The Rhondda Leader

( Copyright.) MDY JOAFS COMPANION A By FLORENCE WARDEN, Qlhor of "The House on the Marsh," "A jfrty Lorer," "A Lady in Black," "Our Widow," "A Perfect Fool," "The Girl, at the Grange, &e. irl' I aOPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAPTERS: Lord I4L am- of Harlingham Hall, has a daughter, Ebbja whom he desires to marry Sir Charles »h0 J/61' She refuses, and Lord Harlingham, ^ted i- eu rebellion and has disin- to^^two sons, engages a Miss Meadows WJ*„her comPani°n- He promises Miss is £ 500 on the day on which Lady Joan ^a<W 0n her arrival afc the Hall Miss 05 j. s tnakes a most unfavourable impression Jojn J°an and her broken-spirited mother, "to liar ?Wever' soon has reason to believe that lsS(ltl) stem aspect of her companion is only Hhiw an<* that the woman is playing some ;serious part. > CHAPTER V j, TH* NEW POWER AT HARMWQHAM. kold#.infl«ence of Miss Meadows in the house- Sj. 6 had just joined began to shew itself a* j riy date. P^ace' the visits of Sir Charles *ithrt rn,°.re frequent. Scarcely a day passed "task presenting himself at the Hall, 'ftfiil 8enerally contrived, with a tact and T 6j8 worthy of admiration, to get speech In Joan's companion. tiw-j second place, Miss Meadows, who wag hi,* *ith greater deference by Lord Harling- flrere the other ladies of the house- 8Hggested and carried into effect an 'tend n one Charles's sisters, to ElJ week or two at the Hall. "'lis' k ^hbsfleet, in spite of her ominous t|)91' ''fought a welcome element of gaiety into dot °u'ehold. She was only eighteen, and was but her round, fresh-coloured fof' black eyes, and rapid, jerky step, "font 1 P'easant contrast to the subdued move- Elf were the fashion at the Hall. tlfrid, was a restless, merry creature, who 8I^ an(l who confessed to having ijyg c?nstantly in mischief since her nursery i«g ,]• "ut Miss Meadows was shrewd enough to Wi y°unS g'rl'8 liveliness and good O* would help to cement a friendly feeling Sjf p?n the two families, and materially assist "Wles in his wooing. ftt the capacity for mischief which she ^i«i'\r^en was n°k extinct in Elfrida, J.v. ,'eadows had ample proof within a few I: of the girl's arrival. take *as habit of the new companion to tin, by herself between tea and dinner- t-n *'ie gro«nds a'>out the house. It was ♦ 6 a! >'hich Elfrida usually q *ted to her room to write her letters." %t« dark and dull evening when there was 1from the marshes, and an inter- tijjj Te'l of sleet and snow came down from *fa f ,t'me over the landscape, Miss Meadows, 4t P 'n an old mackintosh, with the hood over her head, was making her way rapid pace along the path in the shrubbery. 6^ full daylight the shrubbery was looking lp6 IQ,-ng now, with a light, feathery green ^e.^r'ng on the slender twigs of willow and by h°m, bramble and briar. It was too dark tfoj: time, however, for her to discern these c*te beauties and she was quickening her |L under the stimulus of a sudden snow- Hjj when something struck her head, some •he ro«9t have been, she felt sure. So 1^ 8t°pped, turned, stooped, and picked up a '•»# H y the year before. And as low so *he heard above her on the right a Jhistle. ^allo said a man's voice, a young man's, Oh whisper: It is plucky of you to come out Awning like this." 5l)i is it ? retorted Miss Meadows, rising h(j fv and drawing herself up to her full to |y Jove!" cried the man's voice, rising a squeak of consternation. Miss Meadows perceived, sitting on the tw °* the kitchen garden, a tall young man in Uj*ed cap and a mackintosh cape. He at one* lj# an &tterapt to get over the wall, but Miss w*> with a grip of iron, caught him by and held him fast. J0nf:o>" said she in her deepest tones. "You 8° till you've told me who you are, and It was you supposed you were talking to." J°ung man, whose face she could not IHc, 1* clearly, submitted at once with a good right," said he. "I'll come down." bty I#? Meadows, however, only relinquished rjji p'P of his foot in order to take hold of his froi ,eTe« and until his feet reached the "He in front of her he was still a prisoner. 11 ?. °n the ground the intruder proved to bt *» tenderly built young man, with exceed- TiLjjght hair and an exceedingly white face, ngnat's your name? said sne, shortly, jf^^rrington, Tom Harrington," said hei "Oller. to lid which of the housemaids have you come I'e t" she went on, coolly. Ousemsids ? I like that 1" cried he, u'J^ntly. t** it wasn't a housemaid who was it P "V cline to say." ve no doubt Lord Harlingham able to find out. You're the son of II of his neiglibours, I know. t 1511, he isn't very neighbourly. If he were ki, "Ildn't have to do this sort of thing. I Vjf who you are, and I believe you know quite "if • wtts no housemaid I came to see." it was Lady Joan began Miss "Xr 'n alarm, it wasn't." Ebbsfleet, then? f0r and if it were, it doesn't say much d#l} liveliness of the Hall that she's to get a chance of a chat with your lH«B neighbour, does it ? said the. young a most ungentlemanly thing to do," «i .i88 Meadows, severely. chuckled Tom Harrington, "but old kb lrigham doesn't look upon my father and tentlemen, you know. We are only l)ji manufacturers, so we don't exist in hi. WDrld, although we live on the other side of It Wall. 6 fcw don't suppose your own father would (?*6 °' y°ur »°ing this sort of thing ? course he wouldn't. He's as proud as •«S,, harlingham." u8 i n why do you do it ? finds some mischief still," replied he to, atioully. "I'm sent down here in the %itk ry 'or my health, and it's precious dull fro\„Jlobo<Jy to talk to. And if you won't let talk to each other in your drawing- v1 Hrv' on J°ur lawns you'll find they'll talk other over the wall. It's human nature. Jo 11 °4n's just the same. If she doesn't talk 'iJi# fe,. American "—Miss Meadows started— jn ?^8 °f him just the same. And she'll 0 the same way as her brothers, by going to,y.,Wzk Way in Spite of her father. Everybody JV wrong, then," Miss ,r> 8aid. .^though she spoke with apparent cool- v^»is C ^e^t by no means easy in her mind. Srho ^as already common talk in the neigh- the suspicions she had previously were amply justified; and, dis- t* k Harrington with a warning that Jh# njjj tter gire up his unconventional visits, 6 UP her mind to inquire into the more ent!1t latter of Lady Joan's alleged attach- out delay. 'lI.d \J-. d now been a fortnight at Harlingham, as Meadows had seen George Barton the dnce since the day he had spoken to her at ll°». of the works. On the secaad occa- "he had seen him in decent, church- Iwieh « and with the clean face of ordinary, humftoity, she bad been II muib struck with his appearance as on the previous occasion. For the American's dark face was as handsome as his stalwart figure, and the shrewd eyes were as striking and as attractive when his face was white as they had been when it was black. It was a face the companion liked and felt confidence in. After mature consideration of Tom Harrington's information, Miss Meadows took a great resolve, which she proceeded to carry out in the following way. It was getting late in the afternoon of another dull March day, with a keen wind instead of snow to make things unpleasant, when Lady Joan's companion reached the door of the works and began to peer about for any sign of Mr. Barton. Presently a carter, in answer to a question, informed her that the manager had gone home to his tea, and directed er to a house at the end of the Tillage, which was more than a cottage, and which had evidently been at one time a dwelling of more pretension than at present. Making her way at once in the direction of the house, Miss Meadows entered a neglected garden, and walked up the path to a door which wanted repainting badly. On the right-hand side of the porch a big bay window, from which the plaster was peeling, shewed the flicker- ing light of a bright fire within, while on the left-hand side there was a window fastened up with an outside shutter, the picture of desola- tion. The same appearance characterised the upper floor of the house. For while the bed- room windows on the right had muslin blinds and thin stuff curtains, those on the left were dirty and bare. In answer to her knock a pleasant-looking elderly woman, with brown, withered face and keen but kindly grey eyes, came to the door, and on her asking for Mr. Barton, led her across the little hall and opened the door of the room with the bow window. A lady to see you," was her announcement, as she stepped back to let the visitor pass. Before Miss Meadows, who was a little taken aback by the rapidity and abruptness of the proceeding, had reached the door of the room, George Barton himself came out. "You're very welcome," said he, gently, as he offered his hand with the grave frankness she had noticed and liked in him before, and, still holding hers, led her into the room. Her eyes roamed at once from the intelligent, handsome face of her host to the room in which he had been sitting. A farmhouse rocking-chair, with faded red cotton cushions, stood beside the fire-place, into which a modern grate had been recently introduced. And in front of the fire, on the left hand of the chair, a solid deal table, covered with a white cloth, held the remains of a solid farmhouse tea, There was a homely, pleasant look about it all; the fresh brown bread, the home-made preserve, the brown earthenware teapot; the mantelpiece, with its tobacco-jar and row of pipes, and the old photographs above; the stacks upon stacks of books, on rough, home- made shelves the little piano with more books upon it; the comfortable modern settee; the equally comfortable, old-fashioned chairs the landlady's wax flowers and case of humming- birds above all, the cat that stood with arched back and curled tail on a hassock on the hearth, all combined to give a charm, an atmosphere to the big square room. "I suppose it wouldn't be right and proper for me to ask you to have a cup of tea with me ? said George Barton, with a humorous look in his face, but a kind of wistfulness under the humour. "I don't trouble myself much about those things," said Miss Meadows, in a softer voice than the one she used at Harlingham Hall, as she sat down in the rocking-chair, as his gesture invited her to do. "I should like the tea, please." George Barton rang the bell. "That's real good of you," said he. "To pay flowery compliments to a woman sounds absurd nowadays. But when you've lived, as I've done for months now, shut up in a pile of sheds with a company of mechanics, you really feel as if you wanted to burst out into poetry when you jret a chance of a talk with one of the fair sex. Yes," he went on, with a laugh, "I must say 'fair sex,' because that's what I'm feeling this minute. Miss Meadows laughed with real enjoyment. There was something so oddly frank and un- conventional about this man and his reception of her that she was quite content to enjoy their Ute-à-Ute a little before proceeding to business. Well, at any rate," said she, when the land- lady had appeared and taken his order for another cup without any surprise, "you seem to be well cared for by that member of the fair sex whom you see most of." "She's a good soul, Mrs. Rooney," said he. "I didn't seem to take to any of the women of the village as landladies, so I sent across to New York for this one. She's known me since before I could walk, and she's a good creature, though she mopes a good deal on account of the loneliness of her life here." "Why don't you let her take in a lodger or two?" suggested Miss Meadows, "to keep her employed and amused ? "That's not a bad notion. If she can get them in these wild parts. I'd rather have the whole of the house used than have the half of it shut up; it seems to give a chill to the rest of it to have so many rooms given up to the spiders." It was not until Mrs. Rooney had brought another cup and saucer and the cat had jumped up again on the knee from which she had been disturbed, that Miss Meadows unfolded the object of her unconventional visit. "I daresay," she began, "you're surprised at my intrusion upon you ? •'I suppose I ought to be," said George Barton, "for you ladies over here don't seem to have the same feeling of security in going about that our women have on the other side. But the truth is, I've been too much occupied in being delighted to have time to be sur- prised." Miss Meadows smiled, and her stern features became very winning under the influence of the smile. "I daresay we are too reserved," she admitted. "But circumstances—not very fortunate cir- cumstances—have combined to make me less prudent, less prudish—call it which you like- than my countrywomen. Where I think I can trust, I am very fearless, I believe." "Yes?" This was a question, for she had paused. "You know, I suppose, that Lord Harling- ham's daughter is in my charge ? The question was a feeler, put out abruptly and Miss Meadows's penetration was rewarded by seeing a slight, but tell-tale change in the expression of George Barton's handsome face. "I do know it," was all he said. "And that she is to be married to Sir Charles Ebbsfleet, of- If she does marry him, it will be a rascally piece of iniquity on somebody's part!" broke out the American, in a voice which suddenly betrayed an undercurrent of unsuspected passion in the quiet-looking man. "You can scarcely be a judge of that." "I, being a man, madam, am a better judge than you can be, with all respect," replied George Barton, in a lower voice, but with much decision. "You don't think her parents are entitled -11 "To sacrifice their daughter to their own whims ? No, madam, I guess I don't think so." There was a pause. Miss Meadows had already attained the object of her visit. Presently she said: "You would not, I hope, try to bring any influence to bear upon this young girl, to make her resist her father's wishes ? "If I had any influence, madam, I'd use it fast enough," interrupted George Barton, again in the full, deep tone of feeling he had once before used, to save this beautiful young girl from a fate which makes one shudder." "Mr. Barton, I'm surprised to hear you speak so Surely the wish of a father-" "The wish of such a starched old piece of fanbeciUtT as Lord Harlincham wouldn't weigh with me for a moment," replied Barton, energet- ically, "if I had a chance of carrying off his y 11 poor little daughter from under his nose. No. It's her timidity, the narrow prejudices that bind her hand and foot, that prevent me from taking her away with me, and making her as happy as a queen it's not her father's wish, nor her mother's, nor anything of that sort." Miss Meadows began to look alarmed. "You've spoken to her then ? she asked, almost breathlessly. "Not in the way you mean. I've never had the chance. But the girl understands. It's she who won't let me speak, not I that am back- ward on my side, I can tell you." "You've met her. You'Te- "Well, I've met her, and I've not met her. I won't say I haven't gone out of my way to get a look at her; I've sometimes even thought she was ready to go out of her way in order to see me. That was my conceit, very likely. Anyhow, I've seen her often enough, if that's what you mean by meeting oftener than was good for me, if it's to come to nothing. But I ve hardly spoken to her since the time I came to her help in a nasty accident, caught her horse, and saved her from being dragged along the ground. I had a good long talk-with her then; I carried her in my arms, in fact, a couple of hundred yards, and I sat with her and talked to her as long as I dared and she dared. I knew I was in for it from that day, in for what the sentimental French call a grand passion," went on George Barton, in a level tone. "She's never been out of my head since," "But- began Miss Meidown. r George Barton put up his hand. "Excuse me, said he. "It's very bad manners to interrupt a lady, I know but you understand me now, so we'd better not waste any time discussing • business that we can't look at from the same Eoint of view. I've been very honest with you, aven't I ? "Very," said Miss Meadows, in a low voice, as she rose to go. "So honest that I can't afford to let this talk with you be our last. I shall come and see you again, since my lack of prudery doesn't shock you. But," and she began to walk round the room, and to look at the books, on her way to the door, "I must get your Mrs. Rooney to take in some lodgers." And Miss Meadows, with a smile, and a warm pressure of the hand, bade her uncon- ventional host good-bye. CHAPTER VI. SIR CHARLES MAKES A DISCOVERT. Unfortunately, the front door of the house was in full view, not only of the village green, but of the road for some distance beyond, and before Miss Meadows had reached the garden gate she saw, coming through the village at a rapid pace in his dog-cart, the very person she was least anxious to meet, Sir Charles Ebbsfleet. It was useless to hope to escape unobserved she saw him slacken the horse's pace, and knew that he would wait until she came up, and that he would subject her to some banter of a kind she was very unwilling to submit to. She therefore turned back, went round the house quickly through a thicket of neglected fruit trees and brambles, and, passing out through a gap in the ill-kept fence into the fields beyond, made her way back to the Hall by another way, using a footpath when she could get one, and wading through ploughed land, mud and brambles when she could not. It was rather unfortunate for her that, on her arrival at the Hall after this unfortunate occur- rence, her first duty should be that of a monitress. Entering the house by the garden way, holding her muddy skirts high, to save them from contact with boots still muddier, she ran into Elfrida Ebbsfleet, who, muffled up in wraps, was evidently on her way for a chat with Tom Harrington in the shrubbery. Miss Meadows put herself in the way. "You had better not walk in the shrubbery this afternoon, Miss Ebbsfleet," said she, in a placid tone, which, however, left no doubt as to the extent of her knowledge. You will get your feet wet; look at mine." Now Elfrida had heard her brother's criticisms on the mysterious "companion," and she was ready with a retort. "But you have been further than the shrub- bery, perhaps ? she said saucily. To-day, yes. But I was in your favourite walk yesterday at this time." Elfrida's face fell a little. "Oh!" said she. Then she added with spirit: "But, after all, you may have to look after Lady Joan, but you haven't got to answer for me." "That's true. But I should be just as sorry to find you doing unwise things as if you were Ladv Joan." Elfrida's young face softened a little. "I'm not doing an unwise thing, really," said she, simply. "Of course, I know that you must have seen this Tom Harrington, but you must also have seen that he's rather nice, much nicer than my brother or any of the men about here. "I don't know much about the people here yet, you know," said Miss Meadows. "Then you may take my word for it they're all extremely horrid," said Elfrida, emphati- cally. "The county people have nothing but their countiness to recommend them. Look at Charles. I don't say they're all as odd as he is, but they're none of them a bit more interest- ing. None of the nice people, the men especi- ally, will stay here, you see. So that it does seem hard, when one meets a person who's rather nice to talk to, to be expected to look over his head just because he doesn't belong to the county. That's true, isn't it? And"— she came coaxingly a little nearer—"I do hope you won't say anything to-well, to anybody." "Well, will you promise- But at the very first sign of softening in Miss Meadows's voice and look, the young girl had skipped past her and out of the house, and was by this time dancing along the path, looking over her shoulder with a laughing face, and waving her hand most cheerfully. "Oh, yes, I'll promise, I'll promise anything in reason, yon know," were the words she sang out gaily as she disappeared behind the yews. Now Miss Meadows did not want to get the girl into disgrace, so she said nothing about the discovery she had made; she, however, found means of making any further clandestine meetings impossible by getting Lady Harlingham to keep Elfrida near her at those hours when .he had been accustomed to walk out alone. Though Elfrida said nothing she grew slightly reserved and sullen, and Miss Meadows had an uncomfortable sense that, in thwarting these young people, she had made two enemies. Unhappily, this was not the worst of the trials she had to meet. Although she managed to avoid Sir Charles during the following week, she soon found that he had taken an ample revenge upon her by making Lady Joan jealous. Whenever her companion made use of her pri- vilege to go for a walk by herself, Lady Joan would look at her with angry eyes, and would ask some questions intimating her suspicion that Miss Meadows was going out to meet George Barton. Miss Meadows felt sorry for her. The girl was so evidently pining, so evidently eating her poor little heart away in a vain passion which she dared not even own, that the companion was sometimes tempted to openly confess her sympathy. She had the strength of mind to refrain, however, and to hold aloof, reserved and observant, and to take no notice of the veiled taunts which the unhappy girl flung at her. In the meantime Miss Meadows, always by the same arts of apparent callousness and coldness, increased her hold upon the respect of Lord Harlingham, and began to be entrusted by him with commissions to execute' for him. Thus, he sent her to buy a new carpet for the drawing-room, instead of entrusting the selection to his wife; and poor Lady Joan found out, by some means, that on the occasion of this visit to London of Miss Meadows the manager of the works was away for the day also. Without avowing their motives to each other, she and Sir Charles now gradually made cosupoa cause against the companion; and Miss