The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1886-12-11 00:00:00

THE NIGHT BEFORE.

Creation sleeps 'Tis as the general pulse
Of life stood still, and nature made a pause;
A:t awful pus; prophetic of her end.—YotTNG.
MRS. ATIIERSTONE was passing through the hall at the
_ _

Grange when her son entered, and she went up to him
with something of surprise upon her face.
"You here again !" she exclaimed. ‘` I thought we
had seen the last of you till to-morrow."
"You were mistaken, you see," he answered,
striving to speak lightly, though there was a grave,
preoccupied air about him that she could not avoid

noticing.
"Is there anything wrong?" the asked, anxiously
"Oh, Noel! you haven't forgotten the ring, have

you?"
"No, mother dear," he answered, unable to repress
a smile at her guess, despite the gravity at his heart.
"I have forgotten nothing."
" r hen what is the matter with my boy?" .

"There is nothing the matter, mother, "except that

I want to see Beryl for a few minutes.
" To see Beryl!"
" Yes. Wia.you call her, pleat° ? I want to speak

to her at once.'

" I wo positive there is something the matter, Noel
f,u would never look so serinus. "What is it ?'-'
:thing—l trust—but do not queetion me,
mother, lam more harassed than I can tell even
Mr,. therstone urged him no more, but went up-
stairs to Beryl.
"Noel is bel'.-,w," she said, "and insists upon seeing
you immediately."
" Insists l" cried Beryl. 'He must not be so im-
patient. "The time for insisting has not quite arrived

e..,
" Hush, my dear. It is no laughing matter. He
real y seems very anxious about something or
other. I shouldn't have said insist, of course; I only
meant "

"Nay, auntie, what does it matter 2" said Beryl
"Shall I not have to obey all his commands after to-

morrow. I cannot commence learning the lesson too
soon."

And she hastily ran down to the little study beside
the dining room, where she found Noel impatiently
vaiting her arrival.
"What is it, dear?" she asked, going softly up
to his side, and putting her hand upon his

shoulder, g` I thought I Was not to see you again

Uat

_
'Until we met before the altar rails.
.I thought

the same, Beryl; but since I left you this evening
something has occurred whlch made it absolutely
necessary that we should meet once more before then
—before we are knit together in bonds which can

lnly cease to exist with lrfe."
"Yes, Noel?"
She spoke softly—looking confidently up at him,
showing nothing in her eyes of the strange, creep-
ing sensation that seemed to hold her heart in

bondage.
‘• Since then," he _ continued, in the same calm

. _
voice, which it cost him such an effort to control.
i• I have received a letter, Beryl, which you must
read."

"A letter !"
And she shivered inwardly, though still without any
outward sign of any other emotion than simple sur-

prise.
"Yes—written, I pray to heaven, under some strange
delusion, and affecting your—your truth, Beryl. Read
it."

Ho placed it in her hand, and standing a little apart,
watched interitly the play of her features as she
perused its contents, and it seemed to him that her
face looked as that of one stricken with some mortal
terror when she looked at the signature at its foot.

"Do you know the writer ?" he asked, rather
sternly.
" I----I--Oh, Noel !"
And sinking into a seat, she put up her hands as
though to warn off some impending blow.
"It is cruel! too cruel!" she cried, piteously.
"I was foolish—l confess it, Noel—but I never
gave him cause to try and turn your heart against
me."

"It would be very difficult to do that," he
answered. "But you have not read the letter yet."
She held it up again before her eyes, and read:
"Sr,—l hardly know how to address you in any
way that will be likely to make this letter anything
but a most unwelcome one to receive, as it is for me
to write. You are engaged to be married to one whom
you believe to be pure and spotless, as I once thought.
You are deceived, most cruelly, and terribly. Beryl
Atherstone is not what she seems. Delay your mar-
riage for a week, a few days even, and you shall have
full proof of what I say. You will think me either a
disappointed lover, or a madman, when you read this,
doubtlets ; but I am neither—only a wronged, in-
jured man, wh3 would save another from incurring
worse than death. Ido not ask you to believe me
without proof, but in the meantime, till that is forth-
coming -which mu tbe soon—l offer you one test of
tiay sincerity. Go to the woman you have asked
to be your wife, and bid her repeat to you the words
I spoke to Bfryl Atherstone when we parted on board
the Psyche—wards that wore whispered in her ear
alone, and tell her to have th rn ready for my hearing
when I appear before her. rill then, believe me at
least that I nave given you this warning in all truth
and honesty, and believe me,
"Your sincere friend,
"ALLAN TEMPLE."

" Well," said Noel, hoarsely, as Beryl laid the letter
down. Not ;or his life could he utter another word,
but waited for her explanation with an intense eager-
ness. He would not, could not, believe her false, and,
as will have been seen, Allan Temple's letter afforded
no clue to any charge beyond that.
And presently the answer came.
"1 have been foolish ever to have kept back any-
thing from you, Noel," she said, the light coming back
into her eyes once more. I will confess all now,
and—"
"Then did you allow this man to believe he bad a
claim upon your heart ?" interrupted Noel.
"No—at least by no fault of my own. I acknowledge
th I suspected lin love for me, but neverencouraged
it, Noel, and hetring nothing from him after I came to
England, I concluded he had got over what was but
a passing fancy, so that I had no right to mention
It."
"But he says he spoke words to you that could not
be mistaken when you were parting on board ship,"
said Noel, only half convinced even now.
"He may have thought so," she answered. frankly.
"I did not."
What did happen ?"
" I hardly rememher. Several of the company had
been to say good-bye to me—Mr. Temple among the
r. at. I was naturally a little overcome, and perhaps
my manner, without intending it, was a little tenderer
than it should have been. I remember Mr. Temple
ialsing my hands in his, and asking me not to forget
him. I answered that I never should do that—or any
other of my old friends; perhaps he did not notice
the last part of my speech, and took it to mean more
than I dreamed of implying. Then he slipped a ring
upon isiy finger before I knew what he was doing.
For remembrance," I said, trying to smile, though
my heart was nearly breaking at the time, leaving
everybody I knew for a strange country and strange
pc ,pie—l did not know then how I should come to
love both," she added, with a soft blush, that well
be.!ame her.
Still Noel spoke not a word, only holding her hand
tight clasped in his, and looking intently in her eyes as
she went on with her story.
" I could not refuse his gift then, though I would
if Iliad only guessed what was to come. 'lt is no
f r remembrance only, Beryl,' he said—he had never
called me by my Christian name before—' read the
the motto.' With that, he kissed my hand, and was
gone."
"And you?"
"1 was very sorry, of course, for I liked him very
much, aNd and—if I had never seen you, Noel," she
went on, giving him another full, tender glance from
her fair, innocent-looking eyes, "I might even have
learnt to—to love him, perhaps. As it was, I never
thought of such a thing, and was very much vexed when
I read the words engraved upon the stone. They
were ,('eniver 'delis, and I guessed then that his
feeling for me was greater than he had ever ex-
pressed."
"And yet," said Noel, half reproachfully, half in re-
lentieg, "You tAd me once that there had never been
any word of the sort—"
"That was after I bad come to the conclusion that
my absence had quite cured him," she interrupted.
'And then I thought that it would be unfair to betray
him. Ah ! do not blame me, Noel! I could not bear
that you should think ill of me."
Need it be said that her explanation, aided by all the
charm of manner cund frank confession of her feel-
ings, all the artillery of sweet looks and loving glances,
was quite satisfactory, or that Noel Atherotone left
the house more firmly convinced than before that in
the woman whom to-mnrow'e sun would see his wife,
he had found a treasure indeed beyond all compare?
He felt angry with Allan Temple for the t 4 rins of his
letter, but with his anger was mingled a little of the
conte:np:uous pity of a successful rival, sad he re•
frained from answering the letter that night, as he had
'Purposed doing at first.
" I should only be saying things thatl should after-
wards perhaps be sorry for," lie thought, as hestrolled
meditatingly homewards, smoking his last bachelor
cigar, through the cool night air. "After all, I thin 4
the best excuse for him is the one the fellow disclaims,
that he was mad or infatuated." And so he dismissed
the subject from his mind.
Mrs. Atheistone tried very hard to find out from her
niece the purport of her interview with Nbel, but Beryl
evaded her questioning with her usual light, airy
manner, though no effort could bring back the colour
which had fled from her cheeks. .1

"You are tired, my darling 1" said the elder lady,
pityingly. "It was very wrong of Noel to come here,
upsetting your spirits. Get away to bed at once, in ce
you won't let me into your secrets. .! Goad-night, my
love I.'

" Good-night.'
And Beryl was gone.
But not to bed, as Mrs. Atherstone had advised. In
passing Mrs. Dalton's room she looked in, and, seeing
that lady there, went in and closed the door behind
her.
"Noel has heard," she began, without any preface,
taking a seat opposite the old woman, and looking(
moodily at the fire she was crouching over.
"Heard
"Yes—this evening. The blow has fallen at
last!"

"From whose hands ?"
" Allan Temple's."
"Curse him ;" hissed Mrs. Dalton, in her most
vindictive manner. "What did you do ?"
"Denied everything, of course, except that I had
been too tender-hearted," returned the girl, with a
bitter little laugh.
" And he believed you ?"
"Of course! But it can hardly be for long," and
she shivered as she spoke. "I don't think I ever
realised what it was to feel actually frightened till
now." _ _

"Do you feel so?"
"Terribly."
Pshaw I Put fear on one side. Only be firm,
and, however much they may suspect, nothing can be
proved:'
"I am afraid," Beryl repeated, in a low tone.
Mrs. Dalton darted a keen, piercing glance at her,.
and replied, contemptuously:
"I see you are. I thought you had more courage;
!put since it is so—why not fly from the danger at
cnce
But Beryl raised her head with a flash of de-
fiance in her eyes.
"No," she exclaimed, determinedly. " I am not
such a coward as that. Besides, to what end
would flight be? Let to-morrow pass over safely, I
care not. Once his wife "
She broke down now, and burst into a passion of
hysterical weeping.
"This will never do," muttered Mrs. Dalton, rising
and fetching out a small bottle of brandy from a
cabinet, come Of which she forced Beryl to swallow.
"Hysterics are no use in serious matters, and if the
worst should come—"
"1 shall not be hysterical in such a case," said Beryl,
a strange, unearthly gleam in her eyes. 's Perhaps,
after all, it would be better to end it'now, Without
waiting for what to-morrow may bring forth."
"Don't be a fool, histily exclaimed Mrs. Dalton.
"You hold good cards enough, yet, if you only have
the courage to play them."
"Perhaps so," wearily answered Beryl. "But I feel
just now as though I am unable to go on. My
brain will soon give way with this eternal strain upon
it."
"And do you think there is none upon mine?"
cried Mrs. Dalton, fiercely. "Have I not plotted and
schemed and striven that you, Pierce Atherstone's
grandeleld, should .enioy your own? Remember
whore daughter you are, and face the danger that lies
before you boldly. Put those things away," she added,
pointing to a little box of bon-bons that Beryl had
taken from her pocket, and was eyeing wistfully.
"Put them away, or give them to me."
"No --I may want them yet. Do not be afraid, I
shall face to-morrow's issue, believe me. But I must
get some rest now, or else have no strength left when
it may be most needed."
And as she rose to go Mrs. Dalton's face relaxed a
little from its stony coldness.
"Good-night, my dear" she murmured, more softly
than was her usual manner.
"Good-night," returned Beryl, wistfully, and then
stooping her head as with a sudden impulse to a level
with the old woman's, their lips met in one long, silent
kiss.
But there was no prayer breathed from either heart
as they thus took leave. No fervent "God bless you,"
such as might come from an innocent women's lips as
she kis,ed another whom she loved upon the eve of her
marriage day, and Beryl left the room silently without
again meeting her companion's gaze, to steal ghostlike
to her own room, then to keep white faced, despairing
watch, and pray, if such a word may be used—for the
daylight to come.
It dawned at last, but by its light the hastily clad
figure of Mr. Lewis might have been seen guided by
Jem Statman, who had roused him from his slumbers
at the village inn, and was now Wading him to the
Rookery, where stretched upon the bed he had oc-
cupied so long, in a state of stupor, Jack Blogg had
waked once more to life and reason.
(To be continued.)