Rensselaer Democrat, Volume 1, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 May 1898 — A TANGLED SKEIN [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A TANGLED SKEIN

MRS. ALEXANDER

CHAPTER IV. Egerton’s words took Dorothy so completely by surprise that for some time she was unable to think clearly. Even the next morning, when she opened her eyes, her first feeling was painful confusion. She longed to hear what Mabel thought of the wonderful event —she must.tell Mabel;,Mr. Egerton would not mind that; but to every one else she would be niute—no one would know of his rejection. But Egerton was by no means anxious to conceal the fact that he had offered himself—his old name, his fine estate, his large investments —to this young, insignificant girl—“a mere nobody”—as the Dowager, Mrs. Callauder, was wont to remark. He did not present himself as early as usual at “The Knoll” the next day, but meeting Standish, who had been strolling on the pier at an hour when it was chiefly in the possession of ancient mariners, he passed his arm through that of Standish with unusual familiarity, saying, “I was on my way to have a little talk with Callander. Will you come with me?” “Yes, if you like; you’ll be rather clever If you get him to talk.” They approached the Knoll, at the gate of which they met Colonel Callander. He greeted them with more animation than usual. Egerton told them of his proposal to Dorothy and her rejection of him. He begged the two to assist him in inducing her to change her miud. This Colonel Callander readily consented to do, but Paul Standish did not show any great eagerness to exert any influence on the mind of his ward. “The only person to whom I feel inclined to confide so important a piece of intelligence,” said the Colonel finally, “is to my mother. It is right she should know, especially as it is probable we shall leave Dorothy under her care when we go away.” “Go away! Who is going away?” cried Egerton sharply, with a keen glance like a stab. “Don't suppose I am going to do anything desperate,” said Callander, with a grave smile. “Mrs. Callander and I talk of going abroad for a month or two. I want to have a look at the battlefields on the French frontier, and to go on into Switzerland. Of course Dorothy will stay here.” The trio dispersed, Standi'sh proceeding along the beach to a long spit which stretched far into the waters. Meanwhile Callander and Egerton walked slowly toward the hotel where the Dowager had established herself. Here, Egerton left him. When Colonel Callander was ushered into his mother’s sitting room he found her as usual richly and elaborately dressed, and knitting a huge coverlet, while Miss Boothby, her companion, read aloud. She gave a cold straight unresponsive hand to her son. “I hope you are all right after your long day in the open air?” he said, as he drew a chair near her work table. “Thank you. I am as usual. I get little sleep. My mind is too anxious to permit of repose!” “That’s bad,” said Colonel Callander, vaguely. “You need not stay, Miss Boothby,” said the Dowager. "I wish to converse with my son.” The meek companion rose with a smile and disappeared. “I came to ask you if you have any commands, as I think of going up to town to-morrow. I want to arrange one or two matters before going north.” “North! Why, where are you going now?” querulously. “Mabel and I think of taking a trip through the Highlands, or to Switzerland. I think she wants a change as much as 1 do.” “There I agree with you,” observed Mrs. Callander, significantly. “She has had a worn, distressed look ever since—l mean, for a considerable time.” “You think so?” said her son, with a quick, fiery flash from his dark eyes—a warning which even his mother dared not disregard. “I trust she has no cause for distress or anxiety—at all events she seems to consider the panacea for her ills is a quiet journey with me.” “I am sincerely glad to hear it,” with pointed emphasis—“pray, when do you start?” “Early next week. May I jisk what your plans are?” “If you are going away there is no particular object in my remaining. I don’t suppose„even when you return I shall see much of you.” “There is no reason why we should not be as much together as you like,” returned the Colonel dryly. “However, if you are comfortable here, and don’t mlpd staying, I should be glad if you would, because,” he stopped and seemed to have lost the thread of his discourse —his eyes wandering to the window, and evidently preoccupied with some distant object visible to the inner sense. “Well!” said his mother at last, looking up from her knitting with some surprise, “why do you wish me to stay ?” Her son looked at her with a bewildered aspect, and then passing his hand over his brow, exclaimed: “I beg your pardon! 1 forgot what I was saying! I wished you to stay, because Mabel and I intend to be away about six weeks or so, and Dorothy will be here alone—that would be of no consequence, but Egerton has just proposed to me for her. It seems that Dorothy refused him, but he very wisely will not take a girl’s first no. So he begs to be allowed opportunities of pressing his suit—and ” “Refused him!” said Mrs. Callander, in a high key. “She mnst be ont of her mind! He is a match for an earl’s daughter. Why, it will be quite a distinguished connection. Of course she will accept him! she must. Dorothy has her tempers, and Is altogether wanting In a knowledge of what she owes to as, but I always thought there was some moral worth in

her.” “Ultimately she will do as she likes, but Egerton ought to have a fair chance. Now if you are here he can see her with you, under your chaperonage, and Henrietta .will probably also stay—otherwise"*—“-he paused. “I never hesitate to sacrifice myself on the altar of duty,” said Mrs. Callander, in a lofty tone, “or for the good of others, for I capnot say I owe any duty to your sister-in-law, but if it is an accommodate you, my dear son, I will remain until you return.” “You see there are no relations or friends to whom we can send Dorothy.” ‘T am quite aware of that,” put in his mother, sharply. Callander did not heed her. “And,” he continued, “even if Standish could stay on here, he could not be the sort of protection you can be.” "Nor do I suppose it likely he will remain while you are away,” remarked Mrs. Callander, sweetly. “Mother!” he cried, “do you know how cruel you are? Do you know that my life is bound up in Mabel’s! in Mabel’s love and truth. Nothing you say touches my faith in her—yet—yet—you torment me. She is—she always will be spotlessin the eyes of all men.” He sprang up and paced to and *-o rapidly. with occasional fierc, cestnrei “Spotless! my dear Herncrt! I should hope so!” returned Mrs. Callander, with the obtuseness of a hard, unsympathetic woman. “Do you think I meant anything beyond the necessity of attending to appearances? When a man like Mr. Standish—a man of the world in the worst sense—is seen morning, noon and night, with a young woman whom some people consider handsome, why ” “Be silent!” he exclaimed, harshly, turning to face her, with such wrath in his eyes that even the unimaginative old woman cowered for a moment. “Understand me! unless you cease to insult me by harping on these hideous possibilities I will never see your face again! I should have broken with you before, but that I dreaded that Mabel should be outraged by knowledge of the reason why I dropped all intercourse with my mother. Could you think that sweet, simple soul could ever be drawn from her children—from me? Is such a possibility comprehensible to you?” There was keen pain as well as burning indignation in his tone. “The wickedness of the unregenerate heart is unfathomable,” said his mother, severely, “and I greatly fear Mabel does not know where to look for strength. It’s impossible to say where unguarded beginnings may lead ppor weak creatures, and your wife, though an amiable woman, is no doubt easily influenced, in short, not what yon- would call a person of strong character.” “No, she is not! How should I have got on with a woman of strong character?— I say, mother—enough of this. I feel my head dizzy! If we are to be friends-—” “I will never speak to you on the subject again,” said his mother, with an injured and dignified air. “I have done my duty, my conscience is clear. I have not left you in ignorance! Now, as regards Dorothy ” ' Callander was again pacing to and fro—his head bent down, lips moving slightly—as if forming unuttered words. Then, with an effort, he repeated as he paused opposite her —“Dorothy!—Ay! We must not forget Dorothy. Will you stay here and let Egerton come to and fra, and see her under your auspices?” “I shall be happy to further an alliance calculated to reflect credit Sn you and yours, Herbert!”

CHAPTER V. Colonel Callander had not looked so well since he returned from India as the morning he started for London. He undertook various commissions for his sister-in-law, but his wife said she wanted nothing. “I have everything I want, and more than I deserve,” she added, as.she kissed her husband tenderly at parting. Standish had gone to dine and sleep at a country house at some distance. So the sisters had a very tranquil day, its only disturbance being a visit from the Dowager, who came in unwonted good humor. In the evening, a little to Dorothy’s dismay, Miss Oakeley walked in, just before dinner, to have a little talk, she said, accompanied by Egerton and Majors St. John, who was, Miss Oakeley thought, im. mensely struck with her, whereas St. John was equally sure he had made a profound impression on Mis< Oakeley, and was, in consideration of her endowments, disposed to encourage her attentions. The sisters were sitting together in sympathetic sjjepce at that most witching hour, “the gloaming.” Dorothy had of course told Mabel of the declaration with which Egerton had startled her, and was somewhat surprised at the manner in which Mabel had received her confidence. She was not amazed, she murmured something about his being nice and interesting, and a good match, then she added, “Are you quite sure that you could not like him, dear?” “Yes, quite sure,” was Dorothy’s prompt reply. “I ueed to like him ever, so much better before. I cannot think what put it into his head to imagine he. wants to marry me.” “I don’t think it is so extraordinary,” said Mabel, and dropped the subject. White Miss Oakeley held forth with animation about a concert she was getting up and Major St. John put in a word at Intervals, Egerton moved across the room to where Dorothy was sitting, and said in a low tone: “I ought not perhaps to tresspass upon yon, but I want to aak pardon for my precipitancy. Will you forget my ill-judged haste and let ms come and gb on the old terms? I will not offend again; not, at least, till I fancy I may do so with less ehanee of rebuke. I may never reach that happy conviction, but let ■» try.” iX - -.-

“I have no right to interfere with your coming or going,” said Dorothy softly, “but I do not like to give your any annoyance, and I do not think I ehall change.” Here both were called to share the consultation, which was rather noisy, and ended in an appointment for Dorothy to practice with Miss Oakeley at noon the following day. Then she declared she would be late for dinner, a crime her aunt would never forgive. “There is a very amusing article on the ‘Aesthetics of Dress’ in. one of the magazines,” said Egerton. “I forgot it, but if you will let me bring it over this evening I’ll read it to you”—he stood with his back to Dorothy, speaking to her sister. “Oh! yes, certainly—thgnk you!” she returned, with a little nervous catch in her voice—raising her eyes to his and then dropping them quickly. “Oh! Mabel dear! Why did you let him come?” cried Dorothy, as soon as the door was closed. “I should have enjoyed a nice, quiet evening, and above all I don’t want him.” “How could I refuse?” asked Mabel, pressing her hands together. “He had asked Herbert and Paul to let him come and try his ehan-ee, and Herbert told me.” “What? did Paul agree to this?” cried Dorothy—a kind of sharp cry—“l thought he knew me betterr’ “Well, dearest, you know you are not obliged to marry him.” “I am quite aware of that,” said Dorothy with decision, “but I object to be teased.” Egerton did not fail to keep his promise. He was more than usually keeping under the strain of cynicism that often tinged his talk. He read aloud well, and his comments on the paper when he had finished it were amusing, the reminiscences it evoked of the various fine ladies, mistresses of the art of dress, interesting; he addressed most of his conversation to Mabel, who said little, lying back among her sofa cushions as if weary, while Dorothy worked diligently at a highly ornamental pinafdle for her little niece, which was a blessed occupation for her eyes. At length, after a short pause, Egerton exclaimed in an altered voice: “I am afraid I am boring you, Mrs. Callander. You are 13qking awfully ill.” “It is that horrid neuralgia!” cried Dorothy, laying down her work and going to her sister. “She has been suffering all day—would you like to go to bed, Mabel?” “Let me try mesmerism!” urged Egerton. “She’ll have an awfully bad nighty Miss Wynn. I’ll make a few passes. You’ll see how soon the look of pain will leave her.” “I don’t half like it!” said Dorothy doubtfully. Egerton came and stood beside the sofa, his eyes fixed on Mabel, who did not make the slightest resistance. Slowly passing his hand over her face in the fashion usual with mesmerizers, the tired eyes gradually closed, the pained, contracted expression passed from her face, and she slept the peaceful sleep of an infant. “It is wonderful,” whispered Dorothy, who felt an indescribable impulse of pity and tenderness toward the gentle, loving sister who seemed so mysteriously oppressed—the tears were in her eyes, and her voice faltered as she added: “I wish you could give me this power, tiliat 1 might enable her to rest! she stems so helpless.” “She is,” returned Egerton in a deep tone full of feeling. “But unless you have the power I could not give it you. I did not know I possessed it till that strange mystic Bohemian Gratin I told you about, whom I knew some years ago at Prague, assured me 1 had it and made me experiment on some of her people. I am half ashamed of it. I would never use my power save to give physical relief. There is a prejudice against it, too. Perhaps it would be as well not to inform Mrs. Callander, for instance, that I was able to give your sister some repose.” “Oh, certainly not!” cried Dorothy. “The less said the better, people are so illnatured. I hoi>e my dear sister will not Went your aid any more. I shall sit and watch her till sjje wakes, and so I must say good-night now.” * (To be continued.)