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Our Holiday, and What Came…

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Our Holiday, and What Came 1 of it. I A TALE OF SOUTH WALES. BY SPES," AUTHOR OF LADY BEKTHA," "RHYS TREVOR," &C., &C. .CHAPTER I. WHO WE ARE. Before I begin my story I must tell you who I ■we are. Helen and I are the only children of the Rev Donald Douglas, rector of Hollydale, in Blankshire. Father has no sister, and only one brother, who has been ever since I can remember in India. Our grandfather must, I skould think, have been a strange man. I have heard that our grandmother died in a very sad manner. The old nurse Dorothy North used to insinuate strange things against some of those who. she said, ought to have been her best friends, and I know she hated grandfather. I remember her once telling Mary, our nurse, that if it had not been for the old gentleman's masterful ways her young lady might have been alive still-she always called grandmother" her young lady "—and if ever a 'woman was worritted" into her grave she was. Years after that I knew how it had all been, and aa it is a tale I do not want to dwell on I may as well tell it now as afterwards. Grandfather's father, our great grandfather, had been a very extravagant man, and had got very depply into debt, and when his son grew up, he insisted on his marrying a very rich heiress, and rather than be cut off from the title (a baronetcy) and the old family estates grandfather did marry the young lady, who on her part had been persuaded into marrying him on account of his position and title, and people said that she y frequently reminded h m of the money she had brought him. Had she loved him she would, of course, never have done this, or had he loved her he would perhaps have forgiven her i; she had done so, but unfortunately there was no affection on either side, so each made the other unhappy by their unkind conduct. One day grandmother, after listening with an tmusual amount of patience to the unkind things grandfather had been saying to her, ordered her horse, to go for a ride; she was a first class horsewoman, ani could ride almost every horse, but to-day the one she usually rode was ill, and another was, at her especial order, brought round. Whether she was rendered desperate by the uo- kindness of her husband I do no know, or whether she was only in a defiant mood, and so determined to ride an animal she knew to be dangerous, will never be known: however, when grandfather saw what horse was brought out he knew it was not safe, and advised her not to mount such an ungovernable animal, and she answered him she should ride any horse she chose to do." This reply again roused his temper, and with hasty words he bade her go, and said in his anger" thflt lIe hoped she would never come back ajain." And she never did come back again alive. A fcouple of hours later the groom, who had attended her, rode back to Ferndale park leading his mistress' horse. She had been thrown and carried into a cottage a few miles away. Grandmother was not dead when grandfather reached the place where she was in the carriage he had taken to bring her home, and for two days she lingered, sorrowfully repentant for the den- ance she had shown in persisting in rid ng a horse which had never been broken in for a lady. All this happened long, long ago, when father was quite a little child, but Dorothy was alwa s very fond cf telling us about these times; she alwa s to k her young lady's part, saying that no human being could bear the constant worry of such a temper as the old master had, and that Miss Orcily (that was gr indmother) before she married had always been a most amiable young lady, and had been accustomed to live with people who loved her, and were kind to her, so tLat if she would not tamely submit to any amount of oppression it was not to be wondered at. I don't know: how all this may have been, but mother, who is so good, always pitied grand- mother, and made her history a subject of advice to us girls never to marry a man whom we did not love well enough to obey. Mother always says one thing which neither Helen nor I quite agree with though, that it is a blessing we are not heiresses, and :-o we are not/ likely to be married only for the money we shall bring jur husbands. But I must return to grandfather's history, he never seemed to get over the death of his wife. Mother thinks that in her helplessness and suffer- ing during those last few days he had learned to I love her. iftvever that may have been, he be- came, from that time, quite a different man to what he had ever been before, in fact, quite a recluse, and when he mentioned the subject, which he frequently did, to his particular friend, the clergyman cf the parish, who used to go and f sit with him for hours together, as he would see I no one else, he always spoke with the deepest re- morse of the words he had last uttered to his wife, seeminglv thinking that his expressed wish that she mi»ht never come back again had been a she might never come back again had been a prayer which Providence had answered in this awful manner, e shut himself up and seemed to care for no one, and it almost appeared as if no one cared much for him, and he was a miser- able lonely old man. His two sons had been given over to the care of their aunt, their mother's sister, and with the exception of stately visits to ¡' their father, which they dreaded more than looked forward to, he seldom saw his children. The eldest son, uncle Harold, married the daughter of the curate of the parish in which I their aunt lived,"and, when their father hearcWof this he refosed to see him again. People wrio judged him harshly said that he had only been waiting for an excuse to turn against his child however, his son accepted an appointment which was offered to him by a friend in India. Soon after this gramfafcher's cousin died, and I he inherited Ferndale Park and the baronetcy, and his friends hoped now that he would forgive and recall his eldest son, who was, of course, heir to the property, but time seemed rather to have ¡ embittered than softened his heart. Father, who still lived with his aunt, but who had taken orders and now acted as curate to the aged vicar of the parish, called on his miserable, loiiely, old misanthropic father, and in the course of conver- sation mentioned his brother, proposing to grand- father to send for him home, but he was met by such a stern denial that he dared not again men- tion the subject. Soon after this Uncle Harold sent his baby son home to be brought up in England, and his aunt touk charge of him. I.i 1;I.e course of a few years, when the little boy was old enough, he was sent to school, and during his holidays grandfather in- sisted on the boy making his home with him, and strangely enough scarcely ever allowed him to go out of iiis sight. The death of the kind aunt occurred about this time, so it was perhaps for- tunate that grandfather had made a home for the little boy who was so far from his mother and father.. A.u attack of paralysis soms years after this I entirely incapacitated the poor o d (lentlemgn, and henceforth he knew no one but the boy to whom he had taken such an unexpected and fcr- tunate liking. Was this a species of remorse for ( the unkind manner in which he had behaved to that boy's father? If so, he neVer admitted it I to all, one. I ftight years ago, when I was quite a child, a summons came for t'ertie to return to India. His ¡I mother was suffering from an incurable disease, and wished to see her child again. He was not much more than twelve years of age, but even his wretched old grandfather, who still lingered on in a helpless state, agreed that he must go, and after his mother's death Uncle Harold kept him out there, and engaged a clergyman in India as his tutor. Poor g-andfather, although quite willing to send away the boy he loved so well, never appeared send away the boy he loved so well, never appeared to recover.the shock qf losing him. He lived on attended year after year by the old servant who had been with him since he was quite a young man. and father and mother constantly visited him, and saw that his comfort was attended to, t but he knew no one, and was quite helpless. I never remember him except a slight recollection I have of his being dragged about in a Bath-chair or sitting by his bedroom fire. About two years before I commenced this story he died, and uncle I Harold, who was now Sir Harold Douglas, was sent for home. His return seemed indefinitely delayed however; he said his public appointments in India prevented his return. Father thought it I was a very natural disinclination to return to a place only associated with sorrow. I have now introduced you to who we are. I am next going to tell you what we did. > (To be Continued.)

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