The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1886-06-12 00:00:00

ATHERSTONE GRANGE,

BY THE AUTHOR OF

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

CHAPTER XIV.
AT REST.
Wry mother, when I learnt that thou Avast dean,
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed?
—COWPER.
:ritPtt was a strange fascination for Mrs. Atherstone
her daughter in the appearance and manner of
'its singular-looking woman, and they walked into
!Iclle little parlour she showed them to with an odd
11,,e.a in both their minds that they had seen her before.
CieY were wrong—they had never met her—never
Ird of her, though Atherstone was a familiar name
and was closely linked with most important
"tiods of her life.
It is strange to meet anyone here that knows our
siltne," said the elder lady. "Are you a Warwick-
re Woman, Mrs. Dalton, that you know the
-Lange ?
y„!NO; I have seen the place that is all. May I ask
and this young lady what you are come to be at
i",!3 Antipodes? Is there an elder son at the Grange?
:lave not been in England for more than thirty years,
knevr nothing."
ky husband was Mr. Atherstone's only son, Mrs.
ton—my child is the only descendant of the
11:1, gentleman ; but we are unacknowledged kindred,
h:Led with a bitter hatred, I am told, because of our
Zofession. He would not thank anyone who be-
gleilded us."
tit,tilAY, ay; I understand," said the old lady. "All
k teases are alike wicked in his eyes. You are wel-
tte to Agnes Dalton's house. The young lady is like
but she has the Atherstone eyes and a look of her
°Landfather when he was a young man."
tri:ller father said so. There are some family nor-
at the Grange that he said she very much re-
ziktilbles. He used to think that Beryl would grow up
it,3l;slie mother; but the resemblance seemed to fade
-7 grew up."
nd well for her that it did," said Mrs. Dalton
Ccel,l". "Your daughter would have made a poor
4,-1.,w Upon the stage if she had been like Margaret
vrrstone, a spiritless baby-faced doll, who died, I
hetilY believe, because she hadn't vitality enough in
hnr, to keep alive—an apathetic nonentity! Oh, l'm
ia; road, Mrs. Atherstone; but when I think of what
t,;tl Will forsake and desert for such inanimate
tt;eq:ires, it seems to me as though the world were all
°„lle7, somehow, and "
ti And you won't right it with bullying, grannie,
;11)4 said a fresh young voice, and a pretty girl or
Beryl's age tripped into the room. "Why, I've
t 0,34 Waiting ever so long to show these ladies to their
p4r41,.5, and here you are airing a grievance. What
th:leular one is it? Grannie always has a grievance,"
N' Went on with a smile. "Are the ladi,:s going to
dear ? "
ttol„‘ Ites, Ursula. Show them to No. 8. Mrs. Adler-
kie looks tired. We can settle everything after she
, tested."
At: Atherstone !" repeated the girl impulsively. "Miss
4erstone the actress? "
"L'lres, my dear," said Beryl's mother, with a smile
very same."
11:(3 young girl looked at • them with a delighted

s
s ta so glad," she said. "I've seen you act, and
.oss
fsm's Splendid. We never have any one here but old
srs, and I can't bear waiting on them. I shan't
it Waiting on you."
Atherstone won't relish your attendance if
tot" uehave like that," Mrs. Dalton said in a sharp
1),1.e, but with a look of tenderness in her eyes that
islisle,d any scolding her tongue might utter. "Vu
I:r,„,' excuse her, madame. She is my right hand is
but she is a spoiled child, and is apt to he
,48fine."
ttsrii It Would be hard not to forgive her," Mrs. Ather-
said pleasantly. "Is she your daughter, Mrs.
ssi? 3,
44%31,, 37, granddaughter. Ursula, show the ladies up-
the old woman said, in a tone that precluded
turther questioning, and Ursula went demurely
apartments were in every way suitable, and
atherstone agreed to take them for a considerable
and by night they were comfortably installed.
ktlib at are you thinking of, Beryl ? " asked Mrs.
qrStone suddenly, when they were preparing for
"You have been in a brown study for the last
s'et.tr of an hour. What is it about?"
lllV'sUla Rhodes, mamma."
~'hat about her ? "
tk nardly know. Her face seems quite to haunt
s wit's like seeing a ghost."
el, hose ghost ? '
spa's s,
t'r37l!.
mamma. My eyes must be bewitched, I think
se, a glamour over them, or something—for every
!lot °°k
-at her face, I seem to see his. Her hairt is
.ee his—it's more like youis; but the rest of her
horribly like."
Isthi"'Y dear child, what a notion ! " said the mothsr
Eta outward smile, but an inward shiver, for she,
thZaci seen the curious likeness, and it had set her
g. "Ursula Rhodes is merely a pretty girl, with
Isity,"to your poor papa, and hair somewhat reseml ling
t, that is all. • The rest is a sketch of your imagina-
-111
kis4eeY had heard all about Ursula Rhodes by this
tikes's She was the orphan child of Mrs. Dalton's cnly
Vter' Who had married very young, and had died
4,411,8,he was born. Her father, too, was dead. having
'tiled accidentally in some works where he was
tis,2Yed, in America, and the infant orphan was
ll Upon her grandmother's hands, who brought
kota' with the passionate love and devotion which
thss`s4 sometimes show to thesecond generation when
4',„"ave been chary of it to the first.
,tiot:m. Mrs. Dalton had been by no means an affec-
Mother to her daughter Sybil, but had treated
thiv'th a stern coldness, which seemed to arise from
%11 aet that she was "the image of her father," as
h 4 as told daily. Mrs. Dalton would seem to have
Ntll/38,11 respect.for her dead husband, for no one
qkht.nrd her speak of him, and her child had not the
st recollection of him. It was generally sup-
iLsrnong those who knew the grave, silent woman
• la' Years, that Mr. Dalton, whoever he might be,
litcsl7ll a "bad lot," and that his widow was not
4: of his memory.
440. Atherstone thought over what Beryl had said,
ND: strange, uneasy feeling, grew up in her mind
,4tta9tltig Ursula Rhodes. There was the likeness,
Sometimes it seemed as if she was looking
4tyi gra double when she looked at her—a coarser
With blue eyes—oh,' so like the Atherstones !
their fin that feature. But yet the girls were not allkeif
kt4tbilbsoes were compared. Beryl's likeness to her father's
k`qoth." was all in feature. Though she resembled her
k'etli expression, at times there would come into
4sst:ses such a look of Leonard that her mother's
,h5-I,ould ache with a keen pang for the husband
4`N.a:laci lain in his far-away grave so many weary
'gap• :4'a Rhodes resembled the Atherstones also in
Of feature--a chance likeness doubtless, but
s'Ass▪ i
nod Mrs. Atherstone made some slight remark
It one day to her grandmother. A curious ex-
Came over Mrs. Dalton's face.
qtl4uance, of course," she said. "Nature plays some
" /Re Pranks sometimes."
1/414.8..5he like her father ? "
n.es4iu, except that she has blonde hair. He was a
ttlarki,an, with the national characteristics very strongly
• I am happy to say none of them have des-
vls IN to the daughter save the one. My Ursula is
ti:;,ng image of her mother, and people used to tell
• Sybil was beautifuL"
Child is," Mrs. Atherstone replied, and was
Ursula Rhodes was very beautiful, more
/c•
k1,;,441 than Beryl even; but it was with a sort of
du diablc," that was at times almost repellant
ghetatuse.
ilgisith was a fairly-educated girl. with great natural
stkis",,e!3B, and a quick observance of all that passed
hith her. In spite of the strange weird likeness
at had puzzled Beryl so much, the girls took a
,t4tow,,faocy to one another. Beryl had not been
"Is 4 Much into the society of young people of her
‘'4tryl!ge, and Ursula's impetuous nature warmed to-
Si; the other's beauty and talents in a very natural
Lne She waited on the two ladies in a way that
ssalsal with her, for she rather resented having
;n6,-`K at all, and was wont to be what her grand-
• I:Blodgers called " short " with them if they gave
isk,ti-`tra trouble.
qkths, balton made her house very comfortable to the
and daughter, mid the time sped rapidly by.
n'lli..2'B,"gagenaent was successful and prolonged, and
b'therstone's former fame brought her many.
13ils, so that they were in a very good position.
t ta• „ 'llre seemed very fair to Beryl. With her
tender, care and Allan Temple's love, there
Lto be nothing wanting to make life happy.
When she came to hear of this love of
which in the natural order of things she did,
• disparaged the virtues of her friend's rara
,Ought to do better," she said unhesitatingly,
'boot-Your beauty, and your fame, and your name
You ought to marry a duke ! "
;Olio-hi-es are scarce out here," said Beryl, laughing.
Puzzle to find one; and if I found fifty, and
'lvo-4.ed me to marry them, I should say 'no.' Allan
h all the dukes in the universe..
44t1 ifthsaPs he is. He's a very delightful young man;
Ziatss, 'is, or anyone in as good a position offered to
;0111e, I should think myself a very lucky girL
4,04 If!atne, different—you are Miss Atherstone, with
!It:, Alia -11,011_name."
It
else' said Beryl, laughing. "'Lord
.'4Yl3res "ling
sis
e.ace, and no land beside, asShakespeare. has
ink f th
:AS ar more of my name than I do, Ursula.
,2er done me any good, and never will."
k.,;(.t it was mine," was Ursula's odd answer.
Ontld Weee Reryl Atherstone, instead of the nameless
1;14 hatlghter of a Melbourne lodginghouse-keeper,
4 ad a
Lt., balite ~grandfather rolling in wealth, as you have,
tss ulna
, own me, ay, and be proud. of me too,
"lad ,setve Months had gone over my head."
" Was lust the girl to do it. Beryl thought as

she looked at her flashing eyes and spirited face. Allan
Temple did not much like Ursula, and he told Beryl he
did not.

"I do not know why," he frankly acknowledged,
"and I don't want to prejudice you against your
friend, darling, but take care. I'm sure she's dan-
gerous, though I can't tell how or why. I feel that
you will come to harm at her hands in some way or
other."

But two years had passed away, arid Beryl had en-
tered her twentieth year, and no harm had come to
her as yet. Mrs. Dalton had made them so comfort-
able that they never had moved; and it was an under-
stood thing that Beryl was to be married from her
house, with Ursula for one of her bridesmaids when
the time came. In a few more months she was to be
Allan Temple's wife, and retire from the stage alto-
gether, except when she liked to play for any par-
ticular occasion.

But, as Burns says—
" The best laid schemes o' mice and men

Gang aft a gley,"
And all the schemes that Allan Temple had been plan-
ning for his future went very much " agley," and
turned the whole current of the young man's life.
Before her twentieth birthday Beryl was motherless.
The Christmas was exceptionally hot, and the heat of
the days was followed by cold blasts from the south
at night, delightfully refreshing, but horribly dan-
gerous. Mrs. Atherstone caught a violent cold, through
exposing herself to one of these night breezes, and in-
flammation of the lungs supervened, and she sank with
alarming rapidity. Everything that they could do for
her was done. The first physicians of Melbourne came
free of charge, happy to attend the mother of the
talented young artiste, of whom the city was so proud;
and Beryl and Mrs. Dalton nursed her with the ten-
derest care, but all was of no avail. The fiat had gone
forth, and while the new year was growing into life,
and the snow was thick on English hills and home-
steads, and the fierce Australian sun blazing down on
the Melbourne streets, they stood around her dying
bed. Beryl had given up her work at the theatre for
her new and sad duties at home, and was oblivious of
all that went on in the outer world.

Allan Temple came and went, doing what he might
to comfort and sympathise with his betrothed, but all
powerless to assauge her deep grief.
Beryl felt as though the world was slipping away
from her with the loosening clasp of the feeble hands,
and the failing look in the loving eyes. She did not
know, poor child! how elastic the human heart can be
—how grief, even for the dearest, will deaden and
die away in time. If it were not so, what a place of
mourning this lower world would be!
rho end came at last, after days of exhaustion
almost like death in its prostration; but so quietly
that they scarcely knew the exact moment when she
ceased to breathe. All her loving words had been
spoken to her child before. There were no death-bed
sayings to chronicle—no wonderful utterances which
no one hears, but everybody reads about—a little un-
intelligible murmuring, one or two calls for" Leonard,'
a word or two about "little Beryl," and then she
seemed to sleep. It was only the stiffening of the
hand she held, and the undefinable something that
death brings into the face that told the weeping girl
beside the bed that she was motherless.

Very gently, they led her away, and wept with her,
and soothed her into calmness. It was her first great
grief, poor child! and it was very bitter to bear. She
remembered her father, and had wept for him with a
child's passionate sorrow; but a child's tears are
evanescent, and Beryl's grief for him had spent itself
before many months were over her head.

But her mother had been her near and dear friend,
her guide and counsellor, and it seemed to her, as she
moaned in speechless agony over her loss, that she
must die too—that she never could live in a world
where that sweet friend was not. Mrs. Dalton was
very kind and tender—wonderfully so for her—and
undertook all the sad offices about a corpse which we
all so fear to see roughly or carelessly rendered. In
the midst of them there came a knock at the door—a
brisk, businesslike;jaunty knock. Evidently the person
was unaware of thesorrow in the house; and presently
Mrs. Dalton's servant came up with rather a
frightened face.
"Well, what is it ? " she asked.
"A gentleman from England, ma'am. He wants
Mrs. Atherstone—says he's come all the way from
there on purpose to see her."
(To be continued.)