CHAPTER XXII.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2155, 1 May 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XXII.

11 Oh ! the dreary, dreary moorland ! Oil ! the barren, barren shore !" Meanwhile at Narbrough, during the last few days before George Manners left England, tho poor governess there was • sad and grieving soiv ' She could not get over the cruel blow which ho had given at onco to her love mid to her pride ; and She used to wander restlessly by tho sea, Htatting at thf sight of nr.y unexpected figuco appearing in tho ditance, and in spite of George's letter cherishing the hope that ho would tiot leave England without seeing her once more. Her doubis and fears wore, however, one morning abruptly' put an end to, for on entering the breakfast-room rfie heard the Vicar reading in his strong, hard voice a letter from his son. •"I leave London to-day and will rroceed direct to Paris,' " read Mr Manners. 1 Well, Miss Williams,' said he, pausing as his governess came forward ; ' I was just reading a letter from George to my wife here. He's fairly off at last, it seems ; and I should not wonder, from what ho say?, if he should ultimately settle at St. Petersburg, but at all events ho will remain for some months.' ' Ye?,' answered Miss Williams, feebly ; and she sat down to breakfast, and tried in vain to swallow her toast. ' You are losing your appetite, Miss Williams,' said the Vicar, glancing at her presently over his newspaper. 'I do not think the air of Narbrough can suit you ?' ' I am not very well this morning,' said Miss Williams : and she rose hastily, and left the table, utterly unabie any longer to endure her feeling* in public. She made up her mind that morning, for, ti}l she knew George wa« actually gone, she had scarcely realised her sentence of banishment. True, there were the cruel words lying in her desk, and no message had come to soften them. ' Before I return I hope you will see that it would be advisable for you to find auother, and, I pray, a happier home.' Yes, there woro the cruel words — blotted and half-effaced with the tears of shame and grief which had been bhed over them— but they had not washed them out. He wished never to see her more ; yet had he proved one of the greatest sinners upon earth, this poor woman would have clung to him but more fondly in his trouble. But Geonre would make no compromise with bis feelings and with a snddon wrench he flung hts love and hope behind him. ' I will begin my life over again,' he bad said ; and though the present add future felt alike dark and dreary to him, he did not turn back from his determination, but with a very restless and angry heart had gone away. Till Amy knew this, nnconecionsly stye had ' hoped against hope ;' but now theie was none, and during the morning Bne sought out Mrs Manners, and in a veijy faltering and broken voice, told her she must leave Narbrough. 4 But why, my dear f ' asked that lady. What is all this mischief about ? I cannot understand it.' * George said I had to go,' said the poqr governess, with a sob. ' Yes, Mrs Manners, though it • wan very — Very cruel.' * But what for ?' urged Mrs Manners. ..'Tell me the truth. What's come bdtween you and him, who seemed so fondjlike ? | 'He took some nonsense into hia heold i about Sir Hugh,' answered Miss Williams,, trying to compose herself. ' He! fancied we were lovers, I think, and I know not what 5 but we never were~-neYer— never. You will believe that, won't you ? You will toll him that, after I am gone ?' *My dear, ' I would do anything for either of you; but I don't know which way to turn. What was it about you writing to Sir Hugh? The Vicar told me about that; and then, dear, you. mustn't be angry ; but I have heard — H- 1 ' What? Will you tell roe what ?' I * That you meet Sir Hugh on the sands in the dusk. Now, though you've been a daughter to me— though I never can forget your kindness— l wouldn't like my boy's wife, that was to be, doing that. I don't wonder at George being angry ; for, dear, Sir Hugh is a bad man, and God help tho poor lass who trusts to him.' 'Mrs Manners, I never trusted Sir Hugh — never thought of him in the way you mean ! Will you tell George this P In my early life, whioh was very unhappy, I knew something of Sir Hugh, or rather he knew something of me. No love, mind, Mrs Manners ; you will tell him that — never any love. But he knew something about me, and I met him by appointment to explain some circumstances which he did not understand. I wrote the letter asking him to meet me, and Miss Manners honourably opened it ; but Sir Hugh does not know that yet.' 'What, Adelaide open Sir Hugh's letter ? It's not possible. 1 *It if not only possible, but true. She did : 'and sha sent Georero word, and he oauie and saw Sir Hugh meet me. It looked 1 if there was something between

v«, perhaps ; but thero is not — I swear there is not. 'But what oiroumstancoa!' replied Mrs Manners, dubiout>ly. 1 Unhappy circumstances !' roplied Mi«B Williiitun, turning away her head ; but Georgo might have trusted me a little more.' ' But, my clear, why not tell George these circumstances, whatever they are? He was a fitter person, surely, to talk them over with than Sir Hugh. Don't you see, when a man wants to marry a woman all her concerns ought to be his.' * Some day I may tell him— some (lay, perhaps, he will pity me a little more — but,' she added, with a sigh, ' X will not banish him from his home any longer. He said he would not come back when I was here ; so, Mrs Manners, I must go away.' 1 I'm very sorry. Oh ! dear, can't this be put right ? If you would only tell me about your life before you came ? You needn't be afraid of me, , Amy. If you weren't born a lady, or anything like that, neither was I ; but — but— if it's something worse————' and Mrs Manners stopped. Even her gratitude was riot stromg enough to wish to bring any possible disgrace on her dear George's life. , What could Miss Williams say.7 She could not blame poor Mrs Manners for her suspicions, and. she could not tell her her story. 'I do hot wonder that you do not believe me,' she said sadly, ' but it is not disgrace. Tell George that, and that I never cared for Sir Hugh.* 'Very well,' said Mrs Manners; but her faith was shaken. She did not like secrets, and had never had one in her life. ' I will tell him exactly what you say ; and whenever you wish to go, I will always speak well of you, for I never can forget how you behaved to my darling ;' and Mrs Manners wiped her blue eyes as she spoke. 1 Perhaps I had better go in a month ?' said Miss Williams. • What's the hurry ! George will be away four or five at the earliest, and it's not so easy to find situations ; and there's one thing, dear,' added Mrs Manners, kindly, ' You were a daughter to me in my trouble, and if ever you are out of a place— if ever you want a horne — come back to mine as long as I've a roof to cover me. And I'm sure the Vicar will be glad to sec you, too. He was as fond of you an could be, till Adelaide put in her bad word ; not tli.it I should say that perhaps of his daughter, but she's as jealous as can be of Sir Hugh ; but if all the tales be true, she'd better look after her fine gentleman.' 4 1 think he really likes that pretty Peggy Richardson, Mrs Manners,' said Miss Wiiiiams. ' He should, that's all I've got to say,' replied Mrs Manners. 'But this has been a bad morning's work— this talk about you going, and yon looking so ill. You're not fit, lam sure, to go seeking places, and among stranger-folk too. Just stay a month oi two longer, and then it will be quite time to talk of it.' ' No, I must go. I will write to-day to London ; bnt I will never, never forget you,' and Miss Williams went and fairly flung her arms round Mrs Manner's neck. ' I'm not angry you should suspect me. I know I have been forced to aat as if I had something disgraceful to hide, but I have not. It is n > disgrace of mine— and I did not wish to marry George — that is, I would not have married him. I loved him too well for that ; I would not have brought trouble on his dear life, and he might have trusted me,' and she laid her head on his mother's neck and wept aloud. ' I do, at any rate,' said Mrs Manners, quite overcome. ' Some trouble you've had, poor las* ; your father maybe, and that badheartpd fellow, Sir Hugh, knows it, and has led you into this scrape ; the Lord forgive him for his evil deeds 1' ' No, uo,' and Amy raised her head from that kindly breast ; ' no, dear Mrs Manners. Sir Hugh is not to blame. He has been very kind, and he is not all bad, lam sure. He wanted me to tell George, but I would not? —l could not.' ' All will bo known some day, -my dear,' said Mrs Manners, solemnly. ' Yes, and I an* glad— glad that, George will know me better when I am desfd.' ' Then your heart is tru?,' said. Mrs Manners, in a relieved tone ; ' it's only the deceitful who need* fear the day when all shall be- revealed.' „ . 'I have not done what was right,' said Amy, humbly ; 'bat it was oit of my foolish love for him — my foolish love, that vas all ; I would vat hare wronged him for the world.' , 'Nor he you, Lam snre of that,' answered Mrs Manners. 'But come, my dear, lie clown on the bed for a little while, for you look so white, and you are shaking all over, and 1711 send the children into tho garden to havo a run till you feel better ; poor darlings, whatever will they say when they are going to lose you ?' ' Perhaps. I'll como back some day,' said Amy, with a very faint smile ; ' but fqr the present, I must go ; you see that, dear Mrs Manners ; ' and so it was, fixed, and in the afternoon she wrote to, her old friend, the manager of the register-office in Burners-street,/ and' so began her second search after a new home* . In the evening of the same day, just r after, thoir early tea, Mrs "Manners caoio into, the sohoolroom, and proposed they should all go, out for a walk. -She spoke with, a peculiar ■ kindness to Miss Williams, but she said nothing further about remaining at Narbrouqh ; ifadeed she bud received positive instructions fpotn her husband not to do bo. - • ■ 1 'It's the very best thing that'fean hap- ' pen,' said Mr Manners, on his wife telling him almost "with tears iri her eyes, thdfe dear Miss Williamsons going away. •The very' best-thing,' repeated the Vicar emphatically.' ' Afte* all, it' was a miserable connexion for George ; and as for Hugh, he'll forget her as soon as her back's turned;' so she's best out of the #hy '■ ' ' " "' ' ' " " I'll pot'forgatVhatr she did for the, thrittghV replied Mi's Manners, with some spirit.! " , "' " 1 "AH right* my dear,' said the Vicar. , 'Cherish your 'gratitude by all means— but at a distance.' B^oth your sop and your nephew are very well quit of this ydu rig woman ; don't you be asking her Jqjtajr^and the VjW took Hp.hk pen, "though he had no present intention of writing, as ft hiat^o, bis, sfife that she might as^vell leave him alone. i- tlon't ' like ttoitfg' it,' said "'Mrs Manners, as she left the room; but she was toojjood a wife to think of disobeying her husband, and therefore raid nothing more to Miss WiUiam&about staying; but she was verj affectionate in. her manner, and urged her to take the children out, as she thought ths air would do her good. ' I have a letter to post.' said Miss Williavs, wearily, 'so we can go to the village and accordingly they all started a quarter of an hour later, Milly hanging fondly on her governess's arm as they went. They.posted the letter, and on their way home they encountered Sir Hugh, who was riding, and whom they had not seen for soreral days, and the children at once ran forward to meet him. ' How are you,' Hugh V Dolly ; 'we heard you had been in Scotland for a week.' ' For throe day's Miss Delly, to be exact,' answered hor cousin, touohing his hat to the party. ' And how ara you, Miss Williams? 1 and my beauty thow 1'

and Sir Hugh slightly tapped Milly'a hat with his riding whip as he spoke. 1 I'm quite well, Hugh,' answered Milly, lifting up her beautiful, innocent faco. ' That's the kind of a lass, Miss Amy, and Sir Hugh gave « smile and a nod as he pronounced the name, 'to win my heart. If she had been ten years old I would aek her to marry me.' ♦ I've often heard yon say you would do it as it is, Hugh, 1 said Dolly ; but I luppoae it's only yonr chaff." * Yes, Miss Pert, it's my chaff— but I wouldn't have you, Dolly — no, not for all the world.' " Well, I wouldn't have you.' • ' Wait till you are asked my dear,' laughed Sir Hugh. 'Wait till you are asked,' retorted Dolly, with some temper. •Dolly, that it rude,' said Miss Williams. "' •Well, he's rude, he's always chaffing.' ' But he means nothing." 'Perhaps not, said 1 Dolly, mollified, and beginning to"* plait the iriaue of Sir Hughes horse. • ' Henrico knows Cyou, ' Dolly,' - said Sir Hugh, as the beautiful creature he rode whiunied'and arched its neck in recognition. " ■•■'', * Hehricd and I' are great friends,' said Dolly. • 'I haven't forgotten all the friends I made at the Hall' so soon, Cousin Hpgh.' • > i 'How is it you always" talk, Ddlly, and not Katie ?' said Sit Hugh, to tease her, • Katie, why do you' 'let this chatterbox always shut you np ?' t' ' She will talk,' aaid Katie, slyly. 'Katie's getting 'to the age to study appearances, Miss Williams. She's beginning to think' of the becoming ; now this little imp— — -' ', •Don't call names, I ,', cried Dolly. ' " '< •This little imp doesn't mind leing rude or disagreeable,' went on Sir Hugh, quite cooly. ' She isn't thinking of making conquest yet.' , 'Oh, Hugh,' said Katie, blushing crimson. •It is the doctor's boy, my dear,' and Sir Hugh, ' whose peace of mind you are thinking of disturbing ? I saw a 1 redhaired youth the othei* day, at the Hall, when one of the maids had the toothache. Is he to be your first victim f 'Hl3 hair isn't red,' said' Katie, overwhelmed with blushes. • ' 'By Jove ! look to your piipil, Miss Williams. It's the old, old story, I declare. When was your first love affair » Mine was, let me see — oh ye% Jack Kailstone's sister. He's the butcher in the village now, and I adored fttis Kailstone when I was about ten, and she about eitjht-and-twenty, I suppose. She espoused soon afterwards a butcher in Oldcastle, and she was an uncommonly fine woman, I remember. I wonder if I would know her now ?' 'I should think not.' • Yet it was first love — r first love wich Byron tells us is ' sweeter still than this, than these, than all,' &c. Is that a correct quotation ? I wonder who his was. Not Miss Chaworth, we may be sure. That was the first which looked ' well in rhyme, so he told us about it ; but a fellow like that would have a dozen before.' 'Need we edify Miss Katie with all this ? said Miss Williams. * Better not, perhaps — and yet why ? Miss Katie in a few years will be in a stage, where ono by one all our little illusions are rubbed away.' ' Dont say that — there are some happy women surely who never go behind those dreary side-scenes — some lives always sheltered and secure. Let us hope for Katie, at any rate, that she may never know the bitter evil of the world.'