Oakes Republican., September 02, 1898, Image 6

About Oakes Republican. (Oakes, N.D.) 1898-1906

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lowed me to England—are here in
London! What am I to do?"
Cleaveland rose to his feet.
"Ask me something easy." he re
plied. "Tell me
11
CHAPTER II.
Mr. Packenham sat alone. On the
table beside him lay a. letter from the
girl with whom he had gone through
that "mere form of words," which
hampered them both for life. Divorce
would be easy if there was cause for
it but she did not look like a girl who
would give him any reason for com
plaint. He threw the letter to the far
thest end of the table, and, rising, rang
his bell.
The room was filled with those costly
knick-knacks which bespeak the pos
session of wealth. The man—hand
some, well set-up—looked an ideal En
glishman of good standing but his
chin was more rounded than a man's
should be, and his eyes, if bright and
clear, had a somewhat shallow ex
jiression.
"I dine with Lady Groby," he told
his valet.
Her ladyship was his aunt, only sis
ter to the dating Hugh Packenham.
Lord Mount Sorrel, whose second mar
riage with micella, half-sister of the
woll-kiiown ooiUt.K'tor, Alexander Jug
gins, set the family up again aft&t be
ing for years vc-ry low in the world.
It was thought that Juggins would
have left his enormous wealth to a
hospital: but lit bequeathed it all to
his nephew, a aboy who had
never eiv.loiiTore-d to please him. Lady
Groby, vhiow or' a famous financier,
cHldlrss and v.i.iithy, adored her
scapegrace nephew, and was already
plotting for bin:.
"Dereek must inarry well," she con
fided to Miss Mercer, who lived with
her and looked after tne decorations of
her dinner table.
With a bland smile, Miss Mercer re
sponded that Mr. Packenham could
please himself.
Lndy Or liy jvave Dereek 1 he oainti
«st of dinners, with no one but Miss
Mercer present.
Her ladyship began by informing her
darling that he nave a whole his
tory to relate, and lit- must tell her ev
erything. And then her ladyship said
that Alexander .1 aggir.s had been an
old dear. She v.-&s gl.-.n he had done
the right Ihinf with his money, and
her dear sister as very pleased about
it, having writien to sav tisat the g:eat
wish ,of her n:.art had been fulfilled.
"X'JW." cuiii:eaed Lad Gfoby—"now
for the next sUi.- iMatrin i.-uv, my dear
boy. I only '..'.MI that v,I could man
age these
inr.t'
THE TRAGEDY Of
Chapter 1.—(Continued.)
"i went oaoic and tiien tne tat was
in the lire. Hartrigg had met with a
bad accident—been crushed in the
mine and his chest stove in. Bloss
you. no—it wasn't so bad: it was all a
scheme! His sister was there nursing
him, and a parson man from some
High Church station where she had
been staying. He met me with a lace
almost a yard long, and told me that
Hartrigg was injured for life. He was
doctor as well as parson, you know.
The mine had come to grief, and ev
erything was lost. The trap had been
properly set, and properly baited, too.
The girl? Oh, she wasn't bad-looking
—sort of wild-thing expression in her
eyes that was—well—fetching. She
was clever, and neat-handed, too.
Well, the parson said that Hartrigg
•was so bad that he could not possibly
recover, and that he was dying with
the consciousness that his sister
through his mistake—would be left
penniless in a lonely wild. I'm an im
pulsive chap. Adolphus was alive, and
I knew that if I chose to live in Africa
I had enough and to spare. The girl
looked the ideal of a settler's wife, and
the parson being handy—there, now
you have the whole story!"
"'You married her?"
"Went through the service: and the
next day a telegram came to say that
my half-brother had been accidentally
shot also, that old Juggins was dead
and had left me a cool half-million?'
"And what did your wife say?"
"Wife!" the other repeated. "Wife!
Does going through a mere ceremonial
form of words make a girl, of whom
you scarcely know anything, your
•wife?"
"I suppose so. You did it of your
own free will."
"I deny that. I did it from impulse
—did it because I was a confounded
Idiot!"
"Brother dead?"
"No! He recovered, and they fot
DERECK PUGKEHHflfS.
ore to-morrow."
is ti!o' -io in France
—it is so in/•••!) more sensible. Never
theless. you li meet some charming
girls at my house. Don't be too im
petuous. for remember that money is
no object. YD, are to marry rank—to
marry up! Dereek, forgive me, but
your good father, when he made his
second marriage with your most
worthy mother—one of the sweetest of
women—did not marry up—except
from a monetary point of view. The
duty is thrust upon you—you must
marry blood."
"Can't be done. Aunt Judy"—her la
oyship's name was Juliet.
"Dereek! Are you mad?"
I? •', •, *4 *.."""' •-.
JL„~ f{j
"Perhaps so—Dut—I'm married al
ready!"
His admission fell like a thunder
clap, and her ladyship sat staring at
him.
"Married?" she gasped at last, vis
ions of coryphes and music liali art
isttes floating before her. "Married?"
"Even so," he admitted, and pro
ceeded to relate his story.
When Dereek left his aunt it wos
with such terms as "artful!" "brf
"crafty wretch!" and "miser .:e,
scheming minx" ringing in his ea-
Until that night Mr. Packenham had
not actually realized his position as it
appeared in the eyes of the world to
which he now belonged. Yes, he had
been duped—heartlessly, cleverly,
duped into marrying Hartrigg's sister.
Now he raged against brother and sis
ter to his heart's content.
Dereek threw off his dress coat and
sat down to meditate. He had been
obliged to leave on the evening of the
day that followed his most miserable
and fatal mistake. He remembered
the eyes which he told Cleaviand had
a "wild-thing" expression in them, as
he asked her to accompany him to
England. There had been just the one
startled glance, and then the unhesitat
ing reply, "i will stay with my broth
er."
The words had been spoken with a
determination that startled him. She
had not left Hartrigg's bedside during
the whole of the night following the
"mere ceremonial form of words"
which bound them together. Her
brother's life had hung in the balance,
and the two had watched together.
The firm, decided utterance—"I will
staj- with my brother"—had remained
with him and taunted him. She had
capabilities and deep affection, for her
eyes told him so. Yet her love—he
thought she loved him then—and her
interest—he had told her that he was
wealthy—both called her away from
the duty she owed her only relation,
but she chose to stay and perform it.
Although there was something in it
not very flattering to his vanity, he
could not help admiring her for it.
But then the sequel—Hartrigg had re
covered! For all Dereek knew, that
illness and anticipated death might
have been no more than a part of the
plot—the best-acted bit of the scheme
of the parson. At any rate, they had
followed him here, the three of them—
followed him to insist, upon his ac
knowledging his share in the transac
tion, to rivet his chain, and to render
him ridiculous in the eyes of all men—
their prisoner, their caged gull. No, he
would not submit. He would not see
them. Money? If they demanded
money they could have it. 1-Ie would
fling it to them by the handful, and,
possibly, that was all these wretched
creatures wanted. Money? He would
buy his freedom, and then—"
There came a revulsion of thought.
Hartrigg had been a comrade after his
own heart How unselfish he had been
—toiling in those mines, working day
after day, contending with those lazy
Kaffirs in a stilling atmosphere, while
he—Dereek—amused himself over the
wild stretches of the land and on the
mountains, where there were welcome
airs blowing, and all the strong ex
citement of the chase.
The girl. too. Had he not sought
her? What wild, singular beauty hers
was! And then, again, she had never
been forward nor thrust herself into
nis company: and when they had been
tlirowu together she had disarmed him
by the frank camarderie of her man
ner. She had seemed strangely unso
phisticated, witii a breezy freshness
about, her born of her wild, lonely lift
in the African solitudes.
But his aunt's bitter words, "Artful
minx!" recurred, chasing the fair vis
ion away... She was uneducated, ac
cording to the measure of education
needed for a position like his own. In
Africa she would have done very well,
for her g'fts were precisely those
adapted to her uncivilized surround
ings but London! A vision of her
arose amongst, his aunt's set—cold, su
percilious women, with their shibbo
leths of class!
The very qualities which had made
her attractive in Africa would render
her ridiculous in town and if there
was one thing on earth from which
Dereek Packenham shrank It was rid
icule. Besides, he was well aware that
even for himself the vast fortune
which he had just inherited—and
which was still a novelty to him—was
the only thing that lifted him above
all remembrance of the contractor.
Mr. Packenham could not very well
afford to Introduce a wife to the world
whose manners did not bear the im
press of Yore ",e Vere.
But then there was another side to
this question. Hartrigg's sister had
dared to follow him home—unparallel
ed audacity!—ventured to assert her
self, with the scheming brother and
parson at her back! IIow could he
best defeat their plot, and repay them
in his own coin? He started to his
feet, resolved to start for Ireland in
the morning, see the mater, and tell
her everything. Although the govern
or was not actually heart-broken over
the loss of his eldest son—la fact, as
Dereek well knew, there had been
very bad blood between them—still he
was conventionally grieved, and, for
apu°'1i"in: e' sake, his heir should be
with mm in his sorrow. Yes—he ought
to be at home.
1-Ie uttered an imprecation, not loud
but deep for there upon the table lay
the girl's unopened letter facing him
in mute reproach. He took up the mis
sive, and his hand hovered over it hes
itatingly. He seemed to divine its con
tents. But why should he read her
demands?" IJe knew that she was no
mean-spirited girl, to make an abject
appeal, but one to assert her rights
and adhere to them.
For an instnnt the wish to read what
she had written asserted itself and
then, with a sudden impulse, he Hung
the missive into the heart of the roar
ing fire.
"I'll have nothing to do with her,"
he said, aloud—"no temporizing, no
lialf-and-haif measures! I'll not see
either of them. Cleavland shall deal
with them—give tliem fifty thousand
to be rid of t.iiein!"
He rang the bell furiously.
"I leave for Ireland in the morning,"
he told the astonished servant.
ICemD made some inaudible mutter
ing. only to be sworn at for his pains
and then Dereek Packenham went to
bed.
When he awoke his servant sat at
liis bedside with a telegram in his
hand.
"Just come, sir," said the man.
Yawning drowsily, Dereek tore the
envelope open. The few words it con
tained caused him to spring from his
bed. What freakish trick was life
playing with him?
"My brother died during the night."
"—Afra Packenham."
That was all. But the words trou
bled him sorely.
Died? Died during the night? Then
there had been some truth in what he
had considered an exaggerated story
of the injury to his late partner. Afra
could not be lying when she told him
that her brother was dead. Surely no!
Perhaps they had not meant to trick
him—or could it be a further move in
the conspiracy—a fresh bait to cstcli
him with a vision of tearful eyes and
a desolate young girl hanging over a
deatli-bed? Was that the news that
her letter brought overnight? His
brain was whirling, and, through its
confusion, oime his aunt's softly-mod
ulated voice. "Artful minx!" she had
called her and Lady Goby knew her
sex. And she sent to tell him of her
brother's death? Bah! It was that
she might, claim him—might rivet his
fetters forever.
Dereek
rncerl
t'i« room and wrestled
with his better self. It was a fight be
tween the good and evil portions of his
nature. Some malign influence, how
ever. was abroad, for the latter won.
Mr. Packenham sent for his friend,
Cleavland, and they had a long, and
not very tranquil, debate. Dereek was
doggedly obstinate, and against this
obstinancy the other man's arguments
and advice were like dashing spray
against a rock, and the two parted, un
der conditions which were, to say the
least, strained.
Dereek Packenham left for Ireland
that night by the mail express.
CHAPTER III.
Mr. Cleavland's heart was not in the
task he had undertaken, for he had not
read Dereck's story after Lady Gro
by's fashion. To him there was an
other aspect. He knew Packenham to
be a creature of impulses, guided by
momentary prejudices, and was thor
oughly conscious of his friend's dog
ged obstinancy with its admixture of
the willfulness of a spoilt and petted
child.
That he had been attracted by the
girl in her wild home Cleavland had
not the slightest doubt, as little as he
doubted that she, with her first know
ledge of a man of Dereck's stamp, had
been dazzled out of her better judg
ment. Then, again, it was only natur
al that the dying brother, whose mis
chance had left her penniless, should
be anxious about his sister's future.
The dark-eyed young barrister, who
had undertaken to see Hartrigg's sis
ter, could read between the lines. His
heart was not in the work he had in
hand, as he stood in the little drawing
room of ithe lodging in which John
Hartrigg had breathed his last.
Mr. Cleavland heard a foot on the
stairs, the rustle of a gown, the open
ing of a door, and then—almost on a
level with his own—two eyes looked in
to his.
"Untamed" he had heard them des
ignated. "Yes, they were but they
were also the windows of a beautiful
soul as yet only hall'-awake to the
realities of life. There was in them,
as they seemed to cast their lightning
wift glances at him, a certain looic of
ager welcome. But it had been only
uomentary. The eager look died
ut, while a wave of color passed over
he fact confronting him, and then as
apidly left it.
It was a remarkable face, quite in
coping with the girl's eyes. Now that
he color had died out it was pale, set
ff by ripples of abundant brown hair,
'he girl's head was beautifully set on
•raceful shoulders, ac-'i, although now
[pooping under the weight of a burden
lat Mr. Cleavland half comprehended,
could judge of its airy poise under
nore happy conditions. Cleavland was
man to whom all conditions of fe
lale beauty appealed, and this was of
new character, too rare to be speedi
classified.
"I come from Mr. Packenham," he
•ommeneed, bov low.
"From—my husband? Is he coni
ng?"
The question fiwoke a thrill in the
•oung man's biv-if-i but he felt that
must conquer U.
"Has he not written?" he inquired.
"No," she reptkd and the brief ncg
itlve raised a pk. -'. in Mr. Clealand's
nlnd of the desoiaie girl waiting at
ler dead brother's side for the lover
he husband—who did not come. It
vas some minutes before he could dis
card it and find words in which to
'rame his answer.
"Mr. Packenham has been obliged to
'o to Ireland." h«
exDlPined. lamely.
Her next question more difficult
0 answer, especially us a faint flicker
something like hope seemed to pass
iver her expressive face.
"He did not know -.'Jd not receive
vy letter—or a teii-^a-A
Dereck's envoy would have gi^jn
jmytliing to avoid giving an answer,
out the truth hrd to be told, even
•hougli he might glos' it. over.
"He—had arrao£,-\i to go—before—
•his. There have been recent family
oercavements. He is the heir now,
since his brother's tragical death. His
notlier, a weak woman—"
"Yes," she interrupted.
"It was necessary for him to go—his
presence was required."
She seemed to listen in a dream,
ler thoughts were evidently else
where.
"I waited alone—all day." The
words fell from her lips irrelevantly.
"It was terribly sad," lie said, feei
ng that he must say something.
The girl roused herself and asked,
ibruptly:
"1-Ie has gone to Ireland?"
"Yes—on business there have been
family bereavements." For the life of
aim he felt it i-n'iossible to do more
than repeat himself.
But her next question completely
staggered him:
"As recently as this?" she asked.
"No, but—he had a ranged. He bade
me tell you there is—there will be—no
lifticulty respecting money matters."
It seemed so utterly base, so con
temptible, so vile, to stand there and
Dffer
the suffering girl, who was keep
ing herself so well in hand, money in
place of love and sympathy. Money!
3e loathed the very sound of the word.
Some of the strong feelings with
which he was imbued must have been
shaied by her. She looked at him, but
with a very different look from the
first with which she had confronted
him. Now there were questioning, ap
peal, doubt, and pain—pain that was
too diffifticult to be expressed in mere
words.
"I wrote last night when we feared—
when he knew—that the end was ap
proaching. I wrote, telling him how
Tolin was craving to see him. It was
his last wish to see him, to—explain.
1 am quite a'.one," she added, with her
hands outstretched—"moneyless and
friendless, in a strange country. He
wanted to know, to be sure that I was
safe, with my husband. I wrote, but
Dereek did not come. Then my poor
brother was taken from me that same
night"—the girl could hardly restrain
a rush of tears. "Then, in the morn
ing, when I was utterly alone, I tele
graphed. Still he did not come, but
sent you."
The slight emphasis on the last word
grated on Mr. Cleavland's ears.
"I am his legal adviser," be ex
plained.
She shrank from him.
"And you advised him not to come?"
she cried.
"Mrs. Packenham!"
Possibly the lawyer's tone carried
conviction with it, for a quick flash of
her eyes said, almost as plainly as
spoken words:
"Pardon me!"
The name by which he addressed her
struck him as a great anomaly. Yet
he used it because it was hers by
right, for she was Packenham's wife,
and had a right to his money, and she
should suffer no want if he could help
it. He would himself see to the last
sad offices and all that could be done
for the brother whom she loved so
dearly. But it was difficult to find
words to tell her so.
"I am here by my client's desire, to
tell you that everything will be made
as smooth as possible for you in the
distressing circumstances. I gladly un
dertake the duty of seeing that you are
spareu any further trouble."
Mr. Cleavland felt himself compar
atively at ease as he spoke. He would
deal with business matters, hard facts
and details that were to be entered In
to but when it came to the emotional
side of matters his difficulties appeared
overwhelming and his voice faltered.
For all the calm of her appearance,
as she stood there in that dingy room,
with the dull light of London made
still duller by the fact that, out of re
spect to the dead man lying up stairs,
the blinds were down, he knew that
there were depths of feeling that he
dared not stir. Although he told her
of his power to supply her with mon
ey for all her needs, yet, as an utter
stranger, lie dared not offer her a grain
of that sympathy and affection for
which she craved.
"Spared any further trouble!" she
repeated, vaguely, as if she could hard
ly grasp his meaning. can be spared
no trouble now that I am left to face it
all alone."
"I mean"—Mr. Cleavland would have
given worlds to have had more mel
lifluous words at command—"I mean
with regard to the necessary expenses
incident to what has occurred."
Still the girl appeared unable to com
prehend him.
"Many things have occurred that
money has no power to help," she said.
"I grant that, and most deeply do I
sympathize with you in the sad event.
But still, money will be necessary.
Tour poor brother—"
She turned quickly round, and ex
laimed:
"Money could have helped him yes
erday! It is pr.werless to-day and a
[reat sob, which she had with diffi
culty repressed, would make itself
card. "We had so little, what with
,e jouraey here and the bitter cold.
Ve never felt it before. But my
rotlier fought against everything until
brought me here. But the climate
illed him. Father Fletcher was
•bliged to go back. I telegraphed to
dm but he may not come—no one
vill come!"
A great feeling of pity took posses
ion of Ceavland.
"You need not fear for the future,"
le said. "I am authorized to tell you
hat everything will be seen to."
The eirl looked un with hot. cheeks.
(To be Continued.)
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eases, send for book of testimonials and IO tayaP
treatment Free. Vr.E.U.CUUSKN'B miuuMh
WANTED—CaBO of bad health that IM-P-A-N-8
will not benefit. Send 5 cents to Iilpans Chemical
Co., New York,for 10 samples and 1,000 testimonials.
Beat Cough Syrup. Tastes Good. Dae
in time. Bold ferdranliti.
N. D. N. V. —No. 33—
18t»8