Novelest.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXI, Issue 2558, 1 December 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

Novelest.

[ALL kights eeserved.] TWICITTRIED, BY ANNIE 8. SWAN, j Author of " Aldersyde," " Carlowri.e," ( 41 Across Her Path," " Sundered Hearts,' , &c„ &c. ] CHAPTER I.—Father and Sox. ( On a winter's evening, two gentle- , men were sitting over their wine in j a comfortable, well-lighted room, which presented a pleasant contrast £ to the dark and boisterous night ] without. The appointments of the - tables were plain, yet rich and good, i There were no plated articles in the s Bank House of Auchengray. The s room was substantially furnished in < oak and ruby leather, and there £ were some really good pictures on - the walls, and the ornaments on the 1 mantel and elsewhere were gems in ] their way. Evidently a refined < taste had guided the furnishing and ' adorning of the house. Yet there seemed something lacking in that ; lofty room—a dearth of flowers and < other dainty touches which only the i hand of a woman can give. There were no ladies now in the Bank | at Auchengray, Mr Angus, banker | and writer, having been a widower ; for nearly ten years. Father and ] son sat opposite each other, as they had done, with few exceptions, • daily since the dear presence of the ; wife and mother had been removed by the relentless haud of Death. Robert Angus the elder and Robert the younger were curiously alike— both handsome, and even strikinglooking men in their way. They were tall of stature broad of figure, and manly in appearance. The square massive head and somewhat strongly-marked features were characteristic of both; while the keen, penetrating, grey eye indicated that both were shrewd and far-seeing men of business. The elder was if anything the handsomer of the two. His habitual expression was more bland and kindlv, his mouth less resolutely stern'than that of his son. Then the silvering hair and beard gave a a fine softening effect to his face adding a mellowing touch, as it were, to its sterner outline. "Young Douglas leaves next month, Robert," said Mr Angus the elder, looking across the table at hi 3 son. " Does he 1" enquired Robert, without any exhibition of interest, for his thoughts were elsewhere. "Yes," responded his father. " We'll need to see about getting someone to fill his place in the bank. " I suppose so," admitted Robert carelessly. "But I suppose there will be plenty of lads in Auchengray eager for a" 1 job. There's Charlie Burnett, you know. I believe his father would be glad of the opening for him." "He is too young—a mere schoolboy," said Mr Angus, quickly. " I want one older, if possible." Robert Angus elevated his eyebrows. "Douglas was just Charlie's age father, and he did not give much trouble, so far as I can recollect. I am glad he got promotien. so that he can wed the girl of his choice." "If he marries just now he will bo an ass," said Mr Angus drily. "That's just what he intends doing. A hundred and fifty no doubt, seems a great fortune to him," said Robert, cracking his walnuts philosophically. " And the chances are he will be more comfortable than in lodgings, and ten times happier." " You seem to know all about it,"

said Mr Angus, drily still. " Well, Douglas's marriage isn't the point. J dont suppose his domestic felicity is of absorbing moment to us. What I want to say is that there is a young lad in Strathblane to whom I am going to offer the place." Robert Angus looked up in surprise. "In Strathblane !" he exclaimed. " Who is he ? It is unusual to go so far afield." " You have heard me speak of Mrs Colquhoun of Mount Rosa?" enquired Mr Angus. "I know who the lady is. You have done some business for her, I think." ' 'The same," nodded Mr Angus. " Well, it is her nephew, the son of her sister, who married Captain Ransome, of the Navy." " Is this lad dependent on Mrs Colquhoun?" asked Robert. "Yes. He and his sister have been left destitute by their father's sudden death, they are orphans, and Mrs Colquhoun is their only relative." " How old is young Ransome ?" " He is not a lad. I should think he must be three or fonr-and-twenty." " He has been in a bank before, of course ?" said Robert. " Well, no, ha hasn't." " What has he been doing ?" " Nothing, that I know of," returned Mr Angus, in a rather embarrassed tone. " In fact, they have been neglected. Their father, I suspect, was a ne'er-do-well, and the lad has never liad a chance." " He is pretty old not to have sought some kind of a chance for himself," said Robert, a trifle drily, for he felt slightly mystified. " Suppose I offer Rolfe Ransome the place, Robert, and he accepts it, would you have any objections to him living in the house ?" asked Mr. Angus, presently. Robert raised his head this time,' and looked with unmitigated astonishment into his father's face. " Not I. But surely that would be a very extraordinary arrangement. " Not so very extraordinary when you come to think of it. He has been brought up in a very different position of course, from the like of J araie Douglas and his aunt is a through lady," said Mr. Angus, emphatically. " There is plenty of room here, and these two idle women will be all the better of having a little more to do." Robert Angus was still further amazed. He observed an undercurrent of anxiety in his father's manner which seemed to denote that this was a matter of extreme interest to him. Yet why should he be so concerned in behalf of an utter stranger?" Who was MrsColquhoun, of Mount Rosa, that the internal arrangements of the Bank House of Auchengray should be upset on her nephew's account 1 These questions presented themselves to the mind of Robert Angus, the younger, dema ding satisfactory answers. " The house is yours, father," he said, quietly. " Surely you don't want to consult me about its arrangements." " I wouldn't sfty that, Bob," said the banker, drawing a very perceptible breath of relief. "So long as you are under my roof you have a right to be consulted." " It is very good of you to say so," replied Robert, briefly. " What age is the young gentleman's sister?' " I really cannot tell," said Mr. Angus, rather quickly. "I believe she is three or four years older than Kolfe." Once again was Robert Angus immeasurably supprised, and yet another question suggested itself rather disagreeably to his mind. Why had he never before heard the name of Ransome, when his father seemed to be on such very familiar terms with the latest additions to the family circle at Mount Rosa ? He thought he had found a new explanation of the very frequent pilgrimages to Strathblane his father had made of late. It was such a startling explanation that involuntarily he rose to his feet, and pushed back his chair. " Are you going out ?" his father asked. " Yes; I promised James Burnett to look in at the Thorn for an hour; but I won't be late." " All right ! Don't hnrry yourself. I shall be late myself over that deed of old Macdonald's. I'll make the executors pay me handsomely for the trouble I've had with it, I promise you. Robert nodded again, sauntered out of the room, and put on his great coat. When lie opened the outer door a blast of keen north wind met him in the teeth and made him shiver. It was not a very inviting night, and the cheery glow from the dining-room fire shone ruddily across the hall ; but Robert Angus did not hesitate. There were good fires and cosy rooms at the Thorn likewise, and a pair of shy dark eyes which he knew very well would grow brighter at his coming. So buttoning up his coat closely over his muffler, lie thrust his hands into his pockets, ■ and stepped out into the rain. The ' bank stood at the very top of the I High-street, and before him stretehed the long narrow through- > fare, with its straggling uncertain ' lights flickering in the wind, until ) they mingled at length in the black 5 darkness of the high road to Strathl blane. He began to walk briskly } down the sloppy street neither I to the right nor to the left, until presently he knocked up against ' someone directly under a gas-lamp.

" I beg your pardon," he saic!, quickly, and raising his hat when he saw it was a woman. " Hulloa ! Miss Laurence, is it you ? What are you doing out on such a night?" "Necessity knows no mercy, Mr Robert," responded a clear, musical voice, rather more deeply intoned than most feminine voices, but singularly sweet withal. " I give Rosie Balfour her music lesson to-night." "And do you mean to say you will walk to the Manse in this downpour?" " Certainly. Why not." " They will never expect you." "Will they not?" Joan Laurence's voice took a harder tone as she asked the question. "I ventured to remain indoors one stormy night last winter, and Mrs Balfour clected to be mighty displeased. She will have her pound of flesh, and why not, when she pays for it ?" Robert Angus muttered something under his breath, not at all complimentary to the minister's good lady, then very deliberately took Joan Laurence's umbrella from hor, put it down, and drew her hand within her arm. " Where are you going? "What do you mean to do ?" she asked, lifting a pair of magnificent grey eyes to his face. " I'm going to escort you to the Manse, and perhaps I may give Mrs Balfour a piece of my mind. Where are we to look for charity and loving-kindness if not in the bosom of our shepherd's family, Joan? We were too long accustomed to a different regime in the Manse of Auchengray to have much forbearance with the present one." Joan Laurence'.-s lip quivered, and she turned her head swiftly away. Robert Augus had unintentionally touched a very tender cord in her heart, for, until a few years ago the Manse of Auchengray had been her happy home, where she had been sheltered and cherished by a father who worshipped the very ground on which she trod. Death had robbed her of that loving parent, and then troubles had crowded so thickly upon her that she felt as if she had lived a lifetime in a few years. Truly it was a great change for Joan Lawrence to be dependent upon her own exertions for her bread ; and, like many others, she had found the world a barren sympathiser in the time of need. "Let mo have my umbrella," she said, presently. " I don't need your escort." " Nevertheless you shall have it. Come, Joan, we are too old friends to fall out now ; besides, I want to speak to you." " But you are not on your way to the Thorn." " How do you know ?" She looked at him again, and a little humorous smile relieved the too stern, sad curves about her mouth. " You are too fond of creature comforts, Robert Angus, to allow anything but a pair of brown eyes to come between you and them," she said, daringly. " What excuse will you make to Amy for your tardiness ? It will hardly do to tell her you have been escorting another forlorn damsel, will it ?" "You are in a bantering mood to-night, Miss Laurence, but you will find me a match for you," said Robert Angus, with a quiet laugh, "How do you know that Amy Burnett has a light to question my actions, eh ?" " Rumour has it that you and she are to be made one shortly, and that the interest Mr Angus takes in the repairing of Fairgate is on your account," said Joan, quietly. "You need not trouble to deny it to me, Robert." " Why not to you 1" " Because I am your true friend and hers, and you know it" she said huskily. "I think I have earned your confidence." "Yes, you have. Forgive me. I am a brute," he said huskily. " Don't use such strong language, please. It is quite uncalled for. You are only a manlike other men." " You used to hold me in higher estimation in the old days, Joan, when we studied together at the Manse." "Yes, but you were a boy then and " "And what?" " Nicer than you are now. You have not improved during th las t few years, Robert Angus. You have grown much more selfish, and V i " Go on, please." " I think you miss your mother," Joan said, involuntarily, and there was a moment's silence. She had set Robert Angus thinking, as she meant to do. "Do you know Mrs Colquhoun, of Mount Rosa, Strathblane, Joan?" he asked, suddenly. " I used to know her. She does not know me now," said Joan, with the slightest touch of scorn in her voice. "Do you know anything of a nephew and niece who have lately come from the south to reside with her !" " Why do you ask ?" queried Joan, quickly. "I have a reason, which, if you will be civil and communicative, I may tell you," said Robert. "Well, I have seen Miss Ransome once at Strathblane,"said Joan, slowly. •' She is not a mere girl, is she?" ■ Robert asked. "No. 1 should imagine her to ; be older than I. She is very beautiful, and very good, unless I have

lost my old gift of reading physiognomy. Now, tell me why you are asking about them ?" " My father t.alksof having young Ransome to fill Jamie Douglas's place in the bank, and I wondered at it, that was all," responded Robert. " Don't you wonder too?" " It is unlike Mr Angus," Joan admitted, but did not say she wondered at it, for in her inmost heart she was not at all surprised. " I am not easy in my mind about this, Joan." " What makes you uneasy 1" asked Joan, in a low voice. " I cannot tell, only the feeling is there. I don't relish the idea of a third party in the house," said Robert, shortly. "My father intends him to reside with us." " That will be rather unpleasant until you get used to it," said Joan. " But you won't need to mind it, if you are going to set up in Fairgate shortly," she said. "Well, here we are," she added, pausing at the iron gateway of the Manse. " I am much obliged to you for your company. The way has never seemed shorter and less dreary. There is a compliment for you, sir !" " For which I cannot be sufficiently grateful, seeing they come so seldom," Robert answered, raising his hat laughiugly ; then, as if a sudden thought struck him, he added gravely—"l say, Joan, it must be a trial to you to come here in the capacity of music teacher, is it not 1" Joan Laurence turned her head towards the old-fashioned grey house, with its lights shining brightly through its sheltering trees, and it seemed as if her eyes grew darker as she looked. "Yes, it is a trial. But we get used to these things, thank God ; and through much usage the knife grows blunt and cannot probe so deeply," she said, hurriedly. " Good night. My kind regards to Amy and the rest at the Thorn." " Good-night, Joan," said Robert, looking into the sad, grave face with a tenderness which beautified his own. He felt moved with a deep compassion for the desolate woman before him, so changed from the bright, winsome girl who had been the sister and companion of his boyhood. Ay, all things were changed indeed since the happy days when the Bank House and Manse of Auchengray had been as one, and when the two mothers, in their fond love and pride, had anticipated the union of their children, little dreaming what the future held for either. Robert Angus turned towards the town again, a little sadder in heart, until the thought of the bright eyes watching for him at the Thorn restored his spirits. And Joan! Through long usage she had accustomed herself to hide pain and show to the world a calm, unruffled front which should give no indication of the thronging emotions which surged beneath. CHAPTER ll.—Lovers. "He won't come to-night, Amy, so you needn't have put on your best froek and frizzed up your hair. Just listen to the rain." " I hnven't on my best frock, and my hair is just as usual, James Burnett; and pray who do you mean by Ihe '" queried the small person addressed, trying to speak in a very dignified manner, and utterly failing, for there was no dignity whatever about Amy Burnett. She was very pretty, there could be no doubt of that, but it was with the beauty of a child—pleasing to the eye indeed, but not suggestive of the inner loveliness ef mind and heart. She was just nineteen, and scarcely looked her years. The petitu figure, so slim and graceful, the fair, delicately-tinted face, with the rosebud mouth and the big, childish brown eyes, the bright golden hair curling about the white neck, made a very pleasant picture, but one of which the eyes would soon tire Then her dress was so pretty—pale blue, with trimmings of lace, short sleeves which showed the contour of the round, plump white arm to perfection, and dainty slippers, with high heels, which added a little to her stature. She was a very tiny person—"quite under-sized," the feminine critics of Auchengray had it, for Miss Burnett of the Thorn was no favourite with her kind. " What's the use of denying the thing to mo, pussy cat 1" queried her brother, unmercifully. " Haven't I watched those eyes of yours wandering wistfully to the clock half-a-dozen times within the last half hour?" " Jim, you're a—a— — •'Wretch," supplemented the young fellow, promptly. " Yes, I know all about it. Say, mother, is that not Amy's party frock she has on ?" "Do be quiet, Jamie, and don't tease your sister," said Mrs Burnett, good-naturedly, while Mr Burnett looked up presently from his paper, and enquired what all the noise was about. It was a pleasant picture in that pleasant family round, suggestive alike of comfort and happiness and peace. There was nothing fine nor grand about the drawing-room at the Thorn, for Mrs Burnett had no ambition for a fine house. She was a motherly woman who made her house a home indeed to her husband and her children, who were devoted to her heart and soul, and loved their own home better than any place on earth, The Burnett's were

in comfortable circumstances, for Mr Burnett was factor on the Earl of Beauly's estates, and also for the neighbouring estate of Stratliblane, whose owner was still a minor, the Thorn stood within the policies of Beauly Castle, and was a roomy, old-fashioned house, replete with every convenience and comfort for the use of a family. There were nine Burnetts, of whom James, aged twenty-one was the eldest. As fine a young fellow as ever stepped in shoe leather the servants on the estate called him, and their verdict was correct. He assisted his father in his work, apd was in every respect his right hand. He was his mother's boy, too, and the younger members of the family almost worshipped him ; so it was little wonder that the sunny-hearted James Burnett found the world a very pleasant place to live in, for he had countless friends, and not an enemy that he was aware of. Is the world not, after all, much as we make it for ourselves? If we " carry our ain sunshine wi' us," as the song has it, we will have neither time nor inclination to grumble or be sad at heart. "Dicl I hear you say Robert Angus would be over to-night, James 1" queried Mr Burnett, folding up his paper. " I did't say so; I only inferred it from Amy's frock," answered Jim, with a comical smile. Mr Burnett glanced at his daughter, and laughed in his dry fashion. He enjoyed hearing his children's nonsense, and believed that Jim's unmerciful teasing would do Amy good. She was as vain as a peacock over her pretty face, and inclined to be idle and selfish because she considered herself the beauty of the family. The next daughter, Mary, a demure, plain-featured girl of sixteen, was worth two of Amy where common sense and usefulness were concerned. But, doubtless, Amy would improve by-and-by, and perhaps make a good wife and mother yet. With these assurances Mr Burnett was wont to comfort his wife when she complained sometimes of her eldest daughter's failings. "Don't bend your brows tha.t way, child," he said, for Amy's quick temper was up now, and she showed it in her face. " Let us have some music ! See, mamma is half asleep," " Come on, Amy; don't get in the dumps," said Jim, with a provoking smile. "If Angus saw you now, I'll bet he wouldn't come back." Amy jumped up, and flounced out of the room in anger. James whistled, and sitting down to the piano, began to play a rattling piece, such as he loved. The noise of the instrument under his powerful manipulation prevented them hearing a knock at the front door, which was similar and welcome to more than one at the Thorn. James Burnett entertained for Robert Angus that species of reverential love which young lads lavish on older men who make friends of them. Amy was on the way to her own room when the knock came to the door, and she stood on the stair and listened till the maid answered the appeal. Then she peeped over the balustrade, and after one glimpse at the intruder turned and ran down stairs. The housemaid, waiting to usher Mr Angus upstairs, discreetly withdrew at sigh of Miss Burnett; and the two were left alone. " Well, my darling, how are you to-night ?" Robert Angus said, and putting his arm about the slender little figure, touched her brow with his lips. "You are late, very late!" said Robert, absently ; for somehow his thoughts would revert with a strange persistence to the woman he had left. "Are they all upstairs? Couldn't we go into some other place for a little?" "Yes, there's a fire in papa's room," replied Amy, rather ungraciously. Then Robert Angus stepped across the hall, and held open the study door for her to enter. The only light in the cosy little room was that given by the fire, which cast a rudely glow about the hearth, and made fantastic shadows dance upon the walls and floor. Amy threw herself into the easy chair, while Robert stood 011 the hearth, leaning his arm on the mantel and looking into the fire. Certainly he was not the most demonstrative or satisfying of lovers to-night. [To le continued.)