That Stick | Page 3

had not met with much outward sympathy or
companionship, the one well of hope and joy might at times suffer
drought, but had never run dry, any more than the better fountain
within and beyond.
In she came, with eyes alarmed but ready to console. 'Oh, Frank, what
is it? What can I do for you?'

'It is no bad news,' was his greeting, as he put his arm round her
trembling little figure and kissed her brow. 'Only too good.'
'Oh, is Mrs. Charles going to be married?' the only hopeful contingency
she could think of.
'No,' he said; 'but, Mary, an extraordinary incident has taken place. I
have inherited a property.'
'A property? You are well off! Oh, thank God!' and she clasped her
hands, then held his. 'At last! But what? How? Did you know?'
'I knew of the connection, but that the family had never taken notice of
my father. As to the rest I was entirely unprepared. My
great-grandfather was a younger son of the first Lord Northmoor, but
for some misconduct was cast off and proscribed. As you know, my
grandfather and father devoted themselves to horses on the old farm,
and made no pretensions to gentility. The elder branch of the family
was once numerous, but it must have since dwindled till the old lord
was left with only a little grandson, who died of diphtheria a short time
before his grandfather.'
'Poor old man!' began Mary. 'Then--oh! do you mean that he died too?'
'Yes; he was ill before, and this was a fatal blow. It appears that he was
aware that I was next in the succession, and after the boy's death had
desired the solicitor to write to me as heir-at-law.'
'Heir-at-law! Frank, do you mean that you are--' she said, turning pale.
'Baron Northmoor,' he answered, 'and you, my patient Mary, will be the
baroness as soon as may be.'
'Oh, Frank!'--and there was a rush of tears--'dear Frank, your hard work
and cares are all over!'
'I am not sure of that,' he said gravely; 'but, at least, this long waiting is
over, and I can give you everything.'

'But, oh!' she cried, sobbing uncontrollably, with her face hidden in her
handkerchief.
'Mary, Mary! what does this mean? Don't you understand? There's
nothing to hinder it now.'
She made a gesture as if to put him back from her, and struggled for
utterance.
'It is very dear, very good; but--but it can't be now. You must not drag
yourself down with me.'
'That is just nonsense, Mary. You are far fitter for this than I am. You
are the one joy in it to me.'
'You think so now,' she said, striving to hold herself back; 'but you
won't by and by.'
'Do you think me a mere boy to change so easily?' said the new lord
earnestly. 'I look on this as a heavy burthen and very serious
responsibility: but it is to you whom I look to sweeten it, help me
through with it, and guard me from its temptations.'
'If I could.'
'Come, Mary, I am forced to go to London immediately, and then on to
the funeral. I shall miss the train if I remain another minute. Don't send
me away with a sore heart. Tell me that your affection has not been
worn out by these weary years.'
'You cannot think so, Frank,' she sobbed. 'You know it has only grown.
I only want to do what is best for you.'
'Not another word,' he said, with a fresh kiss. 'That is all I want for the
present.'
He was gone, while Mary crept up to her little attic, there to weep out
her agitated, uncertain feelings.

'Oh, he is so good! He deserves to be great. That I should be his first
thought! Dear dear fellow! But I ought to give him up. I ought not to be
a drag on him. It would not be fair on him. I can love him and watch
him all the same; but oh, how dreary it will be to have no Sunday
afternoons! Is this selfish? Is this worldly? Oh, help me to do right, and
hold to what is best for him!'
And whenever poor Mary had any time to herself out of sight of
curious eyes, she spent it in concocting a letter that went near to the
breaking of her constant heart.
CHAPTER II
HONOURS REFLECTED
On the beach at Westhaven, beyond the town and harbour, stood a row
of houses, each with a garden of tamarisk, thrift, and salt-loving
flowers, frequented by lodgers in search of cheap sea breezes, and
sometimes by families of yachting personages who liked to have their
headquarters on shore.
Two girls were making their way to one of