CHAPTER XX. PARTED.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2149, 17 April 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XX. PARTED.

Amy Williama — for it ia beat for the present to retain her assumed name— rose the next morning with a certain feeling of relief in her mind.. For \reeka past — ever since she fonnd Sir Hugh Manners knew her secrets — the had lived in cpntinual dread lest he should betray his knowledge to his cousin George,, whose honourable nature, she knew too well, would consider the fact of h,er marriage, doubtful though it may be, a bar to separate them for evtr. She had not, however, always intended to deceive him. Again and again, during the earlier period, of her acquaintance, and when she had seen George's admiration gradually ripening into lore, she ha.d contemplated telling him the truth. Bu}> soon her own feelings became too deeply involved for such self-sacrifice, anti her mind, untutored ia early life to a. high standard of honour or morality, shrank from the very idea of separation ; And after Sir Hugh, in George's hearing made his first allusion to his previous acquaintance with her story, her strangest wish beoaine the hope that, by appealing to his pity and generosity, she could bind him to secrecy, and thus be able to retain George's affection. She did not, however, even to herself defend her conduct. She knew it was very weak, and very wrong; but she knew also her life was so lonely and unhappy, and that George loved her so dearly, and wild visions of marrying her and living hidden, away with him for ever ; wild hopes that perhaps, some day at least, she 'might be frep, began to talie possession of her heart, and though she had not admitted, this to, jSir Hugh, th.c unconsciously had betrayed it to him, and after he had parted with her it naturally recurred to her roind. 'She means to marry him/ said Sir Hugh tp, himself. • Well, deuce., tafee it, after all George might get a worse wife than a pretty woman who loves.pir n; and, besides, I've bound myself nqt to interfere.' Little, howavar, .did~Mi*» -Williams or Sir Hugh imagine that this very interview, from which she bad hoped and expected so muoh, had put a final end to all George's uncertainty, and that when she was. pleasing herself with delusive hopes of soon meeting him again, he was forming a determined reiolotiou to break off all connection with her whatever; convinced that a woman who would carry on a secret correspondence with Hugh Manners, was no fit wife for an honest man. Ignorant, however, of this, she rose on the following morning with a lighter and happier heart, and reproaching herself somewhat for having neglected her duties of late, she went earlier than usual to Mrs Manner's room, to »»k about' making- some preparations for the children's return, is they were expected home during tho day. She 'found Mrs Manners/ reading n

letter, which aho hastily thrust into the pocket of her dress as Miss Williams entered, and Miss Williams wm atruok also with a shade of coldness in her man* ncr, whioh she had certainly never observed before. She talked to her, however, about the necessary ohangea, bat looked at her more frequently than usual, and a sort of uneasiness—discomfort rather—entered at once into Miss Williams' mind. 'Could sho know anything ?' she thought. ' Had Sir Hugh played her false after ailP But no, it was impossible — it mast be fancy ;' so she went on with her preparations, and kept wondering if Mrs Manners's letter was from George. During the afternoon they all returned. Adelaide did not vouchsafe her even the most diatan^ salutation, when she ran down to receive them, but swept paat her, and went at onco up to her own room. The throe young girls, however, were us affcctiopato as usual; and the Vicar, who had been up to the ball to fetch them, talked to her in this ordinary marmot. • , ; " Thoohildren werea little affected— all of them, but MiHy the moat ao— when they, went into the nursery and satfipoor Bonny '•„ bed wag, gone, i£ome natural tears they »he 4, .but wiped them,«oon, t^he world was all before them ;' otrfy in the poor mother's h^nrt the 'little one* place could never be filled again. ' When is George, ooming ?' asked Dolly during their early tea ;, and. Mist , WitHams noticed that Adelaide Msnners's lips curled as her siater asked the question. 1 1 do not know, my dear,' replied Mrs Manners, gravely; and then she suid quickly, as if designing to change the subject of conversation — * And ao you liked being at the hall, Milly ?' lOh yes, mamma, so much ;' answered the little girl, eagerly; 'and Cousin Hugh says I'm always to live there when I grow— he's going to marry me.' ,'God forbid, my darling', said i Mrs Manners, and sho glanced anxiously first at Mias Williams, and $hen at Adelaide. as she spoke. . : 'Oh, but,- mamma, he's very nice,' said Milly. ; ' Isn't he nice, Dolly V i ■<• 'Except when he's dull,' answered Dolly, oracuUrly. JHe vwed to b» dull sometimes, but when he wasn't he. was really very nice,' ' Milly mustn't leave her mamma, -said Mrs Manners ; and then tears rose in her eyes, for she remembered bow her other little darling had clung to her at the end. Milly got up from her seat, and came round and laid her head against her mother's shoulder. 'Don't cry, mamma,' she whispered, ' I won't leave you.' 1 Will you come oxtt for a little walk after tea, before the Vicar comes home, dear Mrs Manners V said Miss Williams, kindly. 'rfo, 'thank you, Miss Williams,') she answered ; and then in a different tone, she added the next minute. ' No, thank you, my dear ; for I never can, nothing will ever make me, forget all your kind-; ness to my' little Bonny.' Miss Williams looked at her in surprise. ,' I— I hope, Mrs Manners,' she said, hesitatingly ; and then she paused, and as she did so Adelaide , Manners ..rose abruptly and left theroom. „ ' I do not understand how things ara going,' said Mrs , Manners, nervously. Y l'm sure I thought, ' ' What, dear Mrs Manners ?' 'That it was all right between you two — you know who I mean,' she continued, nodding at the children ; ' but things always seem to go contrary.' ' I do not understand,' said Miss Williams, blushing crimson. ' George is going to write to you— he said he would write to you to-day ; you'll get the letter to-morrqw ; perhaps we'd better not talk about it till we hear, what he says,' said Mrs Manners, rising fr.om the table, and beginning to bustle about the' room" in her old way, thus leaving Miss Williams in a. miserable state of doubt and uncertainty. ( , ' But she hnew the next morning. The letters came at breakfast time, and. the seryant having brought several in, ' the Vicar handed her one' from Qldcastle, from George, and with, a beating heart she sat through the rest of the meal, scarcely raising her eyes from her cup, and when it was finished, she hurried up to her own room jto r^ad i^ by Herself. It Was a loti£ letter j long, aj; least for a man— for it covered two note-she,et», i( but it had no affectionate^ beginning, no loving address. ' , ' ' , '•When you receive tlifa,' it began, 'I will be more than half-way through my preparations for a long journey, and as I have no intention of coming toNarbrough before I set out, I write this to bid you good-bye. lam not going to reproach you — during a long and sleepless night I have been asking myself if you were very much to blame ; if it was very culpable of you to take in the weak fool who trusted you ; and I have come to the conclusion, that thrown aside— as I must suppose you have been before you ever would nave thought of me— by 'Hugh, Manners, it was not unnatural ( that, inj your dependent position, you should seek j some protector,' who perhaps, you believe, would" be more faithful! tKsn fie was. But where you have ddne wrong, is frot to have trusted me. "phi 1 fom think I loved you so little, Amy 1 , that T could not have forgiven you much^almost anything, if I cottldluive believed you'lruel Bnt you are not! ' Ydtf swore tome that there was nothify ' y&w be-. tween you and my cousin. jftn"y/''l| blush that I should have to write this Xp\ yofc— l blush for her atid for you; but i my sister Adelaide opened a letter of yours addressed to Hugn .Manners, »nd itj needed no comment of mine. She copied' it, and led me where I saw you, meet him. — the man whom I conclude ,you love— l, the man you professed so much to, and deceived ! I did not mean to reproach you ; and God knows I pity you, for you have trusted one whom I fear will ill repay it— but you must see that but one course is open to me now. I could nbt marry a woman, losing hdr however dearly — however madly, without cdnfidence either in, her r love,' or in her honour; and I' conld naVe hone— forgive me for saying so— nohe'm yours,' Fare-, well, then— a lifelong farewell. lain '■going t& Russia in a few days, oh some Easiness connected 1 with; our house; and 'it'willprobably be months .before, I A'tarn; and before 1 that time yoil will also, I think, see that it would be 'advisable for- you >tb find another," and I : pray a happfer, home; for both 'ttur sakes it ia butter that' we should' meet no more. But do ndt, I entreat you,' let this' determinationi'of f min€i indiice you to leave Narbroughtill yon have found something suitable to your wishes ; and do not, oh 1 Amy— let these, my 1 last ; words, have some weight-wifch-you- at4east— do not listen to the false professions of Hugh Manners, for common report, even in our neighbourhood, must have taught you how little they are worth. 'G. Manners.' Amy Williams read this letter, and then all grew suddenly dark in her eves ; the room seemed to whirl round, and the next moment she fell heavily on, thd floor : and when Mrs Manners, filarmed by the noise, hurraed to her, assistance^ she found her lying almost insensible, while in her nerveless- hand wa^'the open letter she bad just received* rbm her stepion. ' J ! Mra Manners lifted ncr up In her arms, aadiaidheron the bed,' and! the letter

fell at her feet as she did bo, and for a moment — she was only a poor, humblyborn woman — the temptation entered into her mind to glance at its contents ; but the next she had orercome it, and put it into a drawer before even ringing the bell to prooure what was necessary for Mies Williams. In a few minutes Misn Williams began to revive, and on opening hor eyes, and seeing Mrs Manners bending over her, her first conscious thought apparently was for her letter, as she at onca glanced anxiously round. ' Your letter is quite safe, my dear,' whispered Mrs. Manners, for one of the servants was now in the room : ' I have put it into a drawer/ and as Mrs Manners, spoke Miss Williams ! covered her face with her hand, and turned away her head, to hide the burning tears of nhame and- wounded affection which, in spite of her efforts to ; restrain them, < now began to pour hot I and fast down her face;' ' She, however^ soon retrained her selfcontrol, and against Mrs Manners'* 1 earnest advice, insisted on 1 ' rising and having the children in the schoolroom as usual. , 'It will-do nic good,' she said ;•; • it will do me good ;' and so with a white, miser- : able, face and trembling* lips, she rose aad J wentithroogh her daily duties. v} It was cruel, too cruel,' she said to herself, as she sat and watched the , children at their tasks. ' What, Could he neither trust in my hpnour nor my love ? — he might in my love, for it has cost me very dear. But he had touched her pride. To fling her off thus without explanation —without oven allowing her the chance of clearing herself — this was the love she had thonght so warm, as generous, and so true. Ah ! she had not \ seen George's white, set face when be penned that oruel letter. She did not know his restless misery, his passionate regret. He had loved her so much, and to find her so small. It was this which bowed his proud spirit to the dnst, that ( Hugh and she should have 'planned to- ; gether to take in the soft fool, he thought* « That they should have laughed, perhaps, at hi»i honest faith. Oh ! it wasi very hard- to bean iHei meant- to write a' gentle letter to her, for- he blamed his oousin far. more than the poor weak woman who had deceived him, he told himself ; but somehow, the bitterness of his heart would' show itself in his written words ; and when he had finished, it did not seem to him a whit too hard. ' I must learn to forget her,' he said. ' I must begin my life again, but at thirty this is no easy task ;' and with a dull, gnawing pain at his heart, George went about during the next few days and eagerly watched the postman go his rounds, though he told himself no letter would come from her. None came, but he heard both from his stepmother and Adelaide, and Mrs Manner's letter, though it was a most melancholy one, seemed to give some sort of strange comfort to his heart. 'I cannot understand you,' she wrote, " nor your father either, for that 'matter. It was only 1 the ether day I certainly had the very strongest reasons for supposing , you and' Miss 'Williams 1 were greatly; attached to each other j yet now you! write to say that everything is at an end ' between you, J ; and you cannot return: home till she has left, that yoti are going '< to Russia without even coming to say i good-bye. Oh ! George, 1 the good woman continued, 'my dear boy, whom I loved as my own son, do not behave badly, do not behave cruelly to this poor young lady. You don't know what women suffer in these disappointments, or how they fret and fret— ay, many a one into an early grave. My heart bleeds for this poor girl, who goes about the house with such a white, changed face, and such a listless, weary step, that I am sure her heart is breaking. If you wonld but come and see her ; and oh ! my dear, the Vicar talks about hef leaving, and Adelaide, who' went off the day after she' came home 'to Lilbourne, called yesterday 1 and asked if she was not gone yet. But Bhe has been a daughter to me in ta? troubles, and she held your dying little sister 1 in her arms, and if she is ever so bad— and! don't believe a word 61 what they say— l will never ask her to go. — Your affectionate stepmother, '•" ■• J '' 'NelLyMannmis. 1 ■ Oedrge 1 certainly felt r less unhappy < after he had' received this letter. It ' was aktod ! of balm to his 1 open wound. It softened the pain somehow to think that, he was regretted; for Sir Hugh wat" still, near to console 1 her. 'Hugh gties to the Tioartge, 'l am told/ Adelaide wrote, -'and absolutely spoke to me the' other day in the highest terms of praise and admiration of that woman. I scarcely 'knew how to answer him,' his sister went on, 'but I looked at him and he looked back and laughed. What a bugbear you and George have created about me and this poor creature, he said. She tells me you fancy all sorts of nonsense ; my dear Adelaide, I really wish you would not be so tiresome. George could you imagine such wickedness on earth ?' Still he was regretted. She had loved him, then, this poor,' weak wonten ; loved Jiiin in spite of all. She might, she had of xdnrae, ,ldVed , Hugh fi>t ; but when fclje naa put her arms round his neckH "when &%' Had said, f George, I love you,' it 'had riot' all' been false, This was: ■ Ge'6fgeYcbuadlat'i6ii. She might be ever so bad, but she .had loved him, and ho began to hope his stepmother would not cast her from the shelter of her roof; and iprote to that effect to her before the post; went out.' and then, restless and* excited^ 'after despatching' his letter,, lie went' to one 'of /the theatres, and sat gazing "abstractedly, oh the stage. 'Ah?, Mr Manner*,' said a voice behind him, after he had. remained thus for pearly half-au-hour.wjth very little idea indeedof what was going on before him. 'Ah ! come to see our old friend Miss Nprtnan? She wears well— she wears well ;' and two fat fingers were held out for him to shake ; and, turning round, he saw Mr Mounseys grey hair, peak nose, and, puffing, red face, .close to his shoulders. , ' , 'The ladies have sent me,' continued .the gentleman facetiously, after George had shaken hands with him ; ' you see what Uto be « favourite with the ladies ,— a handsome young beau, in fact. Well, , well, we alj have our day. I remember , w,hpn, 'they; called roe Beau Mounsey, and ,myfiirstpoor,Jad,vsaidto me at a ball, whep.jl picked up her ribbon, and returned it to her, that tbere was only one beau,, she would .accept, ha Iha! ha !— a , pretty broad, bint* wasn't it ? So I said a beUe *nd a beau were well matched. Do you take ? Hq. \ ha, ! ha J She did, for •be took me. Ha Iha! ha ! ♦1 ho'po. Mjss Clayton is well ?' said Geerge, repressively. •Yet,- pretty well 5 there she is, smiling at us. You must come and speak to her. I tell my two ladies that with the stars to-night in fye dress circle, and the stars on the stage, we poor men scarcely know where to look; tbere is indeed a brilliant assembly.' •Is there ;' said George, absently ; and then, after considering how he could decently get rid of Mr Mounsey, he added, 'I only looked in for half-an-hour. , •' Well, }you must come and speak to the ladjes.r Mamma will never forgive me if X don't bring you. ,Wo must yield to ihe ladies, ojr, "Tie, added ; and George, with, the' best grace he could assume, was obliged to get up and follow him to his wife's box, ° Mrs Mounsey was a fow yean older ,

than her lister, and was a sharp-faced, rather handsome woman, who had married for a home, but was frequently bored there by the presence of its master. • Girls must marry,' she had said to her sister ; * and I don't suppose Mr Mounscy is a greater fool than many of his neighbours.' She had, however, found him more tireiome than she expected. She had got a good house to live in, a carriage to drive in, and a good table to sit down to ; hut she grudged giving him a share of these luxuries. ' If he would but hold his tiresome old tongue,' said the woman of thirty, impatiently, of her elderly husband ; but Mr Mounsey would net hold his tongue, therefore his wife was considerably bored, and sometimes— not very often though— was cross with her younger and handsomer sister, for whose sake, during their little skirmishes, she used frequently to remark, 6he had sacrificed herself. But Miss Lanra Clayton knew that it was not for her sake that her sister, when on their father's sudden death they found themselves almost penniless, dependent on the grudged assistance of some rich relations, had accepted Mr Mounsey. Mrs Mounsey, in fact, liked Mr MounseYs house, she liked his carriage— and she thought she would try to like him. She didn't, however, unfortunately; but he was on too good terms with himself, luckily, ever to suspect this. His first wife had been a ' peculiar ' temper, he often said, and if his second was very disagreeable, he merely thought ' mamma was a little peculiar to-day, 1 and was probably satisfied that to be a ' little peculiar ' was a failing common to ladiea in general. They were indeed, as people go, a very happy couple. Mr Mounsey had no occasion for jealousy — Mrs Mounsey had no occasion for pinching, or economy. What could two reasonable beings desire more ! ' I am happy to make your acquaintance, Mr Manners,' she said, after Mr Mounsey had duly introduced George. ' Laura has told me that she has met you ; ' and so she made room for him between herself and her sister, and George found himself, to his great astonishment, five minutes afterwards, carrying on a very lively, and certainly interesting conversation, with Miss Laura Clayton. She was a very handsome woman, yet she scarcely owed this distinction to any great regularity of feature; but her brightly-tinted complexion, her lovely eyes, which sparkled and shone, and changed even in colour with every varying emotion, and her thick, curly brown hair, and finely developed form, made her undoubtedly, what she was almost universally admitted to be in Oldcastle society, a very pretty woman. She was not a young girl ; being in fact some twenty-eight or nine years of age, and she was clever, charming, and well-read. 'Worth a dozen bread-and-butter misses,' said half the men she met ; yet with all the admiration she constantly received, she was as free from vanity as it was almost possible for any human being to be. 1 1 like attention, of course,' she always said in her frank way ; • but I can live without it. I expect it when I put on my best dress, and go out for a holiday —bat holidays are not for any of as all the days of the week.' They were not for her, at any rate, and had never been. In her early youth she had gone through much trouble, and even now, living amidst ease and plenty in her sister's house, she had still her full share of life's hard rubs. To begin with Mrs Mounsey was not an angel. She was a rich woman now. bat she occasionally made her sister feel she was a poor one. She gave her a home, and dressed her tolerably; but Mrs Mounsey '■ old black silks frequently appeared on Miss Claytons fine figure, re-turned and re-trimmed by her industrious and clever hands. She had also almost the entire charge and education of Master and Miss Mounsey, aged respectively five and four years ; and two more disagreeable, spoilt, piaia little children, it w»3 impossible to see. But through oil these small trials this ■bright, handsome young woman passed unscathed. They did not break her down, i or wear her thin, as they might have done' to a weaker woman. She did noj; like them, but she had within her some* thing 1 which raised her above them, and made her count them at their proper value ; and George Manners, sitting by her side, began to admit that the society of x very pleasant woman can be eodnrabfe, even when under the pressure of a great and heart-wringing care. • You will come and dino with us some day soon, I hope, Mr Manners ?' said Mrs Mounsey, towards the close of the entertainment. 1 Yoa are very good,' answered George, •but I start for Russia in a few days.' • But that need not prevent you dining with us one of the few days left,' she replied, smiling ; so George had nothing to do but to fix his own day, and to escort the ladies to their carriage. "'" ' I trust your good father, the Vicar, ii well? 1 sa«d Mr Monnsey, as they were 'saying good-bye in the lobby ; • also your young and distinguished relation Sir Hugh Manners ?' (To be continued).