The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1887-12-17 00:00:00

;AIL RIGH7_I RESERVED.]
NOBLER THAN REVENGE.

BY TNEI
it:Vor of" The Heiress of Atheretome Grange."

CHAPTER LIM
HIS WIFE.

'What's done, is done.'

EWAN GAYFORD had laid his plans well, and the ar-
rangements for his marriage with Phyllis Jarvis were
tultisflictorily completed before the deluded girl had
recovered from the odd dream like state of submission
Into which he had contrived to throw her. He kept
ter continually amwed, and found comfortable rest-
ing places for her where there were motherly women.
It was no part of his scheme to outrage her feolicgs,
or insult her in any way; he only wanted to have
her between him and the ruin that was coming.
That her father meant to have him arrested, he felt
Otte sure; and he resolved, if the lawyer took any
unpleasant steps in the matter of Frank Hatherleigh's
murder, he and his should suffer also. Phyllis was in
wstrange frame of mind; sometimes she was happy
and contented—in a state of wild excitement in which
her friends at home would hardly have recognised her
—and sometimes dispirited and tearful, and praying
tote taken home again.
At lcngth the wedding-day was fixed, and a
Prdtestant church in Brussels chosen for the place of
the ceremony. And Phyllis Jarvis stood up at the
sitar to give her hand 'with her heart in it,' poor
(LK to the man she had worshipped so long in secret.
She was not afraid now. Her parents would soon
know she was married, and then they would forgive
her. The husband she had chosen (she fancied he was
her choice in her delusion and infatuation) would
come to be loved by them all in time as she loved him,
and they would be all happy together as they used to
be.
She was very white and trembling as she spoke the
words that bound her to Horace Gayford, and she
hardly looked at his face—she heard his voice
promising to love her and cherish her till his life's
end, and she was content—with him by her side
through life she would be content, if every one else in
the world turned their backs upon her. She had not
beard all the awful reports that were going about of
late. She had been ill and nervous, and no one had
talked to her about Frank Hatherleigh for some time.
It seemed like a dream to her to be standing there
with the soft light from the stained windows falling
Gt 1 her simple dress, and her hand in Horace Gayford's,
to regt there now till death should divide them.
Somehow, like a flash of lightning came into her
mind the day that her father brought Helen Ramsay
to Campsie House for the first time, and how from
that time she had admired and loved Horace. Had he
loved her from that day that seemed so long past
now? Surely he must have done so or he w euld never
have followed her so persistently. And Helen Ramsay
and Frank Hatherleigh were both dead—surely heaven
was very good to her to have preserved her for such
happiness as to marry the man she loved—what fate
could be happier than hers.
And then she fell to wondering whether the few
people who were in the church knew all about her,
and whether any of them would go back to England at
any time, and say how they had seen her married in a
walking dress, and not so much as a white flower in
her hat.
• We don't want to be noticed, dear,' Horace had said
to her, when she would have made some little altera-
tion in her ordinary attire, and looked a little more
like a bride. You shall have all the fine feathers you
want when we are off on our travels, but keep to your
sober plumage now, there's a good child.'
And then he had kissed her with hot, dry lips, and
she had clung to him and returned his caress, and
promised to do everything he wanted her to; she
would lay down her life for him if it would do him
any good she told him.
:I believe you would, you little goose,' he had said
with feigned gaiety. 6 ask you for it when I want
it: I don't want anything now, except that you will
go to church as soberly dressed as you can. I would
not like to have a church marriage at all, but that I
know your father would have scruples if I did not.
Of course he would,' Phyllis said, staring at him in
amazement. 'ls there any other sort of marriage,

Horace r
'ls there any other sort; of course there is. I could
bave taken you to a registrar's office, and declared
myself your husband with a magistrate's assistance,
Of I could have taken you over the border into Scot-
land, and made a very primitive affair of it indeed.
Marriage isn't much trouble north of the Tweed; only,
unfortunately, English lawyers look rather askance at
it, and are very apt to try and set it aside. I wanted
to make sure of you, my little girl, and the church
was the safest way. There can be no gainsaying what
the parson will read to us and make us say.
She looked at him wonderingly—remembering
how short a time it was since he was a parson
himself—and made some timid remark about it.

To her surprise he turned to her with a glance so
angry that it frightened her, and bade her never
speak of that part of his life again.
•We need never discuss creeds, you and I, he said.
•It suited me to go into the church as it has suited me
since to leave it; it is a tie far more binding than any
parson's words that will bind me to you after
to-morrow, and you need never fear my wanting to
break it.
She had been frightened more than she could express
at his words, which indeed were stronger than he
meant to have spoken to her. And he had to comfort
and reassure her, and tell her that they meant
nothing; that he was worried and anxious till their
marriage was over, &c., &c,; and she had nestled in
his arms and forgotten her fright, and listened to the
false words of love and encouragement he had spoken
to her and fallen into the dazed condition that had
been upon her when she left her father's house to
follow him wherever he chose to lead her, and he had
taken himself furiously to task for his folly in allow-
ing himself to speak so to her; and so the day of their
marriage had come, and they were standing at the
altar together.
Several people had come into the church to see the
wedding, but she saw no faces distinctly, she s2arcely
even lifted her eyes to the clergyman; but as the
ceremony concluded and Horace Gayford took her in
his arms to touch her lips with a husband's first kiss,
she felt him shudder, and looking up into his face saw
that he was deathly pale.
• Wbat is it?' she whispered. 'Are you ill?'
No,' was the brief reply. Don'ttake any notice;
don't speak of it.'
He seemed impatient for the proceedings to be quite
over, and almost dragged her to the carriage that was
waiting for them, looking round him the while as if
he expected to see something or someone that he
feared.
utVe must get away,' he said, when they
were foialy in the carriage and driving through the
streets to their hotel, at once without a minute's
delay.
What for? Has anyone come? Has papa?'
No, child, he hasn't—if you mean come after us.
I can't explain to you, now, but we are followcd—
haunted—pursued ! Oh, heaven! Can I be goinc, mad
at last! or am I only brain weary and fanciful?' If I
saw that man there is mischief afoot, and I don't know
what form it may take. If not, it was a delusion;
then there's mischief of another sort, and I shall go
mad and blab out everything. I must change the scene
and get away, and if it happens again I must have
advice. lam a weak fool, and I thought myself so
strong.'
His 1701 Ce had died away into inarticulate mutter-
ings, and Phyll,s only heard a part of what he mid.
Haunted, dear!' she said. What do you mean ?
What did you see?'
Nothing. Don't torture me!' was his reply, and
she was silent, wondering NOW- could be the matter
with him. It was fancy, doubtless, but a strange
fancy had seized him while he was standing at the
altar. In a remote corner of the church, half screened
by a pillar, he had seen first Mr. Stone, and then the
face of his dead cousin, as he had seen it in the wood
on that dreadful night, which he never should forget
as long as he live I.
It was only a delusion born of the shadowy corner
and the lights falling athwart the pillar—for the pales
was empty when he looked again—but it had been
very real to him for a minute or two, and he felt as he
had done on that ghastly night, SS if he must shriek
out his guilty secret to all the world, and proclaim
himself a murderer! He must go; that was all his
thought, and Phyllis obeyed him, as she would have
done no matter 'what he bade her do.
So they drove straight to the station and caught a
train that was just starting southwards, and so eluded
Mr. Stone, who had really been in the church, and was
waiting for them at the hotel to which they were
going. Horace Gayford had actually seen him, and
the association of ideas had caused the rest of hie
disquiet.
I am nicely sold,' he said, as a porter came from
. the railway station instead of the newly-married pair,
and fetched the luggage away. 'But I shall find them
again. I can relieve Mr. Jarvis's mind about his
daughter, at any rate. She is his wife now, and
properly and legally married too. I don't think I
quits understand his motives. He does not love that
poor child—not the tiniest bit. It's a tangled skein ;
it will unwind itself some day, I suppose, and we shall
know.'
The telegram that presently went flashing along the
wire to Campsie House brought some little comfort
with it to Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis. They would almost
as soon have seen Phyllis in her grave as Horace
Gayford's wife; but under the circumstances it was a
relief to know that she was his wife, and not betrayed
and abandoned, as they had feared might be the next
news for them.
'Stone had found them,' the lawyer said to his wife,
putting the telegram into her hand when he returned
from London after a day's hard work at the office. I
thought he would not fail to trace them.'
Found them; but how r asked Mrs. Jarvis, afraid
to read the missive. I dread to hear.'
'You need not. He has married her. Poor child!
Poor child! What will be the end of it? She is in-
fatuated now, but her eyes will be opened some time.
The false-hearted scoundrel! He does not really love
that poor silly child, whatever he may have made her
think.'
'But he has married her,' Mrs. Jarvis said; mightily
comforted by the knowledge. And we can always
befriend her, Hedderwick. She is still our child,
whatever he may do.'
°I expect we shall have to befriend her Tem soon.