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

s&J3flt;

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alone; Ottheritcelvtai at his side, and the Cio "de",-.
scendetinift thr2
t 4. hf cogre.re.
?le 's t
>
e n qltiet attleipated,*and for some
ffve infritileti lie looked with quivering lips, but tearless
eyes, at the coffin. :Then be said--
" Catheriii%-- ar.--.,- tl e ve Written on the
. Mtidfern
cruellYnatirdidit- .fictql:tly,o4- Vs. '-te.”
"Ay,'tliat, VOA dc.--Ft WM,: pirri of .4 Ingestre.'
• ..p away; my dariing, the air ~;:44,,. "e is foul ;
• .?, shiverink"..,-•.:._•/
• ' ...,? eri,t,bwiii-Abe aiitt,litit F6thrned to the
.„
park.
For some time they walked on in s'le. •, occupied
'heir own sad thoughts. In. : • f'?,',''' e dark
,to judge by his working f ' ;r4n3.•':l
.- , t erine
wondering why it was that thelitheFn, r---in
-ing„.et least---alluded to the. ‘., ~....i'V. ' ',;.'"f his
appealed to take no in 1:,::,;.;,,,,:4,... fi‘ :search
, still going on, and refu3ed i. iv..,:.;;e: • matter
..ssed in his presence.
Strange then, that the first words he spoke after
leaving the church were to ask her thoughts. .
laA,..said very quietly, 4f,J• was thinkirig of Ross's
Murdge-, • - . : .
.. ma,, lab yOli know him, Cat herine? do you know
him ?"
He stood still, and clasped both her hands in his,
repeating-- _
"Do you- know him, Catherine? do you know

him?" •
6f
-I have my suspicions I believe that I do."
• There was a seat not far from them, beneath a fine
old oak. He went up to it, sat down, and drew her
beside him. _ _

His face, when he turned it upon her, was more
ghastly than she had ever seen it before, and she could
scarcely hear the husky tones of the voice in which he
spoke.
" '

"Never say that again; not to any living creature
on earth, my Catherine, breathe that suspicion. My
boy must lie in his coffin unavenged ; I Gare not—
cannot punis!.i the hand that slew him'. Oh, that' it
should be so! Catherine, spare the murderer, for my
sake!"
What answer could she give to that pleading cry?
She promised that it should be as he would have it.
"Thank you—thank you from my heart! God and
his conscience will punish him, my own! For it is
better as it is—better as it is. I seem to feel the end
of it is coming."

"What end?"
He smiled upon her face, the first gleam that had
lighted his own since that sad day.
"The beginn;ng, rather, of the punishment my sins
are bringing r:own upon me. Punishment, Say ?
No! a blessing; for you are going to be my wife,
Catherine."
"Some day; when Cleland is grown up and leaves
you.,,
" Be:ore that—before that! We will be married in
yonder church. But first I will paint that name in
blacker. I notieed to-day it looked bleaChed With the
damp. Ah, Catherine !" he criedshs though a sudden
. •
pang of compunction Seized' him; "I have been—am
—a wretch! Think me as vile as vile can be, and
that will not mount up to the sum of my actual abomi-
nation. Seeing the right, I have done wrong; feeling
I have a conscience, I have done my best to kill i ;
admiring virtue, yet have I steadily pursued vice.
Knowing all this, can you love me—love me truly to
the end of all, even if that end should leave me poor,
and old, and much despised ?"
"I loved you, George Ingestre, when you were
young, and worthy of all praise. I love you now,
when you are no longer young, and covered with the
world's blame."
He turned sharply round, and looked into her large,
mournful eyes. They smiled on his troubled, wonder-
ing gaze. -
"What's that! Loved me, you say, when I was
young?"
"Yes, loved you then, and love you now, in spite
of the foul injury you did me seventeen years ago."
"I injure you! Catherine, are you going mad ?"
Seventeen years ago ?"
"If you are George Ross Ingestre, then you have
loved and injured me seventeen years ago."
"If I am George Ross Ingestre," he echoed, wonder-
ingly. Then all on an instant he started up, and
grasped her arm, with a face of actual horror.
"Merciful Heaven! Tell me who you are !"
"I am Catrina Josephine Franchi, ' was the calm
reply; "the Creole girl you loved, and professed to
marry, in Jamaica, seventeen years since. But those
years have done their work on the face you once
thought so beautiful; and I have lived in your house,
George, all these months unrecognised by you,
totally—totally forgotten; but, strange to say, loved
again."
His face was covered with his hands, and the man
seemed shaken by strong convulsive shudders, which
moved him from head to foot. Catherine spoke a few
gentle, soothing words; but his emotion vsas beyond'
the power of her voice to eontrol. She laid her hand
ufon his arm, and he turned it away.
"This is judgment," he moaned—" this is judgment,
coming on me as only God could bring it! Be silent,
Catherine; let me suffer."
He rose hastily as he said it, and walked away from
her side.
She did not follow him, but sat still and watched
him in his ptu•poseless and uncertain walk across the
park, winding along through an avenue of trees, and
now crossing a smooth, turfy plain, with the speed
and gesture of a man possessed.
The exercise seemed to calm him, for after a time
his steps became more even; he walked calmly to and
fro, and at last came back to the seat. His hollow
eyes were darker and more hollow, and he seemed to
have suffered much and acutely ifithat short interval.
He seated himself beside her, and-kissed the hand held
out to him with passionate affection.
"1 remember—remember it all now. He married
you. Your child! ! Catherine."
"Yes, married me secretly, because you feared the
dark blood in my veins might prejudice your kin
against me; and then two years after cast me off,
telling me our marriage was not legal, and that I
could never go to England with you as your wife. Do
you remember writing that cruel letter? Could you
have loved me then, and yet have written it?"
The woman was roused in her here, for the first and
only time. All the garnered sorrow and agony of
years was in the voice with which she uttered that
heart-broken zry. She could scarcely be human, and
not allow it to be heard.
"Yes, yes, I did write it; but a fiend was at my
elbow prompting every word! God forgive me, for I
begin to think that I am beyond the pale of salva-
tion !"
Here he laughed—a wretched, dreary laugh; such
mirth as flashes across the darkest moments of men's
lives, when despair has done its work and made them
reckless, and laughter is as ready on their lips as tears
are in their eyes.
Catherine grieved to see his suffering was so deep,
and yet she thought it was better that the sin should
be thus washed away in repentance.
"Yes, I wrote that letter, and my hand might well
rot off for doing so. You had a child, Catherine.
What became of it ?"
"it died—died of the same disease which carried
off your brother Edward. I did not know that until
many months after you had left for Europe, for I was
lying ill of a fever."
"My poor Catherine! poor sufferer! I will make
it up to you. You shall be my wife; all I possess in
this world shall lie at your feet—house, lands, name,
and station—all shall be yours. What more can Ido
—how further atone? Yes, I have indeed injured
you--most cruelly, most foully; given seventeen long
years of suffering, shame, and ignominy to the woman
I love and honour above all others in the world.
Again I cry out, God forgive me, and I will atone. I
will atone !"
She made no answer, only took his cold hand, and
gently kissed it. The other was shading his face. For
some time they were silent ; then, with a restless
movement, he left her side, and paced up and down
beneath the tree. • Halting suddenly, he looked long
and eagerly at her face—a fixed and yet a fearful look,
as though he half anticipated her disappearing bodily
beneath his gaze.
r"óu arii there.; you are real, my beloved, and all
this is not a hateful dream; for I have dreamed so often
lately, and always of such horrors. Nonsense, it is
true enough,. and you -sit there, 'Catherine Ingestre-
that shall be for you love me, Catherine; you will
be my wife? George Ross shall marry you ' a second
time, and binding enough shall the knot be. No more
wrong, no more injury this time, my love."
His eyes were bloodshot and eager, and the hand he
had taken into his own he pressed in his passion with
cruel violence.
The cry of remonstrance she would have uttered
died away upon her lips; and George Ingestre, follow-
ing with his eyes the gaze of her startled orbs, saw in
the footpath not far from them, the figure of a man—
a gentleman, slowly advancing towards them. His
eyes were fixed meditatively on the ground, and
Ingestre seeing that, instantly drew Catherine's arm
within his own, and haughtily turned away in an
opposite direction.
"A very disagreeable thing, there are so many foot-
paths through my place," he muttered. "I wish to
heaven I could shut the park up when I choose to
walk in it with you. My darling! did you see who
the fellow was?"
f‘ I believe it is that foreigner the baroness has stay-
ing with her at Westwood—the brother of young De
Resimont."
I "Ha!"

He said no more, but hurried on until a thick grove
of lime trees hid the figure of Count Philippe from their
sight. Then he said, quite suddenly—
" Cathy, did you ever happen to see that Creole fel-
low in Jamaica, Fernando Ponti, the son of the old
Spanish Count da Forth and the beautiful black
woman they used to call Queen Vashti ; he who ran
his stiletto into me the day I was going to embark for
home, and nearly sewed me up with the lunge. Eh,
Catherine—you blush like a dusky rose--did you
know that fellow ?"
,
Yam,

"Know him! Yes, indeed, I-knew him." And her
pale eheek burned like fire as she said it. Have

forgotten that he was the intimate friend and companion
of your brother? You hated him, but I never told you
then with what excellent reason. George, although Ponti
knew I was your wife, or believed myself to be so, he
persecuted me unceasingly with his professions of
love, always proposing that I should fly the island
with him, and visit Spain, where his father, you re-
a2small.estate." -
• Inge,stre's only reply was .a tighteging, grgsp on the
'hand upon his arm, and a .contractioA of-1113thick
brows over the bloodshot eyes. , ',Qatherine rightly
guessed he did not,,dare to trust his broken wilds with
r
words, and she continued—
"Many months after all was 'ended-7-yoti ha h left
for England, and I remained, an outcast, forlorn, and
childlessl heard that he was hung, foiattempting
your life." 6 • • ,
"Yes, for three hours the iirretch waistiOnded
from one of my Judas trees, ami IwatehedAm all
the time. Psha ! never mind that no, we'll not talk
of that time. We are in England now—in my park—
and you, Catherine Wace, have promised to give me
the rest of your dear life; we shall be married soon,
in that little church, and so ends the tale."
(To be continued.)
,