Rensselaer Democrat, Volume 1, Number 6, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 May 1898 — A TANGLED SKEIN [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A TANGLED SKEIN

MRS. ALEXANDER

CHAPITER 11, t “I think Herbert looks rather glum,” Jaid Miss Oakeley when she returned to ier aunt, who was sitting very straight top. with a frown on her cold face. “You observe it, too? and I am not surErised. Mabel is so greatly attached to er guardian that his word is law. Heaven knows lam the last to think evil, but I cannot forget that her mother married the late Captain Wynn during the lifetime of her first husband.” , “Wbg, auntie!” cried Miss Oakeley in a tone of delighted excitement, “you do pot mean to say that she committed bigamy ?” “No, Henrietta, but, what was as phe left her husband for another man.” “Well, perhaps number one was a brute; to be sure, I am not a strictly religious, high-toned woman. I should scent out more wickedness if I were.” Meanwhile Colonel and Mrs. Callander drove home in silence, and found that Dorothy had gone to bed, but the lamp was still alight in the pretty drawing room. Two or three letters, which had come by the last post, lajtupon the table. Callander stood reading ®iem beside the light. Mabel threw aside the white Indian shawl in which she had been wrapfed, and watched him while he read. He ad-aged certainly—there was a heaviness about his brow that used -not to be there. Would he ever be quite the same as he was before that unfortunate sunstroke? Presently he laid down his letters with a sigh. “There is nothing unpleasant in them, dear?” asked his wife, coming timidly to him, and, slipping her arm through his, pressed her fair young head against his shoulder. “Nothing whatever; they are of no Importance.” He stood quite still, and MAbel, still pressing against him, said: “Does anything disturb or worry you, Herbert? I cannot help fancying Bhe stopped abruptly. He looked down into the sweet face uplifted to his so gravely, that she could not continue—and yet he made no movement to return her caress. “What is there to rnlike me unhappy?” ide asked in a cold, composed voice. “I «m with those I love —and —I believe, love me. I have dear children, and a sweet wife. Oh, how sweet and fair,” he exclaimed, with a sudden change of tone, and, clasping her in his arms, he gazed into her eyes as if he would draw out the secrets of her soul. “Whom I love too well —too well!” She felt the strong beating of bis heart as he atmined her to him, and his lips clung to hers in a long, i»asgionate kiss. Suddenly he released her. “Are you gold, that you shivered so?” he asked quickly. “No, not at all—but—but you make me a little uneasy. Do 'not thrust me away as if I were a naughty child, Herbert. You know I love you!” She took his arm and put it around her. “If I did not believe it. chaos would indeed be come again,” cried Callander, gathering her to him in a close embrae. “Do not mind my variability of mood, Mabel! Whatever I may seem, never doubt that you are all the world to me!”

CHAPTER 111. Paul Standish was a capital “aide-de-camp” in organizing a picnic, and Egerton benefited by his assistance. Standirti was a man of good family,’ very well known and popular in certain London circles. Though generally considered a shrewd worldling, there was a kindly core to his heart, afTd he deeply enjoyed his quiet visits to the Knoll. His work (he was in the Foreign Office) had taken him much abroad, and he Liked the repose and refinement of Mabel’s home. Thoogh no longer yoqpg, he had still all the vigor and elasticity of youth, and was not yet chilled by the effects of a tolerably wide experience. The day before that fixed for Egerton’s yachting party, not finding Dorothy in the house or garden, Standish started in search of her, and, knowing her haunts, was not long in diseovering-his ward. She was kneeling on the shoTt, partially blenched herbage which covered a low rising ground at some little distance eastward from the Knoll; behind it the srun had already sunk, leaving the waters of the bay somewhat dull and mournful. "I looked for you in vain,” began Standish, when, Dopgthy, her hands full of the long grasses she had been gathering, started to her feet with a low cry, a startled, pathetic expression on her mobile face. “I have frightened you,” said Standirfi, smiling. . “Why, where are your thoughts, Dorothy?” “Not very far, Paul,” beginning to tie her .grasses together. “They are never very far from m« at present.” “Hum! That might be accounted for In two ways.” “How?’ “They may be occupied by Mabel. They may possibly dwell on our fascinating friend Egerton.” “Fascinating! Do you think him fascinating?” “Well, T am scarcely a judge; but he is « handsome, accomplished fellow.” “Yes, he is, and you are right. I was thinking of him.” She uttered these with the utmost composure. Standish looked at her with steady scrutiny, but she did not perceive it. “I am waiting for further confessions,” he said at length. „ . “I have nothing to confess, Paul, at least, not at present.” She paused, and then went on? “Mr. Egerton’s mother was a Spaniard, was she not?” ... “Ye*. I believe so.. He looks like a Spaniard himself.” > * “He does, and I think he could be very revengeful. I feel afraid of him sometimes.” “What, do yon think he will plunge a atiletto In your heart—because—oh, say Ibecause you walked with me?” A faint color rose in Dorothy’s cheek, hut rile laughed low and exclaimed:

“That would be too illigocal! You are my guardian, and I have a sort of right to you.” “A right I shall never question, Dorothy.” His voice grew soft as he 6poke. “Thank you,”‘she said gently. Then she made a sudden movement. “Let us go back,” she exclaimed, “that dreary looking sea makes me sad.” “My dear Dorothy, you cannot be yourself, or you would not hive these sickly fancies. Y'ou have everything in the world to make you happy, so pray call up your common sense, of which you have plenty.” “I will, Paul,” said Dorothy, laughing. “Come, let us walk back, and we shall be in time for tea.”' An hour later Col. Callander and his mother were taking a final turn upon the pier. Their conversation had not been pleasant or exhilarating. Mrs, Callander looked more than usually severe, and her mouth was rigidly cdosed save when she opened it to speak. Callander’s face was white set —there was a dull burning glow in his eyee. “You may turn a deaf ear to me if you will,” said the dowager—as tliey approached the gate which led to the Esplanade, intending to return to the hotel—“but I am right, I know I am!” He made no answer—and they advanced slowly—till, catching sight of a group on the common below, Mrs. Callander paused and pointed to it. The group .consisted of Mabel, Standish and little Dolly—as they looked, Mabel took her ex-guardian’s arm, and, slackening her pace, seemed to be conversing with profound interest. “You see,” said Mrs. Callander, “they are never long apart. Be warned in time, Herbert! You know what blood she has in her veins—you know her mother’s history!” “Bo silent,” he interrupted in a strange, half-choked voice. “You do not know what you are saying! My wife is spotless —will lie spotless so long as she lives! Never dare to touch upon this topic again. Trust my honor to myself, I know how to keep it clean.” To the imperious woman’s surprise, he turned, and leaving her to make her way as she best could alone to her temporary abode, walked rapidly forward to 'overtake his wife.

The morning of the day which Egerton had fixed for his party was bright and clear, with a little more breeze than some of his guests approved. . The object of the voyage was to visit the remains of an old Norman castle, which crowned some picturesque cliffs, about eight of nine miles east of Fordsea—also to intH*ect a curious rocky islet not far from it, on which a modern lighthouse replaced the Beacon of a Hermit, who in former days devoted himself to keep it alive, and according to the legend, built himself a chapel without any human aid. The ruins of this remarkable edifice were still visible from the sea. At breakfast a slight change of plans took place—as Mabel suggested that she feared she was too indifferent a sailor to enjoy the excursion by sea—and with a pretty coaxing air, asked Callander to drive her to Itavenstone, which was nearer by laud than by water. He consented very readily, and Standish undertook to escort Dorothy. The party was not very large, but bright and sociable, though Mrs. Callander senior, who honored it by her presence, was somewhat snappish—“it was so thoughtless of Mabel to expose her husband to the glare and sun on that 'unsheltered road!” she said, “and for a mere whim!” Egerton, too, was rather silent and cynical, when he did speak. There was enough breeze to give life and motion, the rippling waters glittered in the sun, and the music of a band stationed amidships made a delightful undercurrent of harmony. Yet Dorothy looked thoughtful and preoccupied. “Mrs. Callander has found it more convenient to go below,” said Standish, placing his camp stool beside Dorothy as she sat in the stern, watching the shadows of the swift-sailing clouds as they flitted over the water. “Miss Oakeley seems to consider it her duty to rouse St. John’s dormant mental energies, and the rest of the ladies are neglecting their cavaliers, to amuse and interest our fascinating host. So I beg you will devote yourself to me, Dorothy.” “With pleasure!” she returned, smiling. “Are you still in the dolefuls?” asked Standish, looking keenly at her. “No—yet I am uneasy! I was so glad Mabel decided to drive with Herbert to Ravenstone, but I wont into her room just before kjtame away and found Nurse giving her sal-volatile —she had almost fainted! She seems to me to lose strength instead of gaining it.” “That must be your fancy, Dorothy!” “I do not believe it is! I told her she ought to make Herbert take her quite away from every one for a few weeks to Scotland or Switzerland, or Sweden or Norway. It would do them both so much good!” “You are a wise little woman. I believe, too, it would be a complete cure.” “Mabel seemed to like the idea, and said she would mention ” “Standish!” said their host, interrupting her —“Miss Oakeley is asking for you; she says you know the Legend of the Island Hermit! I think she is getting a .little tired of her benevolent efforts,” Standish rose somewhat reluctantly, and Egerton took his place, which he kept for a considerable time. When the voyage was accomplished, and the yacht glided into a small rock-tn-.closed creek, at the foot of which nestled a few fishermen’s cabins, and the inevitable tavern, they found Col. Callander and Mabel waiting on the rude little jetty —alongside which the yacht found ample depth of water. It being luncheon time, Egerton proposed having that meal served on deck, before they attempted the steep ascent. His suggestion was adopted unanimously, and a gay repaet ensued. Mrs. Callander sat on her frost's right, apparently not much the worse for her

voyage, and supported on the ot’Ket aid* by the Rev, S. Cole, with whom she exchanged from time to time a few words disapproving the fun ami laughter going on around her. Ultimately she preferred a comfortable seat on deck, an early cup of tea, and the society of her favorite divine to a long fatiguing walk to inspect relics of the past which did not interest her. The rest set forth to make their way upwards to the old Towers which frowned above at so formidable a height. Eger ton took charge of Dorothy so decidedly that they were pretty well left to themselves. “It is a terribly ruined ruin,” remarked Egerton, when they had finished their ex*, plorations, “come, let us make our way down. There is a pretty nook I want'to show yon—you have, I know, an artist’s eye for beauty.” Dorothy found then that they had lfhgered to the last, and that Mabel had taken her husband’s arm and was walking away between him and Standish. Dorothy ijvas a little vexed that guardian had scarcely spoken to her since Egerton had interrupted their conversa-, tion in the morning; she was consequently more disposed to be friendly with her host. half way between the ruins and the pier a faintly marked footpath turned to the left, leading apparently across the face of the cliff. “Let me show you the way,” said Egerton, passing her. “Is there a footing?” asked Dorothy. “Trust me!” he returned, and following him she soon found herself on a small projecting platform, in front of which some gorse bushes and several mos»grown stones formed a natural parapet, while a fragment of rock served for a seat—the outlook over the sea, to the lighthouse and chapel on the Isle before mentioned, made a delightfully tranquil, picturesque scene. “This is charming,” cried Dorothy. “How sweet and peaceful!” “Yes, it is sweet. Do sit down for a few minutes and forgive roe, if I am abrupt, but I seldom have a chance of speaking to you alone. I cannot lose this precious moment. Will you listen to, me? 1 want to tell you what I think of you.” “Don’t be too Complimentary,” said Dorothy, with a little uneasy laugh. “No, I shall speak the truth. Well, then, I think you are the brightest, sauciest, most womanly girl that ever charmed a man’s heart—and the desire of mine is to call you niy wife, sweet Dorothy!” He tried to take her hand; she drew it hastily away with a startled look. “Will you not speak to me?” he continued. “I do not know how to speak to you, Mr. Egerton,” in a distressed voice. “I do not—l do not seein able to believe you—to believe that you love me, I mean, when I do not love you, for, indeed, I do not.” “I know that only too well. But let me try to teach you. If you love no one else, I may succeed. Do you love anyone, Dorothy ?’ “No, indeed I do not, but somehow, Mr. Egerton, I do not think I should ever love you, nor do I feel L am the sort of girl you ought to marry ” She broke off abruptly. “I am quite old enough to know my own mind," said Egerton abruptly. "If your heart is free, I will not accept your present *no’ as final. lam desperately persevering, when my heart is set on anything, as it is now, Dorothy!” “Still, Mr. Egerton, do not think me unkind, but —but 1 do not believe 1 shall ever change.” “We shall see. Now you are looking uneasy. I do not want to keep you here against your will. Remember, though, I do not accept your refusal; give me a Tittle grace.” He caught and kissed her hand, holding it for a minute in his own. “Do not keep me. Mr. Egerton,” said Dorothy, who was greatly distressed. “I am more sorry than I can say to vex you —and—and —l want to overtake Miss Oakeley!” \ (To be continued.)