MR DRUMMOND'S SECRET.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 2692, 12 October 1889, Page 5 (Supplement)

MR DRUMMOND'S SECRET.

CHAPTER Vll.—Changes. In the meantime changes had been taking place in the Drummond family. Mrs D. had never got over the shock of her daughter's death, and two months after Larry had left Ireland she died. Her mind beoarno slightly affected nf ter Kathleen's death, and she trot a curious fancy into her head that Bertha was not her own child, but someone else's. It disturbed Mr Drummond greatly to hear his wife talk in this strain.

" Fred," sho would say, " who is Bertha. Sho is not our child. My little Bertha died, did she wot ?" and then she would look bewildered and begin to ramble about one thing and another, and Mr* Dmintnond hoped she would forget, but she constantly recurred to tho same thing, saying her little daughter was dead but who was this Bertha till she frightened Bertha so one day by telling her solemnly that she was not her child, but she loved her as a daughter. Bertha looked wonderingly at her mother, who spoke in such a natural manner, but with such conviction that she felt as if she must believe her in spite of herself. " Who am I then, mamma ?" she asked. " Your father knows. I don't, but Cuthbert, go and call Cuthbert for me, Nora, go," she said, imperatively. Bertha left the room and went to find her father. " Where is your mother, my love," he said, as Berth*, came up t:> him. " In t'ic parlour, papa, and oh, who is Cutiibert, papa, and Nor-i." Mi , Di'uminoii! , . started, and turninsr pale lie araininordil out— " What ilu you innaii, lSjrbha, I don't know what you mean." " Only th'it poor iiiviim i me so, tuning inu 1 am not IJ Tt!i i and uallini; mi; J\ : ora,"anil tellinu me to go uiul call (Jutlilicrt. Who are they, pip:i." '■ Them's nulmlv alive of that name. tVit J know of," saiil Mr Drum numl, " but don't iiiiiiil what p inr mamma says, lie.rtha, she is not accountable for whnt she s-iy* , . I will go to her ami try and cheer her up. He got up a ltd left the room. "' Oh, to thin!;," hu groaned to himself, "that after having hid it from her all these years sho is finding it out herself. It was the fear of sending her mad again made me keep it from her, and now she is going mad a«iin, and somehow seems to suspect I have kept something from her ami she is frightening Bertha too. Dear little Bertha ; no daughter could be dearer with her bright merry ways ; but she has lost some of her brightness siuce poor Kathleen's death ; it was a great shock to the poor girl, and now her mother, not right in her mind, affects the dear girl." Mrs Druraraond got gif.dually worse and worce till she died. It was indeed a blow to Mr Drummoud to lose his wife, but he would sooner see har peacefully in her grave than see her living-. " A living death," liko she had been the last two munih-i of her life. It in a terrible trial to see a dearly beloved one insane, and only those who have experienced such a trial have any real idea of tho awfuluess of it.

Barthii wa' the greatest comfort to her father now, nothing could exceed her devotion to him after the loss of his wife and daughter. If he wanted anything, Bertha would get it for him, finding his and spectacles when he wanted to read. Amusing him when he wanted to be amused, and in a thousand little ways doing all a devoted daughter could do. Mm O'Connor spent a good deal of her time with the Drummond's during the latter part of Larry's absence from home, and the two old people would amuse themselves each evening playing cribbage, and Bertha would look on for a while, then go to her piano and spend her time playing and singing an accomplishment of which she was passionately fond. At length the time drew near for Larry's return, and it was eagerly looked forward to by the three. He continued to write in good spirits and was loud in his praises of colonial life. "I am afraid he'll never settle down in Ireland now," said Mrs O'Connor one day when she had been reading a letter from her son, "he seems in love with New Zealand." " You might travel and see places and people you like," returned Mr Druminond, " yet to live among them would be quite another thing." The old lady shook her head doubtfully, and said :

"Ho has t.iken a wonderful fancy to the place, and I am afraid ho will be for sroing there and if ho goes I'll go too. I cannot be from him a-raiu. I'd sooner go lo Ihe outlandish pluco and be eaten by tin; e.atiuibale than live here without Lmitv." Bertha nti-1 Mr Drnmmond laughed, and the former said : " But there are no cannibals now, dear Mrs Druminond, the Maoris are quite civilised and some of them are in Parliament, so thoy must be educated to be there I think." " Dear me, you don't say so, Bertha. Well, perhaps the place is not so bad as I thought." " But it'e not very likely Larry will ever want you to gu there," returned Bertha, "it will be quite time enough to think about these things when Larry asks you to go to New Zealand.' 1 " Yes, indeed, Mrs O'Connor," said Mr Drnmmond, "you know the old adage, " Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof," besides, he said, smiling-, " I can't Rpare you, for I would have no one to play cribbage with, so let us have our game and not let our minds wauderto the other end of the world."

In due time Lurry arrived home. He looked wonderfully improved by his trip both in body and mind. His mother was delighted, and die felt fully ropuid for her separation when she saw her son looking bo well. He had so much to toll her, too, of all that he bad seen and the people he had met, and the beautiful climate, that she began to wish she had accompanied her son on his trip, and one day, about throo months after his return, when Larry had been telling his mother and B'.-tlia and Mr Drnmmond about some adventure 'hat had befallen him when in Now Zealand, and ending , up with a* usual, ' * l'ke it bK! . • than nr>y place I know, and I hope to visit it a/iai some day," " il you do and Tin alire,

Larry," exclaimed his mother, " I'll go with you." "Will you really, mother," said her eon, eagerly. " Indeed [ will; you have made me long: to see this wonderful land talking eo much about it." " And papa aud I, too, Larry," cried Bertha ; " you have made us all wish to see it, telling us so much about it." "That would be delightful," said Larry, heartily ; "I should feel happy about my mother if she had some of her friends besides me with her." This was said aside to Bertha as the old people went to have their usual game of ciibbage. " Why, you speak as if you wanted us all to go aud live in New Zealand," said Bertha, with a smile. " If I thought," said he, musingly ; " if I thought mother would be contented, I'd ask her to go to-morrow ; but if you and Mr Drummond would go.too, 1 should have less fear about the change being disagreeable to her." "I don't know what papa would do without your mother now," she returned, slowly. "I should have to learn to play cribbage with him." " Unless," said Larry, " you two came, too. lam sure you would like it." Bertha shook her head, and said, quietly, " I confess I should like to see a little of the world, but I doubt if papa would make a change at his time of life." Larry and Bertha were now more like brother and sister. He, on his part, knew that whatever his feelings had been for her before he znarried Kathleen, he must not entertain them now, as he could not marry her. So he bravely hid them away in his heart. And, as for Bertha, she was not aware that her brother-in-law had ever cherished any tender feelings towards her, so she was perfectly at ease in his society. " Now, Bertha," said Lany, after he had sat some time iu silence, " tell me candidly, do you think it would be asking too much of mother to give up her home here and come to New Zealand with me." "I think, Larry," she said, gently, " that your mother will be contented to live wherever her sou likes so bug as she can be near him." "Do you really? Thauk you Bertha. Then I will ask her to-morrow. Do you know," he said, slowly, "I feel I cannot live in Dublin much longer. The memories of the past are too painful. I thought the change of scene would have cured me, but it has uot. I hope I shall never forget Kathleen, but 1 am too painfully reminded of her and that dreadfull time ever to feel at ease here." ''I can understand that, Larry. I have that fueling myself often," ri-turm d Bartln, sUliing. "and now since pour mamma, too, the feeling has been intensified." " iVh-it are yon two talking about so confidently,"' nallM out Mr Drii'iiniinil, who. Inviiijj finished his gainu witli Mrs O'Connor, turncil his attention to (hi! young people, ami seeing them in such ■■iirnest conversation frit curious to know what it wasuliuut.

Larry was tlio lirst to answer, and, c:>n;ini; a little nearer, said, •'I was just telling my sister-in law that I should like tii leave Ireland and go and live in Mow Zealand if I could persuade you, mother, to accompany me. Will you come, mother V "There, I told you so," said Mrs O'Connor, looking at Mr Drutnmoud, instead of Larry. " Yes," said he ; "your mother used to say your letters were so full of that new country that you would be wanting to go and live there." " Did she ? Well, I have thought more about it sicoo I came home than I did when there. But, mother, you have not answered me yet." " No," said Mrs O'Connor. "I can't decide in a moment. I should like to be with you, yet, I dread the thought of all new acquaintances. If I was (anywhere where I could see you," looking at Mr Drumirioud, "and Bertha occasionally, I don't think T should mind ; but to be divided by 17,000 miles is a long way, Larry." '■ Unless, sir, we could prevail on you to comr, too, and bring Bertha." , " Hies? my heart, you can't expect all your relations to go witli you when you want to strike out in a new line, do you ?" sa : d Mr Driimmoud, laughing. " No, not /,//," returned his son in law, " but two or three would make it pleasa-iter." "What (iocs Bertha say?' , enquired Mr Driimmond, looking keenly at her. " I should not object, papa, if you care to leave Ireland.' , " Well, we'll think about it somehow. I fancy the winters are too cold here to suit my liOrilth much longer ; a warmer cliin:.to niijrht be better for me, but dear me, dear me, 'tis a terrible long journey, Larry, for psople of our ago to take, nodding to Mrs O'Connor." "Thtj journey does not seem so Jong, Sir; the »te;:mers have splendid accommodation, and they are only six weeks or so on the vovaire."

" Well, well; come again to-morrow evening, and we'll have another talk about the mutter. There's one thing , , if we go mid don't like it, why Bertha and I can just nnr:k up our traps and come back to old Ireland again." The pros and thecons were discussed the next, evening, and for many evenings after before it was finally settled wha f . course Mr Drninmond and Bertha would take, Mrsj O'Connor had quite decided to go with her sou, and set to work to make her arrangements for so doing, and Larry had sold his business. Thou it was that Mr Drumraond finally decided that he would not be left behind, and the following autumn saw the four tossing about on the Atlantic Ocean, bound for Auckland, New Zealand, and arrived there safely after an uneventable voyage. A year after iinds them comfortably settled in their new home. Larry aud his mother had taken a pretty house nn.v llemuera, and Mrs Drummond and Birtha lived next door, there was a gateway put up between the two gardens, so they could go in and out of one another's houses without having to go on the road. Larry had set up as a lawyer soon after landing, and bid fair to become popular in the city. Mrs O'Connor was thoroughly happy with her pet?, and her garden, while her son was in town, and if she felt dull she would go in to see Bertha an i Mrs Druminond, and the inevitable game of cribbage took place almoet every night. Bertha was quite happy ia her new home. She had learnt to ride and had a pony of her own, and she was delightful to got out into thn lanes and have a good gallop, and I think the pony enjoyed it almost as much as his mistress. Anyway he was always willing to go, and was always rewarded for his good beheavour on his return by a feed of corn. It was just about this time that Bsrtlia began to notice how very confidential her father aud Mrs O'Connor were gottine ; her father would go and spend a good deal of his mornings either in the gardeu with Mrs O'Connor, or sitting on her verandah reading tho paper to her, while she employed herself knitting, and of au eveni.ig it was an understood thing to go turn about to each others houses to have their game of curds. One morning when, her father h id boon absent rather longer than usual xnd Ivinsj fi littlu lonely sho put on her hit and went through the *ate which divided the two garden*, nnd sr»'nsr round f-h- , yirnrr j 'rttl' , -<'.iM :'y sh". beheld her father, ami -Mn 0 wuuui."

sitting very close together and speaking to her in a low tone while she was looking at him smiling. Mr Drummond gave a little start aa he saw Bertha, and Mrs O'Connor blushed. Bertha stood before them for a moment with wide open eyes, then she exclaimed. "Well 1 declare if I do not behove that you two are making lovo to each othur. Why pana, you aro reel, and Mrs O ■ Connor actually blushing like a young <'irl, and oh dour, oh dear, what shall I do'-" and she burst into an unoontrollablo lit'of laughter. She sat or dropped on to the verandah andluuiihed till the tears ran down her checks. Her laughter was so cst'jhiiig that the old peoplo had to laugh too—at last they subsided a little aud Mr Drummond said, "Coma now Bertha, have you not laughed enough at our expense." " Oh papa," she (rasped, " Fin sorry to bo rude, but oh, tho idea of you being in love," and here she went off again till her fiidos fairly ached with laugh ingthen she endeavoured to quieten herself n.s she saw her father did not like it, though ho was too fond of her to reprove her.

At last she managed to recover herself sufficiently to keep still while hor father told her that ho and Mre O'Connor woro engaged, and that they meant to be married very soon as they had nothing to wait for at thoir ago. " Yes," said Bertha demurely, " why should you wait," but she could not trust herself to say much as it was only by tho greatest effort on her part that she could keep her merriment in, (as she told Larry afterwards shn wanted to run away somewhere aud scream aloud.) " I never was so astonished in ray life," she told Larry that evening, "as I was •whou I catuo round the corner and saw those two. Oh ! Larry, I will kill myself with laughing. Only fancy, dear old papa in love, and they were blushing like a young pair of lovers. Aren't you astonished, too, at them." "No, not so much as you. I thought the last mouth or so they were getting very thick. Where were your eyes all the time, Bertha?"

" I don't know. I suppose that such a thought never entered my head as to think of their being married. If either of the three were going to be married I should have far sooner expected to hear it of you than either of them." "I shall never marry again, Bertha," said Larry, sravely. " Oh, don't say that," she returned, gently. " Some clay you may find a girl you can love." "Never, Bertha! Never!" he said. " There was only one other girl I could ever have made my wife, and I lost her by my own folly." "Perhaps you could make it up with her again," said Bertha. " No, never !" he said, quickly looking straight in front of him. "But, there, don't mention such a thing again, dear Bartha, if you wish to spare my feelings." She wondered a little who he could mean. "It must be someone he has met since my sister died. Yet, who it can he we don't know, then; are so many girls here ; but none that Larry would fancy, I imagine." (To be cuiitlnncd.)