Jasper County Democrat, Volume 3, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 July 1900 — Captain Brabazon [ARTICLE]

Captain Brabazon

BY B. M. CROKER

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CHAPTER XXV. If is the very fug end of the season. Tory hot weather in July, and yet crowds linger on iu town, unable to tear themselves awny. Among the crowd one morning in the row sits (Jussie, determined to see the season “out,” ns she says, to the bitter end. She delights In London, and is by no means looking forward to the orthodox two months at the seaside. Hamc, on the contrary, is yearn ing for the deep, cool country lanes, the hay fields and the little, trickling streams around Maxton, and it is only (Jessie’s nrgent insistence that keeps her at her side, (lassie had stigmatized two stiff, Teapectable, elderly Indies as “a funny old pair of jack daws," when her attention was attracted by Milos—actually Miles—riding; going up the ride on a very fine, brown horse, accompanied by an elderly gentleman, «>th whom he was In deep conversation. “It’s my cousin, I mean," correcting herself, “riding it—Captain Brabazon. "Oh, impelnonwly. “I wish lie would look this way! How stupid of him! Esme,” turning quickly to her sister, "do you see Miles and the tiPTWftifnl horse lie is hiding? Where on earth did lie get it?" “Hush,■ (iussie.’-’-said the - other,-in — low voice "I>on't you know what horse it is? It’s poor Teddy's charger,” with a sob in her throat. "What! You don’t say mi! Oh, then I must see it. Mr. Del a fosse,” excitedly to her escort, “hurry, hurry along and beckon him! Say I wish to see him at once! lie is riding my poor brother's horse; be brought it home.” And thereupon, in spite of Esme’s agonized unspoken' appeal, Mr. Deinfosse was dispatched up the ride to summon Miles. In three minutes more he was beside the ratlings, and fJussie was leaning over them, full of enthusiasm, surprise and admiration, reproaching her cousin for bis neglect in her most sprightly manner. Esme laid her Tillnd on the . smooth, hard neck of. Toddy's charger and said in • low voice: “So, this is Kitty? I’m I’m glad you brought her home. Miles,” raising her .eyes to his, but the strain was too severe, beyond her endurance. The memory of Teddy, the presence of Miles, who was t leanang over Kitty’s neck and looking straight down into her upturned face, were too much for her composure. Great big tears sprang to lier eyes In spite of a valiant struggle to suppress them, and one of them actually fell on brown nose. Site hastily turned, without another look or word, and precipitately sought her chair, with her eyes on the ground, and her parasol held well between herself and her lynx-eyed elder sister. A little later Unssie and her sister, in their smart victoria, with superb-stepping cobs, were Isnviing homeward for dinner, to which.(Jussie had invited Miles. The dinner party was a rather dull affair, despite of (Jussie’s French cook, and her own unflagging power of sustaining conversation. Esme sat beside Mr. llepburn, and endeavored to cat what was placed before her, and to talk to her companion, with but small success. The social atmosphere around her was overcharged. When the Indies rose she retired altogether, and did not reappear during the remainder of tin* evening; her head ached badly it was no empty excuse this time. (Jussie took an unaccountable pleasure in bringing Miles and K une together. The •itnation was piquant; it gave tier an odd sensation to watch them stealthily, and there was a tine flavor of danger about the whole proceeding that appealed to her love of excitement. She was a mass of contradictions. • She did not mean her sister to marry this good-looking, impecunious cousin, and yet she <tm!d not resist asking him to her house. She was, «s we have before remarked, like a child playing with combustibles', and would be not a little startled if she made n grand conflagration. - Two days later Miles stood at the Vaahon doorstep, holding parley with one of her powdered giants. Mrs. Vaslion went out riding about half „«n hour ago, but," eimouragmgl.v, suid the man, “Mis* Brabaztm is at home." At this critical moment the young lady herself appeared upon the stairs. She was drawing on her gloves, “(Jussie is not at home," she said, offering her hand formally. "And you are going out, too?” interrogatively "Yes; just to Kensington Gardens.” “Then, iu that case, if you will allow me, I will accompany you," walking lieaide her down the steps as he spoke. The impassive Jennies stood with his hand on the door, and looked after the couple with an air of almost paternal valediction. “What u warm day it is,” observed Miles, striking at once into that very safe subject—the weather. “Yes, broiling. (Jussie will be sorry to mins you,”*she observed, politely, ns they strolled slowly across the grass, “hut she will be at home all the afternoon,” seating herself, as she spoke, on a wooden bench. "I am not going any further; thanks.” Hut Miles did not accept this covert dismissal; on the contrary, he sat down beside her, exclaiming: "Not going any further! Neither nra I. In fact, Esme, my visit to-day was not to (Jussie. but to you." “To me?” very stiffly. “Yes,' to you. 1 see you are about to add. ‘And to what ntn I indebted for the houor?’ I will tell you ns well ns I can. I wanted to s|>enk to you— shaking is harder than writing lint it is more satisfactory—to ask you once more to forgive me-you might; it has boon worm? for n»e than for you. a thousand times.” “I do forgive you." startled at this sudden appeal, and becoming very white. "I forgave you freely long ago,” lookinf ■freight before her as she spoke. “Let us ■ever, never speak of the subject again. W# will forget it.” -

“You may," replied her cousin, impressively; "but I never can.”’ "Oli, yes, you 'can: you will find it easier than you think,” with veiled significance. "And now, Miles,” she continued, her mind wavering between impulse ithd reserve; eager, on one hand, to seize this unrivaled opportunity to question her companion about Teddy, and yet reluctant to break down the barrier of cool formality she ffSd raised with such labor, "1 want jou to tell me about Teddy.” CHAPTER XXVI. Miles Brabazon had been most completely taken aback by the cool, halfeontemptuous manner in which she had absolved him, and her eager haste to quit the subject which had such a vital interest for them both. He could have borne it better if she had turned upon him with angry reproaches, with' bitter, hot upbraidings, with indignation yea, with tears. This calm, tranquil indifference, this complete and prompt forgiveness, was intolerable. "About Teddy,” lie replied, after a very perceptible silence. "You saw my letters, did you not? What more can I tell you? • WharTtiv run wi-h to hear?" digging up a daisy with his cone, without raising his head. “About his death," casting reserve to the winds-and gazing at- her cousin -withtightly clasped hands and agonized eyes. •Tin always thinking of it; did he suffer much?" her voice sinking to a whisper. “No —no —he passed away almost as if he were asleep, with his hand in mine, his head on my shoulder—he said it was j not hard to die,” he added, in a lower j tone. “Tell me some more—you were with hitn lone, you only. 1 know that he sent me his love, but were there no last wishes, was there no •” with quivering lips, "no message for me?” - .■ "Yes,” returned Miles, with an effort, “there was a special message for you,” slowly turning his head, and looking at his cousin gravely. "And what was it?” breathlessly; rising to her feet and confronting her companion, with anxious, wistful eyes. Tell it to me, oli, tell it to me quickly!” "I cannot,” also standing up. “It has no sense now, it is a dead letter." “What do you mean?” indignantly. “Do you intend to keep it from tpe? Miles! how can you be,.so dishonorable! you are betraying a trust he left' with you a message for me; you'must, you shall tell me," unconsciously seizing his arm, carried away by passion and strong emotion, and regardless of time, person or place. "I have told you before that I cannot. He would not wish It now. He satisfied to know that his last thoughts were for you; that yours was the lats name he uttered.” “1 know, I know,” she returned, with dropping tears. “But why may 1 not bear all? How changed you are. Miles—how hard.” “So are you,” he replied, in a constrained tone. "I know, in spite of your assurance just now, that your forgiveness is but hollow. If Teddy bad lived it might have been different. He said you would’ not be implacable. lie said you would have answered my letter,” reproachfully. “And he was quite right,” she returned impetuously. “I did answer it.” "Yon answered it? Well, I never received any reply. How did you send it?” "I gave it to Mrs. Brabazon to inclose in hers," now becoming very pale. "All, well, she omitted to do so; probably she put it in the tire.” "Oh. ueVer! how could she!” stammered Esme. incredulously. “Probably without the smallest compunction. Possibly she thought she was, acting in your best interests.” "I knew she never liked you, Miles; never. Oil, what a dreadful day it was for us when papa married again ami gave us such a stepmother!” exclaimed Esme, impetuously. "She drove Teddy from home; she made us uli very wretched. She did many things that were not right no, they were not right; and now she has done this.” clasping her hands very tightly together. "Yes,” assented Miles, “she has douo this.” “Happily, there are not many stepmothers like her; 1 know two or throe who are very different,” rather incoherently. "No doubt, that is true- hut yours was more like the typical lady in old fairy tnk-s,” bitterly. "I know that she detested you, Miles; Imt I never, never would have believed that she would have stooped to thut; it was stealing," suid Esme, in an awestruck whisper. "Worse than stealing!” returned Miles, with fierce emphasis; and thtln there was a curipus silence for some moments. He had become very pale; lie was thinking of Mr. Hepburn, seeing with too painful vividness that mental mirage, "what might have been.” Alas, alas! for the many who look with dim eyes on the same fatal picture! All we can say is—would that Mrs. Hrabazou had been within reach, that she might have received the vials of her victim’s wrath. She had mined liia life; she had misrepresented him to Esme, and Esme to him. As to his marrying her, there was an end to that possibility now; his beautiful cousin beside him wns engaged to another rann —he muat not forget that. He must be eareful of what he said. “Mrs. Brabazon wrote to you; what did she say?" demanded Esme, after this long silence. Silence Is sometimes far more eloquent than speech. "She said,” speaking with a decent semblance of composure, “that thanks to my mad haste In leaving the country I had of course lost the money and you. That having nothing worth mentioning to live on, and no prospects, she appealed to my honor to release yon unconditionally —adding that your heart had never been Jn the engagement,” accompanying his reply with a steady, penetrating glance.

It was Esme’a turn to keep silent now. She stood with the shadows of the branches flickering on her white dress, her eyes on the ground, her color coming and going. “J want you to do something for me. to 1 show that we are friends, Esme,” he proceeded at length. “I am going to ask you a favor—l go away to-morrow, and shall probably not be In England again for years.” “Why not?” tremulously, and resolutely repressing humiliating tears. “There is nothing to keep me in the country now; my friends are chiefly elsewhere,” evasively. “I shall spend my leave with Annie, aud then go back to the Cape. 1 cannot take Kitty out there again, can I? and I tvant to give her to you." “To me? Oh, Miles!” coloring with amazement. “Y'es, you are really the fittest owner for her. She will carry you well; you will gfve her a good home, if Hepburn does not object; but he won’t; you need not mention me in the matter; you can tell him that she was Teddy’s charger.” "Tell Mr. Hepburn?” she exclaimed in a high key of astonishment. “Why -should I? What on earth has he to say to me?” “Everything, according to (Jussie,” in a tone of suppressed bitterness. “Oh, but you know (Jussie of old,” she said, smil'ng faintly; “she is nlways thinking SI Itiflfrrlageg ami money.” “Do yon mean,” hesitating, “that she is mistaken? that, you are not engaged to Hepburn?” “I am not engaged to anyone?” emphatically. “But (Jussie ” “Oh," impatiently interrupting, “Gu»sio wishes that I would marry Mr. Hepburn, but' that is all,” turning away and taking her parasol off the bench, as if to intimate that she considered the subject closed. * * Hope began to revive. Something indefinable in her manner, in her half-averted face, was an unintentional revelation to Miles, and, flinging his stern resolutions, nml all prudence, to the winds, be came “a~STei!~nciTTerr‘ii'nd speaking'int voice which lie did his best to master, said: “Then listen to me, Esme. What would you think 6f giving me another chance?" She paused; became extremely red, and dug tlie point of her parasol into the .turf. without raising her eyes, but her heart was throbbing wildly. The young lady before him wns nearly as agitated as he was himself." She felt that fate had been kind to her at last. She knew full well that slio would rather marry her Cousin Miles, aud take in sewing, if need be, than Craven Hepburn and all his thousands, and, without any undue reluctance, she answered “Yes.” * * « • * » * Thanks to Miss Jane Brabazon's wellfilled pttr*e. the young people were endowed with a sufficient income, and even (Jussie’s fears were dissipated. Milos was now. notoriously Mi-s Jane’s heir; and she told him anxiously that she hoped he would leave the army and settle down near her, “for you surely cannot exphot me to spare you Esme altogether.” Her delight at this unexpected realization of her hopes of seeing one love-match in the family, was expressed iu a very tangible form. It took the shape of an allowance of five hundred a year, carriages, piano, plate, house linen, and many other gifts too numerous to mention. And now we have a vision of a grand choral ceremony; of white flowers and white dresses, of a crowded church, of countless favors; finally of a storm of rice and o!d shoes. In the midst of the throng we notice Miss Jane, her gray curls bobbin/, her fare beaming. Here, at last, is a wedding lo her mind. She holds her white satin missile in her hand, throws it with hearty satisfaction, and we ourselves, with equal good will, figuratively fling a slipper after Captain and Mrs. Brabazon. (The cud.)