.' 'Oh yes.' Tho waggonette came round iv a few minutes to take him to the station — for George had given his orders the' night before— and iv a quarter of an hour he was gone, leaving Mrs Manners auxious aud distressed on his accouut, but still hopeful that the cloud which had come between her son and the woman she so plainly saw he loved, might pass away. Wheu the Vicar and Adelaide appeared they naturally felt tho greatest astonishment ou on hearing that he had left ; and Adelaide's lip curled when Mrs Manners began explaining, in a very hesitating and unconnected manner that business, 'important business,' had suddenly called him away.' 'Of course,' said she, sarcastically, ' papa and I perfectly believe that, no letter or messenger of any kind has arrived, and when he came ye3torday he fully intended staying a day or two, and was going to Hugh's to-night. * Papa, I believe our family has received a great honour. I believe your lovely governess has refused your son.' • Don't talk nonsense, Adelaide,' said the Vicar, sharply. ' You will see. Poor Georgie ! it is a proper reward for his folly. I wonder where this enchantress is. Does she usually co.ne down to breakfast at ten ?' ' She cannot be well, I am afraid,' said Mrs Manners, and rang for one of the maids to take some breakfast up to Miss Williams and to enquire how she was. The answer came — ' Miss Williams was very poorly and was not able to get up;' so after breakfast was over Mrs Manners went up stairs to see after her. She found her lying with a white, worn face, complaing of a dreadful headache aud looking really exceedingly ill. 'My dear,' said she kindly, ' I am sorry to see you like this.' ' Oh, I'll be butter presently, MYs Manners ; if my headache were only gone I would not feel quite so stupid. 1 'George is gone,' said Mrs Manners looking at her steadily; aud a hurtling blush spread over her face down to her very throat, the moment Mis Mauncr.s had spoken. ' Uxme '' said she, in a very faint, low voic. • Yes, to London ; I don't know when he may be back.' Miss Williams made no answer ; she only aiglied heavily, and moved uneasily in the bed. ' Perhaps you will be better alone, dear,' said Mrs Manners, considerately. ' Try to get a little sleep. ' But none came to her aid, and Mrs Manners had no sooner closed the door than tears, bitter streaming tears, began pouring down her face ; turning her head upon the pillow, she strove to suffocate the sobs which rose with overwhelming force. He was gone then without a word ; and she thought that he loved her — had pitied him because beloved her so well. ' Oh, George ! I would hive trusted you,' she said, half a loud. ' I would not have cast you off for a few false words.' She was too restless and unhappy to lie still, and came down to luncheon about one o'clock, shivering, and looking looking so ill, even that Adelaide Manners felt sorry for her, but wished at the same time that her cousin Hugh could see her as she was now. 'What cm they admire about her?' thought Adelaide, glancing again and 'again at the worn and weary face before her. ' But I trust, at auy rate, George's folly is ended now.' ' You will be able to go to tho Hall I hope to-night, Miss Williams?' said Mrs Manners in her kind way, after vainly pressing tho governess to eat ; but Mi&3 Williams shook her head. 'No Mrs Manners,' she said, ' I have luckily nothing to do, and therefore Sir Hugh will never miss me.' 'Oh, but I'm sure he will. You mu&t try to go. If you were to lie down for a little while vow, you would get up quite fresh by five.' But Miss Williams was firm. 'I could not — I really could not,' she said ; and as tears rose in her eyes as she spoke, Mrs Manners thought it best to let her have her own way. All the children were to go, even Bonny. Yet the child was not well. She had a cold, Mrs Manners said, and proposed that she would stay at home to keep Miss Williams company. But spoilt little Bonny burst into tears at the very mention of such a thing. ' She would go and see Hugh's tree,' she said, 'and Willy should go to.' So Mrs Manners, who never had strength of mind to refuse her darling anything, gave way and the ' little one ' went with the rest, Dinner was to be at six o'clock at the Hall, and the children's party afterwards ; aud when they were all gone, Miss Williams felt utterly lonely and unhappy. She went out into the bleak garden for a few minutes, and wandered up and down the damp dark walks. She thought of going to see the poor sick girl at the village, but the overpowering selfishness of her sorrow was too great. ' How can I talk to her of resignation and hope,' sho thought, 'when I ha\c none ! How can I comfort her, who am so miserable aud wretched myself ?' Weary in a short time of the dreary garden, she leturned to the house. A cheerful fire was burning in the diningroom, but she took a caudle aud went up to the unlighted drawing-room, and fouud among some others lying on the table Mrs Manners' photograph book. She knew \\ ho bhe would fiud there — George, in velvet jacket and falling collar, with rosy cheeks and smooth brown hair —George at ten, then a handsome lad in college cap and gown, with a bright careless, smiling face. Then George as he

was now— grave, thoughtful, but handsome still. ' How handsome !' thought the pale-faced governess, and stooped down and kissed the broad, square brow, the original of which was aching that moment, how wearily ! far away. She carried this book upstairs to her own room, ami then unlocking her desk, took out of it a morocco case. For a moment she hesitated and laid it on the table as if she shrank from opening it. Then suddenly changing her mind, she touched the spring, and gazed at the portrait it contained, long and earnestly. It was that of a man, young aud handsome, wearing a full-dress military uniform, and was beautifully executed. But it was not a pleasant face. There wm something Jewish (but slightly developed though) in the shape of this dark, selfish, sensual countenanc, which looked out at you with a sullen, half-defiant expression, as if conscious of misdeeds and treachery which he dared you to discover. He seemed to be about twenty-nine or thirty years of age, and M r ore a heavy moustache, and was leaning in the portrait, which was half-length, on the handle of his sword, grasping it with a strong white bony hand, with a grasp 'with looked of iron, Presently Miss Williams laid ' tHis picture side by side together on the table with that ot" George— of George as he wais now— looking from one to the other. Then' with sudden passion she caught up that of the soldier and flung it angrily on the floor. ' Would I had never seen you ?' she said—' would I had died' before I had ever seen your face !' — the selfish, sensual face, that seemed to look at her from the ground with a cold and hateful smile. She glanced at it onco more, then crushing it violently with the heel of her boot, broke the glass in a hundred piece?. • May I 'never sec you again 1' sho eried — ' never, never !' and sho lifted tip the disfigured and broken portrait, and flung it into the fire which was burning brightly on the hearth, watching it eagerly until the ihines had totally con« suincd it ; anil then with a deep long &igh, she turned away, and, going to the table, knelt down and laid her head on George's picture. ' I may not be worthy of you, George,' 6>he said, in a low sad tone. 'I am not worthy of you, my dear ; But God grant — oh ! God grant that I may never see that man again. 1 Sho heard them come home—lyinggrieving and heartsick — hearS them l.mghiug and talking, and she felt that sho was forjrotton by them all. ' What <tm Ito them ?' she thought, ♦ a stranger and ill ; what do they o ire V But presently there came a little tap at the door, and the sweet childish face of Milly looked inquiringly in. ' Are you asleep !-' she askod ia a whisper. ' No/.Milly. What is it ?' ' I came to see how j f ou were,' said the child, advancing into the room, and looking beautiful in the ball dress which George had chosen. ' I cime to see how your head was, and to know if there was anything you would like to take. Mamran told me to ask.' ' It ia aching very much, Milly.' 'Oh 'i I'm so sorry ; and so, so sorry you weren't there. It was beautiful — splendid ! And oh, Miss Williams, look what Hugh pave me off the tree,' and she held up the locket with the cross of pearl, on which he had written her name the night before. ' Isn't it lovely ?' continued Milly, in raptures : ' nnd renl gold too. I asked Husrh. and ho said it wa«.' ' It is very pietty, Milly.' ' And — -uul, Misi Williams, I've got a message for you,' ' Ami who \-i that from ?' 'From Hugh; He told me to say — oh, so many things ; but fh\sfc was, he hoped lie hid not v&xod you, aud how .sorry ho wa.s you wore ill. He s lid I was to say that he would spc jou uud expl.tin. Yes. I think that was what lie Mid ; but I couldn't quite understand him, because ho said it was a secret — a secret between you two, and he said it would always be a secret if you wished it. I was to be sure to ietuember th il; aud he «aid also you were to have your present off the Christmas tree, and he sent you this ; and lie hoped you would like it better than the ear-rings which he chose for you last night.' And Milly produced from the pocket of her dress a hanlsome locket Bet with turquoises. ' I cannot take that, Milly.' 'Oh ! but you must ; everyone got (Something. Mamma got such a lovely bag, and Lidy Lilbourne, and their governess, and everyone ; so why shouldn't you ? Hugh said you were to take it. 1 'You must give it back to him for me." 'Oh no, do take it,' urged the child. ' See how pretty it is— almost the prettiest thing thero was there. 1 ' Well Milly, I shall give it back to Sir Hugh myself — perhaps that would be better.' ' No, you must keep it. Hugh was so nice— not a bit cross as ho sometimes is. I wish you had seen him ; and he told me not to let Adelaide see your locket, because — and he laughed and said soinothiu<r fuuny.' ' What did he say Y IHe said — only you mustn't tell Adelaide — that a woman was always jealous of anyone who whs prettier thau herself, and that Adelaido was jealous of you ; and so she is — at least Dolly is always saying so.' 'And how often did you dance with Sir Hugh to have all this conversation ?" 'Oh ! ever so many times. But I'll tell you till about it. Well, we had dinod hist— only jiiht as you know, and before wo had finished the other people began to come ; then we had tea, laid out in the room where- wo had tea that night we went with Georgie, long ago. Then Hugh said ' Now gentlemen, choose your partners,' and we went into the big dining-room to dance. Oh ! it Jooked such a size, with almost everything taken out, and at one end— the far end — was the Tree. Oh, Miss Williams, if you had seen it ! All bright and shining, and glittering with hundreds and hundreds of candles — and such lovely things — dolls, and rings, and ear-rings, and hoops, aud balls, and all .sorts of toys ; and I cannot tell what else, hanging in rows on the branches But we only looked at them then ; aud then we danced — ever so long ; and after that an old man-serrant threw open a door just beside the tree, and we went into another room for supper— such a beautiful supper !— turkeys, and jellies, and ices, and everything — and such lota of crackers, funny ones, you know, and all kinds. Then Hugh came and took me back first into the dining-room again, to be the fairy to dispense the gifts, ho said ; and he handed all the pretty things off the tree to me, aud told me who I was to give them to. So I gave them away, and everyone laughed, and tho boys hurrahed and made such a noise ; and then we danced again — and then — yes, that was all, we camo away.' ' You must bave had a pleasant night of it, Milly.' ' Oh yes ! but I was so sorry you woro not there. I thought of you, ani wished you were — you iiul Geoigie.' ' You were a giol little girl, not to forget your fii<-uds, among all the fine people.' ' How could I do that ?' answered the child, innocently. ' I coald never forget you and Georgie.' ' George should have been there.' ' I wish he hud, I wonder what he is doing now.' 'A«leep, MUly, J thculd, think— asleep.'

' Perhaps he's dreaming of us, said the child, and her governess sighed as she spoke. Tho next morning Miss Williams heard the tame account from every one of Sir Hugh's party. It had been a success, and Sir Hugh's himself had been everything that a host could be. Adelaide came down to breakfast wearing the massive gold bracelet he had presented to her, looking flushed, excited and happy. She even condescended to speak to Miss Williams, and asked her after her health. ' You should have been there : it was the prettiest sight !' she continued— 'Oh ! se different to the party in the schoolroom here. The noble room looked so well — it needed no paltry decorations. Certainly Hugh knows how to do a thing well when he does it — doseu't he, papa V ' Hugh has eleven thousand a year," replied the Vicar, with a shrug. 1 Ah ! — but it isn't money — it's — and she paused. She was in too good a humour as even to insult her stepmother. ' All the children looked well and happy after their gaiety but Bonny. Bouny's face was flushed and her head ached, and she cried, very unlike her usual goodnatured fat little self, when Dolly accidentally touohod her armjat the breakfast table— cried, and would not be com* forted, and finally sobbed herself to sleep upon her.motbor's knee. At dinner it was the same thing. She was cross and peevish, and could not oat, and complained of sore throat ; and Mrs Manners began to look at her. anxiously as the day wore on, and at night she grew even more restless and fretful, ' I ara afraid Bonny is very poorly,' said Mrs Manners coming into tho schoolroom where Miss Williams and tho two eldest children were sitting, about eight o'clock in tho evening. 'I wish, ray doar, you would come with mo and nee what you think.' Miss Williams rose and followed Mrs Manners at once to tho nursery, where Milly and Bonny slept., and she aud the anxious mother stood for a few moments in silence by bon-litUe ->Got tho sleeping cbikE Bonny was lying with br>th her arms thrown over the-bedelofheH, -ami her face was deeply flushed ; and while they were standing she began to talk in a atrange, unnatural voice in her *J.eep. 'Sho is very hot,' said Misi Williams, iv a whisper. 'She's feverish, I am afraid,' answered Mrs Williams. Miss Williams looked round at Milly, who was also asleep in a cot at tho other side of tho room, with her perfect face, placid and holy as an angel's, turned towards them • and so lovely did »ho look at that moment that she could not repress her admiration. ' How beautiful sho is !' hhc said. ' Yes ;' and Mrs Manners glanced round for a second, but tho next her eyes turned back to her sick darling. " I don't like Bonny's looks,' she said ; ' I must have the Vicar up to see her. ' ' The child's got a feverish cold ; don't bothor yourself about her, Nelly,' said Mr Manners, when he had been brought up to inspect his youngest daughter. 'At all events, let us be on the safe side,' said Miss Williams. ' Let me carry Milly, Mrs Manners, to my bed for the night.' 'If you enjoy having your rest disturbed by a kicking child, certainly,' answered the Vicar. 'It is very goodnatured of you to propose it, Miss Williams ; but my advice, for your sake, would be — let her alone.' 'It never would disturb me to have Milly,' replied Mi.»s Williams, with a smile; and so Milly, only half awake was carried in a shawl to her room, and Mis Manners slept in the nursery beside her darling. Iv the morning, however, there was no longer any donbfc that Bonny was ill. Tii" child was evidently in a fever, and seemed so 11 eely conscious, and was unable to be completely roused ; and the neighbouring doctor having been hastily summoned, he at ouce pronounced it to be a c.w: of scarlet fever. When this alarming news spread through the household, Adelaide immediately declared she mus^ leave. Scarlet fever was fatal, sho said, to grown-up people, and she was not going to risk the chance of infection. 1 Where shall I go, papa ?' she asked, with an anxious face. ' And your sisters, Adelaide,' replied the Vicar, ' would yon leave them V ' It is not dangerous — at least not so dangerous for children ; and besides I havo no doubt Mrs Manners has brought the infection into the house by having all those horrid people about,' answered his daughter. ' You heard the doctor say'thore was no case in the village,' said the Vicar, ' bo you need not say that.' ' I don't believe in doctors — and I am determined to go.' ' No one wishes to keep you, my dear, so don't alarm yourself. But as my other children are. also to be considered you need not bo in such haste.' At this point of the conversation, Sir Huijh, with his gun and doge, waa eceu coming up the avenue. ' There is Hugh !' cried Adelaide, running to the door. • I must stop him ;he must not come in.' But when in a hurried manner she explained, as she opened the hall door for her cousin, that he must not enter, Sir Hugh only laughed at her terror. 'Don't be such a child, Adelaide,' he Said. • What folly ! I'm not inoro likely to take it than the ro^t. I hope that little I Milly wou't, though. Where is my uncle :' 'In the dining-room. Ob, Hugh, what a risk for you to run !' ' Nonsense, nonsense. Well, uncle, so you have got a little invalid upstairs, I hear ?' 'Yes; and Adelaide ' then the Vicar prudently paused. He had no wish to stop his daughter's matrimonial ud* vancement for any little private opinion of his own — 'and Adelaide,' he added, ' is very anxious about infection lor the rest of the children, and apparently for you.' ' Like an amiable cousin, as she k,' said Sir Hugh, looking round at her with a smile. ' Well, it is dangerous,' said Adelaide, blushing. ' A bright idea has struck me,' went on Sir Hugh. ' Suppose you, Adelaide, the youngsters, and their governess come up to the Hall ? I kuow it's no use asking Mrs Manners, who, of course, won't leave her darling ; but if you, uncle, will come too, and put up with a bachelor's fare, I need scarcely say how welcome you will be ; and stay as long as you like of course, eveu if if am not there. It's Adelaide's old home, you know, and I can leave her as chatelaine to you all.' Adelaide coloured with pleasure as her cousin said this. 'It is too good of you, Hugh,' she said ; too unselfish to be bothered with a lot of children.' ' Don't you know my future wife's among them ? Milly has promised to marry me, uncle, when sho is eighteen, if I'm a good boy— a very good boy, she says, till then ;of which, I confess, she seemed to havo some reasonable doubt.' ' Well, Hugh, if you mean your offer, I dou't see how they could do better,' said the Vicar, who saw a pleasant prospect of saviug his pocket by accepting it. 'Of course I mean it. Come at once ; I leave the arrangement of beds, rooms, etcetera, to Adelaide, who knows all the resources of the old place.' 'I of course shall btay at bo we,'

answered Mr Manners, 'but I thank yon heartily, Hugh, for thinking of it ' 1 1 won't make anj polite speeches, but it's a pleasure to me, I assure you — are you not my own peopl«? Ah! Miss Williams ' — for that young lady at this moment entered the room, not knowing Sir Hugh was there — ' I hope you are better ? I was truly sorry not to see you the other night, and truly iorry nho for tho cause. I hope the head is quite well now ?' ' Yes, thank you,' answered Mi«B Williams. 'It was you, Mr Manners.' she continued, ' I wished to see. Dr. Ruthven said Bonny's medicine had to be sent for at once, and Mrs Manners told me to ask you to send James for it,' 'To be sure, said the Vicar, ' and there's an invitation come for you already this morning.' 'It is from me,' said Sir Hugh. ' I hear you have got fever in the house, so I have asked my cousins — and I am glad to say that they have accepted — to come up to the Hall until all danger of infection is past, and I hope you will accompany them.' ' You are very kind, Sir Hugh ; but I am going to stay with Mrs Manners, to help to nurse Bonny. ' ' But there is danger in that, is there not, for a young person like you ?' 1 1 do not know, Ido not think of it ; but if there were ever so much I would not leave her. I could aot leave Mrs Manners alone.' •It is very unselfish of you, said Sir Hugh, looking at the governess fixedly. He was wondering what could be her motive. ' Mrs Manners is happy in having inspired you with so much affection,' no continued. 'She has been very kind to me,' answered Miss Williams, simply. ' I could not think of leaving her just now.' 'It is very creditable to you, that is all I can say,' sud the Vicar. • I don't believe much in infection myself, except with children in such a case as this, but still both my wife aud I feel very much obliged to you, Miss Williams.' 'lnmst be the loser then,' said Sir Hugh, with a touch of admiration in his voice ; ' and I can only assure Miss Williams how much I shall — how much we all shall — regret her absence. But, Adelaide, I must be going It is eleven now, by twelve I hope to sec the whole of you at the Hall -my little wife included. Mind tell her not to forget our engagement.' And with a general bow to them all, Sir Hugh took up his gun, whistled for his dogs and went away. (To be (ontinurd).