The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1886-10-09 00:00:00

[ALL RIGHTS BESERVRD.]
THE HEIRESS

ATIIERSTONE GRANGE

BY THE AIITTIOR OF
"Allan Thornton," "Effie Baird," "Almost a
Criminal," "Leonard's Legacy," 4v.

CHAPTER XXXVII.
A STRANGE DOUBT.
There's no such thing as certainty, that's plain,
In any of morality's conditions.— BYRON.
.11trtyr„ was very preoccupied as she walked with Lilly
al the garden after the sight of the newspaper para.
graphs. The rector's daughter was all joy and lively
knirits now that Graham Carson had came back. The
World to her was one vast flower garden; herself the
butterfly that sipped its sweetness. It had been
hinted to her that there need not be much delay about
her marriage—that the elder Mr. Carson was going
;$0 give up his business to his son, who would then be
in a position to give his darling a home worthy of any
atherstone that ever bore the name; the pretty Lilly
Was beginning to fill her little head with notions of
trousseaux and wedding-dresses, and to wonder at the
alngular apathy displayed by her cousin on the
Sabject.
For Beryl did not seem to cat e much about the mag-
nificent preparations which was being made by the
tnilliners and dressmakers for her. She seemed more
anxious about getting away to the Continent than
anything else—anxious to lie alone with him, Noe
thought; but even lovers don't know everything, and
the rector's son was not quite au fait to everything
that passed in the mind of los bride-elect.
Beryl was rather puzzling to Lilly this morning.
The latter could see signs of agitation in her cousin's
face, but could assign no cause for them. She prattled
on about "Graham." and her coming bliss as his wife,
hardly conscious that she was not answered, not even
listened to, till at length Beryl spoke.
"I'm very stupid, Lilly, dear, but I haven't heard a
'Word you have been saying. Pray forgive me."
"What's the matter, Beryl— are you ill ?"
"No. Why ?"
"You look so pat- and tri:te."
"I'll go home, i think. I'm worried a little. I
Want to be alone, I think."
" Worried ?"
"Yes."
"What about ?"
"Oh, lots of things," the heiress replied, with a
atnile at Lilly's scared face. "I've a thousand things
to think of that your little head could never compre-
hend; awful money affairs, and deep details about
Property. I'm a woman of business, you know, and
there seems to be an endless amount of it to get
through before June. Heigho !"
" But, Beryl "
"Don't torment me with any buts, there's a dear,
Tell them I'm ill, if you like. Say I've the toothache,
or the headache, or any malady you like to invent. I
can't go in again. I'll come back to-morrow and
apologise to auntie for rushing off in this fashion."
And she had let herself out of the garden gate, and
was roaki \-; her way back into the Grange grounds at a
rapid rate, before Lilly had recovered from her aston-
ishment. Her kiss upon her cousin's lips had been
seemingly as light-hearted as was usual with her; hut
once outof sight of the rectory windows, all the elasticity
• went out of her step, all the light out of her eyes. If
the birds and flowers in the Grange wrods could have
aPoken, they could have told of a seared, white face,
Which flashed by them as they waved and sung, and
Of little hands clenched till the soft kid of the morn-
ing gloves was burst and torn with the strain of the
strained muscles of the rosy fingers underneath. But
this was only for the birds and flowers. Beryl's face,
though pale, was calm enough when she entered her
Own room at home, where she was presently joined
by Airs. Dalton.
When the heiress was alone her Australian friend
did not confine herself to her own rooms, but when
there was company present she seldom came into the
drawing-room unless she was asked. It was
versally allowed that Mrs. Dalton was a very sensible,
agreeable womae, and knew her place, as the servant
girls have it. She treated Miss Atherstonewith much
respect and affection—at any rate before people. When
they were by themselves, it did not so much matter;
and perhaps she knew her young friend so
thoroughly that the respect was put a little on one
Side.
She looked at her now with a scrutinising glance as
She entered, and remarked the pale face and the weary
look'in the eyes.
"Well," she said, "something has happened. What
la it."
"Nothing."
"You need not take the trouble to fib to be, Miss
Atherstolo.. I am not your aunt, or the man you
are going to marry. What has happened to you since
You went out ?"
" Nothing has happened. Maybe something is going
to!,

"What?"
"Oh, not much. Mr. James Chetwynd, of the
•wilaerva. Theatre, has effocted an engagement with
the talented young actor, Mr. Allan Temple; that is
And he is coming here 7"
"Well, herc—l don't know—to England he certainly
Is. The date of his arrival is announced. I don't re-
member it exactly; but it is very near. I suppose
he thinks he is going to take London by storm."
"He thinks he is going to marry Beryl Ather-
stone," said the old lady. "What is to be done

now ?”
A strange evil look came into her eyes as she spoke
—a look that boded no good to Allan Temple should
he cross her path.
"It is love, not the profession, that has brought him
over the sea," she said. "It is in pursuit of you he
has come. What shall you do?"
"I do not know—l must have time to think.

Luckily, it he comes here—"
"As he will; be sure of that."
"Well, if he does, I shall not be here—we shall be
on our travels, and he will not follow us over the
country. He will hear that lam emyaged to Noel, and
If he is a gentleman—as I know him to be—he will
not seek to persecute me any more. I don't intend to
see Mr. Allan Temple, and, so long as we are apart, I
do not fear him much."
"I am horribly frightened," said Mrs. Dalton
"Sick with fear." _ _ _

_
"I am not. Be may grow weary of England, and
go back again. If he does. I wish him a safe voyage,
lam sure. If not, our spheres of life are so different
We are not likely to cross each other's paths Miss
Atherstone of the Grange can have nothing in common
With actors and actresses."
"Ab ! Much virtue in an if,' as Touchstone says,"
remarked Mrs. Dalton. "But suppose things do not
turn out as you wish, Miss Atherstone, and, in spite
of it all, you and Allan Temple met face to face—what
then ?"
"I think you and I between us can find a way to
Put a stop to any annoyance he may cause us," replied
Beryl, looking straight into the old lady's dark eyes;
and, leaving her to her own reflections on what she
had heard. she went away into her own room, and
Shut herself in, to think.
She had carried it with a high hand in talking to
her friend, but, for all her apparent carelessness on
the subject, she was terribly frightened. There was
this man, her lover in the old days that seemed so
long ago now, coming from the other side of the
world to claim her promise, only to find her the be-
trothed of another man. flow could she excuse her-
self to Noel if the secret came out; and Allan Temple
was not the man to keep it to himself when he knew
What was going on. The little ring he had given her,
lay unoared for in a pin tray on her dressing table; it
might have been stolen a hundred times had the
servants been dishonest. She cared nothing for it
now. She picked it up, and looked at it with a con-

ternptuous smile.
"'Sett-per Fidelis' and all that sort of thing was
very well then," she murmured; but things are dif-
ferent now. Fool! fool! Beryl Atherstone, not to
look further a-head, and have no such sentimental
nonsense to interfere with your future life."
The trinket dropped from her hand as she spoke,
and she put her foot upon it, crushing the delicate set-
ting with her heel, with a malignant spite, that it was
almost a pity the giver of the bauble could not see.
"if I could only crush his tongue as easily," she
said to herself; only spoil his chance of speaking as
easily as I can break this memento of my folly, the
way would be clear."
The filagree setting of the ring lay in glittering
scraps about the carpet, and she spread them hither and
thither with her foot, heediess of who might pick
them up ; but the stone resisted her efforts to crush
it up, and she took it up and sent it whirling through
the window, over the tree tops, to fall unheeded
among the soft grass beneath them.
"'Seaver " she muttered. "Yes, I am
always faithful—to myself."
But she was worried, and perhaps regretful, in spite)
of her storm, and when ratty came to dress her
Young mistress for dinner, she saw tracer, of tears on
her face, and wondered not a little whatever such a
rich and handsome young lady could have to cry
about.
The next morning the party st9rted on their
journey, where we will leave them and return to Allan
Temple, on his voyage Englandward. Be and Mr.
Chetwynd were met at Southampton by the partner
of the latter, who greeted the young actor with much
kindness, and gave him a warm welcome to England,
predicting all sorts of suecesses for him.
"You'll hit them, my boy," he said. "I can see
You've the sort of stuff in you. If your acting is only
half as good as your appearance, you'll have a grand
success."
Allan thanked him sincerely for his good wishes,
and, after a brief chat on business, and a glass of wine
together, the partner went back to London, leaving
Chawynd and his protege to follow the next day.
"And now we'll go and see what a real good English
dinner is like," the popular actor said. "It seems en
age since I tasted one. I don't want to run down
Your country, my boy, but you don't understand beef
out there."
"No, I'm afraid we don't," the young man replied.
'l'm ready to be enlightened."
They turned into the best hotel they could find, and
at down in the well-appointed public-room, where
two men were already dining. One a them rosewith
a glad exclamation.

Why, Chetwynd, old boy, how are you?"
Mr. Chetwynd responded with a hearty shake of the
hind.

_
"Masters, old fellow, how goes it ?"
The pair were intimate friends, and one of them
had been round the world since last they met—yet
t his was all their greeting. Englishmen don't gush
arid slobber one another's cheeks with kisses when
they meet, but they put their hearts into their fingers
and try who can bear the tighest squeeze.
Mr. Chetwynd introduced Allan, and then the gen-
tleman came forward with the easy grace of a
thorough bred man, and begged to be introduced to
Mr. Chetwynd also.
"Who is associated with the pleasantest moments
of my life," he said. "lam an ancient theatre-goer,
and love the drama as much as ever I did when I was
a boy."
The actor shook hands with the gentleman, whom
his old friend introduced as "Mr. Carnaby."
It was no other than Leonard Atherstone's old
friend, who had make the acquaintance of Mr. Masters
at a country house, where he was superintending some
private theatricals, and met him accidentally again in
Southampton that day.
Allan was again formally introduced, and the four
sat down together.
"You are fresh from Australia, then, Mr. Temp'e,"
said Bruce Carnaby.
"As fresh as the rapidest way of coming will
permit," be replied.
"We were just speaking of a young lady from
your part of the world. She was a unena'wr of your
profession, too—Miss Atherstone. Did you know
her ?" _ _ _ . .

_
Only James Chetwynd marked the weary look on
the young man's face, or knew the bitter pain that
caused it. He would have spoken for hint, ano turned
the conversation in some way, but that Allan gave 1:1s

foot a warning touch under the table, as if to beg his
silence. He spoke in answer calmly enough.
"Yes, I know Miss Atherstone; everyone in Mel-
bourne did, by sight, at any rate."
"Then you can settle a knotty point for us. Tty
the way, what a lucky girl shs has been! and she s
going to bestow herself and her grandfather's acres on a
fine young fellow. Captain Atherstone has made a
grand coup in winning his cousin."
"Then it is true she is going to be married ?" re-
marked Mr. Chetwynd.
"I am bidden to the wedding in June," replied
Bruce Carnaby. "Dear me ! it seems only the other
day I aided and abetted at her father's most disastrous
marriage. I was Leonard Atherstone's dearest friend
in those days, Mr. Temple. His wife was a lovely
girl."
"she was a beautiful and lovable woman to the
last," said Allan, warmly. He had very pleasant
memories of the mother of the girl who had treated
him so cruelly. "Miss Atherstone is very like her."
"Oh, pardon me, no. She is the image of her father.
The likeness is marvellous."
"I never saw him," said Allan, wondering. "You
said you wanted me to decide some question about
Miss Atherstone, gentlemen. May I ask what it is ?"
"It's just touching her personal appearance," said
Mr. Masters. "Years ago she was in my theatre as a
child, and I had good reason to remember what she
was like. Now, Mr. Carnaby here has seen her lately,
and our notions of her don't tally."
"I tell you you must have forgotten her," said
Bruce Carnaby. "She has grown into a lovely
woman. Mr. Temple has seen her lately, and will
hear me out in my description. A petite, beautiful
figure?'
"Yes."
"Feathery, golden hair, every thread looking like a
gleam of sunlight."
"Very feathery hair; yes."
" And I say no," said Mr. Masters: "Beryl Ather-
stone as a child had fair hair enough, but it was
darkening rapidly, and would have been brown by
now."
" Ah, our ideas may differ. Blue eyes."
"I say no, because—"
"My dear fellow, you have been dreaming," retorted
Bruce Carnaby, not heeding that Allan Temule had not
answered the question. "I tell you that the child
Beryl Atnerstone whom you knew must have blue
eyes, for she has them now—the real Atherstone eyes,
as like the old squire's as can be."
"They have changed colour, then. She was a brown-
er d, brown-haired child when I knew her. If she's
the same girl she has a scar on her left temple,
that she'll be obliged to pull her hair down to

hide."
"Miss Atherstone has such a scar," Bruce Car-
naby replied. "She told me herself how she
came by it. Rather a narrow escape for her, wasn't
it ?"
"About the narrowest I ever saw. I should like to
see that scar and her."
"Hard of belief still ?"
"I am. I will never believe she has golden hair and
blue eyes till I see her face to face. But Mr. Temple
can tell us what she is like. Describe her for us, like
a good fellow; do."
"I'm not at all sure that I can," replied Allan.
"The description of an actress one day will not do for
the next. She is petite and beautiful, with feathery
hair, and a scar upon her forehead; but her eyes—
well, now, you puzzle me. I should know her, of
course, if I were to Fee her; but I cannot tell at this
moment what colour they are."
"I know they are blue," Bruce Carnaby intimated.
"I had plenty of time to study them, for she literally
devoured every word she could gather from me about
her father; she seems to remember him perfectly."
"I daresay she does. She was eight or nine years
old when he died. If you are right, Mr. Carnaby,
there's been some devilry afoot, and I'd like to know
where; or you havehad some glamour over your own
eyes."
Their conversation drifted away to other subjects
after this, and Allan Temple made the best feint he
could of eating, though his companion could see that
the effort went nigh to choke him. When the others
had bade them good-bye, and they rose to leave the
hotel, he staggered like a drunken man, though he had
taken but very little wine.
"Sit down a minute." said Mr. Chetwynd, "and
have a drop of brandy. You are knocked over by all
this. What do you think is the meaning of it?"
"Horror and confusion worse than anything I ever
pictured to myself. Surely I must be going mad, or
in some hideous dream."
Mr. Chetwynd poured out a little brandy and made
Allan drink it, for he was shivering as though with an
ague fit.
"Drink this," he said, "and tell me, if you can,
which of these two was right—are her eyes blue or
brown ?"
"Brown—brown as a fawn's, and her hair was soft
and brown too. The old manager was right. What
awful secret is hidden at the bottom of this foul
juggling ?"

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
A NEW FEAR.
To be once in doubt
Is once to be resoIved.—SHAKESPEARE.

THE four persons who had the curious conversation in
the Southampton hotel thought over it long and
earnestly. Bruce Carnaby the least of all, for his idea,
naturally enough, was that Mr. Master's memory had
played him false, and that he had forgotten the little
girl he once knew, or confounded her with some other
child.
The old manager himself was puzzled find bewildered;
he was sure Mr. Carnaby would have no motive for
deceiving him, and he could not understand it in the
least.

"Fair hair and blue eyes." he thought to himself.
"Well, children do change wonderfully, and grow
more or less like their parents, as the case may
be; even fathers and mothers can't always recognise
them. But how that brown-haired, brown-eyed
child can have changed into what he describes, hang
me if I can tell. Egad, if I'd the money and the time
to spare. I'd go down into Warwickshire and see her.'
Mr. Chetwynd wondered not a little over all he had
heard.
"What can it mean ?" he asked himself. "What
can the juggling be? Is the woman a chameleon.
that she can change the colour of her eyes and hair 1
Bah, the latter is nothing to an actress, and there's
some mistake about the other. The old man and
Temple are right, and Mr. Carne.by has made a
mistake. I hope the young fellow won't let his love
worry him into a fever. It's my opinion the girl's a
bad lot, and he's well out of it."
Allan Temple sat down on the side of his bed, with
his face buried in his hands, when he retired for the
night, and thought long and earnestly.
"Beryl, my Beryl !" he murmured, while tears stole
through his fingers; "has it come to this? What
shall I do? Where is she? Oh, how hard it is to
wait, to fear, I know not what, and yet be powerless!
And yet I must wait. I can do nothing till I am
face to face with her; this heiress who has wasted
the life out of my heart, made a broken man of me.
Oh, my darling! my darling! when your sweet eyes
looked into mine, and your dear lips murmured
Semper Fidelis' into my ears, we little thought our
love would end like this. Bah! I must be going mad;
dreaming some hideous dream, from which I shall
wake to the old life of hope and happiness 'with
you."
It was some time before he could regain his com-
posure—his agitation had mastered him so thoroughly;
and when reticent, patient natures are roused to
tears or outward evidences of sorrow, their emotion
is like a pent-up mill-stream, carrying all before it.
But the storm passed at length, and left his brain
clear to think; and he drew out his travelling writing.
case, and sat down to indite a letter to Graham
Carson.

Southampton, April 15th, 18—.
"My dear Carson,—l did not turn back from Suez,
though I got your kind, friendly letter, and was on
the eve of taking your advice. I met a friend who
persuaded me to come on, as I intended. lam thank-
ful that you are so well and so happy. The happiness
of my life seems to have gone out for ever. I have
come on to England solely with a professional object.
I mean to make a name and fortune for myself
here, if I can, and forget that ?ever had any mistress
hut my art. The friend I met at Port Said was
James Chetwynd—everyone knows him—and he
offered me such t(rms for the Minerva that I cannot
let such a prospect slip by. I told him why I was
going to turn back, and he persuaded me to come on,
and advises me to whistle my recreant love down the
wind and think no more of her. I did intend to have
paid you a visit at once, but I will wait now till I can
sea the mistress of Atheratone Grange and her