The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1885-12-26 00:00:00

CATHERINE'S MISTAKE,

LALL RIOT-ITS ItIiSREIVIID„)

A SECRET FOR YEARS.

CHAPTER nt
LINA'S REPLY.

"Hm is gone! Thank Heaven, he it' goner'
So said Lina, sitting in the old garden at Westwood,
a week after the occurrences narrated in our last, and
tormenting the good baroness with various little
flashes of spite and ill-temper.
"Thankful who is gone ?"
"That demon, Creusa."
"Hush, Una!" And the lady looked fearfully all
round.

" Mamma ! what makes you afraid of that man?"
• This question was not such a simple one as it
seemed, for the girl stared hard, with a sort of savage
intelligence, at her mother as she asked it.
"Afraid, you silly child! That is puro fancy. He
is a very good man, I believe."
He is not—he is a wicked one ;and I am not
afraid to say it, now I know he is out ot the country.
He is a wicked, plotting man; but I have the key to
. some of his mysteries. I have found] out some of the
things he has it in his mind to do."
' "And what are they, child?"
But before Lina couid reply, a footstep sounded on
the gravel walk. She started, and grew as pale as
death; another moment, and she shook her bright
curls with a blithe laugh awl a tiny blush, for at that
instant the owner of the footstep came in view.
It was Ingram Ingestre. He took the baroness's
hand, and pressed it respectfully.
" I is many weeks since you gave me permission
.--. to come to you for an answer to my question, madam.
lam here now, and hope with all my heart for a
favourable one."
. Liza iooked.down, and twisted the strings of her
hat. The baroness was evidently at a disadvantage.
"I have forgotten. Yeti wished—oh! yes. But
• Lina, you said—,,
"Said what, mamma love ?"
• • "That you did not wish to marry Mr. Ingram."
' Line tied her strings in a Gordian knot, and Ingram
.frowned slightly.
"Perhaps not, then."
• "Have you changed your mind, my child?"
, thesgiri locire.d up iu hcrio-ver's-tine face,-and nor:Ricci
her head.

" Yes, mamma, he has been very kind to me. I
love him now, though he is poor, and only a music
master; but / have money enough for us both."
"I slull not need your money, my Lina. I may
give you more than you can give to me. George
:• Ingestre, of Redfern, is my first cousin, and now his
. Son is dead, no other heir stands between me and his
• estate. My name, too, is Ingrain Ross Ingestre ; as
• a music master, I choose to be known only by the
first."

"You an Ingestre cried both the women.
"I am an Ingestre," was the proud reply.
" Ah," sighed the baroness, "I wonder I never saw
te likeness before. You resemble all the rest; they
are a fine race of men, but none equalled George Ross.
.1 am glad, glad to think Lina will love and marry an
Ingest re, after all. flow strangely things come about !
And so you love this young man, my darling ?"
"I do ;" and she rose and linked her arm in his, and
'laid her small head on his hand, which came some-
where about lewd with the top of it.

"Then, madam, Lina is to be my wife ?"
• "I presume so. What does she say ?"
" Yes, we are engaged. We will be married some
day," she said, bravely; "and you, mamma, will come
and live with us. We will be very happy. We will
la.ugh, and dance, and sing all day. Cleland shall
Come and tee us—"
" Hush! not too fast, darling—l am superstitious;
let us not talk of our happiness till it comes. Have
You forgotten the doctor?"
Lina's gay countenance fell—.she shuddered.
" Ali, true; before we can be happy that man must
! His breath will poison the air we exist in. Woe
LO us, mamma, that we ever came across him !" •
. For many hours after Lina and Ingram paced round
wad round the garden, in the sunset, in the twilight,
kid lastly, beneath the autumn moon.
,They were very happy, and did not disguise it,
4taxall, passing that way with Domingo (for he never
ent out in the twilight or night alone now) to the
higestre Arms," saw them, and wondered how on
~_earth the people could be such fools. Love ! What
the world did it mean? Bliss, indeed! What
IYonaan could impart such bliss as alcohol?

CHAPTER XLII.
CLELAND'S FLIGHT.
Pc'un months have passed by. Winter winds moan
Nind Redfern Manor House, and rattle the, heavy,
fashioned casements, just as they did a year ago,
nn Catherine, sitting in this same room, thought of
'4lO man whose face had come before her after an in-
lerval of seventeen years.
2716/ she had said calmly to her own heart—
" I can look in that faco and know I do not love
ti ow, she stood before the . fire, her hands clasped
htly together, her firm lips set, the light of ha. eyes
and deep.
"Nulty, erring man that he is. I love him ! and
4.toouot bear to part from him. At times a horribl3
otight cornes to me—that I may have to leave him
.et"-,—that something may open betwixt us wider than
"Y. gulf the sea could make—that I shall see him
stand where I dare not so much as take his hand in
ilaine, nor kiss the only face the wide world holds for

" That I shall see him thus, and yet live on! Oh!
Vhat will life be then? Life without love—life with-
ant hope—life without Um !
lam not young. This is the second summer of
heart—this is the last blossoming of my woman-
Will Heaven, indeed, blight this second
as it did the first? God's will be done! If I
suffer, let me be patient. I thirst for the full
aPPiness of that man's love. If God takes the draught
tri,°4l me, my parched soul will cry out; but oh! let
wailing not be loud or bitter against Him who
Prives me of it !"
'ncl then she went down on her knees, and tried to
cila another part of the house, in her own room, site
pg;el,lund—tall, pale, short-hairedCleland. No more the
itru, hoydenish girl Of a year ago than is Catherine the
l.'s's Waco of that time. For two months she never
tlelft her couch, and grew on it with a rapidity that
4,71:1ed ,every one for her life.
a "len she did rise, she was a woman in stature, but
slender and weak as a willow wand. By degrees
4 ° Strengthened, ; gthened, but still not enough to satisfy the
t;rl7'`etY of those who loved her; and at the present
Ole was a tall, thin, sickly girl of fifteen, with a
Ipe, transparent face, large eyes, and short hair.
°r some time she sat with her cheek pressed close to
the glass of the window-panes, watching the stars in
ark sky, and listening to the ' fitful sighing of the
tiogel lathe elm avenue. She did not move her posi-
ri until the door opened and 111a,xall came in. Thcn
Wa.turned her languid eyes upon him, and moved
away from her seat.
th axall sat down by the fire, and rubbed his bands
hi°llglitfully together. The bright flames flickercd on
aitsi (lark face, and showed a marked alteration in it
ret°° Lastyou heard of him. The eyes seemed to have
to rated far back into his head, and his black brows
poilravo wrinkled over them. His face was white and
Nv„ 3, and the lips (always sensual) red and loose. It
hi7ta tha face of a drunkard, that gazed with a sort of
ler," wretchedness into the sparkling wood fire. At
gui he opened those disagreeable lips, and said—
c
6311sDe Leland, I have something to tell you. T have
h i
eti eted t a long time, although you would never
a tre,:v:e in what I said. Now I have found it out for
said -
He is going to marry her next week; he
so himself. Yes, he is going to marry her !"
Nva,-,sleland's face could not turn whiter than it was, it
4104,38° Palo. .:But she covered it up, and groaned out

,--
(1 't
'413./qatall ! oh, Maxall ! will nothing prevent him
°lng this?"
to:?othing. Ile has made up his
ow mind; she has,
and they must have their way for a. bit. It is
tail' 19. r. me to say anytting,or_. y ou either ; it will only
y tow, ;and
the
no
chimney.geod How it howls! I
, What's that? Oh;
I 1;
(I°6ll'llLik thee the
wind
dsuoup h
rid—lsolwretchedly dismal. I think
gciia
, Cle, and cut this beastly
';'gla.i.ai'd,dwlivithe in Italy,
Its long, dark nights, and moaning
llecin always port i-aist. Ah, I do hate England and
koictel'n,' Cle ! I shall . soon cut them both." He
tiae. • A.
eCI t rds her for a reply, but she did not make
tire.' Blie, too, stood staring with blank eyes at the
4 elle, Wil —,..at do you say • ? I tell you I want b go
arid ~
, aye abroad—in Italy."
then." , '
hilt T 4 eBl that's all very well, my girl, to say 'Go •,'
NNIIII‘ 'Want- the means to go with, and to keep me
lots %I'l. there. You know, Cie,. your governor has
IN '7); Money belonging to me, but I can't get it till
15)1t (/'''' age; ihe always told me I should have i t then,
hill, f want. it now. Won't pat be a good girl, and ask
Nvarit°,,t.a. coiliale of thousands for me at present?. 1
4111 sq.': 829flueh, and I don't care to ask myself; 1
e will give it you."
llirin .aNvaitiln.r.!ot ask him; I do not think I shall speak to
taoeni/eeanse of this marriage 2 Well, I must have the
t'Rlei,,if.3° I'll ask for it myself. I cannot live in
Illia cs,;' I mean to go to Italy with—with Helen,"
'ove-n,sere he laughed. "She will take care of me, and
qloo,--Le; Ashe is very, fond of me, Cleland, though you
V4th-e t° hate me so. infernally. Yes, Helen will go
eirZe, and we will lead a jolly life together."
looked at his wicked face, and her hand rose
tlt ci,,c)ne quick, sharp • movement. But the blow did
'4501 tr,,an.c..nd; she turned hastily away, and dashed the
e 7l,ng tears from her eyes. Maxall set up an
and then shuddered.
!otlywearl't bearold houses, they're so full of strange
44st,iiisi I am sure.' thought I heard a noise then
e,_ e—like---r.— It was only the echo of my laugh;
IT, don't you think so?"
liowaW should / know ?" she retorted, savagely;
tliwa Should I know what the sounds are like that
haunt Poll?" . .
41 ,ic /*g haunts
' fool "' he sputtered;
I • me' you . 'd was old
never &aid it did! All I said ,
'Ail: are beastly things to live in, and so they are.
ttl)aL4e4g haunts
1
re Von eat l
_ ..._
,-,lne• Lcept your cursed, spiteful

I"Go out of my room, or I'll get one of the men to
throw you downstairs !"
; "Yes, yes, I'll go, only don't get into one of your
Iwhite-heat furies over it; I did not mean to offend
you, lam n sure. But before I go, Cle, I should like to
know what you think of doing in this affair."
1 " I have not thought yet,' at all," was the sullen
reply. .
"and how long willit take you to do so, pray?"
"Until to-morrow morning; I will tell you then.
Go away now, and leave me."
lie looked at her, rose, and went a few steps to the
door; then came back again, bolding out his hand,
with a strange expression of pleading misery in his
dark, soddened face.
"(le, do you hate me
" Oli, go away, please.
" I—l want you not to hate me, Cie; I feel so lonely
sometimes, and so--so nervous. Won't you shake
hands with me ?" .
"No, not to-night. Go; leave me alone."
And then he went, with a lingering step.
• " Take. his hand! No; my own shall burn off first."
And then she threw herself down on the hearth-rug,
and wept passionately.
"I must go; I must go! flow could I remain in
the house with them, and be silent ? I should burst
out with it all, and then he would kill me. Oh, what
a wicked world this is; nothing but sin and sorrow
in it ! Only Ross was good; and the longer I live the
more I long to die like him—lie down in Sandbanks
Wood and die--for there is nothing in all the world
worth living for now my poor darling is gone
Yes, I votst go, forl cannot stay in the house and see
this thing done. I will go now, before I get frightened
in thinking over it."
She rose from her prostrate position, and wiped the
'tears from her swollen eyes, and then went out into
the corridor a little way to listen.
There was no sound in the house save the ticking
of the eight day clock on the stairs, and the howling
of the wind in all the chimneys. Everything was
quiet, as iLisual at that time in the evening, and
thagirl went back with a heavy heart into her room.
"No one will stop me—no one know I am going.
Papa! lam going to leave your house for ever, and
without a last good-bye !"
She removed her thin shoes, and put on a pair of
stout boots; a thick woollen cloak and black bonnet
and veil completed the short toilette she thought suffi-
• dent for her purpose. All the trinkets in her posses-
sion—a watch, a locket, with her brother's hair in, it,
-a- -firacclet given her hy Catherine—together with a
purse containing ten sovereigns and five sixpences,
made the sum of the worldly possessions she caxried
with her. No, not all; for the girl took under her arm
a relic of Ross—a tiny pup, belonging to his favourite
black setter, and which he had given to her the last
day she ever saw him alive.
Impossible to leave behind a creature Ire had
loved! So with the little one on her arm, she stole
noiselessly downstairs. She kissed the door of her
father's room, and passed by Ross's quickly; then
glided like a shadow across the hall, and out through
the door—no one seeing her, no one knowing that she
was gone.
The heavy oak door closed silently on her, and
, Cleland looked out upon the night, with here and
there a glimmerjng star in the sky. Flight —flight
from hem-, from father, from friends, from all that
she had known and loved in her few short years of
• life!
' Across the dark path into a darker world, forth went
her young life, her sad feet lingering lovingly over
t•lie ground that made the boundary line et Home
to her.
But the line was passed, the park gates closed on
her, and, hugging the whining pup still closer to her
heart, she turned her wistful eyes on the far-off lights
of the dark old house—home no more. She pressed
her face against the cold iron of the gates, and looked
until the streaming tears hid it all from her sight.
Then, with one deep, heart-broken sob, she turned into
the road and went her way.

CHAPTER XLIII.
* MPS. FAIINCE WHISPERS A NAME,
'lns next .morning Miss Inestre's absence was dis-
covered. The servant had found her room empty,
and her bed unoccupied. Her bonnet and cloak, too,
were gone.
Mr. Ingestre was from home, and Catherine at first
seemed paralysed by the nev,s. She ordered the lake
to be dragged, the woods searched. And the lake was
dragged, and all the estate ridden over; but no Cleland
wai found.
Maxali laughed loudly at these proceedings, and
laughed so significantly, that Catherine's suspicions
instantly turned upon him as an agent in her dis-
appearance.
"You know where she is? You have hidden her
somewhere?"
"I do not know where she is; but I can guess
pretty well," was the reply, accompanied by an
insolent laugh.
"Tell me directly—immediately, I beg.'
." Ask Ingestre to tell you, I bhalet ;" and he
turned his back on her.
She wrote to the father word of what had happened,
and his reply was brief:
"Catherine I will search the world over to find and
bring her back."
She was compelled to remain satisfied with this;
for nothing more could she do in the matter.
But the idea gained strength in her mind that
Ma:tall was the instigator of the girl's flight, she
believed it by many signs and tokens observed by her
in the watch she kept upon him.
Maxall knew that she watched him—knew her
intent eyes followed his every movement. He knew
that she saw the faltering hand held forth of a morn-
ing to take his coffee-cup from hers. He knew that
she watched him while he drank as only men do who
have some horrible care to drown. He know that she
heard hi S step up and down that lonely room of his,
where the cedar boughs grated on the window panes,
and where a croaking raven would perch on the
pointed gable, in the dead of night, too, when all
other birds slept—that room, where never a touch of
undrugged sltep had blessed his burning eyeballs—
where nightmare and phantom dreams were all he
knew of rest.
Of all the heavy, sin-ridden hearts that house had
ever held, from the day when it first rose up a new
and goodly pile, to the time when its rafters were
black', and the moss of centuTies filled the crvices of
the tiled roof, never was heart in Redfern so sinful
and so weary as that of the creole. Never, of all that
Ingestre race, had a soul lain heavy beneath the stain
of another's blood. .. •
And the groans and curses that fell from the
murderer's lips in that room, where the first that
stained and polluted the old oak panelling. He
almost feared the boards in their very creaking
would take the sound of a human voice and betray
him. _ .

Three days went by; no letter from Mr. Ingestre,
no news of Cleland. Catherine was alone at Redfern
—a prey to wretched suspense and dreary inaction.
She was sitting alone on the evening of the third day,
awaiting Domingo's return from the village with the
afternoon letters, when a servant entered the room to
say some person desired very earnestly to speak with
her. Before she could reply, almost before the man
had delivered the message, he was thrust aside, and a
tall female, dressed in black, entered.
Catherine rose from her seat, and the woman
curtsied respectfully. James seemed inclined to resent
her abrupt entrance ; but his mistress told him to
leave the room and wait outside.
"Servants are fond of listening, ma'am; better tell
him to go quite away. /shall do you no harm, but
the man's tongue may, if he get gabbling about what
I say to you." -
•" I can trust the boy; he is no eavesdropper. And
now what is it you wish to say to me? "
The woman threw back her crape veil, and looked
serutinisingly at the speaker—looked at the graceful,
bending figure—the pale, handsome face, and then at
the small hand resting on the arm of the chair she had
risen from.
" Ah, you are not married to him yet, then?" she
said, but not rudely.
Catherine flushed deeply, and looked with something
like haughtiness at the woman.
" Wait ; don't be cross with me, madam, nor look
as if you claren't be questioned, for I only wish to do
you a kindness—a kindness you will thank me for
when it's done.'

•
"And may I not know the name of the person to
whom I shall stand indebted?"

" lieziah Faunce is my name," was the answer.
" What did you say?"
"Kziah Faunce, ma'am. Mr. Ingestre knows the
name well."

Then there was a pause. Catherine seemed at first
astonished, and then incredulous.
" Keziah Faunce is well known to me by sight," she
said. "I have seen her three times in my life, but
she is certainly not like you."
"You have never seen me in your life before,
madam, and that I can swear. For the last five years
I have not left the neighbourhood of London, and
only came down to this place to-day to warn you of
the danger you are running into with your eyes
shut."

. • "Danger, my good woman! Tell me more plainly
what your meaning is; I cannot bear: enigmas. You
know somethino. of " She stopped; her quiver-
ing lips refused utter the name. Tears were in her
eyes, and her heart beat violently, for in the stern,
infle-s:ible face of the woman before her, she read some
Purpose as hard and inflexible as itself.
"I have come a hundred miles from home to warn
you not to marry George Ross Ingestre. Don't marry
him, if you love your good name better than you do
him! Don't marry him, if you would keep your heart
unbrel---en and your soul fit for heaven! If you are a
good and innocent woman, I say, don't marry him ! "
she cried, becoming fast and fierce in her denunciation.
"Don't marry him ! He is an unprincipled man—a
vile one! 'He his no good in his bad heart but the
love of his children, and----"
But Catherine turned on her here.
"Be silent! How dare you abuse that man in his
own house, and in the presence of the woman he has
asked to be his wife! I will not listen to you; you
are an impostor. Keziah Faurce is a fair woman, with
yellow hair and a white face! I cannot comprehend
the purpose of your visit here?'
"Then you have seen a woman like that—yellow
hair and a fair face—has a beautiful voice—you have
seen her ? "

"I have, and Mr. Ingestre told me her name."
"Then he lied! When next you see Wm, tell him