The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1886-11-20 00:00:00

as how she may send what she likes—l ain't above
taking it—not I !—but don't let her be a•coming near
my place—that's all."
Which message reached Beryl—in a much milder
form, however; though, modified as it was, its ih-
solence made both her and her friends very angry,
showing as it did, with what an ill grace her favours
had been received.

And so the days- wore on, bringing no change to
Jack Blogg, who still lay in the state of lethargy
caused by the wound on the temple. It was this in-
sensibility that kept him alive, the doctor said.
Nature was completely at rest in his case, and it was
impossible now to say how much longer he might
last.

There was another event, too, which every suc-
ceeding day brought nearer now—Beryl's wedding—
which would shortly take place in the same old church
where her grandfather and his father before him had
stood at the altar with their brides.
There were to be all sorts of rejoicings in the ne;gh-
bourhood, for, besides the large party of aristocratic
friends invited to the ceremony itself, the tenants were
to be feasted in a large marquee erected in the
grounds, and the Sunday-school children decorated
and dressed for the occasion.

Indeed, Beryl Atherstone was sparing neither ex-
pense nor trouble to make her la-st appearance as her
own mistress as effective as possible, even to ordering
the major part of her trousseau in Leamington instead
of sending to London for it, thereby gladdening the
hearts of the tradespeople who received her instruc-
tions.

Mr. Carson had got his orders, and completed the
necessary papers, so there was no occasion for hirr to
be so frequently at the Grange; and, truth to tell, for
many reasons he avoided being there any oftener than
he could help, now, though he could hardly have told
what those reasons were, had he been pressed ever so
hard. _

In-deed, he confessed as much to Noel, when that
young gentleman, who passed all his days now in a
seventh heaven of delight, taxed his old friend with
avoiding them.
"No ; you must not think that, Noel," returned
the lawyer, in a grave, halZ-absent tone. "But I
have been so much occupied lately that, upon my
word-"

• _
"Yes—yes—of course !" hastily interrupted Noel.
"I was only joking; but I'm not joking when I say
that in my opinion Graham is not using me kindly. I
expected him here long since."
" Ah, Noel, you must not be vexed with him, nor
aottut nis rrienaship tor you. Thu day Wal come
when you will know him better."
" Nonsense ! As if I didn't know him well enough
already," replied the young man, heartily. " I don t
doubt Graham's friendlineEs, Mr. Carson. I only
think that he is enjoying himself in town, and doesn't
care to leave it. I was vexed with him more on Lily's
account than my own, believe me. But I suppose, as
she is satisfied, I have no right to be otherwise.
"Wise judges are we of each other," ironically ob-
serves the poet. If Noel Atherstone could but have
seen his friend just then, have known the tortures of
doubt and hesitation that racked his mind, he would
not have accused him, even in jest, of seeking his own
gratification by remaining in London when he would
so much rather have spent the time by the side of his
betrothed bride. _ _ _ .

He made up for his absence, certainly, by the
length and frequency of his letters to Lillian, though
they were not the most cheerful epistles; and .he
avoided all mention of the forthcoming event at the
Grange in so marked a manner that his fiancee, whose
answers were invariably filled with the subject, could
not not help observing it, and once, in a conversation
with Beryl, rather incautiously let fall the fact.
"It's of no "consequence, Lily, dear," replied the
heiress, with a sweet smile that concealed a slight'y
malevolent expression in her eyes. "Graham Carson
doesn't like me, I know, but the world is wide encugh
for both of us."

•-•-
"Not like ycu ! Oh, Beryl !" cried Lillian, in
distress.
"It's quite true, though you pretend to be shocked
at it, you little hypocrite," laughed Beryl. "And
there's nothing particularly surprising in the fact,
either. lam only sorry for it because, as a good wife,
you will be bound to contract a little wholesome dis-
like of your husband's avers'on, and I should have
preferred your continuing to love me."
"You need not be afraid of that, Beryl," exclaimed
the girl. "If Graham really is so unjust to you—
though I think you must be mistaken—he will not at-
tempt to make me the same."
And then the subject dropped, Beryl Atherstone not
caring sufficiently either for Graham's likes or dis-
likes to pursue it further.
Indeed, she was much more troubled just now about
a much more humble individual, who would not be
persuaded to look upon her with favour, or accept her
bounties in any but the most churlish spirit. She had
distributed presents far and wide, till all tongues were
loud in praise of her liberality, but with all around
bowing down before her and ministering to her will,
she could find no way of conciliating the inhabitant of
the Rookery.
The excitement created by the attack on Jack Blogg
had partia'ly died away, though active enquiries were
still going on respecting what was still as great a
mystery as over. Beryl had called more than once
in her daly walks at the little desolate home where
the boy lay in a state of insensibility to all aronnd him,
but, though she would fain have gone in and looked
upon him. Jem Statman would never admit her beyond
the threshold. _ _ _ .

Not that he was actually rude in speech, or said in
so many words that she should not enter, but that
this was what he meant was sufficiently shown by the
way in which he would stand in the doorway and
never offer to move on one side till she had departed,
as though he were watching over some precious thing
he feared might be stolen from him.
Outwardly he was civil to his benefactress, but
there was no warmth in the coldly civil words with
which, after a time, he acknowledged what she had
brought or sent; and any little commonplace expres-
sion of sympathy or regret for the sufferer that the
uttered were received by Jem Stamm' without a
syllable of thanks or acknowledgment of any sort.
"If I were you, Beryl," Lillian said to her, after one of
these visits, at which she had been present, "I would
not trouble myself any further about the man. He's a
bear." . .
" Nay—perhaps.; that is doing him injustice," Beryl
replied. "He is riot polite, certainly; but remember
the circumstances. People of his class are often re-
served, and ashamed to let their emotiun be seen,
while the only way of hiding them is by affecting a
brusquerie that may be easily mistaken for rudeness.
Lillian thought there was scarcely sufficient occasion
for so elaborate an apology, though she could not con-
tradict her friend, even while she wondered inwardly
why Beryl, who was generally so imperious in her
manner, submitted to the rebuffs she did in this
instance.
Certainly, Jem Statman was hardly more polite to
others than he was to the heiress. Rough and morose
in manner, careless and deficient of anything like af-
fection to his companion BB he had usually appeared,
the care he now exhibited for the stricken lad was
more like that of some wild animal for its young than
that of a reasoning being.
It was as though he were afraid of some hidden
enemy—jealous of anyone even looking at the boy
besides himself. The doctor, of course, ho could not
keep away, but even his ministrations were regarded
with ill-concealed disfavour, and, though he had given
a reluctant assent to the rector's visits, he showed
plainly enough that he would much rather have been
without them.

Indeed, he said as much on one occasion.
"I don't know what you expect to do, com'ng
hero," he said, in a sullen tone. " What's the use o'
corning and praying and preaching over one as can't
hear you, and wouldn't understand it if he could ?"
"It is my duty, as a minister of the Gospel that
you would do well to read yourself, 'replied Mr. Ather-
stone, rather severely, for the man's manner was more
than usually insolent this day.
"Bali I" mockingly sneered the man. I don't
believe much in them sort o' things. If there's any
truth in them, better keep 'em all for the big house
up yonder, and those that lives in it. They might do
no more good there than here, I'm thinking. Psalms
and prayers is all very well in their way, but they
won't beat the sick, or bring the dead back to life.;;
If they'd make poor Jack there speak now, I'd believe
some good on 'em."
Mr. Atherstone attempted a few words of consola-
tion to the man, passing over his bitterness of speech
with put any other notice, but Jem Statman showednu
signs of being soothed by them, except that he was
nut quite so defiant in hie, demeanour.
I'm, maybe, a bit hard, sir," he said, roughly.
" I'v.3 not been brought up in a genteel way, but I
don't mean any iliwill to you, for all that. You and
our good lady have been very good to me, and I
shan't forget it."
"Somebody else has been good to you as well, Stat-
man," gently replied the rector.
Ah, th. 7 all do their best in the village, I will
say."
" I don't moan the villagers," continued Mr. is ther-
stone. "Put a lady who need not allow you to stop
here as you do, without let or hindrance. Miss Ather-
stone is the mistress here."
"Ay, ay! so it is," said Jem, with a short laugh.
"And it's you who ought to be master this very hour.
But mark my words, sir, there's a bad time a-coming
for everybody in this cursed place, and it won't be
long before it's here."
"A bad time !"
"Yes. And when I look there, at that poor lad
lying so still and pale—one as I love like my own
flesh and blood—dying like a dog, just acanse he
knowed a secret as had murder and mischief in it,
I'm a'most tempted to shorten the time.'
Mr. Atherstone looked at him as though he thcught
the man had taken leave of his senses.
"I don't think you quite know what you'ro
talking about, Statman," he said, kindly. " Your
trouble has confused you."
"Ay, ay, sir. Maybe it has—and I was a talking
too loud, perhaps. But. it's true, what I say, for all
that. When Jack speaks again--and he am
sure of that—things'll be a bit clearer. It's not what
I can tell you," he went on, seeing Mr. Atherstone's
look of perplexity. "Leastways, if I did, it would
only be talking without any proofs. But I've heard
all about old Squire Atherstone's will, sir."
"His will I What on earth do you mean ?'' asked
the rector, in a puzzled tone.
"The one he wouldn't sign, you know," continued
Statnaan, nodding his head oracularly. The one that,