II.

Jan. 16.—First day over, and I am not sorry for it. I want an hour or two's leisure to decide whether I like the place or not. I think it will do. Mrs. Shaw, whose chief characteristic seems a pretty strong will and a pretty quick temper, is not so bad as I thought she would be. I concluded last night that she was not a lady—by a good deal, and she left the impression upon me to-day that she has not always been used to her present style of living, and is afraid of the fact being known. It appears she is a widow. Mr. Shaw died at sea about thirteen months ago Besides the two young girls I am engaged to teach, she has one son, the offspring of a previous marriage. He is at the University, she told me to-day, and she expects him down almost immediately. His name is Edgar Stadding, and he is spoken of (by his mother), as a rising man in the scholastic world.

My two pupils seem only ordinary specimens of child life. Mediocre in every—nothing remarkably good, bad, or clever about them, and consequently a very fair field to work upon.

page 7

The Peak is much more comfortable than one would think from its surroundings. It is an isolated, bleak place certainly, but it has its advantages—among them a magnificent view. The grounds are of great extent, and are well laid out—that is, from my point of view. The paths are full of odd twists and turns, and reveal all sorts of unexpected attractions at unexpected places. The shrubbery is cut into a variety of strange artificial shapes, which is the one point in the gardening I do not like. The whole place, both grounds and house, is sadly neglected. The house itself is a very substantial affair, having been built in the time of the Fitzherberts, and the Fitzgeralds, and the Holdsworths, when the Maoris were troublesome, and when the possibility of a raid on their part was among the things which might be calculated upon. There is even now some legend extant about a solemn league and covenant having been made between the earliest representative of the Shaw family and a certain Epuni, who, in those days, was a chief of the Ngatiawa, and a mighty man in the land.

Jan. 18.—Great preparations were being made for the arrival of Edgar Stadding all day yesterday, and the place is even yet in a state of mild uproar. Things had been left to the last moment, too, and the object of all this fuss arrived in the midst of the confusion. He came very unexpectedly, and without sending any word. I had the rather doubtful honour of seeing him last night before anyone else in the house, and there was something in his behaviour that puzzled me then, and which I am at a loss to understand now.

It was a beautiful night. The moon had just risen, and the dew was glittering in the silvery light. I had wandered from the house, and found my way to the low stone fence that borders the garden. I stood there enjoying the fresh beauty of the night, looking along the road that stretched away in the moonlight like a long grey ribbon till it was lost in distant windings among the hills.

There was a spire of tufted grass growing out from between the stones of the wall, and nodding in the breeze. It was such as Goethe's Marguerite might have said her charm over—"He loves me, he loves me not"—and I plucked it, and choosing two words, repeated them as she did, picking a blossom at each word. I came to the end, and held the stripped blade in my hand,

I was to be unfortunate!

I laughed and threw the blade away, and turned to go into the house again, but paused. Slowly there grew out of the silence a faint rattle that gradually took the sound of carriage wheels, and two dots of flame, like twin stars, floated out into the dimness far along the road. As it came nearer I saw that the lights belonged to a dog-cart, which had two men in it. It stopped suddenly when directly opposite me, and one of the men, giving a hasty exclamation sprang out, and the next thing I was conscious of was that a young man was approaching me with lifted hat and outstretched hand. I was more than surprised. I had never seen him in my life before, but he seemed, in some unaccountable way, to regard me as quite an old friend. He was tall and overdressed—even in the moonlight I caught the flash of jewellery on cuff and shirt-front—and the fingers of the hand he held out had several rings on them,

"Ha," he said, as if he were greeting some familiar acquaintance, "who the tumentionable would expect to see you hanging over a fence at this hour? How the deuce did you get here, of all places? You've stolen a march on me, you pass; begad you have. Good heavens!" he said, stopping short in comic despair within a pace of me. "Is it not—can I have made a mistake?"

He certainly had, and I went so far as to say so. "Puss," indeed! the impudence of the fellow.

"Indeed, I—I beg your pardon. I thought I had the pleasure of meeting—"

The man in the cart laughed, and the other, murmuring some apology which I could not distinguish, scrambled back to his place in what I thought a very ungraceful and undignified way, and drove on again. As I walked towards the house, wondering how such a strange mistake could have arisen, I heard a peal of laughter from along the road, and looking back, saw the dog-cart take the turning that led up to the house, and it at once crossed my mind that it was Edgar Stadding who had taken this informal way of returning home, and that it must have been he who had spoken to me. And I should like to know who on earth could he suppose me to be, that he should have the unheard-of impudence to call all me" puss!"

page 8

Jan. 19—I saw him again to-day. He introduced himself the other night in a way that prejudiced me pretty strongly against him, and my dislike—for it amounts to that; I always go by first impressions—was increased this afternoon, though he seemed to put himself to some pains to make himself agreeable. As I was walking by myself in the garden after the day's lessons were over, I saw him lolling on one of the old-fashioned garden seats that are scattered here and there over the grounds. He had a number of letters beside him on the seat, and seemed to be reading one very attentively; he kissed it once or twice, too, if I am not mistaken. From "puss," I suppose. I wonder who the creature can be? How that word does annoy me, to be sure! Presently he caught sight of me, and, thrusting the letter into his pocket, came hurrying along the path after me.

"Oh, Miss Gower," he said, as he overtook me, "I have just been over to the post-office for our daily batch of letters, and here is one for you."

I took the letter, thanked him, and was passing on, when he said—

"I hope you have forgiven me for my stupidity of the other night, Miss Gower.

It was the dim light did it; and you really are so much like—the party I took you for."

I felt anything but flattered by the resemblance! Like a "puss," indeed!

"There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Stadding," I said, tartly. "I had forgotten all about it."

It was a case of antipathy at first sight. Without there being any one thing in his manner or appearance that one could single out as the objectionable feature, there was something about him that roused my dislike at once. If he thought to use the letter as an excuse for opening a conversation, as I supposed he did he had chosen the worst possible means for his purpose, for it was in my sister's hand, and I was anxious to get away to my own room and read it. But he stood right in my way, flicking the flowers with his riding switch, and apparently determined not to go till we were better acquainted.

"You are very kind to say that, Miss Gower," he said; "you have no idea how I have been tormenting myself about my awkwardness. I am afraid yon will find The Peak very dull," he went on, after pausing to see if I would speak, "especially after being accustomed to living in town—you come from town do you not?"

"Scarcely that, I have been at Nelson for a while; but you can hardly call that town life. I don't think I shall find it at all dull here, though. I prefer country to town."

"Do you? Well, I don't. Awful bore, I think it. Tells on a fellah, you know-least, it does on me. Gives me the miserables, and I make for the town the first chance I get. Course, being a university man—student, you know, and all that" (he looked out of the corners of his eyes with elaborate slyness as he said it, but I carefully avoided his glance)—"er—town offers me many advantages."

I said, "Indeed," endeavouring to reduce myself to a lump of inanity in the hope that he would drop the conversation, but he went on as cheerfully as ever.

"Oh, yes, six months in the country would make me into an unmitigated clod-hopper" (a great deal less than that would do it, I commented mentally) "Allow me," and he picked up the letter, which had slipped from my fingers.

"Do you know, Miss Gower, I can do a little at the second-sight business," he said, desperately trying to keep up the conversation, as he held out the letter and gazed impudently into my eyes. Everything he did was more or less impudent, it seemed to me.

"Yes?" frigidly.

"Yes. Shall I give you a sample of what I can do? For one thing, now I can prophesy good news for you in this letter. Shall I go on?"

"By all means, Mr. Stadding, tell me all you know; only I am afraid you are not recommending yourself as a letter carrier for the future."

"Oh, I say," he said, with a stupidly deprecating air, "that's—that's very seven. But, now—you couldn't cross my palm with silver, could you, in true gypsy style? No change? Oh, very well. Your letter, then," and he gazed abstractedly into space, and let the words drop slowly, one by one, from his lips, "is from one near and dear to you—whom you haven't seen for some time—a female, a mother—no, not a mother, nor an aunt—let us say a sister; let us further say her name has page 9 nine letters, and that the first is C. Am I right as regards the writer so far, supposing it is from her?" and he assumed what he meant for an engaging smile.

"Quite right, so far," I said, somewhat surprised.

"Good breeding requires that I must not allow myself to pry too closely. She is an actress, tall, dark, has—well, in fact, has a temper of her own, and—yes, meditates very shortly paying you a visit."

"Why, Mr. Stadding, you must surely be acquainted with my sister to know all this!"

"Performance is over, Miss Gower" (another smile), "it merely remains to pass round the hat."

"But, tell me, do you really—you must know my sister Catherine."

"To those who have the gift of second sight, ordinary conditions don't apply. We know 'em all, anyone you like, without the preliminary of introduction have that marvellous gift, and it enables me to know that the Grand What's-his-came of Thibet is a humbug, and that the Czar Alexander looks under the bed every night before he goes to sleep."

"Oh, but," I said, impatiently, "without any nonsense, do you know my aster Catherine?"

"I know Catherine's sister—"

He was interrupted by a shriek of laughter, and little May Shaw, one of my two pupils, came running along the path, her hat hanging round her neck by the strings, her hair flying out behind her.

"Oh, Eddy, hide me quick! She wants me to go to bed, and I won't go-o-o," shrieked the child, trying to hide behind him.

"Confound the child! go away; don't bother me with your nonsense now," he said irritably, pushing her away.

"Oh no, of course not," and the child fell back a pace and pouted, "'cause you want to talk with Miss Gower," she said, with the charming frankness of her years.

"May Shaw I" I said, severely.

"You impudent young monkey!" said Mr. Stadding, at the same time looking at me and smiling as if there was a perfect understanding between us.

"Miss May," said a sharp voice, "come along and let's have no more nonsense," and the nurse, a cross, vinegar-faced woman, appeared round a sudden tend in the trees and seized the child by the wrist. She looked sourly from me to Mr. Stadding, and back again, and was turning away without speaking, when Mr. Stadding said ill-temperedly—

"I wish you could manage to keep those youngsters a little more under control, Mrs. Hetherwick."

Now, Mrs. Hetherwick, I have reason to know, occupies a peculiar position in the family. She is generally spoken of as "the nurse." That is her official capacity. She came into the house with her mistress, and from their long acquaintance has drifted from the position of servant into that of confidante. She is allowed considerable authority, and, from what I have seen of her, seems to exercise it in the most disagreeable way, and is heartily detested by the other servants. She has the reputation, too, of being the most consummate of gossips, and has unusual facilities in the way of learning local scandal, being related to the landlady of the Truss o' Straw, a hotel at the Hutt, where such news naturally collects.

She turned upon Mr. Stadding at once, with crest erect.

"Indeed, Mr. Stadding, I think I know my place better than some others I could name, if it comes to that," she snapped. "I am sorry if the little thing interrupted you. There are times, I know, when children are in the way." She looked spitefully at me as she spoke, and I began to wake up to the fact that I was being placed in a very unpleasant position.

"Hoity-toity, marry come up," said Mr. Stadding, mocking her. "Do we know who we are speaking to, Mrs. Hetherwick?"

"Yes, we do, Mr. Stadding, and it would be better if some others in the house were just as careful who they talked to. I know my own place, at least—and know how to keep it, that's what's more."

"If I had my way, that last is just what you wouldn't do, madam."

page 10

"Oh, I dessay! And I think I know some who would be just as sure of their place if you had your way, sir—which the Lord forbid you ever should!" she said, shaking her head at him fiercely.

"You take my advice, Mrs. Hetherwick, and don't go too far. I didn't ask you for any impudence, you know, and when you speak to me you'll be good enough to remember the difference in our positions. If you are allowed liberties elsewhere, you'll lay aside your Jack-in-office airs with me. I've no more words to waste on you. Miss Gower, may I see you into the house?"

I had felt de trop during this passage, and did not wish to appear to identify myself with either party. I was irritated at the conduct of Edgar Stadding, whose thoughtlessness had placed me in a very false position. It was impossible not to understand the point of Mrs. Hetherwick's reference to myself, and I dreaded how she might use her influence with Mrs. Shaw if her enmity were once aroused.

"Thank you," I said, coldly, "I shall stay out here a little longer."

He lifted his hat, without speaking, and passed on after Mrs. Hetherwick, who was striding up the walk to the house, dragging by her side little May, who was continually looking back and tripping up, and being jerked on again till a turn hid them from sight.

The evenings are raw and cold up among these bleak hills, so, giving them a few minutes to reach the house, I turned to go in also. As I passed up the stairs to my room I heard the voice of Mrs. Hetherwick saying, "Take my word for it, she's too good-looking by half. I know 'em of old." I heard no more, but may modesty could not make me doubt as to who it was that was under discussion, and I have serious misgivings as to how this will end.

Edgar Stadding was a true prophet. The letter was from Catherine. It was very short, and contained little more than the intimation that the company with which she was travelling would shortly be in Wellington, and that she hoped to be able to get time to visit me soon after I received her note.

As I finished reading the letter I remembered what Edgar Stadding had said in the garden. Could he really be acquainted with her, and did he by some means know that she intended coming here?

A thought strikes me: We were always considered very much alike. Can this be the explanation of the strange mistake he made the other night? I sincerely hope it is not!