Through Deep Waters.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXI, Issue 2516, 25 August 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

Through Deep Waters.

equally bestowed upon a succes-ful claimant if a large fortune only were at stake. But the painter was deeply touched by Bertram de Clifford's generous clasp of the hand and few earnest words of congratulation; and he could hardly forbear a smile at those of his leader. " I do congratulate you with all my heart, Don Cola—excuse me for using the old familiar name till I know which of your many baptismals you intend to choose—but I think you, or rather the defendants —have done us leaders a wrong; all these months of preparation, and a trial of less than three days! -It is a model pedigree case ! no defence ! But the summing up was splendid, was'nt it T' Agnes was in court with Lady Magdalen Hyde, Lisetta, and Father Michael; and as soon as possible the painter gained the side of Florence de Clifford. " You will return," he said, "in my carraige. I have much to say to you." She had lowered a thick veil over her face ; and did not lift it as she answered, hurriedly— " No, no; you may nobly forgive but I cannot forget. I will go alone " " Remember one thing more, Florence—you were my father's wife. " And wronged you, Cola ; leave me—" "To the hootings of that rough crowd ? Impossible ! Come with me, Florence, I will take no refusal." She offered no more resistance, but obeyed him meekly. Shu seemed quite broken and subdued, and those who had seen her that day declared that they would hardly have recognised the Florence de Clifford they had known. The painter had come in a plain brougham, and in this he sent Merced and Don Ramon, he himself waiting till the crowd had considerably dispersed, numbers running after the wrong carriage, under the idea that it contained the hero of the hour, and he then left with Florence by the judge's entrance, and drove off quietly, leaving a number of idlers to the satisfactory adjuration of a burly policeman. " There now, do clear oft', yer ragamuffins ; the cove's been gone this 'alf hour! got off quiet by a back way whiles you was a gamin' and a hollerin' after the wrong carriage. See'd him myself; so be off, now." And off they went, venting their disappointment on the head of the unoffending policeman in the shape of those various gracious forms, which How so readily from the lips of the canaille. Two days after the trial, Sir Selwyn Grant-Faulkner received from Cola-Maria, a cheque for £4,000, in liquidation, as the sender briefly explained, of the debt he owed for his education and support for twelve years. CHAPTER XXVII. Not in the chapel in Farm-street nor yet in the domed church of Agties's native Venice, but in the noble old Gothic chapel of CliffordArdeley, wherein slept sixteen generations of Cliffords, Cola-Maria (for so the world stil called the famous painter, and the name pleased him best), sealed that betrothal which death had so nearly severed. It wa very simple and quiet, a solemn sacrament, not a festival, and not many were preseut besides the tenants on the estate, who were allowed, as many as could obtain entrance, to fill the navo and aisles of the chapel. Albrecht von Elsinger, Merced, Lisetta, Lady Magdalen Hyde, Bertram de Clifford, Anselmo, and Dr. Delwyn ; these were the wedding gu'sts and the Padre Leonardo assisted Father Michael in the ceremony. The tenants might have wished a grander wedding for the Lord of CliffordArdeley, but they were too delighted with the lord himself and his beautiful young wife to complain, and they had no fault to find with the cheer and entertainment provided for them.

Bi INA LEON CASSILIS, Author of " Ilm.i Raphael, Actress," " The Youn? Widower," " AI. Caddie's Carpet Bag," Sec,, &c. CHAPTER XXYI. Once more Florence dc Clifford had come forward and declared in open court, before she had met in the world of fashion, that she had passed off before the world as the heiress of Clifford-Ardeley, the child of Margherita Marenima and Batista di Stradella. Padre Leonardo corroborated her, and produced the certificate of the marriage of Agnes' parents, left by Batista in his care ; the nurse who had attended Margherita in her last illness, an aged Italian, whose appearance in her native costume, added to her Romagnole patois, excited great amusement among the " profane vulgar," swore that she was present •when the child was given up to Lady de Clifford, Canibaceres would have willingly spared Florence this last painful ordeal ; but for his own sake, for Agnes' sake, it was essential to prove publicly, so as to leare no loophole for future scandal, the true identity of the sometime heiress of Clifford-Ardeley. The judge then summed up ; and his masterly review of the evidence practically gave the verdict. It would have been difficult indeed for any " intelligent " jury to have decided against testimony so conclusive. The twelve bulwarks of British liberties, after an absence of half an hour, returned with a unanimous verdict in favour of the plaintiff. The crowd in the court burst out into tumultuous applause, which the crowd without caught up; and though the ushers, after many futile efforts, succeeded in silencing the court within, the crowd without liad its fill, as it was free from the authority of ushers. Cola-Maria received the eager congratulations which were showered upon him gravely and gracefully; but he showed no triumph and felt none. To a lofty nature there is something vulgar in triumph or elation, which cannot harmonise with the great joy, the deep thankfulness that tills the heart and soul freed —and freed before the face of all men—from the curse of shameful birth, free to walk in the light of clay, a noble among nobles; free to look back through the"corridors of time" upon a long line of ancestors, and to claim their knightly deeds as rich blazonry to a shield crossed by no bar-sinister; free to speak a mother's name with love and reverence, to kiss the likeness of the face that had smiled on his infancy, without the bitter thought that tlie son's life was the mother sin. No; in such joy as this there is a sacred solemnity that is almost sadness. It is not the glare of the naked noon-day light, but the mellow glory of summer sunlight through painted windows ; and it shrinks from the wellmeant greetings which might be

"It do seem a pity," one old farmer said, to Bertram de Clifford, " that he's so furrin, and when I speak to him he can't understand, because you see, though he speak English pretty well I speak Yorkshire, and he can't come that; but then he's such a noble-looking gentleman, though he aint like the Cliffords, and he do speak so grand and gentle. Perhaps he'll come and live among us, and then we shall know each other better, and he'll learn to speak Yorkshire." " Perhaps," said Bertram de Clifford, but he smiled to himself and mentally shook his head. Southern born with the blood of the tropics in his veins, and brought up in the gorgeous climate and artistic beauties of Italy, Sir Rafael de Clifford (no wonder that the English name would never cling to him), was scarcely likely to take up his residence for any lengthened period in his ancestral home among the bleak hills and rugged scenery of Yorkshire, and Cola himself sighed, as on the eve of his departure with his bride for Italy, he said to Elsinger: " These lands, Albrecht, though I would not lose them because they are the 1 inheritance of my fathers,' will be a burden to me; a strange Yorkshire landlord I should make! but I cannot attempt it. I have promised to return in a few months and look after things myself. I can-

so dark a shadow over these two lives. Within these halls which her revenge had robbed from the one, had given unjustly to the other, her year of sorrow and repentance had been spent, and forgiven by those whom she would not have spared, she had turned to the forgiveness which had shed its light on her deathbed, and would linger ever round her nameless grave, illumining the dark valley that lay beyond, through which, helped by the song of those gone before, and by the prayers that follow, must journey to the eternal day the weary footsteps of the Pilgrim of the Night. [the end]

not, however, undo my past life. I am an artist, and intend to remain so, and I cannot become an agriculturist now. I do not understand my tenants yet. I am afraid I should never grasp their singular patois if I were to live among them for six years." " They are used to absentee landlords," said Elsinger, smiling; "and Agnes, I am sure, coulcl never live among such bleak wilds as this. Among all these Cliffords will your portrait look, Cola, when it fills its place in the gallery. It is a noble castle, amico mio, and you must not leave it to the rooks and the owls. I will transfer it to canvas." "Always yours, Albreclit, as much as mine ; bring your Sybil here in the summer time ; wo shall meet again at Eisenach in two months' time, if not before, and I promise you that I will stay there long enough to paint Sybil's portrait ; but Clifford-Ardeley will not be deserted." " How, Cola ? " " Hush ? Florence de Clifford will live here. It was Agnes's wish, and it is mine. I foar that her days are but few ; God grant thev may be at least peaceful." "And Grant-Faulkner?" said Elsinger, after a pause. "I heard that he sailed for America immediately after the trial. I could not ascertain any more concerning him. Hero comes Agnes, and Merced, and Lisetta." But when the winter snows were covering hill and moorland iu bleak Yorkshire, and the oold north winds wore sighing through the almost leafless woods of Clifford-Ardeley, the gorgeous sunshine of a Venetian day was pouring through veiled windows which softened its brightness into the studio where the lord of Clifford-Ardeley stood before the easel, putting the last tint to a work of which already connoisseurs aud diUettanti were speaking with admiring expectation. At his feet, her dark eyes following the movement of his hand, and now and then lifted to his face, his young wife sat, a picture herself of such marvellous beauty that it was no wonder, absorbed as he was, that he turned sometimes to look down upon her and smile. But she never spoke or interrupted him ; she was content to watch him, happy in his presence, and surrounded by all the beauties of art. Yet interruption came, though not from her; the door opened softly, and Albrecht Ton Elsinger, unannounced, came in. Agnes rose at once ; both turned gladly to meet the Gorman; but his eyes, as he greeted. Agnos, rested on her sombre draperies ; for she wore robes of deep mourning. " I came," he said, and his brow saddened, " to hear more from you. I met Merced a short while ago, in the Piazza San Marco—l am just come from Germany—and sho tnl-l me what this," touching the cr.ipebound raiment, " confirms—God rest her soul! " " That life closed in peace, Albrecht," said the painter; "sit down and I will tell you ; I would have written to you. but you were travelling from place to place, and I knew not where to address you. She lived, as you know, in strict seclusion at Clifford-Ardeloy. She often saw Father Michael, and the chaplain at Clifford is a good old man who knows well how to give help in mental suffering. We saw her from time to time, and last spring when we were in England we were at Clifford-Ardeley, as you remember, for a fortnight. She seemed failing then ; but there was no marked change. I left orders with Father Michael and the chaplain, Father Gerard, that if there wore any danger we were to be sent for, no matter what her expressed wishes might be. Last month —it is just a month to-day—we were telegraphed for by Father Michael, She was dying, lie said. We travelled day and night, and reached Clifford-Ardeley a few hours before sho died ; she had receivod the last Sacraments, and Father Michael and the chaplain wero both with her. She did not know us at first, she was insensible ; but after a time she knew us, and gave hor hand to Agnes, then to me, asking us to kiss her forehead, and she looked at us for a moment very earnestly, and when I took her hand—it was quite cold—again in my own, she smiled, I and signed to Father Michael to pray. She never moved again after that, but as we knelt down, before the first words of prayer had passed the priest's lips, there was a slight sigh; and she was at rest for ever. She had desired," he went on, after a pause, " to be buried quietly, without any inscription to mark her grave. She told me so one day when she was looking at my mother's beautiful memorial in the chapel. It were better, she said, that in future years her name and memory should be forgotten, and this wish she repeated almost in her dying moments to Father Michael, and whatever we might feel we could not think that we were at liberty to disregard it. She was buried as she desired, and sleeps now in her husband's tomb ; but her name is not recorded, I thank God of His mercy that there is another record, a record not of death, but of life, and there her name is written." " Amen," said the German, softly, and bowing his face was silent for many moments ; and the painter turned once more to the : easel. i So, in peace at the last, hac ■ passed away the life that had casl