Novelist. THE VICAR'S GOVERNESS. CHAPTER XXV. SIR HUGH'S LETTER.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2161, 15 May 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

Novelist. THE VICAR'S GOVERNESS.

CHAPTER XXV. SIR HUGH'S LETTER.

BY MISS DORA RUSSELL,

Author of " Annabel's Rival," "Beneath the Waves," "Footprints in the Snow,' 14 Marriage of Colonel Lee,"&c.

Every one at Narbrouph Vicraga wrfssorry to part with Miss Williams, as the time drow near for her to go. Even the Vicar felt an uncomfortable twinge occasionally, when he remembered, or rather wheu ho was reminded by his wife, how attentive she had been to their lost little girl ; and he also had become rather shaken in his opinion of her previous connection with Sir Hugh — for ever since the night ho spent at the Vicarage, after his quarrel with Adelaide, Mrs Manners had insisted very strongly on this point. 4 There's nought between them,' *he said to her husband, after his nephew had left. ' Yea take toy word of it, Arthur — nought' " Well, as nought, I suppose, my dear, in your vocabulaiy, means nothing, I cannot agree with you ; there was certtmly correspondence.' • But what's a line of the pen ? Why she writes to the doctor, for the matter of that, about the children's pills. I watched Sir Hugh's face when ho said it, and he was speaking the truth. He didn't look so clear, or speak so glib, when you brought up abont Peggy Richardson to him. Poor lass !' • He's a fine fellow, I must say,' said the Vicar, twisting his face ; • a universal conqueror. My dear, I hope you don't admire this precious scamp of a nephew of mine, as I own I should not like to figure in the Divorce Court at my age?' 'Now, Arthur, don't talk nonsense. He's not a good man, I'm afraid, but someway I was sorry for the poor lad to-night, when he said no one had tried to do him any jrood all thesa years.' .«„ I declare, Nelly, you're _f ailing in lore with him ! Hum ! so that's the dodge he is going to try on you is it ? It's wonderful, really wonderful, what soft creatures women are ?' ' Nevertheless, his wife's opinion, for she was a shrewd woman in her way, was not without its influence on the Vicar ; and, therefore, after some prudent heoitation, he determined to qnit his conscience by showing his gratitude to Miss Williams, in a way which could not interfere with the remote possibility of , his daughter marrying her cousin. He accordingly told his wife he intended to make Miss Williams a handsome present before sho left Narbrough. 1 And surely that will satisfy you, my dear ?' he said, in conclusion ; upon which, of course, tho good woman threw her arms round his neck, and declared he was the kindest and most gracious of men, A few days after he had made this promise, he took a holiday, and went to Oldcastle to make his intended purchase, returning with a very pretty .second-hand gold locket in his possession ; al&o with various other articles which ho had considered necessary for his own comfort and pleasure. The locket, however, ho presented to Miss William?, with his best now, 1 1 only wish I was a young man,' he paid, 'and I should have put a lock of my hair into it as a keepsake, but at my age.' he added, with a comical, half ruefuji glance in the glass at his short, faded, and fast-thinning air, 'at my age a lock is too precious.' ' Yet I will ask for something, 9 said Miss Williams, smiling — ' Will you give me your photograph to put in it ?' This little bit of flattery pleased the Vicar exceedingly, and he was quite facetioui about it to his wifo in private. ' I will have myself put in at one side,' he said, ' and Hugh in the other, and poor George must just go In the middle between us. Get quit as fast as you can, my dear Nelly, of this young woman, for I consider her highly dangerous. A d, by-the-bye, that reminds me to ask what haw become of Hugh during the past week ?' ' You wero 60 sharp with him when he was here last, you see, \ Arthur,' said 'Mrs Manners, 'that I don't suppose, he cares to come back in a hurry ;' but during the evening she informed her husband that she had heard, through the servants, that Sir Hugh had loft the Hall for the South some days previously. This information proved correct, for towards the end of the week a letter arrived at the Vicarage from Sir Hugh for Miss Williams, dated from his club in town. •My dear Miss Amy,' he wrote—- ' You see I took a weary fit of the North all of a sudden, and started off without saying good.bye to any of you. But you must not suppose it was fiom any neglect; only I was so— whatshall I call it ? — down, devil-possessed — whatever you like— but so utterly unfit for your pleasant society that I have saved you the infliction of my company, and came up here. Well, it is all the same as ever. The same lovely womeu, at the same old game — the same men — the same pleasures—and, by Jove, the same old weariness and disgust ! There goes a young beauty past as I write, splendidly mounted, and with her golden hair streaming behind her (I wonder how many of the beautiful curls grow on her head !) — and she is happy and innocent as the day is long. Yet she's np to her part, the fresh young flower. She knows A do*en fellows are staring at her from the windows here, though to look at her you would not think she knew there was such a thing as a man in the world ! Yes, she's up to a thing or two, I bet a sovereign ; yet she's as good an imitation of nature and innocence as the best French flowers are of the wild roses in the hedge ; but I confess, to my taste, the wild rose itself is what I would prefer to wear in my buttonhole. 'And what about the brave George? Have you heard anything of him? I have not ; but I will let you know when : he condescends to answer my letter. But who do you think I met yesterday, in the Park ? Don't throw yourself into a fright now, for the devil himself couldn't' write pn my face, I suppose, that I bad seen -you so lately, and knew all his history ; but Clayton — Clayton in tho body, browner, blacker at least; than when I Knew him ; but there was no mistaking his sullen (don't ,bo offended), Jewish physique. I nodded to him — for I felt a kind of.cnriosity, as you may imagine, to hear what he had to say for himself ; and after a moment's hesitation, as if he had scarcely recognised me, he came up and addressed me, and congratulated me (the deuce take his impudence !), on having succeeded to the family honours. Yet I was sorry for him, too, do you know ? There, was a kind of restless misery in his expression, which ,told a tale. Ab, you little wftcb, how you have, tarjngatad, f

I this poor man, and racked his heart ! Yes, I was sorry for him ; and I think, if I had heen in his place, I would have bad a parting shot at you too (for wasn't that the luxury he promised himself if you left him?) But, jesting apart, I won't disguise from you that he looks a dangerous customer ; for there is a sort of mad look in his eyes which would make me, if I valued my life, try to keep on good terms with him. And do you know, my good girl, I counsel you to keep to the shelter of your assumed name, and not even at George's entreaty, if you tell him all, to investigate further into this unhappy affair. For (I speak as a frieud) I should be afraid for your life if he had the chtnee ; and since I have seen Clayton I have quite changed my mind as to the desirability of even endeavouring legally to throw off this odious connexion. No ; you try to forget him, that's my ftdvice, until some good luck ends his mortal career. And he doesn't look over well, I can tell you. Yellow, billioui, and mad. That's jnstmy true opinion; and I'll be snre to hear if anything happens to him, through the old regimental men; one of whom, by-the-bye (Donovan), I have seen this morning. • I saw Clayton yesterday,' I said. •Ay, he's hanging about town. How that affair has changed him. Do you kuow, 1 think he is touched here,' and Donovan touched his own grey head as he spoke. So you Bee it is not my own conviction only that I a:n going on. 4 You'll write to inp, won't you, and tell me all the gossip ? And in the meanwhile, and for ever (Oh my cousin, if you saw this !) believe me your sincere friend— '•H. Manners." This was not a pleasant letter to receive. It is not a pleasant sensation, certainly, to think that a gentleman slightly affected iv his head by fever, drink, sunstroke, and jealbusy, is going about the world seeking you for the pnrpose of avenging his wroDgs, real or imaginary. Amy Barritt,' or Clayton, to drop for* once her assumed name, was by no means a strong-minded woman ; and, though she had been wishing to die of late— that is, gradually to fade away of a broken heart, or consumption, or something which would have appealed to George's feelings, and overcome his hardheartedness—she by no means relished the idea of leaving thi? world as suddenly as her half-mad husband had promised to send her ; and. fear, absolute fear, crept into her heart au she read Sir Hugh's letter, and thought how easily some fatal chance might reveal her hiding-place. She did not tell Mrs Manners that she had heard from her nephew, and she did not tell her she had answered his letter — conveying that document in haste and secrecy to a distant post-office ; knowing that the good woman who presided over that of Narbrough, would not improbably have some interest in her neghbour/s conconcerns, and comment on the fact df 'the Vicar's governess writing to the young Barouet.' So, ashamed of deceiving her kind friend, and oppressed by her terrible secret, the last two weeks which she was to spend at the Vicaraee wore for her wearily on. She told Sir Hugh, in her letter, of her intended change of residence, but) at the same time implored him not to visit her in Oldcastlc, on his return to the North, or to appear cognisant that she was there. Oh ! what a tangled web wo weave, When first we venture to deceive ! For she was afraid of the mistaken view Mrs Manners might naturally take of their intimacy, if it was continued — afiaid also of not trusting Sir Hugh, who, if he chose, might revenge himself so cruelly. So, throwing herself on his pity, she asked him to befriend her, 'and not to render he, life more utterly wretched than it vva9.' And well for her Sir Hugh's heart was filled with a deeper and a stronger feeling than that which she inspired him ; for otherwise — had, in fact, his own wishes clashed with his cousin's— he was not a man to hesitate whose he should serve ; and neither pity nor honour- would have stood in his way if any strong motive had actuated him. As it was, however, though he had a kind of liking for the 'pretty little governess,' as she called her, his love for beautiful Peggy Richardson was passionate and overpowering ; while all the good left in his heart had been touched and increased by his unselfish devotion to herself. 'My little Peggy— my bonny Peggy,' be would think, as he looked at the aristocratic beauties of this world ; • she's worth a score of them !' And that poor faithful heart was gladdened .very often during' his absence .by receiving written assurances of his love, and she used to sit for hours on the lonely shore thinking of some fond work or look, and dreaming of their sweet renewal. 1 So Sir Hugh Manners only laughed over the tremulous appealing little note which he received from * Miss Amy,' in reply to his letter, and answered it in his usual half-jesting strain. 'Don't be afraid of me,' he wrote, 'and T'll do what I can to help you '—and thus, against her will as it <vere,Miss Williams was thus won into confidence and correspondence with the very man whom, for, the sake of George Manners, she was anxious to avoid. She felt like a hypocrite also, as she listened to the kindly parting assurances of affection from Mrs Manners, coupled as they frequently were' with earnest advice to keep her new' home a secret from Sir Hugh ; and this feeling naturally increased her depression and sorrow at the prospect of leaving ; and the last few days she spept dt Narbrough were melancholy in the extreme. She had a strange interview also with * Pretty Peggy,' before she left. Coming by accident upon her sitting on the links, gazing with her great brown eyes > unconsciously at the sea, while in her hand, which she was holding against her cheek, as if leaning against something loving and beloved, was an open letter, of which Miss Williams could very easily guess the writer. So absorbed was she in her thoughts, that Miss Williams was close to her before she became aware of her presence ; but when she did see her she started guiltily, coloured, and hastily hid the letter in her bosom, and hung her head low, as the governess passed, who had not intended te address her. But scarcely had she done so, before pity, and perhaps some fellow-feeling for this poor girl, arrested her steps, and looking back she saw Peggy again laying her face against this precious letter, with an expression of such sorrowful and touching devotion, as if it made up to her for all the slights and scorn which she yet felt so keenly, that Miss Williams almost involuntarily paused and smiled, saying kindly, 'Is that you, Peggy? How is your father ?' ' He's pretty well, Miss,' she answered rising with a sort of proud humility in her attitude and manner. 'Vow like sitting here? 1 said Miss Williams, scarce knowing what to say to her, yet feeling greatly interested in her. •Ay,' said the girl, 'it's quiet and away fra the other folks.' ' You don't care much for company, then V Peggy shook her head. '• You have no little brother or sister, have you, peggy ?' 'Nane, miss— nor mother'— and she sighed as she spoke, • But you have friends ?, ' * Friends ! What are friends ?' answered the girl, scornfnlly. ' Will they cling to ye when ye're down, and watch ye when ye're sick! it Na — na ; friends are a' pleasant'cnougn in the sunaoiap .and, the

(lay, but wait till the Btorm and the night comes on, and where are y'r fine friends.' ' It is very true, I fear.' • There's some true, though — true to death ; but itV not th' lukewarm kindness folks give ii lends -it's different fra that !' ♦What is it, then ?' ft 4 What a woman feela to her bairn, I think,' b'iid she, turning: away hoi- bead, 'and — and — to .' Then she stopped, while her white throat, which Miss Williams could see, grew crimson. 'I have often thought about you lately, Peggy,' saidjtfiss Williams, nervously. 1 Why, miss ?' ahe asked quiokly, in a changed voice. • You say you have no mother, Peggy, — and — and a girl — .' 'Don't talk of it, miss, don't talk of it, ' interrupted Peggy ; ' it's no use.' • You mean about Sir Hugh ?' ' It's best to say nought— but oh ! miss, don't judge me hard! Ho told me you were a good,] kind lady— don't .be very hard on me !' 4 1 am not, Peggy. God knows^l pity you, my poor girl, with my whole heart.' 4 But why, miss ?' and she 'drew herself up to her full height — ' why d'ye pity me so much ?' 4 Because people say you* love Hugh Manners, and — and — that* he has wronged and left you.' • What do they know with their foul tongues?' she answered passionately. ' Loft me ! Ho ha«n't left mo. If I love him, he has given mo love baok — all his heart's love he Hays. Ay,' she added, softly, 'that's "written here;' and ahe touched his letter with ker other hand, which she was holding to her bosom beneath her shawl. 'I am so glad that it is S3,' said Miss Williams, earnestly; 'glad for yourj sake and for his.' ' Oh, miss ! may I talk to you a bit ?— it's suoh a comfort ;' said poor Peggy, the tears rising in her eyes. 'Ho nays he's changed— sinee — since we grew so fond like ; and oh ! — perhaps it's a sin — but I love him so much— if I could do anything for him— if I could die for him,' dhe continued looking npwards, ' that — that he might know ; «but even then he could never, never know all I feel here.' 'You have given him rauoh, at any rate,' answered Miss, Williams, almost bitterly. 'I should say nought,' said Peggy, with a sudden reserve. ' How I have -let my silly tongue run' on. You will not tell him, miss, will you P' 'You need not be afraid of me, Peggy.' 1 Na, I ken that—l ken that by y'r face.' ' I am Very — very sorry for you,' said Miss Williams, holding out her hand. ' I wish I could help you.' 'But, Miss,' replied the v girl,'eagerly clasping it, 'ye need na be sorry for me. I've been,' and a deep rose-bloom overspread her lovely face as she spoke — ' I've been so happy — oh ! so — so hkppy ! when I've been wi him.' ,' But that cannot be always Peggy.' c Na, but those bits o' sunshine are worth a' my life besides.' > 'He ought to care for you'very much.' 'He does, Miss,' she answered, earnestly; 'c'en for ine> a poor untaught lass, who's naught' to], give him but a faithful heart.' • Pegjry, there is no such gift,' said Miss Williams with much emotion. ' Sir Husrh will not find much love like 1 } yours. He ought to treasure it. I pray, Peggy, he may live to do you justice.' 4 Miss, his good to me is more than mine. I wadna injure him. I'm oontont if he but loves me still, and if he changed ' I could but die,' said the poor girl, almost in a whisper. , 4 Ay, miss,, and she made a sort of shy j movement, and the next minute stooped down and kissed Miss Williams' hand. 'The God in Heaven bless yon,' she roid, in her sw*efc pathetic voice, 'the Lord Himself take you in His keeping. You haven't scorned me as some do ; maybe the day will come 'when they'll know they had no call; but— but— l thank you for your goodness ;' and drawing her shawl round her tall form, 1 Peggy turned quickly away. ' 'No wonder he loves her,' thought Miss William* ; ' how beautiful she is !' (To be continued. J