Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1884-02-24
THE FAIRLADYWON
A STORY OF ENGLISH LIFE.
BY MARY GRACE nARTWICK.

lC6liuluS lue SOlu6u gUISes It's leN6l
beams made rosy the white, far-distant
cliffs and intensified the tone of a sea al
most too blue to lave an English shore.
Bernard Gives brush moved rapidly as
he transferred to his sketching block a
group of gigantic rocks and a stretch of
mOorland scenery, glOrified for the nonce
by the glamour of the sunset. He was not
the best pleased when an interruption
came in the shape of gallOping horses
hOOfs, and a rider appeared on the crest of
the moor, riding rapidly in his direction
along narrow bride road, ending, as he
perceived to his horror, few hundred
yards further on, in steep, broken de-
scent to the sea thousand feet below.
And now the runaway animal was near
enough for him to see by the floating skirt
that the rider was lady, pOWerlcss to
check her horse or even turn its course.
In moment the dreamy artist was trans
formed into the man of action. Hall a
dozen bounds through the few wards of
gOrse and heather which divided him from
the bride path below and he stood ready
TO oppose his youthful strength to the
horses mad career.
There was a doubtful moment of sus-
pense as the rider and horse reached the
crown Of the hill and began to descend
the slope, then came an encounter, brief
struggle and Give had gained the victory.
The horse stood painting beside him, and
he received the terrified lady in his arms
as she sank into a swOOn. Her hat had
fallen off; tangIe of ripping golden
brown hair half concealed pale deathly
face. The result was more embarrassing
than the rescue to the young artist, who
knew little of woman kind and their ways.
What should he do here in this moOrland
wilderness with this helpless burden lying
prone upon his arm? lie looked around.
To right and left only rocks and heather
and the sea ripping far below; but on the
far horizon, inland, a dark speck. which
soon developed into gallOping groom,
who arrived pale with agitation, expect
ing nothing less than the worst.
The sight of Gives face treasured him
a little.
Its all right. She was not THROWN
was just in time, thank Heaven!'
The man sbuddered as he looked to-
wards the awful brink not far off.
Yes; it was a fearful risk" said Give,
answering mis- unspOken thought, 'but
never mind that now. We must think
what can be done. How near can you get
helpY
''NO higher than Combehurst, sir. l
could ride back and tell them to send a
carriage if you can stay with my mis-
tress."
''Then ride your hardest and explain
where we are to be found. Who's your
mistress ?"
Lady Crewe, Of Combehurst, sir"
'Well, send her maid in the carriage
and tie up that horse securely before you
60"
1t seemed an age before faint color
futtered back to the pallid cheek and the
breath began to return in painful, gasp
ing signs. Bernard had never seen Il
woman faint before, and his face looked
sufficiently concerned as he bent over her,
wondering how best to give the sufferer
relief.
That she was young and beautiful nat
urally increased his compassion.
He felt infinitely relieved when, just as
a PAIR Of the loveliest possible gray-blue
eyes Enclosed and met his wistful ones
with dreamy look of surprise. followed
by a charming tinge Of color, the roll of
carriage wheels sounded on the rocky
road and a bTOugham hove in sight, drawn
by two spirited thOr0ughbreds, with Lady
Crewe's groom in attendance as Outrider.
A neat-lOOking maid stepped from the
carriage and FASTENED towards her pros
trate mistress with demonstrations of
distress.
"Ilushw cried Bernard sternly. "She
is already coming round. Don't alarm
her. Tell them to turn the carriage and l
Will take her to it At once. You are bet
ter madam, are you nOt?"
Yes, yes; L can walk"
You are able to? Take my arm, then.
There! that is right" as she slowly tot
tered to the carriage, supported between
himself and her maid.
lie waited bareheaded to watch the
brOugham drive jolting away over the
rough ground, and then went to collect
bis scattered painting materials. Sud
denly the carriage stopped and the foot
man came Fastening back. My lady
wished to know the gentleman's name
and address.
The artist handed the man a card upon
which he mad scrubbed the name of the
little inn in COmbehUrst village where he
was staying, then slung his knapsack
over his shoulder and went on his way.
The sun had sunk below the hills. Sea
and sky were surging into a gray uni
fOrmity of color. The twilight gloom was
deepening, and when he returned to his
temporary quarters at the village nm
there was nothing about thu dingy little
parlor TO raise his spirits.
COmbehurst was a favOrite haunt with
artists and many painters before him had
been panied with the crudities of this par
lOr's gaudy cOlOring; with the Verdant
carpet and brickdust tablecloth, with the
cumbrOus gilt-iramed mirror draped in
pink like village maiden at a fair, with
the libelOus carlcatures Of Nelson and
Wellington which graced the walls. Give
spent as little time there as possible. He
went for a stroll in the dusk to try and
forget his adventure. There was not
much chance Of it. Every stone about the
little rural village seemed echOing the
name of Lady Crewe. The schools? Lady
Crewe had built them. The church? Re-
stored by Lady Crewe. The peasant
ha L., chi 1dror1 ha n
and the story of her goodness always on
their lips. Give could see that he him.
self rose in the estimation of his worthy
landlord when, later in the evening, lit
tie note was brought to him from the great
lady of the village. ''WOuld Mr.. Give
be so good as to call upon Lady Crewe at
O'Clock the following atternoon?'
He obeyed the summons, and punctually
at the hour named stood beneath the mas
siVe portico of Gombehurst. The man.
servant who answered the door led Give
and cOlOring, along tile-paved passages to
my Lady's parlor; a charming little sane
tum, where peacOck-hued hangings
cleaning with golden threads made tit
ting background to one of the loveliest
pictures that Give in his artist life and
artist dreams h d ever looked upon. Ii
Lady Crewe had seemed to him passing
fair in the dark riding habit Of yesterday,
what must he think Of her to-day in these
creamy lace-soltened draperies, with the
outlines of her shapely head and golden
hair dressed in a fashion all her own, de-
fined against a harmonious background OF
soft yet brilliant tone?
She half rose as he entered and held out
her hand with gracious alacrity.
You Will excuse this informal Tecep-
ton, Mr.. Give; l am in no mood for Wis.
itOrs to-day and am not at home to the
world at large This is my cousin, Miss
Warner, who kindly keeps me company
in my loneliness. Alicia! let me intro.
duce Mr.. Give, my brave Tescuer Yester.
day. Help me to thank him for his prompt
herOism."
Ihe elderly duenna, whose large sau
sage curls proclaimed the era of her long
past youth, jumped up-displacing as she
did so large white cat which lay pur
ring in her iap-and heartily shook hands
with the visitor, Selling this opportunity
of shedding a few tears from a reservoir
very near the surface with Miss Warner
and always apt to brim over. Her muir
murs Of gratitude were almost ch6ked il
sObs.
Il want to know how best to show my
gratitude. You are an artist by profes
sion, hear. Can I-are you-haye you
any schemes which | can forward 2" This
with glow of embarrassment, for it was
a difficult rOle-that of playing Lady
Bountitul to this handsome young fellow
with his air of naughty independence.
''YOur kind acknowledgment of my
slight service is sufficient reward" he