HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Herald, 1914-12-24, Page 2oullg
Or, the Belle of the Season.
CHAPTER XLI.
e did not resist, but resigned herself
tis embrace, as if he still had the
e to take her in hie arms, as if the
belonged to him. She had been un-
• ' for
'i � 1 i :sin
a yea an 'nde i baU s
t t c e
rat hours and hie sudden preeence,
look in his eyes, the touch of his
e. deprived her of the power of
ght, of resistance. To her and to him
hat moment, it was as if they had
been parted, as if the events 'of the
few months were only visionary.
th surrender in every fibre of her
g she lay in his arms, her head upon
breast, her eyes closed, her heart
bbing wildly under the kisses which
raised passionately upon her lips, her
the while he called upon her name,
hie lips hungered to pronounce it.
tafford!" she said, at laet. "It <s
iy you! When—" Her voice died
y, as if rhe were speaking in a dream
her eyes closed with a little Shwa
of perfect joy and rest.
es; it's I!" he responded, in a voice
ost as lowa here,voice a t tremb-
sa Mat
earth the inteneit of his passion, his
in having her in his anus again.
t night I came down by the first traits
waited et the station for it–I came
ight from the docks."
e drew a happy sigh.
o soon? And you came straight here?
n I saw you just now, I thought it
a vieion: if the dogs had not been
I remembered that doge do not see
ste. Oh, Stafford, it le eo long, so very
, since I have seen you, eo ead and
rya time! Tell me–ah, tell me every -
g! Where have you been But I
w! Stafford, did you know that I saw
the day you sailed?" she shuddered
thy, 'I thought that was a vision, too,
it was my fancy: it would not have
the first time I had fancied I had
You." He drew her to the bank, and
ing on it held her in his arms, almost
achild.
ou saw ane! You–there in London!
yet I can understand. Dearest, I did
!tear of your troublle until a few weeks
But I must tell you—"
ee, tell me. I long to hear! Think,
fFord! I have not heard of you–sit:•:e
tv you at the concert in London one
ht—" He started and held her more
tly–"I looked round and saw you;
when you turned and looked up to -
de me, it seemed as if you must have
me. But tell me! Oh, I want to !tear
rything1"
e spell wrought by the joy of his pre-
ce etill heed her .reason, her memory,
in thrall; one thought, ono fact. domin-
ated all others: the fact that he wile here,
that ehe waa in hie arms, with her head
on hue breast. as of old. And the spell was
on him ae strongly; how could he reanean-
ber the past and the barrier he had erect•
ed between them?
"I went to Australia, Ida," he said in
a low voice, every note of which 'was
Pitched to love'e harmony: it' soothed
while it rejoiced her. "I met a man in
London, a farmer, -who offered to take
me out with him. You saw me start, you
say? How strange, how wonderful! And
I, yes I saw you, but I could not believe
my senses. How could it be my beauti-
ful, dainty Ida, the mistress of Herondale,
standing on the dirty, equalid quay! I
went with him and 'worked with him on
his cattle -run. Do you remember how you
taught me to count sheep, Ida? How
often when I was riding through .solitary
wastes I have recalled those hours, every
look of your dear eyee. every -curve of
those sweet dips hold them up to me.
dearest! --every tone of your voice, the
low, musical voice the memery of which
had power to eet every nerve tingling
a
with longing and despair. atm work ems
hard it eeeened unceasing, but I was glad
of it; for sometimes I was too weary to
Calk; too weary even to dream of you,
And it was sad business dreaming of you,
Ida; for, you see, there was the waking."
"Do I not know?" she murmured, with
something like a sob, and her hand eke -
ed on his ehoulder.
"My employer was a pleasant, genial
man, my fellow -laborers -were good fel-
lows; I could have bean happy, or, at
least, contented with the life, hard as it
was, if I could .but have forgotten; if I
could even for a day have lost the awful
hunger and thirst for you; if I could have
got you out of my mind, tho anemory of
you out of my heart–but I could not!"
re paused, looking straight before him;
and gazing up at him, she saw hie fade
drawn and Haggard, as if he still thought
himeelf separated from her. Then, ae if
he remembered, he looked down at her
and caught her to him with a sudden vio-
lence that almost hurt her,
"But I could not; you haunted me, dear-
est, all day and all night! Sometimee,
when the 'men were singing round the
camp fixe, singing and laughing, the
sense of my loss would come crushing
down upon ire. and I'd spring to my feet
and wander out into the starlit silence of
the vast plains and spend the night think-
ing of all that had paesed between us. At
other times, a kind of madness would
catch hold of me, and I'd join the wildest
et the ganga. and laugh and sing and
drink with the maddest of the lot."
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She drew a long breath erf ovxrxhprehen•
sdon and pity, and hid her eyes oft. Itis
'breast. He bent •and kieeed leer,, murmur•
ing penitently:
"Fin net fit to kids you, Ida, 1 did not
mean to tell you, but–but, I can't keep
anything from you, even though it will
go against ane. Ona night tete drinking
led to fighting and I stood tip to a eon
of Arak, a giant of a fellow;. and we
fought until both of as were knocked out;
but I remember tiro going down first,
juet before I fell, I went from bad to
worse. The owner of the run -it was; call-
ed Sailisbury Plain -spoke a word of amen-
ing, and 1 tried to pull up, tried to take
to the work again, and forget myself in
it; but–ah, well, dearest, thank God you
would not understand, that you cannot
know Vitae a man is like when he is at
odds with fate, and Ls bed -fellow with de-
spair."
"Do I not!„ ehe murmured again, with
the fullest understanding and compassion.
"D think
o you h e is worse
than a woman.
Oh, Stafford, there have been times,
black times when I learned to know why
some women fly to drink to drown their
misery: and our miaery is as keen, yes,
keener than yours. For we are so help-
less, so shackled; we have nothing else to
do but think, think, think! Go on, `dear.
est! I seem to see you there!"
"Thank God! you could not!" he said,
huskily. "The blaok fit passed for a time
and I settled down to work again. One
day there was an attack upon the farm
by the blacks, as they are sailed. I was
fortunately at h ,me,• and we managed to
beat them off and save the stock It was
a valuable one and my employer, think-
ing too highly of my services, made me a
present of half the value. It was a f ener-
ons gift, a lavish one, and altogether isn-
called for—"
Oh, Stafford, do you think 1 - don't
knew that you risked your
hfo
a 1
s lain
as if I had been told, as if I had been
there! else said, her eyes glowing --•-her
breath coming faster.
Stafford colored and turned away from
the subject:
"It was a large stun. and itr. Joffler –
that is the name of the owner of Salis-
nry Piain–advi,sed me to invest, it in a
run of my oiva; there was enoweh.to buy
a large and important one. I want down
to Melbourne to see the agents, and – is
there no each thing as fate, or chance,
Ida? Indeed there is1–as I was walking
down one of tae streets, I heard my name
spoken. I turned and saw the stableman
Pram the Woodman Inn,' sir. Groves's
main—"
Henry," murmured Ida, enviously: for.
had he not met Iter lover!
"Yes. He was aurprieed, but I think
glad, to see me; and we went to a hotel
and talked. For some time I couldn't
bring myself to speak your name; you
see, dearest, it had lived in my heart so
long and I had only whispered it to the
stars and in the solitary places, that I
T shrank from uttering it aloud," he ex-
plained with masculine simplicity.
Ida's eyes filled with tears and rite nest-
led closer to him.
"At last I asked after the people, and
norvouely mentioned the Hall and – and
'Mies Ida.' Then the man told me."
His voice grew lower and he laid h's
hand on her head and •stroked her hair
soothingly, pityingly.
"He told enc that your father was dead,
had died suddenly, and worse–for it 'was
worse to •me, dearest–that you had been
left poor, and well -high penniless."
She sighed, hut, as one who sighs, look-
ing back at it sorrow ~which has passed
long ago and is swallowed up in ,present
I asked him where you were, and when
he told me that you had left the Hall, and
that it was said you–you were -working
for a livelihood, that you were in pov-
erty, I --dearest, I felt as if I should go
mad. Think of it! There was I, all those
thousands ''o8 miles away, with all that
money in my possession, and you, the
queen of my heart, the girl I loved..better
than life itself, in poverty and perhaps
wanting a friend!" He was silent a mo'.
anent, and Ida felt Isim ehudder.
"When I had 'taken my passage;' he
anent on, succinctly, "I sent Henry.` up to
the run to sill my place, and with hien a
letter to explain nty'sudden departure;
and the next day Heaven being kind, to
rte–S should have gone out of my mind.
if I had had to wait --we sailed I stood
at the bow, with my face turned towards
England, and counted the days before I
could got there and begin .iny ,.parch for
you."
"And you came here, Stafford, first?"
she said, to lend him on: for what an un-
speakable bliss it was to listen to him!
"Yes; I knew that 1 should hear some
tidings of you here. There would be a
lawyer a steward, who would know. I
little thought, hoped, to see you yourself,
Ida, I came from the station to -night to
look at the old place, to walk where we
had walked, to stand where we had stood.
1 stooped under the trees here and looked -
at the house, at the terrace where I had
seen you,wattthed for you. I could see
that men had been at work, and I thought
that you had.eold the place. that the new
people were altering it, and I cursed them
in my heart; for every stone of it is sac-
red to me. And then, as 1 stood locking,
and asking myself' where you were, the
doge came. Even Hien it did not occur to
me that you were still here --at the Hall
- and when I saw you----"
He stopped, and laughed shortly, as a
pian noes when his emotion !e almost too
much for him.
"I'd mads up my. mind -what to write to
you; but, you see, I had no thought, ne
hope, of seeing you; and novo--ah, well,
it's hard to think of anything, with you
in any arms! But see here, Ida, there isn't
any -teed to sa-* anything, le there? You'll
come back with ane to that new world–"
What was it, what woad in the tender,
loving speech that, like a breath of wind
sweeping away a• mountain mist, cleared
the mist froiu her mind, woke her from
her strange dream-like condition, recall'
ed the past, and, alas! and alas! tate ere-
eent. With a low cry, a cry of anguish–
one has heard it from the lips of a suffer-
er waking from the anodyne of sleep to
fresh-pain–echo toro herself 'from his assn
and with both hands to her head, stood
regarding him, her face white, something
like terror in her eyes,
"Ida I" he cried, rising and stretching
out his hands to her.
She shrank back, putting out her hand
ee if to keep him off.
"Don't–don't come near me! Olt, haw
could I have forgottent–!tow could I? I
must have been wadi" •
She wrung her hands and bit her lips
as if she were tortured by the shame of
it, Hie arms fell to his sides, and he
stood and looked at her.
"Ida, listen to me! I --I, too had for-
gotten. It–it was the delight of seeing
you. But, dearest, what does the past mat.
ter? ' It is past, I have come back to you,
• She turned to him with suppressed pas-
sion.
Why did you leave ane?" came pain-
fully from her 'white lips.
His face grew red and his eyes fell be-
fore'hters for :a. moment, At tines his
sacrifice of her to his father's need had
seemed not only inexcusable but shameful;
tate shame of it now weighed upon him,
"Ida, listen to me!" for, as he had heli•
toted, she had turned from him with, a
geeture of repudiation. Listen to me!
Chem 'was nothing 'else for me to do;
fate left me no alternative. My father–
Ida, how can I tell yowl --why father's
good wane, his reputation, were in my
hands. Ile had done so much for me –
everythingl Thera has never been a fa-
ther Else him; any happinees stood be-
Inveon -tion and ruin–ah, not mine globe,
but' yaur5--'arch 1 sacrificed, thorn! If you
knew all •you teemed forgivie• e. the wrong
.1 did, .great nr it was. I tli1ntt lin*,. if
the tush were' to' corns over again, that–
yes, T should have to do itl" he broke oti.t,
"T could .not have stood by and seen bis
ruined and disgraced without etretaitteg
1
out my end to bare "
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"It was for your father's sake?" she
said, almost inaudibly.
"Yea;" he- responded grimly, "Aud it
saveti:ltim–saved his good name, at any
rate. The rest went–you have heard?"
• She made a gesture of assent. Ile drew
a long breath, and held out his Band to
her.
Ca- you not forgive me, Ida? If you
knew what the sacrifice • cost me, how
anuch I have suffered— See here, dear.
est" -,Lo drew still loser to Hes–"let the
past go. It sha11, I swear! There is a
limit to a man's endurance, and I have
passed it. I love you, Ida. I want you!
Come back with inc and let us live for
each other, live for love. Dearest, I will
teach you to forget the wrong I did you.
It's very little I have to offer you, a
share in the Bard life of a farmer out
there in the wilds; but if you were sti1I
mistress of Herondale, instead of poor–"
Half unconsciously she broke . in upon
hie prayer.
I am still --•shat I was. I am not poor.
My father was a rich man when he died."
Stafford regarded her with surprise,
then he moved his hand, as if he were
-waving away the suggestion of an ob-
stacle.
T• am glad–for your bake, . dearest;
though for any own I would almost ra-
ther that you were as poor as 1 thought
you; that I might work for you. Why do
you stand and look at me so hopelessly.
What else is there to divide us, dearest?"
Her lips opened, and almost Inaudibly
•she breathed,
"Your honor."
He winced and set h's teeth hard.
"My honor!"
"Yee You have pledged your word, you
have made your bargain–the price was
paid, I suppose; you say so. 'Then in hon-
or you belong to–her."
The color flamed in his face and his
eyes grew hot.
'You east ire err—you drive me back to
herr" he said• scarcely knowing what he
said.
Yes!" she responded faintly. "You loo.
long to'her–to her only. Not to ire, ah,
not to me! No, no do not Nouse near me,
do not touch'ene! I had forgotten–I was.
anad!--'but I have remembered, I am sane
now."
Driven almost beyond himself by the
sudden revulsion from joy and hope to
doubt and despair, racked by the swift
stemmrring of hie passion, Stafford's un-
reasoning anger rose against her; it se
always e0 with the man.
`Yoti send me away–to her! Yon --you
do it coolly, easily enough! Perhaps you
have some other reason–someone has
stepped' into my place—
It was a cruel thing to say, even in his
madness For a moment elm cowered un-
der• it, then retie raised her white face and
looked straight into hie eyes,
"And if there has, can you blame mid?
Your cast me aside–you sacrifeod one to
your father's honor. You bad done with
me,' her voice vibrated with the bitter-
ness which had been her portion for so
many. dreary months. "Was the world,
my life, to cease from that time forth?
For you there ways--soaneone else, wealth,
rank for me was there to be nothing, no
oonsolation, no part or lot in life! Yes,
there is one–one who is both good and
liable, and—"
Site broke down and covering her face
with her hands turned away, Stafford
stood as turned to stone, as if Iso had lost
the sense of sight and hearing. Silence
reigned between thein; the doge who had
bees sitting watching them, rose and
shivering, whined complainingly, as if
they were ,askng what was amuse.
It was the woman–as always 'who first
relented and was anoved to pity. She mov-
ed to the motionless figure and touched
Item on the arm.
Forgive 'me! I–I did not mean to
-wound you; but–but you• drove me too
hard! Lut but it le tame.' We cannot mai
do the pas$. It is there, as solid, as un-
anovable, as that mountain: and it is be-
tween us, a wall, a barrier of stone. No-
thing can remove it. You–you will re-
member your honor, Stafford?" Her voice
quavered -for a moment, but she steadied
1t. You -you will not lose that, though.
all else be lost? You will go to her?"
Ho looked at her, his • breath coming
thick and painfully.
"Oh, dear! you–you are bard----" he
broke out at laet.
"I–am just t Oh, my dearest, illy dear-
est!"- She took his hand and laid it
against her cheek, her lips. "Don't you
see how much it costs me to send you
away? But I must! I must! Go ---oh, go
now! I I cannot bear ,much more!"
His hand fell–it shook–fell softly, ten-
derly on Iter head.
"God forgive ins for the wrong I hare
wrought you, the tears I have realised
you!" he said, hoarsely. "Yes, I daresay
you're right,, and–anti I'll go! Let aro
see you go back to the house— One kiss,
the east, tho last) Oh, Ida, Ida, life of my
life, soul of Inv soul!"
Ile caught her to him, and she lay in
his arms for a moment, her lips clung to
his in one long kiss, then ,she tore herself
away from hien and fled to the house.
Stafford -vent on to "'.Che Woodman,"
where Mr.' Groves was surprised. and,' at
need scarcely be said, overjoyed to see
him. To him, the young man was still
"Mr, Stafford," and be eyed Shim with an
amazed and respectful admiration; for
though Stafford had never been a weak-
ling, he had •grown so hard •a•od .muscular
and altogether "fit" that Mr. Groves could
not refrain from expressing his approval.
"Ah, there is nothing like roughing 1t,
Mr. Stafford, sir," lie said, "I can tell
in a, minute 'when aman's 'grit' right
through, and been doing equal's and hon-
est work. It seems etrnnge 'to us com-
moner follt tlhatyou gcntleefolks should
be so fond of going through nll sorts of
hardships and perils for just the fun of
it; but, after all, it'e not to be wondered
at, for that's the kind of spirit that has
helped Englishmen to make Ihtgland what
it ss. But you're looking a trifle pale
and worn to -night, sir. I've no doubt it's
tate want of dinner. If I'd krhoiyn you'd
been coming–Brut .you know' ®I'll do any
best sir."
He did hie best. and Stafford tried to do
jostles, to it; but it was almost impossible
to eat. And 110 checked the almost over-
mastering desire to drink too mach.
'(To be continued.) •
-"It is .the duty of everyone to
make at least one person happy
during ,the week," said a Sunday
Blhool teacher. "Now, have you
done so, Johnny.. "Yes," said
Johnny promptly. "That's right.
What 'did you do Z" "I went to
see ray aunt,. and sl'te was happy
when I went home,"
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Laateeetaeteeffeezeitear veate,ateels, , rebases
Manures.
- The manure problern is a funda-
mental pr,obleln for the farmers of
to day and to -morrow. 011e of the
most important lessons for them to
learn is how to olbtain good' barn-
yard manure ; and -then, to care for
it and use it intelligently.'
In many paras of Canada, 'tlhe
manure is ,simply thrown away. In
Ontario 186 farmers out of 200 visit-
ed exercised no care to prevent
waste, and in Quebec conditions
are nearly as had. In other ,places,
notably in the west, it is burned,
and, in places where the manure
has accumulated, the stables have
been moved iawav, instead of mak-
ing use off the manure: This means
a great annual loess. At the present
price of plant food, •the amount of
manure'producedin the United
States every year is worth nearly
$2,500,000,000. • In 1908, the value of
the whole corn cro in the United
o p
States was only $1,601,000,000.
These figures show the enormous
importance of Manure production.
The greatest sources of loss are
from allowing the liquid pontoon
drain off, from leaching by rain
and from heating and Fermenta
tion.
The liquid is much more valuabil
in plant food per pound than th
solid. In cow manure the tot
liquid portion is about the same a
the total solid portion. Yet anan
farriers arrange their stables
drain off the liquid. Don't do i
In this way from $10 to $15 wort
of fertility per cow, can be lost ar
nually.
Where possible, the manus
should be spread on the field
made. It saves handling twice al
there is a greater 'tonnage th
than at any other •tinge. This e
be done provided the land is n
so hilly as to cause the manure
be .carried away by rain or hnelti)
snow. The effect of green mane
will be seen for a longer bine th+
that of rotted manure on account
the decomposition taking place
the soil. If this cannot be done,
all means have a covered sh
where the manure can be -tor
where it will be packed by st
-tramping on it, and where it
be kept tramped and moist. If
is kept tramped and moist, and
the 'shed has a cement floor, th
will be very little loss.
Experiments in the west ha
shown that a very ligiht applicati
of barnyard manure in the spr'i
after sowing, as a top dressing
soils having a tendency to blo
gives excellent results, not 01
preventing Wowing but giving
creased yields from theadded pl
food.
Fire Protection.
In autumn and early winter, fi
are more frequent on the farm th
at any other time of the year. Mt
of the work in stables and ;barn
done by artificial .light, and,
matter how careful the owner n
be, ,accidents will happen ; or, hi
!help regardless of consequent(
may smoke somewhere on the
with the possiible result of a
No matter how adequate the
'fighting appliances .say be, on
the first and most useful is a ba
of water .at !Land when Wanted,
'bucket of waster ,at the right. t
and -in the right ,place shay
your (barn or house, Few faro
think of this. Better a•� bucket
water at 'the start of ir, fire tlha
resources of a city fire departn
when the fire has gained heads
Tire buckets can be purchased
rounded bottoms, which, on
count of their .shape•, are in con
-lent, for general use; These ma,
placed in a round hole curt out
a shelf or bench, They shouk
covered and regularly impede
assure 'their being kept full.
prevent freezing, two pounds
fused calcium to the pail may
used. This will suffice for the
pose of all temperatures down
zero. If the buckets are pal
red, they will be more .eonspio
and also a constant re,nind•ei
the danger of fire.
A Very- substantial business
tried to educate his young wife
keep correct housth.old actor
With this end in view he gave
an account :book, and instructe
to 'enter on one ,side all her
pienses in detail,, and on the
side money. rese•lved. At the
of the first month the fair y
wife Carried her 0,6count boyo.
her husband in triumph.. "S
said sire, "I have done what
asked." But a groan of despai
caped from the husband's lips
he road on one page, "Ree
from Dick," and on the of
",Spent it,"