The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1888-05-19 00:00:00

THE
BARRIER BETWEEN'

REPENTED UNTO DEATH.

CHAPTER XXXII.
GRIEF'S MONUMENT.

IT was a brilliant morning, the snow had melted from
the pavements, a cloudless heaven glittered in cleat
azure overhead, and the sun came down as a warm
Vessing upon the ever-moving crowd that sweep on-
ward through the length of Regent-street and down
Oxford-street. Rose Chard, in a dark blue merinc
walking-dress, sable tippet and cuffs, and close-fitting
capote trimmed with ribbons of brilliant azure, turned
from the fashionable thoroughfare, and came toward
the new lace store.

Her fresh young face was bright with health and
happiness, and her heart was full of joy in the pre-
sent, and hope in the future. She had that morning
received a letter from Ashton which breathed such
tender and devoted attachment, that she began to
feel as if something was due to him in return. She
believed she had not yet quite made up her mind to
bestow her hand upon him, but the certainty that he
coveted it above all earthly treasures certainly gave
additional buoyancy to her light tread, and to her
heart a glad feeling of ineffable satisfaction. His
letter had been enclosed in one to Mr. Spring, and
bore only the date of the month; thus she was still
kept in a state of tantalising ignorance of his actual
"whereabouts." She considered this a very absurd
Precaution, and pouted over it a little; but still,
satisfaction that she had heard from him was the pre-
dominant feeling in her bosom.
With her cheerful smile and engaging manner, Miss
Chard came into the tiny shop like a sunbeam, and
even the face of the blind woman brightened when she
heard the voice of their young friend; for Rose had
been her mother's companion in her recent visits to
her new proteges, and had already made a warm place
for herself in their grateful hearts.
"Good morning, Miss Seyton ; how snug everything
looks here. Really, Margaret, you have contrived to
give quite an air of elegance to your sale room. Those
draperies of cut paper have a charming effect, and you
have arranged your fancy merchandise with the skill
of an artist. I trust the balance-sheet is only as at-
tractive as the outward seeming.
"I believe it is satisfactory, Miss Chard," responded
Margaret, smiling brightly, "and I thank you very
much for your kind appreciation of my taste in deco-
ration. It only adds another kindness to those you
have already bestowed upon me. I am getting on
much faster than I had dared to hope, and with in-
dustry and good management, I can look forward to a
little indep2ndent future. Oh, Miss Rose, I will not
apeak of my gratitude. because I know it is painful
to you; but when you think of the good you and your
angel mother have accomplished for me, it will give
You faith to walk in the noble path you have marked
out for yourself."
"Hush, Margaret; do not talk nonsense. We have
only done what is commanded us, and are we not
selfish enough to think of the voice which will one
day say, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of
these, have ye done it unto Me,' and claim our reward
for only rightly using the means He bestowed upon
? Do not give the credit to the earthly stewards,
who would feel self-condemned if the blessings in-
tended to be diffused should be selfishly hoarded for
their own gratification."
"I will say no more, Miss Rose; but I shall only
feel the more for suppressing its expression. Won't
3'ou come iei a few minutes and see mother and Mrs.
Gordon; they will both be brightened up by hearing
the sound of your cheerful voice."
"I desire to see Mrs. Gordon particularly," replied
Rose, in a low voice; for mamma wishes to know
how she is since she came to you. We feel much
solicitude about the state of her mind, for mamma
cannot bear the idea of again sending her to the
asylum."

A door half of glass, shaded by a white muslin cur-
tain, admitted Margaret and Miss Chard into a com-
fortable room, well lighted by two windows that
looked into a small yard. A few necessary additions
had been made to the furniture which Margaret and
her mother formerly possessed, and a bright fire made
the apartment quite cheerful. The sun was shining
through the windows, and Mrs. Seyton sat within its
influence, feeling with satisfaction that the golden
beams were falling upon her, though she could not see
them. While she felt their warmth, memory went
back to other days, and brought to her mental vision
vivid pictures of sunny meadows and cool, shadowy
forests, through which golden tracery gleamed upon
the grassy sward, as the breeze rippled among the
stately trees, and tossed aside their branches.
As usual, Mrs. Seyton was busily engaged in
knitting the brilliant webs which had suddenly
become so popular among their customers, that the
old woman began to dream of acquiring an inde-
pendence for herself, without the aid cf her daughter.
Madeline was placed on a low seat almost at her feet,
and just now her fingers were employed in weaving
together a wreath of flowers, in which all those that
typify the immortality of the soul were to be found.
Rose instantly felt that it -wan intended to ornament,
the grave of her son, and she regarded the wan and
wasted face with an expressien of deep compassion.
As the young lady entered, Madeline looked up
vaguely, but immediately returned to her occupation,
as if quite unconscious of her presence.
Mrs. Seyton already knew Rose's step, and she put
forth her wrinkled hands as she said—
"Welcome, daughter of love and compassion; fairer
than Sarah, more to be desired than Rachael, for
Whom twice seven years of toil were given, I am sure
You are. Pray come near to me, Miss Chard, and let
me feel the influence of your sweet presence."
Rose clasped her hand in both her own, and sat
down close beside her.
"I am glad to see you looking so well this morn-
ing, Mrs. Seyton, but I beg you will not flatter me by
such comparisons as those you have just made. lam
vain enough already, I am afraid."
"Oh, my dear young lady, I do not seek to flatter
You. God knows that I would not dim His precious
Work by blowing the breath of adulation upon such a
soul as yours. It is written, It is more blessed to
give than to receive,' but I feel it to be a blessing to
receive from such as you and your noble mother.
That the Great Ruler may save you from harm, and
give you His most precious blessings, is the burden of
lnurly petitions."
"I thank you, indeed, Mrs. Seyton, for are we not
also told that the prayer of the righteous availeth
/)Inch?' and I am very sure your petitions must bring
good to those on whom you invoke blessings. The
certainty that an humble Christian like yourself
remembers me in her daily prayers, will give me
double trust in the future."
Rose turned to Madeline, gently stretched forth her
hand toward the flowers she held, and asked—
"May I examine them? They seem to be beauti-
ully made."
She turned those wild, sad eyes upon her, and said:
"If a creature so bright and happy as yourself can
bear that a breath from the charnel-house shall
breathe its chill air upon you, touch them. But if
you shrink from death and the grave, leave them to
one who has nothing brighter to think of. Miss
Chard, you have nothing in common with me or my
Sorrow; do not, then, let its shadow come near you;
better not even let the death flowers brush your hand,
for their contact may bring you sorrow."
"I am not superstitious, Mrs. Gordon, and I feel so
Sorry for your bereavement that I should be glad to
assist you to decorate your boy's tomb. A friend has
Placed a monument over his grave, and my mother
bade me tell you that you can visit it with her this
afternoon, if you feel well enough to go to Kensal-
green."
Maderne rocked to and fro with her hands clasped
over her eyes, and the flowers fell scattered around
her. She presently looked up and asked:
"Who put a cold, hard stone over my little lad?
Wasn't it enough that his life was passed in darkness,
but his grave must be shut out from God's sunshine?
No, no; let grass and flowers spring from his ashes. I
do not wish them to be clogged in darkness, turning
to clods of dull earth. Let it be taken away, Miss
Chard—let it be taken away."
"Come and see it first, Mrs. Gordon," replied Rose,
gently. "Your boy's tomb is a beautiful work of
art, it is only a shaft of marble, on which is poised an
angel bearing a child away to the better land. The
Warm beams of the sun can still fall upon his last
resting place."
"And who, I again ask, placed that expensive
monument upon the grave of my child? Is it not a
sad mockery that the being who perished of want
sl ould lie in Kensal Green with sculptured marble
adorning his solemn place of nothingness? Oh ! Miss
Chard. your mother would not have done this; who
then has ? I insist on knowing."
'Yr ou must apply to mamma for information on
that subject, for I do not myself know."
Madeline searchingly regarded her; she slowly
asked—
" What name was inscribed on this marble folly ? '
" None ; near its base is a female figure in bas-
relief, representing Grief—a delicate allusion to his
Singular name."
"Singular as it was, it was his birthright. Yes—
from the cradle to the grave, his name was most
appropriate to one banned, forsaken as he was. I
know whose pride erected that statue, and I repu-
diate it; but I do not know his true name. I never
knew the true name of the man I once loved better
than aught else on e••rth. He called himself Harold
Gordon, and as such I sought him, but found him,
not."
Pose flushed and then grew pale. Harold Gordon
bad been.a pet nick-name, was the baptismal name of
one she loved, and admired too much to believe him
Capable of such wrong as was here shadowed forth.
Madeline caught the expression of her face, and
she said:
" Ah—l see that you suspect, if you do not actually
know him. But I will not again ask his name, as
Your mother might be displeased if it were revealed.
I will gather up my flowers and put them away, for it
Will be useless to carry my poor offering to a sculp-
tured tomb. It was the humble grave of my child 1
Bought to deck, not the haughty resting-place of an
aristocrat's son. Ah, me! he should have placed a
figure of gaunt famine over him, as most appropriate
to his actual fate." - .

" Do not put aside your flowers, Mrs. Gordon; they
Ire the most beautiful offerings which can be brought

to the dead, for they are typei of our evanescent exis-
tence, and therefore always touching to the heart.
Finish your wreath, I entreat, and take it with you
this afternoon to Kensal Green."

At length Madeline was persuaded to go on with her
occupation, and Rose turned to Mrs. Seyton and in-
quired
.if she could further serve them in any way, as
her mother wished to know if they were quite coin-
fyrtable in their new quarters.
"Many thanks to your kind mother; we are more
than comfortable —we are hopeful and happy;
we are contented in the present, and have fair pros-
pects in the future. Bear with you, Miss Chard, the
united thanks of three grateful hearts."
"I will be sure to inform mamma of all you have
said; and now, Margaret I will go into the shop with
you, and select some gloves, as I need a supply."
She bade Mrs. Seyton and Madeline good morning,
and passed into the outer room. While she was select-
ing the colours she preferred, a tall, fair woman came
in, and enquired for handkerchiefs. As Margaret
turned to get them for her, the eyes of the stranger
were attracted towards Rose. She fixed a pair of clear,
luminous, grey orbs upon the young girl, whom she
regarded with an expression of deep interest.
She pretended to be examining the handk( rchiefs
offered for her inspection, but was evidently not
thinking of them. Margaret took out a pair of lace
gloves, elegantly embroidered, and said—
" Try the effect of one of these on your hand, Miss
Rose; they are the most elegant I have seen."
Rose removed her own glove, drew on the lace one,
admired its beauty, and ordered the pair to be put up
with the others. As she laid them back upon the
glass case, the rosy palm of her hand was turned
towards the stranger. She started, glanced keenly at
the sweet face of its owner, and suddenly stretching
forth her own hand, said—

"I trust you will excuse me, young lady; but the
strong attraction that draws me toward you will not
be repelled. Let me look at your hand, I entreat;
for the lines I caught a glimpse of just now seem por-
tentous of some calamity at this crisis of your life,
which a timely warning may avert."
Rose buried her hand in her fur cuff, as she replied—
" Excuse me, madam, but this seems very singular.
Are you a fortune teller?"
"Not a presuming dealer in cards, but a reader of
fate through natural sympathies. I feel that I have
been thrown upon your path to-day for some purpose
best known to the Power that guides our steps; and
my instinctive affinity with you bids me not to neg-
lect its warning. Let me look at your hand, I entreat."
Influenced, in spite of herself, by her earnestness,
Rose timidly held out her hand. The stranger turned
the soft palm to the light, and carefully perused the
lines. She said—

"Your life has been free from care, as any one may
see who looks into your undimmed eyes, without the
aid of palmistry. It promises to be a prosperous and
happy one, if a near and imminent danger is avoided.
I warn you not to take a sea voyage. If you do, the
consequences may be fatal to you. Be careful with
whom you trust yourself within the next forty-eight
hours. After that, the danger will be passed, pro-
vided you attend to my caution. I dare say you
think me mad to speak thus to a stranger; but the
spirit that rules me bade me do it, and I obeyed."
She relinquished the hand, and hurriedly resuming
her glove, Rose said—
"l thank you, madam, for your interest in me,
though lam at a loss to comprehend its source. If
two days of caution will secure my future happiness,
I may surely promise them to you. I have at present
no idea of taking a sea voyage, though I admit that
one I could mention would be very agreeable to me.
Good morning !"
"I see that you think me insane, young lady; but
before Friday morning dawns, you will know that
there is 'method in my madness.' I conjure you to
remember what I have said. I see the danger looming
before you, though I cannot precisely ascertain its
nature. Your want of faith breaks the link which
brings me in rapport with your future."
Rose smiled, nodded to Margaret, and tripped from
the shop, convinced that the stranger was a fit
candidate for the lunatic asylum. As the door closed,
the stranger turned to Margaret, and inquired—
"Do you know the name of that young lady?"
"It is Miss Rose Chard."
"What ! the heiress to the Trevor estate, now in
dispute ?"
"The very same; and I hope the suit will termi-
nate in her favour, for a more noble use could not be
made of money than she makes of hers. I owe
everything I have in the world to her and her
mother."

Madame Latude did not ' listen to her. She
hurriedly pushed aside the box of handkerchiefs, and
left the shop. When she reached the street, Miss
Chard had already turned into Oxford-street, but she
followed her as rapidly as possible. A sudden im-
pulse moved her to communicate with Rose, and
inform her of the actual position of her affairs, to-
gether with the nefarious robbery which had been
perpetrated on herself a few days before.
She reached Oxford-street, saw the young lady
crossing in the direction of the park, and she walked
rapidly down the street. Pre-occupied and careless,
the throng of vehicles at that point did not detain
her; she went on like one in a dream; was struck
down by an unmanageable horse, from beneath whose
fret she was lifted and rarried into a store. She was
quite senseless, and unable to give a clue to her name
or place of abode; the owner of the establishment
ordered her to be conveyed to a charitable asylum,
where she would be taken care of until she recover&
sufficiently to make known her residence.