CHAPTER III. MORVILLE GRANGE.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume III, Issue 116, 16 July 1875, Page 6

CHAPTER 111. MORVILLE GRANGE.

Towjleds the close of a drear October evening, two travellers, spent •with, a long day's toilsome journey, wended their way across a fertile tract of land on the borders of Gloucestershire. The sky was of that heavy leaden hue which betokens a storm, and hollow gusts of wind ever and anon swept across their path, carrying with them clouds of dust, while the sere and withered leaves whirled in circling eddies beneath the hoofs of the jaded beasts, which had not, as yet, finished a hard day's "work. The closing in of the late autumn day, was indeed wild and black enough to authorise the far from causeless fears entertained by the travellers. At the time of which we write, when not only reckless bands were -well known to infest the highway, but also some marauding party likely to be encountered on the road, joined to the fearful state of the weather; the prospect of passing a night on the wolds of Gloucestershire was far from pleasing, should the travellers not reach speedily the place of their destination. The younger of the two might, perhaps, have numbered some thirty years. His dress, a garment of simple black velvet, was made in some sort after the fashion of the day, though, at the same time, it retained, somewhat carefully, the excessive simplicity which formed so prominent a character, even in the outward garb, of the Puritans of old and their immediate descendants. A certain air of nobleness ■which marked his demeanor, betokened him to have come of gentle blood. His companion, though with a form unbent with age, might, perhaps, have seen nearly eighty winters ; his hair, white as silver, was combed over his forehead, and the naturally morose expression of his features now wore a sterner, harder look than usual, from the rery fact that his bodily comforts had been most cruelly interfered ■with. This aged man was dressed in a suit of sober brown cloth ; the style of his attire, and his generally sanctified demeanor revealing, without a doubt, the fact, that Joshua Benson, whose appellation, in his early days, was, " Firm in Faith," was really one of the rentable Puritans of the generation now rapidly passing away. Sundry exclamations of impatience now broke forth from Benson, aB his companion, Sir Eeginald St. John, suffered his horse to trot slowly on, while he took a brief survey of the country around him, and wiped away the drops of perspiration which had gathered on his brow, for he had ridden long and rapidly. " It is a great shame to drag my old bones so far," burst forth the testy old man. " I wonder why you did not put up at the White Bear : it was a comfortable inn, good enough for jaded man or beast. I shall wonder if the Lord does not punish us for running into danger, ' for, verily, those who love the danger shall perish in it/ Moreover, I have no liking for the place you are going to. I, 'Firm in Faith/ Benson, as I used to be called in the good old times, do not like even to enter the house of an ungodly man like this papist, De Gray/

"Nonsense, Benson/' replied Sir Reginald, impatiently, notwithstanding the respect lie still felt for his former preceptor; ' ' have I not already told you that I bear Sir Charles a letter from the king ? He has never allied himself to those disaffected to the present government, "but always maintained a strictly neutral position. Sir Charles is immensely rich ; he has broad lands in this county of Gloucestershire as well as Cumberland, and if -we can but •win him over to join the forces of King William, he will bring many others with him, and may well afford to aid our royal master with purse as well as counsel, and instruct him of much, that h<Bj^ht to know, if all report says "be true." " May be as you say," replied the old man, copying the example of his companion, who set spurs to his horse and galloped briskly onward, " May be so," he continued, in a tone inaudible to his companion, who was again buried in thought ; " but if I had you again in my power, young man, as I had when you were a boy, the Lord knoweth you should never have dared <iraq me on as you have done this cold, bleak night." At this moment a shairp turn in the road brought them to a fence, enclosing what, in the fading light of the October evening, rendered still more dim by the hea y mist that was now falling, seemed to be a thickly wooded park, whilst between the branches of the fine beech and chesnut, which lined ohe avenue, appeared ' the red brick walls, with copings of freestone, of a fii i old. mansion, built probably about the Elizabethan era. An exclamation of gratified surprise burnt from the lips of Sir Reginald, as, allowing the retas of his horse to fall ovdr its neik, he let it canter slowly up the avenue which, led to the principal * entrance of the mansion, whilst Benson, with sundry exclamations of impatience, followed, moodily, behind his companion. " At the Grange at last, then," said Reginald, " for surely this must be Morville, the place I have often heard Lady O'Neill describe as that in which she spent some time of her widowhood. Ah, yes," he added/as his horse trotted slowly on, "the description closely tallies, and, after all, I have reached the end of my journey sooner than I expected. There is the noble flight of steps, I heard her speak of, with a spacious portico, opening to the entrance hall, and, if I do not mistake, the ruddy, glowing light which streams from those narrow windows proceeds from an apartment in which the warmth and refreshment I sorely need may be obtained." As he finished his soliloquy he found himself at the bottom of the steps leading to the grand entrance of the mansion, and, dismounting, he rang the heavy bell, the summons being at once answered by the hall porter. It was in the power of Sir Reginald to procure a speedy audience of the baronet at whose mansion he had introduced himself, by means of a sealed packet which he placed in the hands of the servant, and a moment later he found, himself seated with Sir Charles in that same apartment, the windows of which had shone so cheerily without, from the united glow of lamp and firelight, on that chill October night. But Benson and the knight both start alike, though each from different causes, as they enter the spacious dining-room of Morville Grange. The former sees the figure of an aged man pass hastily across the room, and disappear behind the tapestry with which the walls are hung, and a strange fancy [ possess him that in that hasty, fleeting figure, he has recognised the face and form of a venerable ecclesiastic, one of the hunteddown priests of Rome, whom he had known in other and far distant times, and whom his heart rejoiced to see again, and in England, doubtless acting up to the calling of his office, for was he not in the house of the papist De Gray? The start of Sir Reginald proceeded, however, from a very different cause. As he returned the salutation of Sir Charles, who still held in his hand the missive which the servant had delivered, the dark eyes of Sir Reginald, now unusually animated, fell on the figure of a beaiitiful girl, who for a moment gazed in surprise and mute astonishment on the new comers ; who, indeed, should the zealous adherent of William of Orange behold but his betrothed, the loyal and ardent Florence O'Neill, who would have willingly shed the last drop of her blood in defence of the rights of the Stuart race ! She was habited in an evening robe of pale blue silk brocade, the sleeves, according to the fashion of the time, narro^fct the shoulders, where they were fastened with loops of ribbon, widening as they descended, and turned up at the cuffs, to show the under sleeve of rich point, tlie bodice, also, heavily trimmed with lace. Her single ornament consisted of a necklace of large pearls ; her hair, perfectly unadorned, and rebelling against the prevailing fashion, fell negligently over her shoulders. Pale, almost as the pearls she wore, now stood the fair O'Neill, gazing in strange bewilderment on Sir Reginald, who thus unexpectedly had crossed her path. For one moment their eyes met in mute surprise, but brief as was that space, it attracted the notice of Sir Charles, on observing which, Sir Reginald, recovering from his astonishment, exclaimed, advancing to Florence : "Your fair niece, Sir Charles, and my humble self are old friends, or, to speak the truth she is my betrothed bride. I will tell you, if you are ignorant of our seoret, that we spent together much of our early childhood, especially during part of the widowhood of Lady O'Neill, who was my own mother's warmest friend. Delighted, indeed, am I to meet Florence here, for I believed her to be at St. Gerniains." It were hard to say whether Florence was pleased or not to meet with St. John, for the smile that had lighted up her countenance on the recognition that had taken place had so soon faded away. A painful foreboding of impending evil fastened itself upon her heart, in short, that sad feeling which we all experience at times, and are so wont to term presentiment, filled her mind with strange forebodings of coming sorrow. She gazed long and eagerly, scarcely noticing St. John, or the letter in her uncle's hand. The one word of astonishment which Sir Charles had uttered on receiving the carefully folded paper from the hands of the domestic, coupled with the baronet's significant look, and the words " William.

of Orange," had se£ all her fears alive as to the cause of the unlooked-ior appearance of Sir Reginald. Florence would rather Bee the wreck of her own dearest hopes than become disloyal, so the colour fled from her cheeks, and scarcely returning the greeting of Six Reginald, she met the warm grasp of his hand with the faint pressure of one as cold as marble, and almost mechanically resumed her seat. " I will speak to you to-morrow, Sir Reginald, about this matter," said Sir Charles, as he refolded the letter ; "we will have no business conversation to-night ; you are fatigued and weary, and shall partake of such hospitality as the G-range can furnish. Yours must have been dreary travelling for some hours past, and your aged friend looks, too, as if he needed both rest and refreshment." Weary enough was Benson ; but had the poor baronet been cognizant of all that was passing in the mind of his guest, he would have known that it was the evil passios which filled his mind, far more than natural exhaustion, that gave to his countenance that restless, disturbed expression. Notwithstanding, he managed to do full justice to the tempting viands placed before him, and demolished with tolerable rapidity a portion of a cold capon, flanked with ham, and a good allowance of vension pasty, with a quantity of fine old wine, which the hospitable baronet had directed to be placed before his guests. Vain were the efforts of Sir Reginald to induce Florence to throw off the air of cold restraint that hung over her, and he observed, somewhat uneasily, that it was only when he introduced the subject of the Court at St. G-ermains that her spirits seemed to recover their wonted tone. For a time it appeared as if she yielded to the indignation she felt, for her eye kindled, and a bright flush suffused her lately pale cheek, when she spoke of Mary Beatrice and the ex-king. Then, words of scorn rose to her lips, which she could not repress, as she spoke contemptuously of those worthless ones who had risen on the wreck of their own father's fortunes ; of her deep unswerving love of the Stnart race ; of her resolution, if needs be, to give up her life's dearest hopes and. affections for them, and to shed her blood, if necessary, in their service, and Sir Reginald felt that she for whom he -would have given up all he held dear, save his honour, -which was pledged to William and Mary, was, indeed, lost to him ; that his own hopes were levelled with the dust ; that drawn together by the holiest bonds of affection which had grown up between them from childhood, the hand of the highsouled kinswoman of the great Tyrconnell, the loyal Florence, never •would be given in marriage to himself, even did her heart break in the rejection she would most assuredly make of all overtures for the completion of her betrothal. But if St. John was disturbed and uneasy from the cause we have mentioned, not less so was the timorous baronet, who, in the fluctuation of political opinions, had determined to keep himself and his fortune perfectly safe, by maintaining a strictly neutral position. It was in vain that by sundry impatient gestures, and ever and again by an impetuous " pshaw," that he attempted to allay the storm which was rising in the breast of the excitable Florence. In her own heart she ridiculed the timid fears of the old man, though respect for his age and the tie which existed between them, kept her silent where he •was concerned. Moreover, Sir Charles had noted what Florence, in her storm of impetuous feeling, had failed to observe, that Benson scarce ever removed his keen, light grey eye from the maiden's countenance ; that ever and anon an almost basilisk glance darted from beneath those heavy eyelids, varied by a fierce expression of anger, which seemed as if it could scarce restrain itself. Sir Charles was an acute observer ; he had failed in his endeavours to silence the incautious Florence, whose imprudence was thus exposing herself and him to danger, and the baronet resolved to put an end to the conversation, by commanding a domestic to conduct Sir Reginald and Benson to the apartments destined for their use.