Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1907-07-16
CHAPTER

Suffusing the Surrey hills towards the
west. With sigh he turned away
and walked to the house.
.Whare's Diana?" he called as he
came from the garden through the
casement-window OF the library
.Diana-why. she's in bed ar hour
ago, | should hope" replied his aunt,
Elizabeth Kerhill. she and Mabel
went with Bates to see the decora
tons and then said goodnight, Surely
you didn't expect me to allow the
children to stay UP for the ball?''
Mabel was her daughter; Diana
Marjorihanks was a young girl Of thtr-
teen. who had come to visit her.
~Poor imps! they were so excited all
day. and followed me about the gun
room where was doing some packing.
They wanted me to coax you to allow
them to see the ball, and the teDantry
welcome Henry tonight.
Lady Kerhill elevated her eyebrows
in questioning amazement at Jim, as
she nervously twisted the lace of her
gown. and with an impatient gesture
motioned the subject aside. She was
9 tall, angular woman, with profile
like the head of q bronze coin; there
was suggestion Of the eagle in her
personality, and by her friends she
was likened to the famous Sarah
Churchill the first Duchess of Mari.
borough.
Tonight her face showed that
anxious thoughts were crowdlng in on
her as she apprehensively watched the
hall. Jim knew his aunt's firmness
o1nr a&A NJ - s,s1N P~11
his words, he feared further discussion
was useless; but the wistful faces Of
the children at teartime in the nursery.
as they coaxed him to plead for them
to see the fun, made him venture a
final appeal.
.You know, Aunt, Sir Charles
brought Di over to stay with Mabel
so that she might see the festivities
and incidently say goodbye to me,
so you might turn angel and let Diana
dance once with me at the very be-
ginning of the ball. I shan't see my
little playfellow for ages, you know"
A sound from outside held Lady
Elizabeth's attention more intently
than Jim's pleading words. He crossed
to her in the wlndow-enclosure and
laid his hands caressingly on her
shoulder:
"The Colonel wired me that we we're
leaving Paddington at nine tomorrow
morning, and India is a long way off,
Auntie dear.
Nonsense" answered Lady Eliza.
beth, as she rose from the deep win,
dow-seat. "You are almost twenty,
and Diana is only babe--isn't she,
Henry?" he glanced up and appealed
to the young man who rather noisily
entered the library.
'Whose's a babe? Diana? Why,
mater, she's little witch. and prom.
ised her I'd let her see the illumina-
lions at ten and then old Burrow
should carry her off to bed"
Henry Wynnegate, Seventh Earl Of
Kerhill, dropped into great settle
close to the fire. The ball was for the
tenantry in celebration Of his return,
after five years absence with his regi.
ment. He was tall, heavy-set young
soldier of seven-and twenty, with the
famous Wynnegate beauty, but 1t was
marred by the shifting expression Of
his rather deep-set eyes and the heavy
lines about his mouth. Self was his
God: 1t showed in every expression Of
life.
Jim Wynnegate, his cousin, the son
of the younger brother of the late
Earl, Henrys father, turned from the
window as Henry entered. In the
young boys face-for he seemed
younger than his years-one could
easily trace the family resemblance;
but Jim, with his great, clean spirit
shining in his honest gray eyes, In
vited confidence and won 1t, from a
mongrel dog to superior officer. He
was taller than Henry, and as slim rs
a young sapling. The delicate. sensi-
tive month was balanced by a strong
chin.
In the oak-1ined room, grown almost
black with age, the candle-lights flick
ering in the heavy brass scenes, stood
these three last descendants of a
great family The Earl's brother, Dick
Wynnegate, had run away with the
daughter Of a imperunious colonel
A few years later, while on service in
India, he was shot, and the young wife
lived only to bring the tiny boy Jim
home and to leave him with her hus-
bands brother. Even then the for.
tunes of the Wynnegates were some.
what impaired, but the old Earl had
taken the boy to his heart, and on his
death bed had confided him to his wife
to share their fortune with their son
Henry. His last words were, BE good
to poor Dicks boy" The estates were
intailed, SO no provision could be made
by him for Jim, but Lady Kerhill, in
her cold. just fashion, had tried to
make Dicks boy happy.
Deep in his heart jim remembered
the years that followed; remembered
the selfish domination of the elder
boy; remembered the blind alteration
Of his aunt for his son, the bearer of
the torch. who was to carry on the
golden light of the house of Kerhill.
In the Anglo-Saxen idolatry of the
Countess of Kerhill for the male of the
family, all the old traditions and be-
liefs were justified. Her boy-the
man-child who was to be the head of
the house-was her obsessioa The
tiny, fiower-like girl who came Snort.
ly before her husbands death, learned
soon to turn to Cousin Jim for comfort
when her brother carelessly crushed
her little joys, as he selfishly planned
and fought for his own qualification.