CHAPTER XXXIII. FLIGHT.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2176, 19 June 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XXXIII. FLIGHT.

So the fame sad story which had been told to Sir Hugh on the lonely shores of Narbrongh, was now repeated in Mr Peel's dim, dark garden to his cousin. Oboe daring the narrative a groan broke from George's pale lips; and as Amy went on entreating him to pardoa her, telling him bow it was for the love which she bore him that she had deceived hini, he suddenly clasped her to his breast, murmuring in husky tones of passionate pain, ' Oh ! n>y God, what shall I do ! — what shall I do !' 'Only don't leave me,' — pleaded the unhappy womnn, clinging to him; ' only don't ■ leave me to meet that dreadful man.' ' Child ! child !' cried George, rUing and pushing her sharply away from him, while love, anger, honour, and despair fought their battle in his heart. ' Why did we ever meet-— why did we ever meet!' • bay yon forgive me !' paid Amy again, 'Say, George, you torgare me once r' Then ho came back to her, holding out his hands to her, and looking at her with eyes full of infinite pain. 'Amy/ he said, 'truly have I loved you ; I would have taken you to my breast when I knew you bad a secret which no wife should have, and have sheltered you and toiled for you. so God's my witness. But now, now—' and he Hank once more on the sent, and covered his face with hi* hand, and groaned aloud. 1 Oh ! George, don't— don't grieve thus,' said Amy,, going to him, and laying her hand on his shoulder. 'To think, it has been all sin and shame,' murmured George ; ' all — all — oh ! what have 1 done ? — what have I done that this should have come upon me*' ' You have done nothing, dear George,' haid Amy. 'It is nil my blame— all my foolish love ; you knew nothing, and I feared it would part us if you did: and though Sir Hugh urged me to tell you 'It was kind of Hugh,' said poor George, ' very kind.' ' He has always been ho since he knew the truth ; he is fond of you, I think, Geqrge.' ' And what will you do now V asked George,' lifting up his head, after a few minutes of painful silence. • .' I—lI — I do not know. When Miss Clayton told me , this man was, her cousin, I was just stunned at first ; I could Hot think, then I remembered you. I thought I will go to George, and he will help me. 8 George gave a bitter sigh. 'God help us!' he murmured, 'God help us !' Presently he rose again, and' began pacing restlessly backwards and forwards in front of, the seat, ' Would you go to my mother ?' he said at last, stoppipg abruptly, and addressing Amy. • Yes — but perhaps Mrs Manners — r' i and Amy paused. •I have, boeji trying to think what would be best for you,' went on George,' and I think you would be safest and best with her. ' You are very good,' said Amy, weepI ing ; ' very, very good.' 'No,' answered George, gloomily, 'no I' and then, as he stood looking at her, pitytfor her misery, and the softening memory thut she has erred through love, grew in.hiH heart. 'Do not let me see you thus,' he «aid» gently; 'it will only unman me again, and there are many things to be done and thought of now. When, would you like to go ?' ( I roust go to-night,' said Amy, recalled to a sense of her own danger by these words. ' I dare not — I will not risk seeing Hugh Clayton. I told you he ,h wore he would kill me if I left him, and Sir Hugh said when he mot him in London he looked utterly mad. No, George, take me away,' and she rose and put her hands in his—' take me uway to* night,) ' 'There is a night tram north,' said George, will you go by that?' But if you do what excuse can your make to Mrs jMounsey ?' ' ' Anything, say anything : that my father is ill— or unytbing you like.' 1 But say what I fear is near the truth" answered Cieorue. * that poor Milly is ill ; yes, that will be best, he added, as if he had decided. ' Say my mother has sent for us both ; that will account for our leaving together. I will go now and see if I can get a carriage to take you to Windsor-street, and there you must write to Mrs Mounsey, and explain as well as you can. It will never do for you to face her here, agitated as you are vow.' ' And — and you forgive me ?' George looked at her silently. ' I was so lonely and'uuhappy,' went on Amy. 1 But what good could this do V an* swered George, with sudden vehemence. "• Are men'i hearts toys that you can take them up and toss them down for your ease and pleasure ? — yet, God forgive me,' be continued, ' that I should reproach you thus— l at least who am so weak. But I will leave you now ;' and he turned away. But tt)e next moment, stung with sudden compassion — for which of us is stern when love for ourselves has caused the wrong 1 —he came back to her, and put his hand in hers. ' My^ poor girl,' he said, 'ray poor, poor girl . and stooped down ana kissed het hair. • Try to compose yourself,' be whispered, ' and I will try to act as I should to you in this ;' and once more pressing her with his lip?, and Amy was alone. How utterly miserable she felt as she sat there after he was gone. She saw wha tshe had done now— saw how, in her blind selfish affection, she had loved George and destroyed his happiness, and all she could do now was to wring her hands over her own weakness, and moan as she repeated his miserable words — the roost miserable surely which those who tyve each other can ever utter : ' 01}, why did we over m<?et — why did we evtr meet ?' He camo back to her before long. He had met a hired carriage waiting for some of the guests, close to the entrance of Newforth, and he engaged it to convey them to Oldcastle. ' Put down your veil, and take my arm.'said George, quietly, ' and seem as little fcgitatffl as you can, We will be in

L Windson-street in half-an*hour, and it wants a quartet 1 to eleven now, and the ; train starts a little after twelve; so you [ will have time to write {your letter and , make your arrangement before we leave.' She obeyed him without a word, and ■ they scarcely spoke during their drive into town. * Once, by accident, Amy 1 touched George's hand, and it wan quite cold, and there wus a sort of hm.kiness in ; hi* voice, but outwardly lie displayed no i other signs of emotion ; and when the carriage stopped at the Mounseys door, | he spoke in the moat commonplace mani her to the driver nnd the servants. * I have had news from home,' he said ' to the housemaid, who opened the door for them .' my little sister is very ill, and ■ wishes to see Mis* Williams immediately, • and we had not time to see Mr* Monn1 My at Mr Peel's to tell her, ai the tele- • gram came to me there, and we ronst ' start by the night train. So wilt you tell her when she comes home, and will you also kindly go upstairs with Misa Williams to assist her to pack her clothes ?' Tn half-an-honr everything wan ready —Miss Williataa's belongings having • been thrust into boxes by her trembling hands, assisted by the housemaid, while her large trunks, nanny of which hod , never been opened, for she had Dot required much dre»s in Windsor-street, were carried down by the cook and the carriage driver; George handsomely rei warding the servants for their trouble. ' I'm sure it just looks as if she waa going away for good,' said Jane, the housemaid, m soon as the door van closed after them. ' T here's something up, cook, you'll see, and her eyes were that red with crying ; perhaps she's running off with Mr Manutrs 'i I shouldn't wonder.' ' It was past one in the morning when the Mounnoys returned in a state of the greatest excitement. ' Has Mias Williams come back, Jane V asked Mrs Mounsey, eagerly, the moment they arrivod. ' I never heard of ' such a thing ! Do you know, when we were cowing away, she was nowhere to be found.' ' She's come and gone, mam, 1 answered Jane, brimful of new*. ' She corned and 1 went with Mr Manner*.' 1 With Mr Manuen !' exclaimed Laura i Clayton. ♦ Yes' miss. They' cnrae together in a carriage, and went off in the same one to the train, for Mr Manners kept it : and the man helped to carry down her box«.*, for she took all her things ; and mam, she left this note for you,' added June, handing one to hor mistress. • What does she cay Louisa *' asked Laura, approaching her sister, who wan tearing open the letter Miss Williams hod left, aud her face wad very pale as she spoke. ' The coolest thing you over heard of,' answered Mrs Mounsey, now residing Amy* explanation by the Limp in the hall-r-' One of my late pupils, Milly Mannors, is very ill, and her mother has telegraphed to Mrs Manners to bring me down to Narborongh at once. We had no time te find you at Mr Peel's to tell you of this, as the little girl is very ill, and the message had been delayed by Mr Manners being from home, and Mr* Manners expects us at Kurbornngh thi* eveniug. Under these circumstance.*. Mr Manners thought we better <ro down by the niyht train, and I trust, therefore, you will excuse me leaving you so hastily ; ' and with a few more words of apology the letter ended. 1 Did you ever hear such impudence ?' said Mrs Mounsey, after she had concluded it. 'Going off in that way! Does she mean to come back, I wonder ? Well, she shall not, I can tell her that ; and not a penny of her wages shall she sec either. It i too much really, and giving us all this trouble too ; but those Mannerses just spoilt her — making so much of her, and writing to her, and keeping her up in all sorts of folly ; and I consider it exceedingly rude of Mr Manners also — he might have seen us at Mr Peel's in a few minutes if he had chosen/ 'I don't understand it.' answered Laura, in a low, trembling voice. ' Will you let me see the letter Louisa ?' But she ooi j ld learn uothing from it. There was indeed a postscript on the last page, which Mrs Mounsey in her indignation had overlooked, which informed them that Mr Manners would return to Oldcaatle to-morrow, when he would call at Windsor-street ; and Laura read this twice, aud theu returned the letter to her sister. ' She seemed very much put out like,' said Jane. 1 Aud did Mr Manners say anything ?' aiked Miss Clayton. ' Only that his little sister was very ill ; and he looked uncommon had, miss — pale, and set-like about the face— aud he handed her in, and they drove away.' ' Well, my dear, I— l don't ace there's anything in it. Of course, she should have explained — no doubt she should have explained ; but then the little girl is probably dying, and they might have no time.' said Mr Monnsey. * Our young friend, Manners, will, I have no doubt, fully satisfy as when he calls to-morrow.' 'I'm not satisfied with him.at any rate/ said Mrs Mounsey. in a rage. ' I think he is a very ungentlemanly person — very! I wish it may be all right between him and this lyoung woman. Ido not like the appearauce of it at all. But I'll be at the end of it. I'll write to Mrs Manuen* to-morrow. Ill——' 'Good night, Louisa,' said Laura, 'I am tired ;' and >lie took up her candle and went away, but poor Mr Mounacy had the full benefit of his wife's wounded vanity and ill-temper. Meanwhile, as the first pale, pink streak of the early summer dawn Mas appearing in the east, the two who had caused all this excitement were about arriving, pale and jaded, at the station of Narbrough. Not much had been said during that long silent journey. They had been together and alone ; together, yet apart— these two who loved each other — whose heart* boat and throbbed with the same strange p.iin, but whose lives they both knew must now be separate and distinct for ever. They had travelled nearly an hour, when Amy gave, almost unconsciously, a deep long sigh ; and for a moment George, who was seated by her side, checked the sympathetic one which rose in aDawer to it in his own bosom. But the next moment yielding to an irresistible impulse, he too sighed deeply ; aud held out hit hand to her, and without speaking she put her ungloved one into his. 4 You arc growing cold,' he said, in a low, changed voice, as if he were somewhat different to the familiar George Manners ; aud indeed he had been trying hard to be to for the last two dreary hours. 'A little,' she answered, and she shivered slightly. Theu he stooped down, and put his overcoat round her shoulders, and so they went ou, silent aud hand in hand, for auother hour through the chill night air. At last George apoke again. ' I think, Amy,' he taid, in tbe same cold, gentle tones in which he had first addressed her, ' that yon bad better stay at Narbrough, if it can be arranged ao, and if Captain Clayton leavesjwithout any further discovery.' ' Yes, but ' •You'll be happier with my mother and the children than among strangers,' went on George, ' and I will go abroad.' 'Abroad, George!' 'Yea. I have aometime3 thought of eatebliihiog a branch business »t St.

Petersburg, and 1 think I shall go oat there now and settle. ' 4 Oh ! George, need you go?' and she almost whispered the last three words. • Yes,' he answered sharply, or at least with more energy than he had spoken since they started. • Yes, I must go, and I will stay. I will come home once a year, and that will be about as much as I shall have strength for.' 1 And— and,' said Amy, vainly endeavouring to suppress her tears, 'it is I who have banished you, I who have driven you away. Oh ! do not go, George —stay near me to the end.' • Hush, hush,' interrupted George, ' do not talk so— do not try me too far. S— yonder is the dawn breaking ;' he said, in a few minutes, 'how surprised my mother will be. I fear you will be dread* fully tired, as yon will have to walk from the station. We will be there now in • quarter of an hour.' When the train stopped at Narbrough, and George was getting out Amy's laggage, a familiar voice greeted them. 'Station master,' it said, 'is my ier* vant and the trap here ?' and Amy looked tound and recognised Sir Hugh; and George, coming up a moment later, held out his hand to his cousin. • You two !' unid Sir Hugh, much rorprised, looking from one to the other. 1 Where on earth did you spring from !' ' We got in at Oldcastle, and are going to the yicarage,' answered George ; * but how Li it we did not see you on the plat* for ti ?' ' Probably because I was sleeping the profound sleep of the innocent in the carriage, under the influence of a considerable amount of brandy and soda,' replied Sir Hugh, with a laujrh. 'I have travelled all night, and am as stiff as an old chair. But whatever are you coming down in this train foi ?' ' We will tell you after,' said George, quietly ; ' but forgive me, old fellow,' he added, acain holding out his hand to Sir Hugh, 'forgive tr.e my unjust suspicions.' 'What, it's all right between you again, then ?' answered Sir Hugh. 'No more secrets, Miss Amy, eh ! Confound you, George ; it was uncommonly jolly, I can tell you, being confident, &c. ; and now you've spoilt it all.' ' I daresay,' said George, for he saw his cousin was only chaffing. ' But you are not going to walk, ■urcly ?' asked Sir Hugh, as they came out of the station, ami only his own waggonette was standing waiting. ' They know you are coming down, don't they ? Where's' the trap?' ' They don't know,' answered (Jeorge. 1 Will you give us a lift, Hugh ? and I will tell you as we go along ;' and in a few words George told Sir Hugh the adventures ot the last few I. ours. 4 By .love ! yowVe done right,' said the baronet, as he concluded. ' Shut yourself up, Miss Amy ; hide yourself till the fellow's gone back, to roast himself to death, it's to be hoped iv India. Her life isn't safe,' he added, in an undertone to George. 'Clayton looks mad— mad as a March hare. I will h*ar through Donovan, or Lowry, or some of the fellows, about his movements,' he went on againg, addressing Amy ; ' and till he's safe out of the country lock your chamber-door and bar your windows, my dear Miss Williams, if you take my advice Bat don't let us talk about it. Don't look pale over it. Isn't there the brave George here and my holy and stalwart uncle ready to defend you * — to say nothing of your veiy humble servant, myself. 1 4lf he only does hear of me at the Mounseys,' said Amy looking as if she were going to faint. 'He won't, most protably, answered Sir Hugh ; ' and if he does, haven't you the whole regiment of militia which I have just enumrated at your service No? dont' think about it, Miss Amy. Never be on the lookout for misfortunes — deuce take them, they come fast enough without that. But they don't expect you at Vicarage, you say ?' * No,' answered George, briefly. ' »Vhy not come to the Hall, then,* I went on Sir Hugh. ' You'll find a fire j and breakfast ready theie at any rate, and it will be a rest for you, Miss Amy, too ; and George can go dowit ntid face the old lady and explain things a bit, which will make it pleasanter for you.' 1 What do you say ?' said George, look* ing at Amy. For a moment she hesitated ; then she said, * no, I better go to your mother.' 4 1 think so, too,' replied George ; * so, Hugh, if you w ill let us out at the turn, we w ill walk dow n the lane.' ' Nay, I'll drive you to the house at any rate, if you wont come with me,' said Sir Hugh. ' Isn't the Vicar some* way over the borders, Johnson ?' he idiled, addressing his servaut, who was driving. 1 Yes, sir,' answered the man ; ' he and Sir Thomas Lilbourue arc fishing down Woodside. ' I thought so. Well, the reverend pastor and master wont be at home to bother you with questions, then ; all the better for you both, eh ? and the good lady isn't very formidable. a Here's the old green gate. Good bye, 'M Us Amy, for the present. I'll be down some time, o' day, and hear how you 'are getting on, and till then ' and Sir Hugh lifted his hat and nodded as the waggonette turned and drove away, and George and Amy were left standing, in the early summer dawning, at the Vicarage gate. (Tv be. continued.)

Gkkmax explorers in East Africa have been compelled to make a sudden retreat from the interior of Zanzibar by the adverse climate. Mk A. Ta web's recent misfortune in in the loss of one of hia mills by fire has been (says the Southland Times) the means of showing that the most satisfactory relations exist between him and his employers. The men, sympathising with Mr Tapper in his heavy lost, offered to work for him a week without payment, and when it is known that the wages earned amounted to from £1000 to £1300 per month, the generosity of the offer will be understood. Although very warmly appreciating the generosity of his employers, Mr Tapper did not feel justified in accepting their most liberal offer. The fact that many of them are married men with large families, and therefore scarcely able to afford any sacrifice of their time, makes their sympathetic and kindly action all the more commendable. From the North of Ireland s case of extraodinary sagacity in a retriever dog is reported. It seems that a girl who had left service in Portrush for the purpose of going to the village of Aird, where her parents resided, was followed by her master's retriever, although the cabman who drove the girl to Bushmills attempted several times to drive it back. On* leaving Bushmills on foot for her home she was accompanied by the dog, and after proceeding one and a half luifes, the snow being deep, she became exhausted, and attempted to sit down several times, bnt the animal began to pull at her clothes, and would not allow her to do so. She proceeded a little further, and walked into a snowdrift, and would most probably have perished, but the dog caught hold of her muftler, and pulled her out and would not let her ait down. Fortunately she was near the farmhouse of Mr M'Curdy, who heard the howling of the dog. The girl managed to get to his house, where she and the brave animal were kindly treated and kept all night,