The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1886-09-11 00:00:00

CHAPTER XXIX.

CHANGED.
Her face is smiling and her voice is sweet
But smiles betray, and music sings deceit,
And words speak false.—lloon.
"NOTHING will end my faith until my life ends with
it. Think of this little token as always on my finger,
dear. I shall never part from it."
Scarcely three months since Beryl Atherstone had
Spoken these words lovingly into Allan Temple's ears,
and looked up at him with the light of love in her .27, s,
and her heart throbbing wildly with the love which
she swore should be his and his only till her life should
cease. Now she stood looking on the Atberstone
jewels, brought down from London by a special
messenger for her inspection, and twirled the little
pledge of faith upon her white finger with a con-
temptuous action.
The gems that had come to her by inheritance
sparkled at her from their velvet cushions, and sent
glittering gleams of many-coloured light over her
delicate hands as she lifted them one after another
and admired their costly radiance The Atherstones
had always been curious in gems, and some of their
heirlooms were almost priceless.
"It is like a, fairy tale,"she said, to Mr. Carson, twi
ing a ruby bracelet round her arm. "I feel as though I
Were Cinderella at the ball, and that when the clock
strikes I shall find myself back by the kitchen hearth,
among the cinders, with the rats and mice restored to
their pristine shape, and no fairy godmother to shower
good fortune on me any more."
" Ah, my dear, the good fortune is established
now," said the old lawyer, with a smile. "Nothing
can take it away. It only wants the prince to make
the fairy tale complete, and he will come along some
day."
"Maybe not."
".1 think he will; perhaps he has come already.
Excuse my bluntness, my dear, but have you come to
England heart-whole ?"
" Heart-whole, Mr. Carson?"
" Yes ; it is a subject your cousins have felt anx'ous
about, and I darsesay will hardly like to speak of.
You see, Miss Atherstone of the Grange is a very dif-
ferent person to Miss Atherstone of the Melbourne
Theatre, and we feared that perhaps you had entered
into some engagement in Australia before the news
of your grandfather's death reached you, which---"
"Which I should be ashamed of now. My friends
need not be afraid, Mr. Carson. I shall never dis-
grace the Atherstone name by a mesalliance."
Poor Allan Temple! far away over the sea, with
his heart full of love for the heiress. It might have
been better for him had he been able to read the
thoughts of the girl who stood there, with a haughty
smile curling her beautiful lips, and the Atherstone
frown—the scowl so like her grandfather's—making
dark lines on her young fon head.
"I am glad to hear it," the lawyer replied; "very
glad. I should not, of course, have compelled you to
break off any engagement you might have entered
into, but those things sometimes turn out awk-
wardly."
"No engagement of mine will occasion any
awkwardness 1" Beryl said. "I am free and unfettered,
belleve me." _ . .

_
"And I have been thinking now that that might
be a love token," the lawyer said, touching the little
ring with the tip of his finger. "It looks like one; a
naottoed ring is always suspicious."
"It is a token of friendship; nothing more," Beryl
replied; "a woman's gift, presented to me by one of
my stage companions. Ido not know why I wear it,
I am sure."
"For friendship's sake, I should imagine, Miss
Atherstone."
But the friendship could not have been very firm,
for Mr. Carson saw the ring no more, and he came to
the conclusion in his own mind that Miss Ather tone,
despite her simplicity and artlessness, was a very
Worldly young woman, without much feeling for any-
one save her own pretty self.
Mr. Carson had drawn Beryl away from her cous'n,
Who was looking at the jewels almost as eagerly as a
Woman, while he asked the question, which something
in the expression of her face, and the sight of the ring
on her finger had prompted. It was a very pretty.
innocent, girlish face which she turned to Neel, after
brief colloquy.
"Mr. Carson wants to know whether I am heart-
whole," she said. "He seems to fancy that I must
have left that part of my anatomy beyond the seas."
"And you have not ?"
The young man spoke with almost a tremble in lasta
voice. He had only known his pretty cousin two
days, yet his heart was beginning to find that earth
held nothing for him like the beam of her bright eyes.
She was dangerously fascinating, with a kind of
Circe-like attraction that he could not resist, and yet
Which, in his inmost heart he feared.
"I have not," she said, giving him hack look for
look, smile for smile. "I brought it to England with
me, every bit of it."
"And there is no one you care for out there in
Melbourne—not a little bit ?"
"Not a little bit, except poor Mrs. Dalton. I care
for her much; but Mr. Carson meant gentlemen, I
tEnk."
"I did," replied the lawyer, looking round. "I was
afraid we should have someone coming over presently
and claiming our heiress."
"Thank heaven, 'our heiress' has no fetters of that
Sort about her," the young man said, warmly.
"We should grudge our Warwickshire beauty to an
Australian man. You can pick from all England,
Beryl, if you choose."
"A woman never chooses," said Beryl, laughing;
"there's a great deal said about selecting a husband,
but Fate does that. Kismet brings you the man you
are to marry, and you take him. Sometimes she is
kind enough to throw the glamour of love over the
business—sometimes not; but it's all the same—you
marry him in the end."
"What horrible ideas!" Noel said, staring at
her with a comical, half-amused look. "You talk as
though you had had the experience of a long life in
such nalit:ers." • • • •
had the experience of twenty lives in some
things," Beryl said, with a sigh. "Not in love affairs
—I don't mean that; but in worldliness of all sorts.
Think what my life of work has been, cousin Noel, and
forgive me if I seem heartless and hard."
She turned to the jewels again, and her face
brightened into its wonted lightness as she prattled
over the splendid gems.
"I should like to make a grand family distribution
of them," she said, "and divide them amongst us.
How grand your mother would look in this opal and
ruby parure, and these turquoise and pearl ornaments
are the very things for Lilly. It seems horrible to
think I can't give them away."
" My mother and Lilly will take the will for the
deed," Noel said. "Shall we go back to them, or do
you want to go over your property just once more ?"
"No. I can bear to tear myself away from them.
Please shut them up, Mr. Carson; they quite make
my eyes ache. I don't think they will see daylight
much while theyare my property, except a few of the
very simplest."
"Indeed they will. You forget the gaieties before
you when your time of mourning is over—your pre-
sentation and the London season."
"My what ?"
"Your presentation."
" When ? To whom?"
"At Court—to the Queen."
" Me !

Noel laughed outright in Beryl's dismayed face.
"Of course, my dear cousin, the ordeal of the
Drawing-room (and it is an ordeal) is the passport to
society among the upper ten. Kissing the Queen's
hand will make you eligible for all the balls, rarties,
and amusements of the fashionable world. So get
yourself up in neccessary bows and genuflections—l
believe curtseying in a Court train is no easy matter;
and my mother will find some to present you."
" Can't she do Re
"You unsophisticated little foreigner ! No. She
has never been to Court—she was not an heiress, nor
my father the squire. We are below the salt, Ber I,
as compared to you."
When Beryl retired to rest that night she very soon
dismissed Patty.
"I'm so used to waiting on myself, child," she said,
"that I like it," and when the girl was gone she closed
the room door, turned the key, and sat down to think.
Then she opened her desk and sat far into the ni,dit
inditing a letter to Mrs. Dalton.
She told her all that had happened, and how she
had been received by her relations, and expressed her
Pleasure at being told by everyone what a true Ather-
stone she was in face, voice, and manners. She in-
formed Mrs. Dalton of the exact amount of her
Property and her jewels, and told her long ere this she
would have received a cheque from Mr. Carson's
agent in Melbourne. She did not conceal from her
old friend that the lawyer had rather demurred at the
amount, but intimated pretty plainly that she was
mistress of Atherstone, and meant to show that she
'was so by sending for her as soon as ever she could
make the necessary arrangements. She was to travel
about first, she told her, and see the people she hail
known when she was a child; and she frankly owned
she did not care much about re-visiting those half-
forgotten scenes. She was just as frank in speaking
of her old friends in Melbourne, and begged Mrs.
Dalton not to encourage any of the people from the
theatre to write to her. Her friends were very kind
in ignoring that portion of her career, she said, and
she wished to do so also, if possible. In conclusion,
she added that Mrs. Dalton might write to her as
freely as she liked to her, for that she should open the
letters by herself and take care that all her letters
came safely to her own hands.
She read her little epistle very carefully over when
She had finished it, and then sealed it, turning the
little ring on her finger to impress the motto, " Semper
Fidelis on the hot wax.
" ' Always faithful '—so I am to her" she muttered,
as she pulled off the senseless little trinket and dropped
Lt contemptuously into a drawer; "but not to him,
an Australian actor. No, indeed; he will have got
over his love dream by this time. and Miss Atherstone

of the Grange must have no souvenirs of a life like
the past."
Changed indeed by prosperity, utterly spoiled and
blinded by it wam Beryl Atherstone. She had no
regret now for the separation the money brought
between her and the man who loved her so dearly.
Some weeks passed away very quietly at Atherstone
Grange, Beryl alternating between her home and her
cousins, and declining for the present to travel as her
friends wished.

"Let me make acquaintance with my home first,"
she pleaded. "There is plenty of time for the rest"
And they let her have her way, and she went about
the Grange and its neighbourhood, making herself
beloved in a fashion that was at once unintelligible
and delightful to Norton Atherstone and his wife.
The good folks of Warwickshire are slow to take a
fancy to a new corner. They are faithful and
loyal to old loves and old friends, but the
least bit suspicious and distrustful of faces
and people they do Lot Jrnow. The cottqgers,
the estate, the simple folk, old and young,
at Lillington, her tenants, the country gentry—in
fact, everyone that came near her succumbed to Beryl's
fascination at once, and were loud in ,her praise. In
a month from her landing she was as much at home
and as well up in all the localities round the Grange as
though she had been born and brought up at her
grandfather's house, and in the clergyman's house-
hold she became as one of the family.
Going in one morning through the open French
window of the pretty parlour where Mrs. Atherstone
usually sat, she found no one there, and the room in a
confusion that was very uncommon. Ringing the
bell, she asked the parlour maid where the family
were.

"Masters goial off to Leamington, miss, to Mr.
Carson's, I believe; and missis is upstairs with Miss
Lilly. She's been in hysterics and fainting fits ever
since breakfast."

"Indeed! Has anything happened ?"
"I think so, miss; I don't rightly know. There
was a letter from Australia, and I think there was bad
news in it about young Mr. Carson, for Miss Lilly was
took ill directly, and master went off galloping on
on Black Agnes fit to break the horse's neck and his
own too. I hope I haven't said anything to frighten
you, miss; you've turned so pale,' 'said the girl,
hurriedly, staring at Beryl, with whom the room
seemed to he turning round.
"No, thank you; I was a little startled, that is
all. Are you sure the news was about young Mr,
Carson?"

"I heard master say so, Miss."
"He went out to fetch me, you know Mary,
and got lost, and I had to come home alone, after
all."

"Yes, I know, miss," said Mary, for whom the
romantic story of Beryl's finding and home coming
had wonderful charms; and I think the news must
be that Mr. Graham is dead, by Miss Lilly carrying
on so."
"Oh, I hope not! I suppose I may go up?"
" I should think so, miss."
Beryl walked upstairs with a wildly beating heart
and a face that was grey in its pallor. Mrs. -tither-
stone opened the door of her daughter's room with
traces of tears on her face. _

"My dear child, is it you ?" she said. "What is the
matter? are you ill? You are very white."
"Mary has startled me by the news, auntie; that
is all. She says you have heard from Melbourne
about Mr. Carson. What is it? Do tell me."

"Come in, dear," said the lady, pulling her into th,‘
room; "we have had news. Poor Lilly's terribly
upset, though I hope it is not so bad as the letter
seems to 83y."
"Then he is not dead?" said Beryl, in a strangely
shrill voice. "Mr. Carson is not dead 1')

"No, my dear, he's not, thank heaven for it. How
white you do look, to be sure, and how you tremble.
Sit down here by Lilly, and I'll tell you all about it.
You see -"

She stopped suddenly as Beryl took her seat by I he
sofa where poor Lilly lay, her pretty face all blurred
and tear-stained, and her hand clasped cver the locket
whith contained the moment° of Graham Carson.

"Go on," said Beryl, puzzled at Mrs: Atherstone's
sudden stopping. 6. Or is there any secret in it that I
an not to hear ?"

"That just it, my dear. The person who has
written to us especially asks us to say nothing to you
about it. I don't know how he ..thought* we were
going to keep any news about Australia from you.
Anyhow, Mary has let it all out, I suppose. Poor
Graham is alive, but very ill—quite out of his mind,
in fact. Someone seems to have tricd to murder him,
but he was providentially found and taken care of by
a gentleman who had seen him during the few days
be was there about your business."

"Murdered !"
Beryl gasped out the word like someone in a
dream.

"Who would want to murder him in Melbourne ?"
"Some thief, most likely, my dear; though no one
can tell. He is quite out of his mind from the hurts
he has had. We'll go down stairs and talk about
it. Lilly will be better if she can go to sleep, poor
child !" and she gave her a draught that should send
her off.

Beryl stooped over her cousin and kissed her, with
some murmured words of sympathy; but her lips
were as cold as ice, and there was a wild frightened
look in her eyes.
"She is upset, too, mamma," Lilly said; make her
have some wine."

And, indeed, Miss Atherstone did look upset by the
news she had heard. She made her aunt tell her every-
thing that was in the letter, which the good lady did,
regretting that she could not show it to her, for that
Mr. Atherstone had taken it to show Mr. Carson.

"And who wrote, auntie?" asked Beryl, at length.
"Who has been taking care of the poor fellow ?"
"A Mr. Temple, my dear, an actor. He says
Why, Beryl, my love! Don't faint, my child; drink
this.''
Only just in time—another moment, and Beryl
would have fallen from her chair, but by a mighty
effort she controlled herself.
"It all seems so dreadful," she said. "How strange
Mr. Temple should have found Mr. Carson."
"Do you know him ?"
"Oh, yes; he is an actor in the theatre at Mel-
bourne. I saw a great deal of him in the way of
business."

CHAPTER XXX.
SO OPT REPEATED.
If love were what the rose
And I were like the leaf,
Our lives would grow together
In sad or singing weather.
Blown fields or flowerful closes,
Green pleasure or grey grief ;
If love were like the rose is,
And I were like the IeaI—SWINEOURNE.
"THEN' poor Graham has not fallen into bad hands ?"
said Mrs. Atherstone, looking at Beryl, curiously.
" This Mr. Temple seems to write like a gentleman, at
any rate."
"He is a gentlemanly young man enough,' she re-
plied, carelessly. " I always found him pleasant and
well-bred when I acted with him, and that is a great
deal to say of a stage hero."
"Ho tells a very queer story, my child, and dis-
tinctly asked us not to tell you; I don't know why,
but as you have heard part, you may as well know
l)o you remember anything about Mr: Carson's
going ashore at Melbourne ?"
"Not much, auntie. I was in such a whirl of ex-
citement and grief that I was quite confused and be-
wildered. This very actor, Mr. Temple, was on
board. with two or three others. to see me off, and it.
was he who told me that Mr. Carson had gone back
for something—l never knew what for. I don't know
whether he knew. It was only after we had started
that it was discovered that poor Ursula and I were
alone." .
"It is very queer. In his letter he says that Mr.
Carson was summoned ashore by a note from his
father."
"His father !"
" Yes ; that he had followed him out on business,
and must see him immediately."
"I do not understand. He never went to Australia,
did he r
"No, of course not. It was a ruse. A plot of som
one's to keep him there."
" To rob him ?"

"hardly. I don't suppose poor Graham had much
money left after supplying you and paying his ex-
penses and passage home. It is unfathomable—mys-
terious to a degms,.."
"I eatt't understand Mr. Temple's being mixed up
in it," Beryl said, quietly. "I thought it was the
police you had applied to."
"So it was, my dear, but they know nothing about
it evidently. Mr. Temple seems to have some strong
motive for keeping everything secret connected with
the matter. It seems to have upset you, my child.
You are very white and wan still."
"I was upset for a minute," said Beryl, quietly.
"But lam quite well now. I hope you will have
better news next mail; and pray don't keep anything
a secret from me. lam as much interested in Mr.
Carson's safety and return as anyone. I have felt all
along as though his loss lay at my door."
"My dear, you shall know everything there is to be
told," Mrs. Atherstone replied. " Will you spend the
day here ?''
"No ; I'll go home, I think. I've got some letters
to write, and one or two people to see. Can Noel
spare time to ride with me this afternoon, if it is
fine ?"
"Noel would spare time to do anything for or with
you," his mother replied. " Ah, Beryl, my child, he
would. be a happier man if you were not rich."

• "Why, auntie ?"
"Because he would not fear then to speak out what
fills his heart—to whisper to his pretty cousin that
he loves her above all earthly things. You have
turned my boy's head, my dear, and the Grange
stands in his way. Were you Leonard Atherstone's dis-
inherited child, instead of the possessor of his father's
acres, you would be Noel's equal. Now—"
"Auntie, does it strike you that you are talking
nonsense !masked Beryl, flushing rosy red. "Noel not
my equal! Why, where in the whole wide world, is
there anybody to equal him ? If he loves me, auntie,
dear, I love him; but this isn't leap year, you know,
and I must wait till the Sultan chooses to throw the
handkerchief in my dire3tion." .
She put up her rosy lips with a childish gesture to
be kissed, and Mrs. Atherstone took her into her
motherly arms and embraced her warmly. She had
come to love her as a daughter, this stranger from the
antipodes, won by the strange fascination that she

• ,

exercised over everyone with wbom se came in
contact.

" My darling, there is nothing I should like better,"
she said, in a pleased tone. "But it must not be—at
least not yet."
"Must not, auntie! Why? Won't you have me
for a daughter?"
"Won't I dear Beryl! Bight gladly would I
welcome the day that gave you to us in a yet more
loving bond. But you must have breathing time, my
dear. Mrs. Grundy must not sqy that we kept you
here at Atherstone, and let you have no free choice.
You must go into the world, my dear, for one season,
at least, and mix with your own class; your equals.
See other men (Noel is the only one you have met as
yet, you know), and be able to choose. You will have
all the best men in London at your feet, little
heiress, when once your pretty face has been seen
there."

"1 don't want them, auntie dear. I'm afraid the
only man I have seen will always be the only one for
me. I shall have to reverse the order of things, and
run away with him, if you won't let him marry me.
Joking apart, dear, I am afraid I have learnt to love
him too well to think of anyone else. The world never
holds more than one man for a woman who loves."

" At a time," someone has said; but Beryl Ather-
stone spoke truly. She had a passionate, impulsive
nature, and since she came to England she had given
her whole heart to her cousin Noel. Perhaps love
begot love, for certainly his began the first moment
he set eyes on the pretty creature to be his heritage;
and every action, look, and word of hers since she
came to the Grange had only made the low of his
heart more irretrievable than ever.

She was for ever doing some little graceful act of
kindness to those about her. Within a fortnight of
her coming home to her patrimony she had appeared
at the Glebe one morning, andwalking into his father's
tudy, had put a folded paper into his hand. It
chanced that the question of ways and means was
perplexing the rector very much that morning. A
very heavy amount for, rent and repairs had to be
found within a few days, and he could not make it up
without drawing upon the already lessened sum he
had set apart for his younger children. Beryl had
heard something of this, and guessed more, and she
had laid it on his desk with a smile.

"To help to solve the problem, uncle," she said, and
vanished before he had time to look around.

Wondering what it might mean, the rector opened
what she had brought, and found a deed of gift of the
Glebe, with all the lands and tenements thereto per-
taining, to him and his heirs for ever. It was his at
last, the old house where be had lived so long
and the broad lands before the window, which he had
so often sighed to possess, that he might leave them
to his children; and there were tears in his eyes as he
turned to his wife, who entered at the instant.
What has sent Beryl seamp^ring off in such a
fashion ?" she asked. She would not stop to speak
to anyone. Have you been scolding her?"
"Scolding her, my dear! Look here !"

And Aunt Athersiont's tears fell fast over the paper
as she read the generous words. It was Beryl's
simple, unaffected ioy at his parent's happiness that
first woke in Noel's heart the knowledge of what he
felt for his cousin. He carried her image back to his
duty with him, and tried to reason himself out of his
passion, but it was no use; every day's leave that htl
could obtain found him at home, hungry for a sight
of her, pining for a smile; and when the news of
Graham Carson's mishap reached the Glebe he was at
home en a month's Christmas furlough. Beryl had
engaged to spend the festive season at the Rectory—
she did not know enough people, she declared, to
invite a large party. Let the servants have what
merry-making they liked, but she would come to them
if they would have her at the Globe; next year sl.e
would open the old house, and keep a right merry
English Christmas in it.
So it was decided that from Christmas Eve she
should leave the Grange to her servants, and join her
cousins at the rectory-. It wanted about a week of
the time when Allan Temple's letter arrived, and
caused so much consternation.

Noel saw his cousin home, and rode with her to
Guy's Cliff in the afternoon, but Beryl was thoroughly
preoccupied and silent.
"This affair about poor CarFon has unnerved you,"
the young man said, after they had ridden some
time in silence. " You look quite sad and tired over
it."

"1 dare say I do; I feel so. And yet I don't know
why. I hardly remember what Mr. Carson was like,
poor fellow; and I don't suppose he would remember
me. We saw very little of each other; and yet, for
all that., I seem t& have a terrible presentiment of evil
hanging over me."
"What evil can happen to you, Beryl ?" the young
man said, looking tenderly into hr lustrous eyes.
"Have you not everything that makes life most
blessea friends, wealth, beauty? There are not
many girls so dowered."
'4" Yes, I have all these, Noel; but I am lonely.
Who is it that says, There can be no companionship
for loneliness of heart?' Somcone—some woman,
perhaps, as desolate as I am."
Her little gauntletted hand went up to her face, and
Noel saw that she was weeping. Somehow her heart
was full, and her nerves shaken, and tears came some-
times unaccountably and unbidden in a relieving
shower.

"What great events from little causes spring," says
someone who knows human nature very well indeed.
But for the little cause of Beryl's few tears and some-
what petulent words, Noel Atherstone might perchance
have left his love unspoken—have waited till his
cousin had, as his mother said, seen the world and
taken her choice. As it was, he spoke. He was in
love—she was sad; and what man with Dan Cupid's
arrow in his heart could ever bear the sight of his
inamorea's tears? What the young soldier said to
his orphan cousin matters little. He dried her tears,
and told her the love that was struggling with ,his
poverty and his pride; told" the old, old story" that
Adam whisperel to Eve under the rustling boughs of
Eden--that woman will listen to, till the last daughter
of our common mother changes the kiss of passion
for the salute of death. And Beryl listened, and her
tears dried, and her eyes were bright once more.
And when he murmured, as men will, that he
could not help it, and that the world would despise
him for what it would call a mercenary act on his
part Beryl laid her little hand in his, and bade him
defy the world, for that she loved him very dearly,
and only wanted his dear companionship to make her
the happiest woman alive. Most of us have known
some such moments in our lives—some such halo of
happiness as hung around the two young people as
they rode back to the rectory that afternoon.
The rector looked very grave when his boy told him
what had passed.
"People will say we have planned this thing, he
said; "you should have taken your mother's advice'
my boy, and waited."
.6I couldn't," was Noel's curt reply; and Mra.
Atherstone took up the cudgels for her boy, and told
her husband what Beryl had said in the morning.
"I hope the child won't change her mind; that's
all," the rector raid. "I'm afraid we have been to
blame in the matter; we should not kayo thrown
them together so much."
But Mr. Carson, to whom Norton Atherstone im-
parted the news the next day, differed entirely in
opinion from his friend, a.ad declared that it was the
very best thing that could happen.
"Noel is a fine young fellow—handsome, generous,
and brave," he said, "and your young cousin is a
beautiful girl, with money, manners, and plenty ci
&Ilse. Her estate wants a master, and her heart has
chosen one. What could be better? As to Mrs.
Grundy, let her say what she chooses; she will talk,
dear old lady, whatever happens."
He was greatly relieved by the knowledge that his
son was alive, for he had grown to believe that lie
should never see him again; and he paid a visit to
the Grange the day after the memorable ride to Guy's
Cliff, looking more bright and hopeful than Beryl had
seen him look since his return. _ -

He told her that he had telegraphed to Mr. Temple
for further news immediately, and also to a banking
firm out there to supply the young gentleman with
funds, and send a full answer back. He hoped to hear
more in a week at farthest, he said, and then, if
necessary, lie would start at once and fetch his boy.
Graham was still a boy to him, and would be to the
day of his death. And then he congratulated Beryl in
a. courtly, Old-fashioned manner, on her engagement to
her cousin, and lifted her hand to his lips while wish-
ing her every happiness in such a union.
"You are very kind," she said, blushingly. "I
ought to be happy. I was half afraid you would
disapprove-"
"Why, my dear?"
"I hardly know. I thought you would perhaps
think me bold, unmaidenly in letting my love be seen.
I fear my cousins might think that I had been luring
Noel on. Ho is so good, so noble, he might have
chosen from the highest in the land if he liked."
Mr. Carson stared at her and laughed.
"My dear child," he said. "Do you know what you
are talking about ?" -
"I think so."
"I don't. Why, the advantage is all on his side—
it is you who gives and he who takes; and he'd be a
lucky young dog if he hadn't a penny, to get your
pretty self—take an old man's word for it."
"I will," said Beryl, simply. "It makes me so
happy to hear you say so. How kind everyone is to
me."
"And how you wheedle all of us. You turn us all
round your finger."
Which she did, even coaxing them into acquiescing
in her scheme to bring Mrs. Dalton over—a plan
which no one liked, though no one could have told
why. The good lady was to come, though
no time had been fixed—after Beryl had been
on her proposed travels was talked of. In the mean-
time all was in abeyance. Mr. Carson's telegram was
duly answered within the time he hoped, and he
came to the Rectory, and showed it to the rector with
tears.
It was from Graham Carson himself, stating that he
had been very ill, but was much better, and should
start for home in a few weeks, as soon as he was
strong enough. He would write by the next mail.
Beryl congratulated the old man on the receipt of
the message, which came on New Year's Day, and
hoped it would be a happy omen for the coming year.
Then she went home and thought it over, and her
meditations were rather curious for a young lady.
She was cogitating what influence she could bring to
bear on her fiancee to make him hurry matters so as
marry her, and take her out of England bofore Graham
Carson came home.
(To be con4inued)