Jasper County Democrat, Volume 1, Number 27, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 October 1898 — WOMAN'S ERROR. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

WOMAN'S ERROR.

By Marion V. Hollis.

chapter XVII. M hsrtfw May morning, and Selwyn Castata unusually gay and beautiful in Years bare passed Lord Selwyn returned, dressed in (Morning, bringing with him his ■HtiMieso-cixild. He had sorrowed as one wtta hope. His face had altered; ■t ta grown grave with a gravity and Mttawse- that never died away. 'Wfr. Mdy comfort he ever enjoyed was wrthi hie son Rupert—Rupert who had Eta- (oather’s- eyes and golden hair. Mrs. ■WlsilTT and Beatrice Leigh spent the ytrr part of their time with him, and tastme devoted herself to his boy. To ■gy riw her lore for this handsome, mel■wMf master of Selwyn Castle increas■iliin ij day is to speak mildly. He was thv» now and she might love him as she ZZhL But he never seemed to know srorbiog- .ilwnt it He was kind to her, ■» ha had always been; affectionate as ttakgh he were her brother; attentive and rfiiinirrmr. as he had ever been. But ttar was no love. ■a- accident brought about that which Mterword happened —his marriage with WawluMgh. Why are you looking so grave, mothm?*- wted. Lord Vivian of Mrs. Selwyn •MF- evening. Sfe- worn sitting alone in the drawing ■mm with am expression of deep thought ■nd? t<naiety on her placid, comely face. “■ me thinking of Beatrice,” she re“E ww not happy over her. I am tar gnwrdian, yet 1 cannot help thinking ItaC B hasw somehow failed in my trust.” “Why?” he asked. “G do not know.” she replied. “I am atmemd that she has refused Lord Eyrttnr. there i» not a truer, better man in tagiand. He is very wealthy, and Beattne- would have made an admirable mistww ftw Breton Court. She has refused Bm. :*nd be is very unhappy.” Wiry did she do it?’ he asked. “She says she does not love him.” regta*:®s> Selwyn, “and that she will only ■anyanan she does love.” “fi married fbr love/’ said Lord Vivian, MMUgiyt as his mother looked quickly throtns face, fearing she hud pained him. “But why need you reproach yourself, masher? B>u cannot force Beatrice eith•erto love or to marry.” “B fear E have been remiss,” said Mrs. Ss+wyn. “E believe Beatrice does love ■mm owe. and has loved him for years. E ww afraid she will never care for any ((■wetee. and E ought to have foreseen it.” “Who i» he mother?” asked Lord Viv>'m. wondering who had touched the heart igrrtat brilliant, beautiful girl. “B cannot answer the question,” said ■ts. Selwyn; and there was something M-.dgaiiirant in the tone of her voice that tar sew looked up at her in wondering Like lightning the thought flashed over hxin. «ouid it be himself ? Was it possiUe that Beatrice had loved him all these wwTß—thwt she had refused such excellent (ftts for his sake? He was but a mortal man, and his vanity was flattered at the thought.

lie said, gently, “you should Rasm been less- or more explicit. Tell me trnly. <to you mean that Beatrice cares ftwtw in that kind of way—you know?” •*E should not have spoken,” she said. ‘De not be angry with me. Vivian. I believe she lias loved and eared for you all ttrnr life.”" "B wwr dreamed of such a thing,” he ■aid simply, and the conversation ended. But he thought again and again of hia nmrther’s-words. Beatrice loved him, and hr-thought to himself that he might just well make her happy as not. Every owe was telling him that he ought to marry. iwyrin. that a mistress was wanted for Seiwyn elastic, and a mother for his young Brar. He was flattered to think that she laved: him. It would make her happy, it wmdd make his mother happy; as for him-■r+ft-Lord Vivian shrugged his shoulders —lmppmese and sorrow were much alike tt> him.

Two or-titre*- days afterward Lord Selwyn. anted Mists Leigh if she could spare tain is few minutes, he had something imgtwtaut to say. and -fee who had long oemwdto hope that the desire of her heart would he given to her, thought it was MMrttnng about Rupert, or the domestic adfinn-of the household, and told him she was-going. down toj;the lodge, and he might walls, with her. Siw they went together down the fresh, <iewy ghtdes of the park; there was a tender green on the young larch buds, imdiiunk May shone bright on the hedges, aod then Cord Selwyn, without any show passion or great affection, naked Beatrice Leigh if she would be his wife. 'WMii was- one dash of startled joy in Haar ftae. one gleam of love that for a nsMmmt made her beauty almost divine, ttetk. she answered iptietly as he had aated; and Lent Selwyn half-wondered if Nte mother I tad been mistaken. ’■toy were married very quietly; and if Lady Beatrice Selwyn, remembering what ate had called Lord Vivian’s '.'“in? fhtuntiotf*' for the young wife, felt any iMiiiHßßiiirTai Ht that he showed no infatimttawfor her, she made no sign. She had samredter heart’s desire; she had driven tte-fair,, loving young wife, her rival, bj woen and insult, by continual petty peraaetdiasia, by woman’s wit and woman’s anstee. from home—she reigned in her dwm and she was content. "Bte only thorn in her crown was that Wotantest ama must one day be lord of Seteffra and she began to hate the etei® with a jealous hatredthat exceeded, if? aaaaabte the envious dislike she had tertea beautiful but hapless mother. tteemumy afternoon in June Lady Beatetefihtegm*. tired and languid, has ordtead£ rte biteds to be lowered, and the ■ team light that ttlla the room is soft . rtrirf ta trod. too languid to think, woagß Bentri ee lies upon the couch, w ish--Mtodiateie to mnaasaaar test broods ri-

found the master of the Halt at home, tired, like his lady, by the intense warmth. She, like her husband, reproached him that he had walked through- the park on this warm June day; and to her also Dr, Hearne answered, with a courteous salutation, that his business could not wait the weather. “What is it?” asked my lady, with a languid smile; and on the words that answered her turned the current of her life. “Mrs. Browne, the schoolmistress of Thornleigh, has this morning received a summons to go to her brother, who is dangerously ill at Newcastle, and whether he recovers or not she will not return to her duties at Thornleigh.” Lord Vivian looked slightly interested—my lady slightly bored. “Is that the important business that has brought Dr. Hearne out in the noontide heat?’ she asked indifferently; and he replied that it was so. Not one of the three had the faintest, the most remote idea of all that was to follow from this interview. The thought uppermost in the mind of each was the heat and the oppressive day. “I thought,” continued Dr Hearne, looking at Lady Beatrice, “that you, Lady Selwyn, ought to be the first informed of Mrs. Browne’s departure.” The fact being that Lady Selwyn, immediately after her marriage, had built and endowed a school at Thornleigh. She had spared neither trouble nor expense. There were two large, cheerful, airy rooms—lofty, well built, well furnished and well ventilated—one for girls and the other for boys; and near the girls’ school stood a pretty, picturesque cottage, embowered in roses and woodbines, and that was the residence of the schoolmistress. Now that the schoolmistress, who had been very happy at Thornleigh, was leaving, Dr. Hearne thought the mistress of Creighton Hall ought to be the first consulted.

“I should certainly say' ‘advertise,’ ” was the advice of Lady Beatrice; “advertise, and select from the applicants yourself. If the weather were more propitious, I would examine any number of candidates, but in the present state of things, Dr. Hearne, I shall be grateful if you will do it yourself.” And those few words altered the destinies of many lives. CHAPTER XVIII. “I hear,” said Lord Vivian to Lady Beatrice, as they sat after dinner in the golden gleam of the June sunset, “I hear that your new governess is something wonderful.” “Indeed, I am sorry to hear it. I do not like wonders myself.” Suddenly Lord Vivian remembered that if he wished to do good for the newcomer he must propitiate, and not offend his wife. He made some laughing, coniplimentary reply, at which her eyes brightened and her face glowed. “I was thinking,” he continued, “that if this Mrs. Rivers is what they say, a refined gentlewoman, we might make some few additions to the comfort of the cottage.” < “If you wish it,” replied his wife, still under the influence of that compliment. “You might send a good selection of books,” he continued; “we have such a superabundance; a picture or two, and a stand of flowers; two or three nice pieces of furniture, and anything else that you think of. Teaching must be a tiresome occupation; let her have plenty of brightness in her life out of school.” “Those kind of people—teachers, governesses and tutors—are not like us,” said Lady Beatrice, with supreme hauteur; “they make what you call brightness out of such materials as we pass over altogether.” “Very probabl/. You will do as I Suggest, Beatrice?” said Lord Vivian. “You might occasionally send fruit and game down to the cottage.” “I will," she replied.

Lady Beatrice did everything well. She sent for workmen on the following day. and ordered pretty, gay papers for the little rooms; she ordered nice carpets for the floors, a cozy easy chair and a couch; she ordered a bookcase for the bright, pleasant parlor, and then went over the rooms to make a selection of books. She found several in the library bearing the name of Violante Temple. She did not care to take them all, but one, a very beautiful edition of Wordsworth’s poems, especially attracted her. It was nicely bound, and the illustrations were magnificent. On the title page was written: “To my dearest Violante, from her devoted husband, Vivian Selwyn." She flung the book far from her; she was jealous of the dead, as she had been of the living. “I believe,” she said, in her anger, “that he values everything that woman ever owned.” Then she took the book from the floor, and placed it with the others. “It shall go to the schoolmistress." she said. “I only wish ‘my dearest Violante’ knew its destination." And when the little cottage was arranged there was no more pretty or cozy home in all England. The rooms were all so cheerful and bright, with flowers peeping in at the windows. Mrs. Rivers thought, when she entered it. that she had never seep a prettier little home. * “You see, Mrs. Rivers,” said Dr. Hearne, “that we are fortunate in securing the services of a lady like yourself; you, also, are fortunate in being under the epee of people so kind and considerate aa Lord and Lady Selwyn.” He did not see the shiver that passed over her—the passionate grief and anguiah that for one moment completely ehanged her face. “Lady Selwyn has sent you books and flowers,” he continued; “she will probably drive over to see that you have everything as you wish it. to be.” She thanked him j* a few faint words—he did not observe how faint they were. The gentle face, the sweet eyes and sweet lipa so charmed the rector that

’v”‘ ' * * * he always felt some difficulty knowing when to stop. "Dr. Hearne,” she asked, “are there any children at the Hall?" "No,” he replied; and for one moment the of death overspread her face. "There are no children,” he continued; “but there is one boy; the finest little fellow in England.” A light, like the golden gleam of a June sunset, came into her eyes. "Lord Vivian’s heir, I presume?” she said. "Yes, Lord Vivian’s heir; and a nobler child I have never seen. He is aa good as he is handsome, and that is saying something.” “His own mother ” she faltered, then stopped. “His own mother is dead,” said the rector. “Rupert is like her. I knew the late Lady Selwyn, but not intimately. She was very lovely, and the boy has his mother’s hair and eyes.” “I should imagine the young heir of Selwyn to be terribly spoiled,” she said; and in her clear voice there was an inflection of proud, sad tenderness that might have struck him. “Lord Selwyn worships him,” was the reply; “but,” he continued, laughing, “Lady Selwyn seems sometimes half jealous of him.” A bright color came into the pale face. "That must be nonsense,” she said; “who could be jealous of a child? I love children go much, Dr. Hearne. I should like to see this young heir of the Selwyns.” “You will see plenty of him, if he teases yon as much as he did poor Mrs. Browne,” laughed the rector again. “He used to ride down to the cottage several times in the week, and completely destroy her flowers by making furious efforts to increase their growth.” Again the tender light shone in the shadowed eyes, and the good rector, thinking he had stayed long enough with the schoolmistress,, went away with Mrs. Tatton. On the morrow Mrs. Rivers opened the school, and the children's hearts warmed to the sad, gentle face. The sweet voice had a charm for them, as it had for others. “I shall be happy in my duty, at least,” said the lady, when school hours were over, and she sat among the flowers with her book. Then down the high road came a footman in livery. He opened the little gate, and stood before her. “My lady's compliments, and she had sent Mrs. Rivers a basket of fruit. She would call with some friends to see the school on the morrow.” (To be continued.)