In a Web of Gold

Chapter I

It was a damp autumnal evening, and the mist was rising quickly, rendering everything, except the nearest objects, painfully indistinct, as a young girl, who had been walking hurriedly down a narrow country lane, stopped at an old stile which led through a wood, and peered anxiously down the dreary pathway7 before her. " He is not here," she murmured. " Oh, I hope he will come soon, as I must be home again before it gets dark." She put her hand into the folds of her dress and drew forth a note ; there were but few words in it, and they ran thus : — " Meet me at the old stile at six, sharp. Important news. Don't fail.— G. W." With a loving look on her pretty face, tho girl placed the letter to her lips, and had just returned it to its resting place, when, with an exclamation of delight, she heard a well-known footstep, and in another moment a handsome, athletic-looking young man had vaulted over the stile, and, clasping the slight form of tho girl in his arms, said, — " Oh, Mollie, darling, I am so glad that you have been able to get here.

I have been told that your father is ill again, and I was in such a fright when I heard it, as I thought you might not manage to slip away, and it seemed impossible for me to go away from Sealbury without seeing you." As he spoke, every vestige of colour fled from the girl's face, and she repeated his words in a hollow voice. A " Go away from Sealbury? " " Don't look like that, Mollie. I must have been a fool to have blurted it out in such a stupid way, but the fact is, dear, I have some news to tell you which I want you to bear bravely. It will seem rather hard just at first, but, Mollie, you will find that it really is awfully good news for us if you will only just think it over quietly. Now listen, dear, this is the whole of it. "My uncle Charles, who is my father's only brother, is a man of great wealth, but since father's death he has never taken any notice of mother and I. About two years ago he saw in the papers an account of the death of his only son, who was drowned by the capsizing of a yacht.

Now, dear, this is the singular part of it. You remember I told you that when I was at Scarborough the other day I rescued a man from drowning, and the local papers puffed me up a good deal, saying I was plucky, and all that sort of thing. It appears from Uncle Charles's letter, which we received this morning, that he was staying there at the same time, and read this flourishing account, and that has reminded him of my existence. So he has written a long epistle, and in it he makes me a splendid offer. He is a wealthy manu facturer at Birmingham, and he says, if I like to go to Bir mingham for two years, and during that time he discovers that I have good business capacities, he will make me a manager as soon as I am competent to fill that post. How ever, if I do not answer his expectations, I am to return at the end of the two years, as he says he cannot possibly have a nephew of his holding a subordinate position in the business.

He is offering to give me three hundred pounds the first year, and four hundred the next. So you see, dear, it is a splendid opening for me. The only drawback is, that I shall have to leave you." The poor girl, who had been making great efforts to maintain her composure during her lover's long explanation, at these words burst into tears as she wailed forth, — "Oh, Guy, don't leave me; say 'No' to it all. You will forget me amongst all those rich people, and I shall break my heart." " Hush, Mollie, darling ! don't cry, there's a good little soul," said Guy Wyldare, as he kissed away her tears. " You know no one could ever make me untrue to you. I did not think you would have felt it so badly, or I should have been tempted to decline ; even now I feel greatly inclined to write and say that I have changed my mind and would rather not accept uncle's offer after all.' " But what would your mother say?" asked Mollie.

" Ah 1 that's the chief difficulty," said Guy, looking greatly troubled. " You see," he continued, " the mater has always been fussing and fuming because she has not had it in her power to let me go to college, or, as she says, educate me properly, as she can never forget that she is the daughter of an admiral and the widow of a captain in her beloved Majesty's navy, and has always thought it a scandalous state of affairs that a son of hers should be glad to accept a situation in a country bank with the magnificent salary of one hundred pounds per annum. She is perfectly wild with joy at this brightening up of my prospects. Of course, I think Uncle Charles might have done something for me in the way of education, as I was only ten years old when father died, and he knew mother's income was very limited ; but now he certainly has made a very generous offer, and, darling, you must try and be pleased, because we could not have thought of marriage for years to come if I had stayed at the bank, and now, at the end of two years, I shall be able to give my own dear Mollie a comfortable home."

The girl turned her sorrowful face to him and said, — " I will try and do as you wish, dear. I see it is a good thing for you, but you know I am only a poor girl, and when you are always associating with real ladies, you will feel ashamed to think that your future wife is only the daughter of Amos Blake, the parish clerk." " Nonsense, Mollie ; you know you have been brought up at the Vicarage, and had nearly the same education as the Vicar's own daughter, so I am not going to listen to your disparaging remarks about yourself." " Hark !" cried Mollie, interrupting him, " there is some one coming through the wood." Almost as she spoke, an old gipsy woman appeared quite close to them. She immediately began, according to their usual custom, to ask the pretty lady to let the old gipsy tell her fortune, but Mollie drew back with a look of fear, saying, — "Oh, no, no; I am afraid I should hear nothing good."

"Will the kind gentleman hear what the stars say?" continued the gipsy, in a wheedling tone. At another time Guy Wyldare would have given the woman a scoffing retort, but he was getting rather tired of his pretty sweetheart's tears, and thinking it would turn Mollie's thoughts to hear the gipsy's fortune-telling non sense — as he deemed it — he held out his hand, tossing a shilling to the woman with a laugh, and saying, — " I sha'n't get much grandeur for that, shall I ? Half-a crown might take me as far as a carriage with one horse, but I suppose shilling customers don't get beyond tramcars and third-class railway carriages, and it would take at least a five-shilling piece to be able to discover a future Lord Mayor or Ambassador lurking in my palm." Not a muscle of the woman's face changed as she listened to Guy's satirical remarks ; her eyes were fixed on the lines in his hand, and her face was very grave as she said, — " I see the glitter of gold on all sides, and the power that wealth always brings in its train ; and I see love, and its crown, the marriage ring placed on a willing bride ere long.

Yes, you will have wealth, power and love ; but I also see that it goes hand in hand with care and sorrow, and the cloud is never lifted. It will surround you, even to the end." The old woman let go her hold on his hand with a troubled look on her withered face, as if she quite believed in the misfortune she had foretold, and, being well acquainted with trouble and carking care in her own life, had felt grieved at having to tell this handsome, bright young man that he too would know what it was to suffer. Then, with a curt "good day," she hurried away clown the lane, and was soon lost to their sight in the gathering mists. " You heard that, Mollie ! gold all over the place, and a bride ere long ; so I hope you feel happy now," said he, with a kiss. "But there is never to be any happiness, so she says," said Mollie, dolefully.

"Oh, it is all humbug, we know," laughed Guy. "Tho fact is, the old woman was promising too much for the money. I expect she forgot when she began that I had only given her a shilling, and she was obliged to make it rather cloudy at the last, so that it should be the correct future for the price given." As it was already getting dusk, the lovers had to part, Guy Wyldare saying that he should not leave the village for a few days, and promising to meet her at the same trysting-place on the following evening. Mollie Blake was in the unfortunate position of having been raised by circumstances and education far above the station of life to which by birth she belonged, and having been thus raised, she was left to associate with people whose tastes and habits continually jarred upon her own more refined feelings.

It came about in this way, — Mollie Blake's mother was for some years in service as housemaid at the Vicarage, in the village of Sealbury, a few miles from the town of Stratford-on-Avon, and only left her situation when she married Amos Blake, the parish clerk. The Vicar's family consisted of several sons, but only one daughter. Sue was the youngest child, and always frail and delicate, and was only a year old when Mollie's mother left the Vicarnge to be married. When Mollie was about five years of age, Ruth Maynard, the Vicar's child, had a spinal complaint, and was obliged to lie on a hard, flat couch all the day long in one position. The child, who was naturally of a fretful nature, was almost unbearable under this affliction ; the only time she was ever quiet was when Mrs Maynard sent for little Mollie to play with her.

Ruth became so much attached to her little playfellow that it ended in Mollie spending the greater part of her time at the Vicarage. As years passed _on, Ruth's health improved, but when it became necessary for her to have some instruction, and a governess was found for her, the petted, self-willed child refused to learn any lessons unless Mollie did the same, so the governess had to teach Mollie Blake as well as Ruth Maynard, and in that way poor little Mollie was thrust into associating with Ruth's brothers and tbeir friends, one of whom was Guy Wyldare. The arrangement of having Mollie so constantly at the Vicarage proved very beneficial for the Vicar's little daugh ter, but was fraught with difficulties, not unmixed with dangers, to the daughter of Amos Blake, the parish clerk. Mrs Blake died when pretty Mollie was sixteen, and with only an indulgent father to look after her, it is not surprising that at eighteen she had been led into a clandes tine engagement with handsome, reckless Guy Wyldare, whose friends would bitterly resent such an addition to their exclusive family circle as Mollie Blake.

Of course the arrangement of having Mollie educated with the Vicar's daughter, and allowing her to mix as an equal with the family, was much discussed in the village. Mollie Blake was a very pretty child, with a sweet, flower-like face, and eyes as blue as forget>me-nots. Her hair was soft and silky, and of that pretty brown shade which has gleams of red in it in the sunshine. Mollie was naturally a refined, sweet-mannered little creature, and, with the advantage of a good education and the society of gentlewomen, she was, at the age of eighteen, a most winning, attractive girl. Mrs Maynard found her so useful that she would willingly have had her to stay entirely at the Vicarage, but, after her mother's death, Mollie had to keep house for her father. Amos Blake had always been greatly averse to his child being so much with the Vicar's family, and had tried his best to put a stop to it.

However, his wife's arguments on the one hand, and fear of offending the Vicar on the other, led him to give way under the pressure of circumstances. Since his wife's death he had found Mollie less inclined to go to the Vicarage, so he had settled it comfortably in his own mind that no harm would come of it after all. It is not to be supposed that young Mr Wyldare's admiration for pretty Mollie Blake was a secret in the village ; and if Amos Blake had heard the true reason for Mollie's dis inclination to go to the Maynards as usual, he might have been told that it was owing to a few words of advice and warning which had been spoken to Mollie by Mrs Maynard in reference to her friendship with Guy Wyldare, and which had raised a storm of resentment in the girl's heart, and she was now keeping away from the Vicarage in anger and fear.

One or two of Blake's relations gave the old man a hint that he ought to look after Mollie, but Amos was most indignant, and upon their advice getting to Mollie's ears, she soon convinced her father that they were jealous of her for being able to speak to people who would not notice them. After that Amos turned a deaf ear to all their remarks on the subject, and Mollie talked to the Vicar's sons and the other young gentlemen as freely as she had done since her childhood, the old man thoroughly believ ing and trusting his daughter. So the busybodies shook their heads and lamented one to another that death should have taken away Mrs Blake just at a time that Mollie most needed a mother's watchful care. The lovers were under the impression that Mrs Wyldare had no idea of her son's attachment to the girl, but they were very much mistaken.

She knew perfectly well how unwise it is under these circumstances to attempt to threaten a man who has arrived at the age of twenty-three, so kept silence. As her son was only receiving such a very small salary, she knew that matrimony must be out of the question for many years, and she felt sure that Guy had no dishonourable intentions with regard to pretty Mollie, and Mrs Wyldare carefully abstained from mention ing the subject to anyone, hoping that ere long Guy would meet with someone in his own station in life, who would put all thoughts of unsuitable Mollie to flight. It was with feelings of intense thankfulness that Mrs Wyldare read the letter from her brother-in-law. If Guy accepted it, all would be well. Not only was it a splendid opening for her well-beloved son, but it would most effectively put a stop to his foolish infatuation for Mollie — at least, that was her opinion ; but she little knew that her son's love for Mollie was so strong that it was the hope of being able to marry her that had induced him to accept it so eagerly, and he would have rather faced poverty with Mollie than have had any amount of wealth, if he had been called upon to resign his lovely Mollie Blake.

Mr Wyldare had asked in his letter whether Guy was a bachelor, saying that should his nephew be a married man he should retract his offer, as he wished them clearly to understand that it entirely depended upon Guy's abilities as to whether it was to be a permanent agreement or not ; and, of course, a married man would naturally bring his wife with him, and, in case of failure, it would be un pleasant for all concerned. Mr Wyldare also desired that Guy's mother should remain at Sealbury during the two years, and much as Mrs Wyldare wished to go to Birming ham and make a home for her son instead of letting him go alone into unknown lodgings, she knew that her brother in-law meant everything to be carried out exactly as he directed, so she wiped away her tears of regret, and made plans which were to be carried out when the stipulated two years should be ended.

Alas for the uncertainty of human hopes ! After Mollie had said farewell to Guy, she ran swiftly down the lane and soon reached her home. Her father was ill in bed with congestion of the lungs, and a homely person, who had been in service at the Vicarage at the same time as his wife, had come to nurse him and help Mollie. Mrs Bourne looked up as Mollie entered, and exclaimed, — "Why, Mollie, wherever have you been? Your father's in such a fidget ; you know he can't abide you to be out after dark." " Dark ! " repeated Mollie, sharply. " It is only dusk, but it always looks gloomy and dark in these rooms because of the trees in front, but it is not really dark yet." " There, make haste and go up to your father or he'll be knocking on the floor again to ask where you are," said Mrs Bourne, hastily.

"Has father a light?" inquired Mollie. " Laws, yes, child ! I took it up long ago as he kept all on worrying about the time ; so he can watch the clock now. I believe he was afraid somebody had run away with you," said Mrs Bourne, with a meaning smile. The hot colour flew to the girl's cheeks as she asked indignantly, — " What do you mean ? " " Why, for the matter of that, there's more than one that would be only too willin'. Jim Bennett, your own cousin, was only a-sayin' last Sunday as he thought you was tho prettiest girl for miles round." " How dare Jim Bennett talk about me ! " cried Mollie, angrily. " He knows quite well that I detest him." "Well I never," exclaimed Mrs Bourne. "Your poor mother and me was allus the best of friends, and I don't want to speak agin her blessed memory, but I do say as she did wrong when she let you go up to the Vicar's to learn fine manners and to scoff and look down on your own blood relations.

Jim Bennett's a good, stead)7 y7oung chap, and you might do a deal worse than think of him, although you do hold that silly young head of yours so high. Mark my words, Mollie, pride often goes afore a fall ; but, bless the child ! " she cried in alarm, as the light fell on Mollie's white cheeks, "you have been and took a chill this nasty, damp night, so run'upstairs and you'll find a nice fire in your father's room, ami you will feel better when you get warm." " I thought I would just give the child a hint about young Mr Wyldare," muttered Mrs Bourne, after the girl had gone. " I have my doubts about him, but, la ! she does give one such a look when one says a word, just for all the world as if she was a born lady. I only hope the poor girl won't come to any harm. It ain't her fault that her pretty head is right stuffed full o' nonsense, and I think the Vicar ought to be ashamed of hisself ; there was a plenty of gentlefolk's orphans as he might have took to, and have kept her at the Vicarage altogether instead o' turnin' Mollie's head like this.

The girl ran swiftly upstairs, and with a great effort at cheerfulness entered her father's room, saying, — " Oh, you dear, extravagant daddy ! I bear you have been burning a light a long time, and it really is not quite dark yet," and Mollie put her arms lovingly round the old man's neck and laid her soft cheek against his. Amos Blake had intended to scold her for staying out ; but who oould scold such a darling, thought the old man when Mollie made her appearance, so he, in a mildly reproving tone, said, — " Don't stay out at dusk, dear. I like you to be indoors as soon as it gets at all dark." "All right, daddy, I'll try and remember for the future that I've got a dear old fidget at home, who thinks the sun ought always to shine on his foolish little Mollie. It was tolerably easy to be cheerful during the time she was with her father, but when she had said "good-night" to him, and gone to her own room, she broke down utterly at the thought of this long separation from her lover.

Mollie's life of late had been a very solitary one. She would not associate with her relations, and of late the ladies had held themselves aloof from her, as she was looked upon by many of them as a designing girl who was trying to entrap into a marriage with her a gentleman whose position in life was far above her own. " How would it all end ? " thought the troubled girl, as she pondered over all her lover had told her. Mollie Blake shuddered as she pictured the weary days and hours it would take to make up two whole years, and then there was the awful doubt, Would his love last ? On the following evening they met again at the trj7sting place, and, after promising to write nearly every day, they parted with vows of eternal fidelity on both sides. Mrs Wyldare, the young man's mother, was a proud, reserved woman, who had a cold, satirical manner of speech to everyone but her son, and him she idolised and indulged in every conceivable way.

In spite of Guy's passionate love for Mollie, he experi enced a decidedly uncomfortable feeling when he heard his mother say, that evening, — " My dearest Guy, I could not bear this parting but for thinking continually of the future. In two years you will certainly be fitted for a better situation, so that if your uncle is not satisfied with you, you will be able to get something else ; and, of course, I could make a home for you wherever you go. So my boy must picture his mother amusing herself by making plans for the future, and count ing up the weeks till the two years of waiting shall be gone." Guy had always known that the day he married Mollie would see his mother's doors closed against him, but, as he argued to himself, that would be her own fault for having such confounded pride ; but to hear her talking in that hopeful way of a future which he knew could only end in a crushing disappointment made him feel anything but happy, and he was heartily glad the next day to find him self in the train away from all the tears and regrets which had taken place over his departure, and to feel in his own mind that he was on his way to grasp a portion of that gold which the old gipsy had seen lying in his path.

Chapter II

In the spacious dining-room of one of the largest houses in that fashionable suburb of Birmingham — Edgbaston — were seated two gentlemen in earnest conversation. They were Mr Wyldare, the millionaire, and his nephew Guy. They had just dined, and as there were no ladies waiting for their appearance in the drawing-room, they were not in any haste to return. " I believe I should have recognised you anywhere from your remarkable likeness to my poor son," Mr Wyldare was saying, as he looked earnestly at the bright, handsome face of the young man before him. " Yes," be continued, "you would have certainly been taken for brothers had you been seen together. My daughter is altogether dif ferent ; Cecil was fair, but she inherits the dark, Italian beauty of her mother. I suppose your mother has told you that my wife was born in Italy, and her relatives are all living there now."

" Oh, indeed," said Guy, feeling considerably puzzled at this allusion to a daughter. He tried to remember what it was his mother had told him ; he thought she had said something about Mr Wyldare having two children ; but she was under the impression that the little girl had died during her infancy. Evidently this was a mistake. " If you turn your head round you will see my daughter's likeness, and also my wife's on the wall just behind you. I had Cecil's removed to the library after his death, as it was too painful for me to keep it here." As Guy looked at the first picture, which was life-size, he gave a start of astonishment as he exclaimed " What a lovely girl ! " "Yes," assented her father, "she has always had a reputation for great beauty, both of face and form. She is now away on a visit, as is also a widowed cousin of mine, Mrs Marsh, who came to live here after my wife's death, to chaperon my daughter and superintend the household arrangements.

Guy had never taken his eyes from the picture. Unless the artist had greatly idealised his subject, his cousin was certainly the most lovely girl he had ever seen in his life. She looked like some stately young empress, so dignified, and yet so graceful was the attitude she had chosen. Her brilliant black eyes were almond shaped and fringed with long, dark lashes, and they seemed to fascinate the young man, who was now gazing at them in mute admiration. Her abundant silky tresses were coiled up in a high twist at the top of her well-shaped head, and the whole figure was full of life and beauty. But in some way it seemed to oppress Guy, who, after a few moments, sunk back into his chair with a strangely troubled look on his face, and an uncomfortable sensation at his heart ; an odd feeling to arise, he thought, from the sight of such perfect loveliness.

" I think, Guy, that, as you have now come to live in our midst, I had better tell you a little of our family history," remarked Mr Wyldare. " I much regret that I have not made your acquaintance earlier ; but the fact is, my poor wife was very high spirited, and you know, your mother has a proud, disagreeable temper ; so they clashed from the first, and as I cannot say I got on any better with your mother than my wife did, and your father was so much at sea, we left off visiting them, and since your father's death, I had almost forgotten that Douglas left a little son, until I saw that paragraph in the paper at Scarborough." Guy laughed. " They puffed me up awfully ; I was vexed about it at the time, but I little thought what a good turn they were doing me in bringing me to your notice." "Now for a few more family details," s;dd Mr Wyldare, with an answering smile.

" We are warned against the danger of making idols, but I fear I made one of my son Cecil. He was a general favourite, as he was a clever, manly, straightforward youth, with a strong love for all kinds of sport. When he was very young, he had a great wish to enter the navy. I fancy that idea arose from hearing me relate some of your father's adventures, but he was quite willing to give it up when I pointed out to him that as he was my only son I should feel bitterly disappointed if he did not succeed me in the business ; besides, I dreaded the thoughts of letting him go away from me. My daughter and I are much attached to each other, but she is not to me what my boy was. All my hopes were centred in him, and never shall I forget my awful despair when they came to me and told me that my handsome boy, who had only left me a few days before in perfect health and strength, was lying dead in the depths of the sea, tossed to and fro by the cruel waves.

And he lies there still, for his bod}- has never been re covered." At this terrible recollection, the unhappy father buried his face in his hands and groaned in his misery. "I am awfully grieved for you, uncle," said Guy, who was much touched by this recital of the tragic death of his young cousin, "and although I can never attempt to fill your son's place, yet I sincerely hope that I may be able in some measure to help you bear this terrible loss. I know my father and you were much attached to each other in your boyhood, and if you will always remember I am his son, it may enable you to feel that you have a near relative who is anxious to serve you to the best of his power." Mr Wyldare extended his hand, which his nephew clasped in his firm, young grasp, and from that day there sprung up in Mr Wyldare's heart a warm affection for his newly-found kinsman, which was to grow stronger and stronger as time passed on.