BEFORE THE STORM.
Before the storm the woods are still,
All Nature drowses as in sleep;
Yet, tho' her slumbers she may keep,
She feels a strange prophetic thrill,
Before the storm.
From heavy clouds on mount and hill,
The thunders mutter--lightnings leap,
And soon the heav'ns commence to weep,
Such strained silence augurs ill,
Before the storm.
Living at Thornstream was hardly very pleasant after the interview
between Sir Rupert and his daughter. Everything went on just the same,
but this very calmness was a foreboding sign of a coming tempest. The
baronet was deeply angered at what he considered Kaituna's feminine
duplicity, but hiding all such feelings under a mask of ultra
politeness, he treated her with a cold courtesy which was far more
irritating to the proud spirit of the girl than any outburst of wrath
would have been.
Inheriting, however, no inconsiderable portion of the paternal pride,
she, on her part, treated her father with distant politeness; so these
two proud spirits found themselves entirely separated, the one from
the other, by the insurmountable barrier of disdainful silence, which
they had each contributed to build. They lived under the same roof,
they took their meals at the same table, they interchanged the usual
remarks concerning daily events, and, to all outward appearances, were
the same to one another as they had ever been; but it was far from
being the case, for the confidence of the father in the daughter, of
the daughter in the father, had entirely disappeared, and they
regarded one another with mutual distrust.
It was certainly a very unhappy state of things, and was entirely due
to the peculiar views held by Sir Rupert, regarding his bearing
towards his womankind. Had he interviewed Maxwell personally, and
judged for himself as to his fitness to become the husband of
his daughter--had he spoken of the matter to Kaituna in a kindly
manner--had he made some allowance for the mutual love of these young
people, who had set aside conventional observations, things might have
been better. But, by ordering his daughter to give up her lover, as he
had formerly ordered his high-spirited wife to give up her friend, he
committed a fatal mistake, and as he had reaped the consequences of
such high-handed proceedings before by losing his wife, it seemed as
though history would repeat itself, and he would lose his daughter.
Had he shown Kaituna the folly of a hasty love match, had he entreated
her for her own sake to be cautious, had he requested her to consider
her determination--but to order, ah, that was the mistake he made.
Curiously enough, he never saw this. In all things he demanded an
absolute and unquestioning obedience from his household, so it never
for a moment struck him that the girl would dare to defy his
authority. Yet it was so; for in place of making her obedient, Sir
Rupert's blundering conduct had made her crafty, and she made up her
mind that she would never give up her lover.
Tommy Valpy stood her friend, and Kaituna met Archie at her house,
where they parted with many promises of remaining true to one another.
Then Kaituna returned to Thornstream, and resumed her mask of
politeness; while Sir Rupert, thinking she had obeyed him, and given
up her undesirable lover, was to a certain extent content, although
still suspicious of her apparent acquiescence in his wish.
Things were in this state when Mrs. Belswin arrived. On leaving the
railway station, after her interview with Maxwell, she had met Belk,
but did not stop to speak to him, being afraid of Ferrari's jealousy.
In this she was quite right, for Belk, seeing her driving past with a
stranger, scowled savagely as he took off his hat; while Ferrari,
noting the good looks of the young man, and seeing the scowl directed
to himself, guessed directly that this was the rival mentioned by Mrs.
Belswin.
"Mia cara," he said, artfully, as they drove on to Deswarth, "that
handsome gentleman who made the bow--is it your friend?"
"Friend," echoed Mrs. Belswin, carelessly--"oh, I've so many friends."
"Is it--" began Stephano, when Mrs. Belswin turned furiously upon him.
"Don't worry me, Stephano; don't you see I'm busy. Is that the man I
mentioned to you?--yes, it is. You see he is stronger than you, so
don't fight him unless you like. I don't care a morsel for either of
you. All I want is to stay by my child; and as you can't help me, you
coward, don't worry me with silly questions."
Ferrari said no more, but made up his mind to seek an interview with
the good-looking stranger, and find out whether Mrs. Belswin regarded
him with favour.
On arriving at Deswarth, which was a short distance from Thornstream,
Mrs. Belswin put the Italian down at "The Chequers Inn," told him to
wait there in concealment until she saw him again, and then drove to
the Hall.
Being determined not to see Sir Rupert until after dinner, in order to
discover in the meantime how the land lay, she went up to her own room
and sent for Kaituna, who was delighted to see her.
"Now you are here," said the girl kissing her friend, "you may perhaps
induce papa to let me marry Archie. You know----"
"I know all about it, my dear," replied Mrs. Belswin, with a maternal
air; "Mr. Maxwell met me at the railway station, and put me in full
possession of all the facts."
"And do you think papa will let me marry him?" asked Kaituna, timidly.
"I really cannot tell, dear, until I see your papa."
"At dinner?"
"No-o," responded Mrs. Belswin, doubtfully; "I'm tired after my
journey, so I'll have my dinner here. Afterwards I will ask for
an interview with Sir Rupert, so you and your papa can dine
_tête-à-tête_."
"No, I'm sure we can't," said Kaituna, in rather a tone of relief;
"Mr. Dombrain is here."
Mrs. Belswin faced round rapidly.
"Dombrain!" she echoed aghast. "Your father's solicitor."
"Yes."
"Now what does he want here, I wonder?" muttered Mrs. Belswin, more to
herself than to her auditor.
"He came down to make papa's will, I think," said Kaituna.
"His will!" echoed Mrs. Belswin, struck with a sudden thought.
"Kaituna, if your father dies, will he leave you well off?"
"Oh, I don't want papa to die."
"No, no! of course not," said her companion impatiently; "but one
never knows what might happen. But suppose he did die, you would be an
heiress no doubt."
Kaituna shook her head.
"I don't think so," she replied, slowly. "You see, Thornstream is
entailed on the male side, and none of it comes to me."
"But your father was well enough off in New Zealand."
"Why, how do you know that?"
"I don't know, dear," answered Mrs. Belswin hurriedly, seeing she had
made a slip; "I only presume so."
"He used to be well off, but he lost a lot of money lately, and this
time when he went out he sold all his property."
"Oh!" said Mrs. Belswin, drawing a long breath of relief, "then he
will have a large sum of money in hand."
"No, indeed! He has put it all into silver mining shares in
Melbourne."
"The fool!" muttered Mrs. Belswin, below her breath, "to risk his all
in such security."
"So you see, dear Mrs. Belswin," said Kaituna, pursuing her own train
of thought, "that if Archie wants to marry me for my money, I shall
not have any."
Mrs. Belswin caught the girl in her arms and kissed her with rare
tenderness.
"My dear," she said kindly, smoothing the dark hair, "Archie loves you
for yourself, not for your money. Now go downstairs, dear, and excuse
me to your father."
"And you will see him to-night about Archie?"
Mrs. Belswin gasped in a somewhat hysterical manner, and caught at the
mantelpiece for support, as she repeated the words.
"I will see him to-night--about--about--Archie."
Kaituna was satisfied and departed, but when the door was closed after
her, Mrs. Belswin rushed madly across the room, and, flinging herself
on her knees before the door, burst out into a terrible fit of crying.
"Oh, my dear! my dear!" she wailed, in a low moaning manner, "what can
I do? what can I do? If your father dies you will be left penniless;
if he lives I shall have to leave you forever--for ever, my dear--and
go away into the outer darkness. Oh, God! God! is there nothing I can
do?"
She looked up at the painted ceiling, as if expecting an answer, but
none came; so, rising wearily to her feet, she locked the door, and
dragged herself slowly towards the mirror.
"What an old, old woman I look," she muttered, peering into the glass.
"Grey hairs in the black; wrinkles in the smooth face. I wonder if he
will recognise me. Surely not! Twenty years make a great difference. I
will see him now in another two hours. He never dreams I am under the
same roof, unless Dombrain----"
She started, drew herself up to her full height, and clenched her
hands.
"Dombrain!" she said again. "Can he have revealed anything to Rupert?
I know he hates me, and would do me an injury if he dared. But he
cannot. No! I hold his secret; while I do that mine is safe with him.
Oh! how ill I feel, but I must not faint, I must not quail. I must be
brave--brave for my child's sake."
She bathed her face in cold water, took a small liqueur glass of
brandy, which she produced from the dressing-bag, and then went to lie
down for a time before facing her husband.
"To-night," she murmured, as her head sank on the pillows. "To-night,
Rupert Pethram, we measure swords. Let us see who will win. You or I!"