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2. : SOMETHING TO READ-—NOVELETTE.
the big fellow strode hastily across the room
to her, “the farm’s a home to you whenever
you like to make use of it. . Maggie’s a good
girl, and she would feel honoured by your
staying here,”
“T thank you Tom most warmly,” giving
him both her hands. ‘ You are a kind hearted
man, and I shall never forget your generosityy
But I intend to go to London to make my living
there.
“T haye made some enquiries, and my
voice ought to do something’ for me. Mr.
Gascoigne will always have my address, and
he will give me news of you now and then.
Good-bye, I must not | keep your, horse waiting
any longer,” ;
“I am going. to drive you myself, Miss
Standen, if you will allow me, It will be the
lye st time.” ao Le
* * _* *
“ Well, ‘well, my dear, there is no immediate
hurry. You have scarcely been with us two
days. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Gascoigne and
myself would be only too glad if you could
make up your mind to remain with us
altogether, but I suppose you are tired of the
country.”
“You beggar me of gratitude,” she said,
flushing. “I have not the slightest claim
upon you and you treat me like a daughter—
almost.”
“T wish you were now that my own are so
far away. Well, if you are determined to hear
I must tell you, sit down in that arm-chair
comfortably,and remember that a lawyer does
not like to be interrupted. At the same time
my dear, prepare yourself to hear some sad
news,
“Twenty years ago, your mother came to
_ Abbott Mansfield with you, a little child just
able to walk without falling.
~ “She rented the ‘cottage; known as the
Laurels, which was then let furnished, and
lived there for four years with a nurse for
‘you and one other maid servant.
“She dressed always in widow's weeds, made
no acquaintances whatever, and refused to see
any people. who from kindness or curiosity
called upon her. -..
“One day I received a note asking me to go
tothe Laurels.
“T went, and found your mother dying.
“The doctor said it was general weakness,
want of vitality and nervous power, and had
advised her to go toa warm clanate some weeks
before,
“She told me it was a broken heatt, my
Muriel had grown white and her eyes were
dark with suppressed tears.
. “You will find me brutally matter-of-fact.
Do not think me devoid of sympathy. Cry as
much as youlike. Shall I go on?” after a few
moments pause,
“Yes, please.” :
“Irs. Standen’s story was a sad one, but un-
fortunately, no new thing. She had married
when very young, and, being a lovely attractive
woman, as saw by the miniature which is in 4
your possession, had no lack of attention from
hier husband's friends.
“ He wasa major in the—th Hussars, a good
officer and beloved by all who knew him. Un-
fortunately he trusted too much, and he trusted
Captain Ainslie absolutely.
“The two were the closest of friends, and
even the marriage of Major Winstanley had not
weakened their triendship. :
“Your father was a very striking-looking
man, Miss Winstanley, I will show you a por-
trait of him when I have finished, a thorough-
bred gentleman, nobility and integrity stamped
on every feature ; but the captain was hand-
some in the style admired by ladies—fair, with
+ blue eyes, a long moustache, and, no doubt,
. golden hair.
“Your father was passionately attached to
your mother, and upto the time of your birth
,they were very happ:
+ “He hada strong, stern’ nature, however,
and in addition to his duties, which, of course,
. absorbed a good part of each day, he was fond
of literary pursuits, °
“A man does not care the less for his wife,
Miss Winstanley, because he does not keep up
his honeymoon’ all his married life. ° Your
mother did not say that she was neglected ;
but Captain Ainslie got into the habit of going
to see her every day, when, nine times out of
ten, she was alone.
“He was the type of man who is found in
ladies’ drawing-rooms at tea-timess Sometimes
he took her out for drives or * rides, the major
trusted him entirely.
». “When. you. were about a year old, Major
Winstanley was summoned to the death-bed of
his father; as. the journey ,to the North was
long and fatiguing, he did: not take his wife,
for she was not strong and from the time of
your birth had always. been delicate. Four days
later, when Major Winstanley returned—”
‘ The old lawyer stopped, the Took on the girl’s
face was so piteous to see. a
Her large grey eyes were wide and dark, the
sweet mouth was qivering with feeling.
He went up to her and took her hands in his
kindly,
“Tt is a sorry tale for young ears, my child,
but I promised a dying woman to tell you, and
to hide nothing. Cheer up a little, it ended
better than could have been hoped., Captain
Ainslie had gone off with his. friend’s wife.
But Major Winstanley was a’ modern Don
Quixote; he traced them, followed them, and
found his wife in a Paris hotel, sobbing with
grief for her sin, the consciousness of which
could not be effaced in spite of ker companion’s
attempts at consolation.
“Her husband went up to her and said very
quietly,.‘Marion,' come home dear.’ To
Captain ‘Ainslie he uttered one reproach,
‘What had I done to you to merit this?’ But
his heart was broken. He took his wife home,
and to the day of his death, which occurred a
month afterwards, he showed her nothing but
love and kindness.
“When she was left a widow, Mrs. Win-
stanley found that a bank, in which most of
her husband’s money was deposited, had failed
—misfortunes never come singly—and so she
was reduced to poverty. She thereupon sold
her furniture, and came to Abbott Mansfield
with her child, changing her name to that of
Standen, for she wished to be forgotten by all
who had formerly known her. As both she
and her husband had few relations, and these
but distant ones, her object was attained. She
lived quite alone.
“When she knew that her days were num-
bered, she sent for me and told. me all the
painful story, making me take it down in
writing, to be handed to my executors in case
of my death before you became of age.
“By her wish I. was to be her: child’s
guardian, to place her in the care of. some
trustworthy person, and, on her twenty-first
birthday to acquaint her with the facts; also
to hand over to her the sum of one thousand
pounds, which was all that Mra. Winstanley
had to leave. ,:The interest of this has been
paid to Mrs. O'Hara for her care of you. -
“I need not tell you, my dear, that no other
person has the slightest idea of- your identity
—or of this story. Mere is the paper. with
your mother’s signature.” :
He handed’ her the document, which she
took. with trembling hands, looking at the
shaking writing “ Marion’ Orme Winstanley ”
with dim eyes.
'“There'is nothing to prevent you from
burning that here in my library, if you choose.
In this box are your certificates of birth and
baptism, with your mother’s marriage papers
so that your identity can easily be established
with my help. What do you say, my dear?”
* “J will take your advice in everything,
Muriel said, faintly. “You have been 50
kind——
“Pish! my dear, [ad it not been for the
expense of having three sons and _ two
daughters to educate, Mrs, Gascoigne and I
would have taken you in here, Thoy are all
out in the world now, and there fs nothing to
prevent your making this your home, if you
would like it.”
“There is no question of liking, dear Mr.
Gascoigne; I could not be sucha burden to
you. Ihave thought of using my voice——”
“As a singer? You will require at least a
year’s more “training. Although Mr, Oateson
has given you invaluable help, he has not been
in London for years, and the competition is so
great that you would stand little chance at
: 3
present, free as your voice is; and then, it pill
be very uphill work, my chi
The old lawyer watched the girl as, she
looked into the fire, her pale, delicately-cut
profile standing out against the dark marble
background of ‘the mantel-piece.
«Aga child, you played: with the boys, and
with them you were a general favourite. You
liked them all?”
“Ah! how could I help it?” she said, im-
pulsively, “And Kitty and Madge were so
swect with me; they were my only ‘friends, for
T felt instinctively that Mrs, Erskine’ did not
wish me to go to the Rectory, and so L kept
aloof from Ethel and Dick.” fs
“If they were’ not-so sdattinva about the
world, Kitty and! Madge would have had you
to visit them; but India'and Canada are so
far off. Reginald is coming here for a’ few
weeks before he goes to Melbourne ‘to: join his
brother. You know that Robert is married
out there?” ’°
“Yes. I hope he is as happy as Henry is
with his wife.”
“I believe they'are’ much attached to one
another. Two years ago, when Reginald came
back from Oxford, he told me of something
which may, or may not, be news to you.”
“To me?” the girl repeated, meeting old Mr.
Gascoigne’s keen scrutiny with amazement.
“Yes; he. told me that, subject to my ap-
proval, he would, when he was in a suitable
position, ask you to be his wife. Have you
never suspected this?” :
She stood up, staring in silent astonishment.
“Never. I—can hardly believe it. Reginald !
We have scen so little of each other—he has .
been so much away at his uncle’s.”
“That is the very reason why ho was struck
so much with your beauty and fascination, my
dear; the others, growing up with you, had
becomeaccustomed to both. Well—is Reginald's
feeling for you reciprocated?”
The girl went up to him, and laid one hand
—a little timidly—on his arm.
“Do I understand that—you would sanction
it, knowing—who I am?”
“With. the greatest pleasure, my child,”
returned the old lawyer, smiling. “Your
father was a major in acrack regiment, and the
daughter of such a manas Major Winstanley
isa prize for any man. Tut—tut! my dear,” as
she stammered out her mother’s name, i we
are none of us perfect. If she sinned, poor
woman, she expiated her sin.”
She stooped and kissed his hand, then drew
herself. upright, and brushed the ‘tears from
her eyes.
“You are tho noblest man I have ever
known. I shall never forget your gencrosity
—your, goodness to one who would be treated
with scorn and contumely by all- who knew
her story. With all my heart I thank you and
Reginald. Please tell him and that I
appreciate the honour he, docs me’ to’ the
uttermost, but dear Mr, Gascoigne—I—” she
flushed scarlet, and raised her face appealingly
to his; * I—have never thought of him in that
way, only as a friend. And now that I know
who Lam,” gathering strength as she went on,
“T shall never marry. You will understand
me, will you not? I must go right away—to
London, and earn my own living where no one
knows me. Mary Allen, who used to be at the
farm, is married respectably to an ex-butler,
and they let lodginzs near Russell Square. I
can go there, can 1 not? Please do not be
angry with me, Mr, Gascoigne.”
“Tam notangry, my dear. Thinkit all over
at your leisure, there is no hurry whatever for
a few days, Reginald will not be here fora
fortnight. Your money is so well invested
that it has increased to fifteen hundred pounds,
but that only means about seventy pounds a
a year, and the lessons will be a consideration,
That, my dear, will be my affair; as your
guardian I insist upon it, and you will not
refuse me,’ And what about that paper ?’’
“YT will burn it,” said Muriel, putting it into
the fire when she had again thanked him.
“And when I am successful you will let me
pay off my debt, please? " smiling sadly, “If
Iam a failure
“Never despair—you have youth, beauty,
and talent; and you have a home here when- .
ever you like to come. By the bye, here is your
father’s portrait. Uir facet is a very fine one.’