The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1886-07-24 00:00:00

[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.)
THE HEIRESS

AMR STONE GRANGE,

BY THE AUTHOR OF

"Allan Thornton," "Effie Baird," "Almost a
Criminal," " Leonora's Legacy," 4-c.

CHAPTER XX.
NEWS.
~To more; where ignorance is bliss
'Tis folly to be wiee.—GRAY.
IT was a bright, sunny day, when the passengers and
crew of the Psyche gathered together on the deck, to
see the remains of Ursula Rhodes committed to
the sea. Beryl walked to the place quite calmly, sup-
ported by the doctor's arm, and stood, trembling in-
deed, but very still, while the service was read.
"For now we commit her body to the deep, in the
sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection."
The solemn words rang out upon the still air, and
the courage of the solitary woman gave way. Beryl
uttered a wild shriek as the corpse slid gently off the
grating, and disappeared into the sea, and but for the
supporting arm of Dr. Twist, would have fallen on the
deck. Her hat fell off, and her luxuriant hair tumbled
in glossy masses over his arms, as he caught her. It was
the first time that many of the passengers had seen
her fre, and after the sad ceremony was over, all
wereloud in praise of her singular beauty.
The men went back to their work, a little sobered
for the moment, by the event of the day, and the
Psyche steered on, leaving the quiet resting-place of
Ursula Rhodes among the coral and submarine forest
many a mile behind.
Jack Blogg was strangely excited by the funeral.
He had stood very quietly in his place till the body
disappeared, and then, when Beryl had fainted in the
doctor's arms, he shrank quietly away, and was found,
crying, behind a coil of rope, when all was over.
"What's up now, you young varmint ?" asked the
man who discovered him. "Ain't there been row
enough along of ycu already? Stow that water-cart
business, or I'll rope's end you. It'll do you more
good than all the doctor's coddling, I'll be bound."
"You let me alone," said the boy. "I've done
'nothing."
"Then what's up ?"
"Nothing much. I see a ghost just now, that's

"A ghost !"
"Whose r

" lie—in—as- is dead."
And this was all the information he would give,
and they were fain to let him alone. He would not
tell anyone when or where he had seen the spectre,
and the men began to wonder among themselves
whether Ursula "walked," and to cast uneasy glances
around them when it grew dark. If she did, she kept
it to herself, and vouchsafed no appearance save the
one Jack Blogg spoke of; and presently the notion
died away.
The afternoon of the funeral Dr. Twist wrote a
detailed account of the death to Mrs. Dalton, but
worded in the same hard, unsympathetic manner in
which he had lately talked to Beryl. He stated the
facts, nothing more; and then requested her to verify
them by a few lines.
"I would rather not," she said. "The sight of my
writing will only remind the poor old lady that her
child left home to bear me company—for my sake.
You have said all that is necessary."
"I think you had better endorso it, Miss Ather-
stone. Mrs. Dalton will doubtless be anxious to hear
from you. She is surely interested in your safety ?"
"I am sure she is. She was always very kind. I
will do what you wish, Dr. Twist."
She sat down and wrote a few lines to the effect
that all the doctor had said was true, and that her
grandchild was
_indeed lying under the blue water,

Many miles behind them.
"When will it be sent ?" she asked. "How soon
can she know? Oh, what news to have to write to
her !"
"It will be sent from the Cape, Miss Atherstone,
sinless we sight a ship before."
No ship bound to Milhaven was encountered
before they touched at the Cape, and f-om
thence the terrible news went speeding back to
the stern old woman, who had been Pierce Ather-
stone's love in the days that were gone.
She had borne Ursula's leaving very quietly, though
her neighbours were not slow to remark that she had
Changed very much since the day the Psyche sailed.
Sue bad grown suddenly older, and there was a queer,
excited look in her eyes, as though she were con-
stantly expecting something. There was fear in the
expression, too, as though the thing she expected were
also something that she dreaded, and the servants de-
clared that she never slept—that she walked her room
the whole night through.
They exaggerated a little, after the manner of their
Species; but it was certain that a very great change
had come over the proud, reserved Angela Delphine. She
was "nervous," she told one of her lodgers, who was
doctor, and who prescribed for the household when
there was anything the matter, by arrangement, "and
She never knew before that she had nerves."
"That's a new malady for you," her lodger replied.
" Do you think it was wise of you to let Miss Rhodes
go? She was very useful to you, and you miss her."
"I cla miss her very much," replied Mrs. Dalton, with
a spasm passing over her face. "But I shall be amply
repaid for the loss of her. If you can't prescribe any-
thing but Ursula for my ailments, doctor, I am afraid
your skill is no use. I can't get her back yet awhile—
perhaps never."
"I think I'd try change of air," he said, looking at
her and noticing the quivering features, the twitching
fingers, and the careless attire—all signs of a mind
sorely disturbed, "Depend upon it that is the best
thing for you. And she'll go mad if she don't get it,"
he added, Botto voce. "She's on the very verge of it
now."
"Change of air," she said, bitterly. "Where to ?"
"Anywhere—to any friend's place. Sydney, say,
or anywhere you fancy. I wouldn't go too far north,
on account of the heat. You are not very fit to bear
it just now, I think."
Mrs. Dalton smiled scornfully.
"You might as well bid me go and seek a roc's egg
as find a friend," she said. " ehave not one in all the
World. The only being on the face of the earth who
would shed a tear for me, were I to die to-morrow, is
on the sea now; heaven knows whether I shall ever
see her again."
"Still I think you should try and get away for a
little while, even if you go to strangers. Leave the
house and its associations for a time—they are, doubt-
less, painful."
"Painful—they are horrible."
He looked at her in amazement, her tone was so
'vehement.
"It is a terrible house," she went on, seemingly
half unconscious of his presence. "Full of dreadful
fancies, and sounds, and dreams. Yes, I will go
away."
He could not make her out. The house was large
and cheerful, with hardly a dark corner in it for a
fancy to lay hold of. It was hard to imagine anyone
suffering from nervous terrors in it. It was cheer-
fully situated and well-built, and only one thing pre-
vented it from being one of the most fashionable
houses in all Milhaven. The cause was slight, and was
shown in some degree by three or four tenements on
a 4ine with it. In the lower rooms could be distinctly
heard the sound of rushing water, a fact easily ac-
counted for, and in no way but the sound detrimental
to the property.
Under that side of the street ran a covered stream
—a deep brook—which, in the process of forming the
City, had sprung up so suddenly, had been dug out,
bricked in, and utilised into a sewer. It came into the
- town on the outskirts from the north-west, ran under
the houses for some distance, and finally emptied
itself into the Yarra Yarra, close to the sea. No con-
trivance for flushing the drains could be half so
perfect as this natural rush of water, and the houses
- over the Garoopua Brook, as it was called, were
unanimously voted the healthiest and purest in the
City, though the noise of the rushing water was just a
• little eerie at times after rains, when the brook was
very full.
But everyone was well used to it, and Mrs. Dalton's
Medical adviser certainly never thought of associating
• it with her broken health, and yet, had he known it,
' the sound of that unseen water was the main cause of
her disquiet. In the shattered state of her nerves it
seemed to haunt her, to draw her to the rooms where
it was most heard, and to a little enclosed yard, where
she, by lifting a trap, well secured and heavy, could
even look down to it. It seemed to speak to her,
this dark bidden water—to scream to her, to tell h
ef dark deeds and terrible sights, till she could have
shrieked out to all the world the dread that was so
, strong upon her now —the dread of going mad.
Whatever other fear was upon her seemed to wear
Itself away as the days passed by. A week, and she
ceased to start up with wild eyes and a beating heart
, at a knock at the door, or a strange footstep; a fort-
' night, and she was more like her old self, save for the
eager, expectant look upon her face, and the restless-
' rte4tss which could not be controlled, even by her strong
Will.
_
Then there came a day when the postman put into
her hand Dr. Twist's letter, with " s.s. Psyche" on the
envelope.
Her doctor lodger was standing by when she
received it, and saw a strange change pass over her
face.
i This s not Ursula's writing," she said, very
quietly, though her tone was shrill with suppressed
excitement. "There is something wrong with the
child."

She took the letter to her own room, and shut her-
self up for many hours. When she came out her face
Was white and stony-looking, but there were no traces
of tears upon it.
"Miss Ursula is dead," she said to the servant
Who always waited on her. Draw down the blinds,
and tell the gentlemen upstairs the reason."
'Lead, ma'am!"
The girl stared as though she thought her ears had
not servcd her aright, but Mrs. Dalton answered the
look in the same strangely quiet way.
" Yes: she died suddenTy, only four days after the
*(1113 sailed. She is buried in the sea. Tell the other
s.ervants, and anyone who may make enquiries, that
'he ship's doctor and Miss Atherstone also have written
to me about it."
" Yes. ma'am. Is Miss Atherstone quite well. if you

please, ma'am ?" asked the girl, on whom Beryl's kind.;
ness and gentle manners had made a great impres-
sion.

"Miss Atherstone is quite well, but prostrated by
the shock, of course," Mrs. Dalton replied. "We
shall hear more, doubtless, by the first mail after
they reach England. You can tell people what I
have told you, Hannah, and don't let me be
talked to about it. I cannot bear it yet.'
And Hannah promised, and certainly did her own
share of the talking and her mistress's too.
The blinds were drawn down, and nobody had any
need to ask why, for all Melbourne knew very soon
that Miss Ursula Rhodes, who had gene to England
so suddenly, would never come back, but lay "full
fathom five," or five hundred, more likely, under the
blue sea.

One of the first people to arrive at the knowledge
of what had happened was Allan Temple. He was very
unhappy about Beryl; more so, indeed, than the cir-
cumstances under which he had left her seemed to
warrant. True, her escort had suddenly disappeared,
but she was as safe as though Graham Carson were
on board. She had her young companion with her,
and her nearest relatives would meet and welcome
her at her journey's end. She would feel strange and
Lonely, but the passengers all seemed pleasant people,
and the captain had grown-up daughters of his own,
and was a kind, fatherly man, and would take care of
her. She was provided with every comfort that
could be thought of, and the voyage promised to be
swift and pleasant.
All these things notwithstanding, his heart sank
lower and lower with every passing day, with an in-
definable, unconquerable dread. He had a reason for
his fears, known only to himself—a reason of which
he could not speak at present—and he was thinking
sadly of this when he passed Mrs. Dalton's house and
saw the drawn blinds and closed shutters.
Hannah was cleaning the doorway when he came
up, and saluted him respectfully.
"Good morning, Mr. Temple."
"Good morning, Hannah. What has happenea,
eh? Any of the lodgers?"
He glanced up at the darkened windows as he
spoke.
"Oh, no, sir; worse than that."
"Indeed! Mrs. Dalton is safe and well, I trust."
"Oh, yes, sir, missis is well, thank you—a littlelow
and queer like, which 'is but to be expected. There's
news come."
"News—from whom?"
"Well, I can't rightly say, sir; from somewhere
where the ship stopped."
"The ship—the Pyscrie ?"

"Yes, sir, but you've no call to be frightened, sir,"
she added, as Allan Temple, feeling as though the
world were suddenly coming to an end, caught hold
of the railings for support. "It ain't her. It's Miss
Ursula."
"Miss Ursula!"

His voice sounded tp himself like that of someone a
long way off, thick and unintelligible, the sickening
dread had been so great.
"Yes, sir," the girl went on, desisting from her
cleaning, and sitting upon her heels to give full effect
to her words, "poor Miss Ursula's gone. Died quite
sudden like four days after they started, and was
buried in the sea. Isn't it shocking, sir ?"

"It is indeed," replied Allan, conscious of being
very little shocked indeed, in the revulsion of feeling
caused by her words. (He had dreaded he scarce
knew what). " But you are sure the news is true
"Quite sure, sir. Missis, she showed me the letter.
It was from a Dr. Somebody, and told all about it.
Missis didn't feel as she could talk to people, you see,
and she wanted me to do it for her."
"I understand. But, Hannah, was there no letter
from Miss Atherstone ? No word of how she was?"

"Law, yes, sir; the gentleman said she had borne
the shock—and it must have been an awful one,
poor thing—much better than anyone could have ex-
pected, and then there was a little bit on the outside
of the letter that she wrote herself, saying she wasn't
ill to speak of, only frightened and low."
"No wonder, poor darling 1" said Allan. "I am
sorry indeed to hear of what has happened. I should
like to see Mrs. Dalton, Hannah."
Missis said she wouldn't see anybody, sir."
"Ask her, if you please, to see me, for a few
minutes; I will not distress her by stiying long."
Hannah went on her errand, and Allan waited in
the hall. A strange fear had come upon him that
something had happened to Beryl—that Hannah had
kept back something; it seemed so strange that she
had not written to him. He had the best right in all
the world to comfort her, and the same ship would
have brought him a letter.
Presently Hannah came back and ushered him
into the presence of her mistress.
Mrs. Dalton had at first replied to his request with
a curt refusal, but had recalled the girl to alter her
message, and bring him in. She looked sterner and
harder than ever, he thought, as he entered the
darkened room where she sat; the dead black of her
dress, unrelieved by any trace of white, and her face
loaing drawn and haggard. He made some agitated
apology for intruding, but she stopped him with a
wave of her hand.

"You have a perfect right to know everything
there is to tell, Mr. Temple," she said. "I presume
Hannah has told you "
"Of your great sorrow. Yes. I need not say how
truly grieved I am."
"You are very kind. It has made my old age
friendless and lonely. But talking of it is useless. It
will not bring my Ursula back. You are anzious to
hear how Miss Atherstone is, of course ?"

" I atn, indeed," he replied, wondering at her tone,
which was repellant and defiant, as though she would
wrestle with her grief, and show it only in scorn of
aught else in the world.
"Here is all that I can tell you," she said, putting
the letter ityto his hand; "all the tidings tint came
to me. You see, Miss Atherstone herself says she is
well."

Allan could scarcely read the few words Beryl had
added to Dr. Twist's letter. The agitation with which
they were witten had made them almost illegible, but
he knew her handwriting. He thanked Mrs. Dalton,
and went away, gre tly relieved, and not wondering
so much that Beryl had not written to him.
"Poor darling! I shall hear by the first mail," he
thought, and went his way to the place whither he was
bound when he noticed Mrs. Dalton's closed windows.
It was to watch by the bedside of a sick man that
Allan Temple was going— a man whose sickness he had
lighted upon strangely and suddenly, and from whose
lips he would have given half his fortune to hear a
dozen sensible words.
(To be continued.)