CHAPTER IX.—Joan.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXII, Issue 2575, 12 January 1889, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER IX.—Joan.

" I had one caller to-day in spite of wind and weather," said Mrs. Angus to Robert one evening when he joined her in the drawing-room before dinner. " Yes, who was it 1 !" Kobert asked cheerily. "It certainly has not been a very tempting day." " Miss Laurence." " Joan!" exclaimed Kobert, eagerly. " And what did you think of her, Mrs. Angus T " Will you exi.'use me if I say I like her the best of ull the ladies who have yet called ]" Isabel said a little hesitatingly, for the ladies from the Thorn had been her earliest visitors.

" I hoped and expected you would like her, Mrs. Angus. I Avas afraid she would not call. Joan is very proud in her own way. " I could see that. She apologised for coming in the storm, and frankly told me her reason for doing so was that she guessed she should find me alone. We both laughed at that, and then we got on splendidly She invited nie to come and see her and I am going soon." "Then she must have thoroughly approved of you, Mrs. Angus," laughed Robert. " Miss Laurence has not sustained her old reputation for hospitality since she went to Sunset Cottage." " I felt very sorry for her, yet she is not a woman, either, who looks as if she expected or desired pity. Yet her life must be terribly lonely." " Then you know her circumstances ?" Robert said, euquiringly. " Oh, yes. Your father used to tell me about Auchengray folks before I came ; and I was specially interested in Miss Laurence, probably because she is an orphan like myself." " She will be your true friend, Mrs. Angus She has been mine all my days, and has kept me in the right Avay often Avlien I might have gone wrong," Robert said, and Isabel Angus marvelled a little at the evident emotion Avith Avhich he spoke. Very pleasant indeed Avas the friendship between Robert Angus and his father's wife, and, save for Rolfe, it Avas a happy household. It was wonderful the difference a woman's gentle presence made in the house, and day by day she fulfilled more completely her resolution to make it indeed a home. She Avas a woman whom it was impossible to be constantly with and not learn to love. She Avas unselfish, considerate, thoughtful for others, gentle and yet bright in her whole bearing; her very presence Avas like sunshine wherever she Avas. Spite of the disparity in years betAveen her husband and herself, they were deeply attached to each other, and happier than many who enter the bonds Avith brighter and more equal prospects. Rolfe Ransome was the only shadow, and a dark one indeed, upon his sister's happiness. She was never a moment at ease concerning him. Too surely he had inherited all his father's vices, and very few of his virtues, and Isabel lived in daily dread lest he should commit some graver offence, Avhich her husband, even out of his love for her, could not overlook. She pleaded with him, appealed to his sense of gratitude, placed before him the benefits Mr. Angus had heaped upon them both, and tried to make him acknowledge his obligations, but in vain. He laughed her off, and Avent upon his careless Avay, enjoying himself as best he could in the quiet country town Avhere he Avas regarded as a hopeless ne'er-do-Avell ; indeed, Mr. Angus had to listen to many a bitter complaint against his junior clerk. He had more than once Avarned him, and threatened him Avith dismissal, but the grave rebuking words went in at one ear and out at the other; Avithout making the slightest impression on the scapegrace.

Meanwhile the year was wearing on, spring blossomed into early sum mer, and Robert Angus' own wed-ding-day approached. The house at Fairgate was complete without and within, the grounds laid out, and the rooms furnished in accordance with the bride-elect's desire and taste, which no expense had been spared to gratify. Robert Angus had means, and did not grudge to spend now, though he had hitherto been of a rather saving

nature. Fairgate was indeed a home of which any woman might have been proud. And Amy Burnett was proud of it in her own way. When she surveyed the lofty drawing-room with its costly knick-nacks and substantial furnishings, her vain heart swelled at the thought that it was the finest drawing-room in Auchengray, that at the Bank House not excepted, though it was much admired. Robert Angus superintened all the preparations for the approaching change in his life in a quiet, methodical, undisturbed manner, which might be characteristic of him but was not like the happy elation of a man about to marry the woman of his choice. He never attempted to analyse his own feelings; he only felt at times a vague apprehension lest the new life should be disappointing, and less happy than the present. For just then he was very happy at home, happier than he had beenever since his mother died thanksto Isabel. In themiddle of all these busy preparations Robert had no time to see or speak to Joan Laurence. She stepped aside, as it' were, knowing that at this time she was not necessary to hiin, and never would be again, indeed, unless some undreamed of trouble came.

Joan accepted this as her portion and if there was a little bitterness in her heart over it nobody dreamed of it. She was not a selfish woman as you are aware, yet at times it did seem hard to her that a vain, empty, shallow-hearted creature like Amy Burnett should have won, and account so little, the treasure which she would have thought the most precious on earth. She never for a moment doubted, observo that Robert's love was fully and completely won, yet the matter was open for question. Society in Auchengray was much exercised and sore displeased that, passing by many more eligible ladies, Mrs Angus elected to make Joan Liurence her chief friend. That friendship, sincerely offered and as sincerely accepted, was an unutterably precious thing just then to Joan ; and she clung to Isabel Angus with a strange, ragged love which had in it the very power to attract and draw Isabel's heart towards her. They were sitting together one sunny evening in the window of Joan's sitting-room at Sunset Cottage and from one topic to another the talk turned upon Robert's marriage, which was to take placo that day week at the Thorn. " Robert is a very cool lover," Mrs Angus said. "I sometimes think he does not care for Miss Burnett as he ought." " That is his way," Joan replied, quietly. "He does not wear his heart on his sleeve. " I am rebuked," laughed Isabel. " But, seriously, Joan, I am not altogether satisfied with this marriage. Do you think Amy good enougli for Robert Angus V' " Why do you ask me that, Mrs Angus ?" Joan asked a little harshly. " How should I know 1 I dare say he is the best judge. He has chosen her, and he is evidently satisfied that she is the wife for him." " Dear me, don't get cross," said Isabel, good naturedly. Do you know, you are sometimes very irritable, Joan?" " Oh, I know. Don't I feel myself a perfect bear sometimes 1 ! I am a kind of Ishiuael," said Joan wearily, and her eyes turned yearningly towards the glowing west, as if longing for the rest which lay beyond those golden bars. She was pale to night—paler than her wont, and her eyes were mournfully shadowed, telling of the inward care. Looking at her, Isabel Angus felt her heart moved in no ordinary degree, and she laid her soft hand with tender compassion, on the girl's arm. " Dear Joan " "Oh, don't" said Joan quickly. "Don't pity me, or anything. 1 don't need it. lam not unhappy ; why should I be V She spoke vehemently, and her eyes flashed restlessly back to Isabel Angus' sweet face, and, resting there, filled with tears. " How weak we women are at times !" she said, with the glimmer of a dry smile. "I suppose all this marrying and giving in marriage among my friends makes me feel my loneliness more than I do at other times. Let us talk of something else." "I want to talk to you about my brother, Joan," said Mrs Angus, growing graver. "Heis a constant | care to me ; the only shadow on my happiness. I wish Mr Angus had never brought him here, and yet it may be for his good." " He is very different from you, Mrs Angus," said Joan, as gravely. " One could scarcely believe you to be brother and sister." " He is very like poor papa, both in appearance and, I fear, in other things. When I think of the martyrdom my mother endured for many years, Joan, I can only thank God for my husband, lie is so good," Isabel said passionately. " Yes he is. I knew you would be happy. We used to account Robert's mother the happiest woman in Auchengray," Joan said, gently. " But there are few men really fit to have the shaping of a woman's life in their hands; so many of them are unworthy."

" You speak bitterly ; almost as if you had proved them unworthy by experience, Joan," said Isabel, with a slight smile, "I? Oh, no. I had the best of

fathers, and I have known, ancl do know, many good men. But I never had a sweetheart in my life," said Joan, with a short laugh. " Yonder conies Robert, swinging down the hill. His walk will soon be in a very different direction."

"Yea. Well, I will jusfc wait and go up with him," said Isabel, "Mr Angus will be wondering where I have gone. I did not say to him I was coming here." She rose as she spoke, and the two went out into the little garden and waited till Robert came down to the gate. He raised his hat, and greeted them in a gay fashion, which indicated that he was in th best of spirits. " Hilloa, Joan ! How pale you look; working too hard. Don't you think so Mrs Angus 1 Do you ever take a holiday ?" " No; where should I go, or what should I make of myself 1 I am best grinding on day after day without a break or pause. Leisure would only bring me discontent I fear," Joan said, quietly. " But you will wear yourself out in time," Robert said. " Mrs Burnett is not very well pleased at your refusal to come to the wedding." " I should be out of place there. Mrs Burnett knows as do yoa and Amy, that I wish you every happiness ; not many are more sincere in that wish than. I." " I believe you. Thank you, Joan," said Robert, very gently. " Well, Mrs* Angus, are you going home 1" "Yes. Good evening, Joan, do come up, soon. You stay indoors too much; indeed you do. Will you take a drive with me tomorrow 1" " No, thanks ; I am as anxious to keep myself in my own place as certain folks are to put me there," said Joan, with a little wilful pride. " But I am sincerely obliged all the same. You are very good." " I want to be, but you won't let me. Wait till all this excitement is over, and I'll talk to you," Isabel said, merrily, and they departed. " Had Joan Laurence a disappointment in her younger days, dear ?" Isabel asked her husband that night. A love disappointment do you mean 1" Mr Angus asked. "Of course, what else could I mean ?" " No, I don't think she had; at least I never heard of it. But she has had a hard life of it since her father died." " Do you know what I have often thought, Robert 1" " No. Tell nie. " That she would have made a better wife for Robert than the one he has chosen." " I hardly think so, Isabel. They were always quarrelling when they used to be together long ago. She is an assertive, self-reliant sort of woman; and Robert's disposition is too similar to permit them to agree." " Don't you like Joan, Robert?" "Like her? Oh yes. I have great respect for lier, and she has battled nobly for herself, but she is not exactly the sort of woman I would care to marry, you know." "Now I think she would make a perfectly splendid wife, Robert," said Isabel, warmly. Between ourselves, I don't much admire Amy Burnett. She is so empty and shallow-hearted. A man like Robert will soon weary of her.', " I myself was astonished at his choice," Mr Angus conceded. " But ' what is one man's meat is another man's poison," you know, and it's a mercy we don't all fall in love with the same woman, or I wouldn't have had a chance with you. We will hope they will be happy, however. Bob's a good sort of chap, and deserves the best of wives." " I am sure he does for he will make the best of husbands. I only hope Amy will have the sense to appreciate him and try to make him happy," Isabel said, with a sigh and the subject dropped. CHAPTER X.—The Night Before. It was a lovely June evening ; scarcely a breath of wind stirred the bright summer leaves, yet there was nothing oppressive in the warm and balmy air, which had not yet lost the freshness of the spring. Every hedgerow and hawthorn tree was white with bloom, the sloping banks on tho broad highway to Strathblane were dotted with pink-lipped daisy, blue speedwell, shy primrose, and all the other wild flowers for which these banks were justly famed. The road itself was pleasant footing, for a refreshing shower had but newly laid tho dust, and was drawing forth the inner and most exquisite perfumes of the hawthorn and sweetbriar. Along this pleasant highway, towards sundown, walked Joan Laurence on her way to the Thorn. She carried in her hand a little basket in which, wrapped in pink paper, lay her wedding present to Amy Burnett. She was late in coming with her gift, but Joan liked her own time and her own way of doing things, and it was her desire to see Amy Burnett the night before her wedding-day, and this was it. Yes, to-morrow, all going well, would see Robert Angus and Amy Burnett husband and wife. Joan walked slowly, and with rather a listless step. It might be that she found her walk through the sweet summer air so pleasant that she was anxious to prolong it;

and yet, if she were conscious of a!l the beauty around her, she scarcely looked at it, for as she walked she kept her eyes on the ground. The lodge gates were wide open, for the family were at home. The season in London had been cut short owing to the illness of the Countess, and they had come to the Castle in the end of May. Directly she was within the gates Joan stepped on the soft turf, and walked in a slanting direction across to the Thorn. Some of the younger ones were play ing croquet on the lawn, but at sight at her they threw down their mallets and ran to meet her. She was a great favourite with old and young at the Thorn, and her rare visits were highly prized. She had a kind smile and a word for them all ; then she turned to Mary, and asked if A my was in the house.

"Yes, I think she is; at least, she was a little while ago, and I have never seen her come out. See, there is mamma at the drawing room window. She will be so pleased to see you !"

Joan looked towards the window, waved her hand to Mrs. Burnett, and followed Mary into the house. It was in somewhat of a confusion, as was to be expected, for the waiters from the hotel at Strathblane had taken possession of the diningroom already, and were erecting tables long enough to seat th« large company invited to the wedding. Poor Mrs. Burnett, as was to be expected, also looked tired and harassed, for the burden of the preparations had fallen on her, the brideeloct evincing singularly little interest and very little helpfulness indeed.

" How are you, Joan 1 I had a mind to scold you, but I can't now I see you," said the kind, motherly woman, as she affectionately kissed Joan. " This is a turn up! I've just been telling Polly and all the rest they must either all marry on the same day, or give me tive years' respite between each. What a business it is ! I shall be thankful when it is over."

" As it will be soon now," said Joan, with a smile. " And it is pleasant labour after all. I hope I can see Amy to-night 1"

" If you wail long enough 1 daro say you will. .Robert will be here by-and-by. I expect she has gone out to meet him. Come in and see what remains of the presents. So many have been sent to Fdirgate already." There were many costly and beautiful articles, chiefly silver plate and pretty ornaments, set out on the drawing-room tables, and these Joan duly admired. Then she produced her own gift. It was a necklet and pendant of gold set with tine rubies ; a lovely thing, both costly and rare in workmanship and design. " Bless me, Joan, this is far too valuable a gift from you V' exclaimed Mrs. Burnett, in astonishment. " Only part of it is new. The pendant was my mother's, but you will understand how I value it." " Yes, yes, I know ; but, my dear, it is too much. "Not for Amy to wear," Joan said ; adding in her heart, " when she is Robert Angus' wife." Glad ot a sympathetic listener, Mrs. Burnett sat down and began to talk freely about the marriage and all its connecting circumstances, frequently expressing her admiration for Kobert Angus, and her hope that Amy would make him a good wife. Joan was quick to note that the mother's love could not blind her to her child's imperfections ; and that no little anxiety and fear mingled with her thankful happiness. The sun went down, and slowly the, long shadows of twilight began to fall aslant the lawn, and at last Joan rose and said she would need to be moving homewards.

" Oh, do wait a little," pleaded Mrs. Burnett. " Robert and Amy should be in soon, and papa and Jim will be home from Strathblane and you will get company home."

But Joan would not stay. She neither wanted nor required company home to-night. She left a kincl message for Amy, promised to come up very soon, and not unthank fully went her way. She had no part in the delightful stir and excitement ; she was best at home by her own quiet fireside. She crossed the park at a different part, and going round by the eastern wing of the Castle, followed a little winding footpath which ran parallel with the burn, and, leading through a deep and bosky glade, conveyed her into the high road almost at her own door.

Ifc was a quicker and quieter way ; and for both these reasons it commended itself to her to-night. She was walking quickly, and without paying much heed to her surroundings, when the sound of voices startled her. She was nearing the old bridge, which was in the darkest and most secluded part of the glen, and from which the voices evidently proceeded. She hesitated a moment; her first thought was that she had come upon Kobert and Amy ; her second, that it might be some of the Castle guests enjoying an after-dinner stroll. In either case she must go on now, for she was too near home to turn back. Presently, through the dim light which struggled through the leafy arches overhead, she discerned two figures standing near the bridge— lovers evidently from their position, and she smiled a little as she walked on, determined to pass them quickly, with her face averted, so that they might not recognise her. One step more, and her limbs began to

tremble, for both those figures were familiar to her, and their presence there together was a thing she could not, dared not understand. She held to her resolution, and went bravely on, until she came so near that they became aware of her approach, then both started and sprang apart. Joan stood still a moment, looked from the blanched face of Amy Burnett to the defiant, mocking one of Rolfe Ransome, and without a word passed on. She walked now as if pursued by some evil thing, and just as she came up to the wicket, which opened out to the road, a man's tall figure approached it, and held it open for her to pass through. " Hilloa ! Joan, is it you 1" he asked, cheerily. " Have you been at the Thorn ?" She stood still a moment, lifted her eyes to his face, and put her hand to her heart. For a brief space her voice failed her. "Yes," she managed to articulate in a voiceless whisper. "If you are going, I think you should keep the highway, it is so—so dark down there." " Has somebody been frightening you, Joan? you are trembling from head to foot," laying his strong hand on hers, with a curious tenderness. " This weakness is not like you; tell me what it is." "Yes, I was frightened. Do go round the road," she said, eagerly. And yet her heart tnisgave her. Was it her duty to tell or keep silence ? That was a question not to be answered in a moment. " If I was not obliged to go to the Thorn I'd see you home, Joan," said Robert, gravely. " I'm too late as it is, but I don't like to let you go like this—near home though you are." "Yes, ye3 —never mind me," she said, hurriedly. " Good night." " Give me a word of comfort for to-morrow, Joan," said Robert, as he held her hand a moment in his own. " You have never said a special word yet." " Have I not? It was not forgetfulness or lack of sincerity. May God bless and keep you and your wife, Robert Angus, for ever and ever," she said, solemnly, and the next moment she was gone.