MR DRUMMOND'S SECRET.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 2695, 19 October 1889, Page 5 (Supplement)

MR DRUMMOND'S SECRET.

CHAPTER VIII. —Larky Discovers Mh Drum moxh's Secret. About a month after the evonts related in the last chapter had taken place, Mr Drummond told his daughter that ho intended being married very soon. They were to go quietly to one of the city Churches and have the knot tied, aud ouly Bertha and Larry were to be present. Thero is ample accommodation for us all in this house. I did think of taking a larger one, but Mrs O'Connor will not hear of it."

" I hopo wo will get on well together," lie said, tenderly drawing her t,o him, and kissing hoi'; " you have boon :i dear {rood daughter to me, and I am sure Mrs O'Connor loves you dearly. "And so do I love her papa and [ think we shall all bo very happy together, but what about Larry, is he to come and live here too."

" No dear, not at present, I asked him to but he prefers keeping on the bouse next door as long as he oan get a suitable scrvaut, ho says it will be almost the same as being in the same house, as he can come iu and out uvery day."

As her father was bent ou marrying again, Bertha thouirlit to herself, I nm glad it is to dear Mrs O'Connor, I can willingly givo up the reins to her, but it might" have boon a young girl papa fancied and I should have kicked against that very considerably so its lucky for me ils no worse.

That evening Mr Drummond called Larry aside and told him that as he was about to make a change by marrying again, lie wished to make some alterations in his will. If I die before your mother I want to see that she is left comfortable, and at her death tho property is to revert back to Bertha. However, I will come in to your office to-morrow and explain matters to you ; in the meantime here is my will, I want you to read it over before I come, then I will explain what I wish altered. "Very well, sir," said Larry, "I will be ready for you at 11 o'clock to-morrow morning. Consequently, the next day Larry took out the will, and began to read it. It contained several bequests to charities and churches, and ended with "and ull the rest of my estate, real and personal, I bequeath to my dearly beloved adopted daughter Bertha Irvine, I commonly known as Bertha Drummond."

" Known as Bertha Drummond," repeated Larry to himself again and again. "Is it possible that Bertha is not her father's daughter," he said to himself," unconsciously making a bull. "Who is she then ? How is it we never heard it before? Then ask them if this is true. It will not bo wrong to love her." Larry was so completely taken by surprise 'at tho discovery he had made that ho could only sit and read tho words over and over again till they actually seemed to dance before his eyes ; then his thoughts went back to tho first night ho had seen her and ho remembered how surprised ho had been to sec her so unliko Kathleen, and ho romombered saying so to Mr Drummond once aud he did not seem pleased at tho remark, especially when Mrs Drummond said: "I always say Bertha must be a fairy, for she is so unlike licr sister or cither of us." AU these things came back to his mind vividly now, though they were pas&ed over at tho time without more than a passing rem Mr' Drummond now entered, and Larry jumped up with a start. « Why, Larry my boy, you ara nervous this morning. I knocked three times and could not make you hear so I opened the door and came in. What is the matter with you? is there anything wrong in my will that has frightened you ? or are you disappointed that you ace Irft out ik" .... ... "Oh no, no," said Larry it was this that I could not make out, 1 was so surprised that-that I could think cf nothing else since. Is she—is Bertha not your daughter.?" . " No " said Mr Drummond, "she is not thouzh'she is as dear to me as one." " And docs Be.-tha know.?" "No," ho replied, " but I am going to tell her, I kept it it a secret during my wife's life, and then I thought I would not let Bertha know until _ I was dead, but I took your mother into my confidence about it the other day and she is most anxious that I should tell her so. I will tell you all about ic to-night, and now my boy lot us get to business. Larry could hardly keep his mind on what Mr Drummond wsfl saying to him that day, so lie was glad "when the interview was over. That evening when Mrs 0 Connor and her son went with the Drummond' sjas was their want after tea, instead of the usual „ame of cribbago Mr Drummond said that ho wanted to tell them all of a secret iu connection with his life, and the tuno had come now when there waß no necessity for keeping it any longer "A. secret, papa. Oh! that s delight ful," cried Bertha, with truo feminine ' oiu'iosity and slapping lier hands; "do be quick, papa. The idea of you having ■ a secret'hid from me all these years, but > how long have you had it papa,

" Ever since you were a baby, my love," said her father, smiling at her eagerness. "Ever since I was a baby ; oh, dear, what a long time, lam sure I could not keep one all that time. What is it, I'm dying to hear it, are you not, Larry. _ ° " Yes, I'm most anxious to hear it," he replied, "In fact I am longing to hear it."

"There now," cried Bertha, "they say its only women are curious, and here's our noble lawyer acknowledging he's longing to hear it. Oh, do begin papa." "I am only waiting for you to be quiet, my child, and I will." Whereupon Bertha sat down on a stool at her father's feet, and looked up at him with such a comically demure expression that the other three could not help laughing at her, but she kept quiet, and when they had finished she said " Who are you waiting for now, papa ? Not me." Then there was a lull. CHAPTER IX.—Mr Drumsiond's Secret. Well, to begin with, when Kathleen was about five years old wo were expecting to have another baby in the house. In due time another little girl arrived, but it only lived for ten days, and my wife took the loss of her so to heart that she lost her reason, and became so violent that I was obliged to sond her to a private asylum for a month or so, and Bertha my darling now comes the part that you played in this secret. About a year previous to this time my wife's _ half brother, Cuthbert Irvine had married a girl rather beneath him in rank, (at least so my wife's family thought, as they were very proud folks), but I did not wonder at Cuthbert for she was a very pretty Irish girl, with bright winning ways, something like this little girl, putting his hand affectionately on Bertha's head. "But the Irvincs were so incensed at the match that they told Cuthbort if ho married Nora Mc'Dermot, they would never speak to him again, Cuthbert told them they could give him up if they liked, but that he would never gi'-e Nora up, and the very next day he left the house and was married to Norah, and they both went away and we never heard anything of them again until my poor wife was in the asylum, when a letter came for her from poor Norah, asking her to come to her at once, that she was dying at the Lyingin Hospital, in Dublin. Wc were living at Antrim then, but I started off at once to sec what I could do for the poor thing. I found her very ill, dying I could see, and a little baby a few weeks old by her side. Norah recognised me at once, but where is Cuthbert s sister, would sho not come to a dying woman. I explained that my wife was unable to come, and in a few words as possible told her of the death of infant, and how it had effected her mind, the poor girl wept tears of sympathy as she heard it, then she told mo her story. Cuthbert and she had gone to Dublin after they wore married, ard he was i successful in getting employment for six ! months or so. When one day ho was run over by a eab and picked up insensible and taken to tlie nearest Hospital, where he lingered for a month and then died, ho wrote a letter to bis father asking him

to help his poor Wife, out it was returned to Norah, then after Cuthbert's death she wrote to till her father-in-law of it, but her letter was also letmned. She supported herself with needle-worlc for some time till I was obliged to come here, and oh ! Mr Drum mond, when I found I was not getting better and," clasping her thin hands, "I was fretting as to what would become of this " wee darling," and the thought of it has well-nigh sent tno mad till I thought I would appeal to your wife who was herself a mother and who Cuthbert alwavs loved, for she was less hard on him than tho other's were for marrying me. Will you, oh ! will you, dear Mr Drummond, look after this little orphan when I am gone," and she looked at mo most appealingly with clasped hands. I promised there and then that I would take the little girl home and rear it as my own, and never to my dying day will 1 forget the look of gratitude that came over dear Norah's face. God bles3 you Mr Drummond for those words," she sobbed, " and if we are pei- | mittcd in the next world to pray for those on earth, I shall never cease to

pray for you." Baby's name is Bertha, after Cuthbcit, mother and you my dear girl, drawing Bertha to him, are that little baby. Bertha had been weeping tears of sympathy w'ijills-it her father was speaking, and Mrs O'Connor was quietly wiping her eyes, Me, Papa, said Bertha in a low tone, then I am not your daughter. " No, my dearest, but as dear to mo as anv daughter could be." " But to continue. I soon bade Nora good-bye, seeing she was nigh exhausted, promising to comc the next day. I then left her and found the doctor, who told mo there was no hope of Mrs Irvine s recovery and he promised that she should have every comfort and attention whilst she lived. Tiie next day when I called she was dead. I felt dreadfully shocked as I hoped to have seen her alive again. I asked for the baby and was told it was well and that Mrs Irvine had told them that I would see it was haudeil over to

its relations." "I replied that it was correct, dear Norah had evidently not informed them of her connection with my family bo I on my part kept tho fact to myself also. I arranged for the baby to be kept there until after its mother's funeral. ' When I got homo I began to think what I was to do for a nureo for tho child, who I intended to be brought up as one of my own. Finally I decided to take our own nurse into my confidence, Mary O'Uwire had been nursegirl to my wife and had lived with the Irvines uutil our marriage, when she had come to live with u-i, a more faithful, honest creature could not be found, and I knew I could trust her in anything I wanted her to do She knew all about Cuthbert s marriage and how the family had been against it. I began by telling Mary about poor Norah and of her death, and of the little baby she had left, and my promise regarding the little orphan, and now, Mary, I continued, I want your help and advice." . , "Yes, sir, she replied," wiping her I eyes with the corner of her apron, " and its meself that will be ready for anything, and it's just meself that would like to have the rearing of Mister Cuthbert s child. "Thank you, Mary," I said I knew I could depend on you, but I have a. feeling that as the poor little thing s father and mother are dead I should like it to be kept a secret that it is an adopted child. We are comparatively strangers here and I have been thinking if you could take the child away somewhere anil look after it, and after a bit I might give up this house and "servants and follow you and if my dear wife recovers her reasou I will tell lier all about Norah and I am sure she will love the little thing for its father's sake. Mary thought for a while and tun suggested that as her services were not much required that I should give her a holiday by way of seeing an aunt of her s in Newry, which said aunt I had never heard of before. She could go for a month anyway with tho baby and see how matters went on, and we could decide what was the

next best step to take, and so it was settled. Immediately after the funeral Mary O'Dwire met me at the Woman's Hospital, and we had the baby formally given up to us. We at once took a cab, and repaired to the railway station, and putting Mary and her little charge into the train, and giving her a supply of money for providing everything that was necessary for herself and the baby, and charging her to write every few days, I left her and returned to my lonely homo —lonely except for the presence of little Kathleen. The next day 1 went to the asylum to see my wife, and for the first time for nearly two mouths, to my great joy, she knew me, and asked for Kathleen and the baby. Fearing to distress her by reminding her that our little one was dead I answered evasively that all were well at home. Well would I bring Kathleen and baby to see her next week and she would be so good. Not knowing what else to say I said I would ask the doctor if I might. Thinking perhaps she would forget it again I spoke to the doctor and he told me I could bring our little girl (I mentioned no baby) it might do her good. So the next week I took Kathleen with ms and we drove to the asylum. I had heard from Mary O'Dwyrc the day before that she had conifortablc lodgings and was well, but the baby had a cold, so I thought if my wife asked for it I can tell her it can't come out, not that I expected her to ask for it for I thought with returning reason she will remember that our little one was dead, but in this I was mistaken, for the moment she saw me she said, where is baby ? I told her the homeless little fib about the cold. She looked disappointed, but brightened up when Kathleen, who had been looking intently at her, exclaimed Mamma, Mamtna, is that you ! Yes, my darling, it's poor Mamma. " Are you ill, Mamma," said she. " Yes, dear, but I am better now," and she took her little daughter on her knee and kissed and fondled her until it was time for us to go home, She was loth to part with Kathleen, and made me promise to bring her next time, and little Bertha too, I replied, we must sec how the cold is first (then I remembered that Bertha was the name wc had given the little one that had died.) ' "Oh! I forgot the cold; dou t lot Mary run any risk with my little pet," she staid. " 1 must try and wait till next week, and then Fred and she looked so pleadingly at me." "You'll bring my little darling with you," and she took hold of my arm." I kissed her and siid I would, for an idea fluttered through ma that I would bring Cuthbert's baby, ami perhaps she would think it was hers until her reason quite returned. In tlie meantime I promised to bring Kathleen each day to her. I spolio to the doctor, who assured me she was in a faic way for recovery. "Bring the baby to see her as soon as you can," he said. " She talks so much about it that I think the sight oE it will do her good." I nearly blundered out that we had no baby, but I just stopped myself in time. That evening 1 wrote to Mary O'lhv.re to be in readiness to return with tlifl babv if I sent for heron the Thursday, for I had made up my min i that i! my w.fc still continued to think our little one was alive I would substitute the ado| t?d child. The next two days I took Kathleen with me to sac her mother, and each day saw her improving, but s:ill i.agcrly asking for the baby. 1 told her that Mary thought it's cold was so muoh better that she would be able to bring it out on Tuesday whereat she was delighted. I telegraphed to Mary that, night to bring her little charge up by a certain train the next day, which she accordingly did, and together we repaired to the asylum I hid leit Kathleen at homo for (ear her busy little tongue wo ald undeceive hermothei. I was very nervous as to the result c f the interview for fear the motherly instinct should not be satisfied, but I need not have been afraid for the moment Mary entered with her little charge, my wife ran to meet her, and taking the r.ttle thing out of her arms, burst into teat:-, th<! first she had shed since her illne.s-i, then she kissed and petted the little thing then turned to Mary and kissed her, and thanked her for the care she had taken of her " little Bertha." Poor Mary was so overcome that it was only by a great effort she could not contain herself, but 1 she soon recovered and sat down be-ide her mistress, nodding and smiling and ' answering questions; those two did a 1 deal of baby worship in that hour. Mary had to tell her mistress all its little ways and what she fed it on, etc. At

li>i)ft!i it wns time to go. Come ng.m to.morrow Mary, 1 shall think ol notoiiu el,e till I see my darling again. W ell 1 took Mary back to the tram and arranged with her to conic again the next day. I wis deli"hled at the result of our interview', audi hoped soon to be able to get my dear wife out. 'I ho doctor told me in a f<: tnight she could go out if she continued on as she was. She had improved rapidly since she saw her children, but I should advise you, lie said, to take her away for a complete chmge, this was joyful new.", to me, so I decided to sell iny furniture, give up the house, and L took my wife, Mary and the children to America, for nearly three years. S.ie never suspected that Bertha was not her own child, until a month or so belorc she died When she being a little out ol her mind again, she seemed to have a va"ue recollection that her little Beit.ia died. 1 thought after I took her to America, when my wife got stron-; I would tell her the baby mystery, b,t i-lie was so attached to it and L couatintly had the dread of lier inuid being upset again if she was excited, and the time went on and I did not speak so often. Poor Mary die I some months before we returned to Dublin, and she being the only other person in the secret I determined to keep it as long as it was necessary to do so. Once my wife asked me if 1 heard anything of Outhbert or his wife, anil 1 replied that they were both dead, telling her the little I knew of the facts, only concealing the fact that there was a babv. times she remarked to me Bertha's likeness to Norah Irvine, but it was not until after the shock ol Kathleen's death had again unhinged her mind that she seemed to have any idea Bertha was not her own daughter though she constantly affirmed that no daughter could be dearer. ~ "And now, Bertha, my darling, Mr Ommmond said, putting his arm affectionately round her, "you won t be vexed with me for not having told you all tlu.i before, and it is to make no difference between you and I, for you are my Bertha Stl "Mako any difference papa," said Bertha; " if it does it will oulv be mak\ng me lov3 you more for all you h-.vo done far mo.' • •And which you, my love, have ienaid over and over again by your dutiful aft'ec'i'in to me, and always romemoer that to mo vou will over be tho dearest if daughters." (To be <witihhihL)