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DERRICK VAUGHAN, NOVELIST.
8
ft sailing yacht, and some gnests having disap
pointed nun at the last minute, he gave his son
carte blanche as to who he should bring to fill
the vacant berths.
So we three traveled down to Southampton to
gether, one hot summer day, and were rowed
out to the “ Aurora,” an uncommonly neat little
schooner which lay in that overrated and fre
quently odoriferous roadstead, Southampton
Water. However, I admit that on than evening
—the tido being high—the place looked remark
ably pretty; the level rays of the setting sun
turned the water to gold, a soft luminous haze
hung over tho town and the shipping, and by a
stretch of the imagination one might have
thought tho view almost Venetian. Derrick’s
r srfect content was only marred by his shynoss.
knew that ho dreaded reaching the “ Aurora
and suro enough as we stepped on to the exquis
itely white deck and caught sight of tho fittlo
group of guests, 1 saw him retreat into his crab-
shell of silent reserve. Sir John, who made a
very pleasant host, introduced us to the other
visitors—Lord Probvn and his wife, and their
niece. Miss Freda Morrifiold. Lady Probyn was
Sir John's sister, and also the sister of Miss
Merrifield’s mother; so that it .was almost a
family party and by no moans a formidable gath
ering. Lady Probyn played the part of hostess,
and chaperoned hor pretty niece; but sho was
not in the least like tuo aunt of fiction—on the
contrary, sho was comparatively young in years
and almost comically young in mind; hor nieco
was devoted to hor, and tho moment that I saw
her I know that our voyage could not possibly
be dull.
As to Miss Freda, when we first caught sight
of hor she was standing near tho companion,
dressed in a daintily made yachting costume of
blue serge and whito braid, and round horwhito
sailor hat sho boro the name of the yacht
stamp id on white ribbon ; in her waistband she
had fastened two deep crimson roses, and she
looked at us with frank, girlish curiosity, no
doubt wpndoring whether wo should ad.l to or
detract from tho enjoyment *f tho expedition.
She was rather tall, and there was an air of
strength and energy about her which was most
refreshing. Hor skin was singularly whito, but
there was a healthy glow of color in her cheeks ;
while hor large, gray eyes, shaded by long lash
es, were full of life and brightness. As to her
features, they were perhaps a trido irregular,
and her elder sisters were supposed to eclipse
her altogether; but to my mind she was far the
most taking of the three.
I was notin the loast surprised that Derrick
should fall head over ears in love with hor; she
was exactly the sort of girl that would infallibly
attract him. Her absence of shyness; her
straightforward, easy way of talking; her gen
uine good-heartedness; her devotion to animals
—one of his own pet hobbies—and finally her
exquisite playing made the result a foregono
conclusion. And then, moreover, they were
perpetually together. He would hang over the
S iano in tho saloon for hours while she played,
le rest of us lazily enjoying the easy-chairs and
the fresh air on deck; and whenever we landed
these two were sure in the end to be just a little
apart from the rest of us.
It was an eminently successful cruise. We all
liked each other; the sea was calm, the sun-
shine constant, the wind as h rule favorable,
and I think I never in a single fortnight heard
so many good stories, or had such a good time.
We seemed to get right out of the world and its
narrow restrictions, away from all that was hol
low and base and depressing, only landing now
and then at quaint little quiet places for
some merry excursions on shore. Freda was in
the highest spirits; and as to Derrick, he was a
different creature. She seemed to have the
power of drawing him out in a marvelous de
gree, and she took the greatest interest in his
work—a sure way to every author’s heart.
But it was not till one day, when we landed at
Tresco, that I felt certain that she genuinely
loved him—there in one glance the truth flashed
upon me. I was walking with one of the gard
eners down one of the long shady paths of that
lonely little island, with its curiously foreign
look, when we suddenly came face to face with
Derrick and Freda. They were talking earn
estly, and I could oee her great gray eyes as
they were lifted to his—perhaps they were more
expressive than She knew—I cannot say. They
both Started a little as we confronted them, and
the color deepened in Freda’s face. The gard-
ener. mth what photographers usually ask for-
“ just the faint beginning of a smile turned
and gathered a bit of white heather growing
“ They say it brings good luck, miss,” he re
marked. handing it to Freda.
“ Thank you,” she said, laughing, “ I hope it
will bring it to me. At any rate it will remind
me of this beautiful island. Isn’t it just like
Paradise, Mr. Whamcliffe ?”
“ For me it is like Paradise before Eve was
created,” I replied rather wickedly. “ By the
bye are you going to keen all the good luck to
yourself?”
“ I don’t know,” she said, laughing. “ Per
haps I shall; but you have only to ask the
gardener, he will gather you another piece di
rectly.”
I took good care to drop behind, having no
taste for the third fiddle business; hut I noticed
when we were in tho gig once more, rowing
back to the yacht, that the white heather had
been equally divided—one half was in tho waist
band of the blue serge dress, the other half in
the button-hole of Derrick’s blazer.
So the fortnight slipped by, and at length one
afternoon wo found ours os onco more in
Southampton Water; then came the bustle of
tho packing and tho hurry of departure, and the
merry party dispersed. Derrick and I saw them
all off at the station, for, as his father’s ship did
not arrive till the .following day, I made up
my mind to stay on with him at Southampton.
“Youwill como and see us in town,” said
Lady Probyn, kindly. And Lord Probyn invited
us both for tho shooting at Blnchington in Sep
tember.
“ We will have the same party on shoro and
see if we can’t enjoy ourselves almost as woll,”
ho said in his hearty way; “ the novel will go all
the hotter for it, eh, Vaughan?”
Derrick brightened visibly at tho suggestion.
I heard him talking to Freda all the tune that
Sir John stood laughing and joking as to tho
comparative pleasures of yacuting and shoot-
ing.
“ You will bo thero too ?” Derrick asked.
“ I can’t toll,” said Freda, and there was a
shade of sadness in her tone. Her voice
was deeper than most women’s voices—a rich
contralto with something striking and individ
ual about it. I could hear her quite plainly;
but Derrick spoke less distinctly—ho always had
a bad trick of mumbling.
“ You see I am the youngest,” she said, “ and
I am not really ‘ out.’ Perhaps my mother will
wish one of tho elder onos to go; but I half think
they are already engaged for September, so after
all I may have a chance.”
Inaudible remark from my friend.
Yes, I came here because my sisters did not
care to leave London till the end of the season,”
replied the clear contralto. “ It has been a per
fect cruise. I shall remember it all my life."
. After that, nothing more was audible; but I
imagine Derrick must have hazarded a more per-
sonal question, and that Freda had admitted
that it was not only the actual sailing she should
remember. At any rate her face when I caught
sight of it again made me think of the girl de
scribed in the “ Biglow Papers ”:
“rrwas kin’ o’ kingdom come to look
On sech a blessed creatur,
A dogrose blusliln* to a brook
Ain’t modester nor sweeter.”
i«^°* th -5t trai ^ T?2* off > and Derrick and I was
ieft^o idle about Southampton, and kill time as
best we might Derrick seemed to walk the
01 k °a d ^2 a J I ?» , be was perfectly well
he had met his fate, and at that time
b*° f dl ® cult . iea “ the way had arisen
either m his mind or in my own. We were both
of us voung and inexperienced; we were both of
and We had tho usual lover’s notion
that evenrthing in heaven and earth is pre
pared to favor the course of his particular pas-
I remember that we soon found the town in-
Netkv Abtev fe ^7’ ^ked over to
the ofd down id V ™ 0,6 shade of
walls. Not a breath of wind stirred
I 1 iv 7 which were wreathed
*“?*** Uie ruined church, and the place looked
wt3I e *7. m i^ a that we felt disposed to
judge the dissolute monks very lenientlv for
monaft^h^n 80 ^ «!f®rc&and
Kid®. StoS&dJLSM*
ing month at Mondisfiold. and pictured violet
eyes while ho talked of gray, it was not from »ay
lack of sympathy with my friend. Derrick
not of a self-tormenting nature, and though I
know he was amazed at tho thought that suck i
girl as Freda could possibly care for him. yet he
believed most implicitly that this wonderful
thing had como to’pass ; and remembering h r
face as we had last seen it. and the look in her
eyes at Tresco, I, too, had not a shadow of a
doubt that sho really loved him. S’n" was art
the least bit of a flirt, and society had not had a
chance yet of molding her into tin; ordinary gin
of tho nineteenth century.
Perhaps it was the sudden and nuexp-’cted
change of tho next day that makes me remem
ber Derrick’s face so distinctly as h" lay tat*
on the smooth turf that afternoon in Xetlev Ab
bey. As it looked then full of youth am! hope,
full of that dream of cloudless love, I never aa*
it again.
CHAPTER III.
Religion In him never died, tint became a haM - -
a habit of enduring hardness, and cleaving j 11
steadfast performance of duty in face of ttie su«u.-
est allurements to the pleasanter and easier iw*-
" Life of Charles Lam') by A. Ainyer.”
Derrick was in good spirits the n<ut day.
He talked much of Major Vaughan, womi*
whether the voyage home had r 1
health, discussed the probable len
leave, and speculated as to the natv.r
ness; tho telegram had of course giv
tails. . .i,,,
There hasn’t boon oven a photograph n
lasttivo years,” ho remarked, as we * •
down to the quay together. •'I'd I thin*
should know him anywhere, if it i J only t>
height. Ho used to look so well m ^
I remember as a child seeing him m 1 s
fight charging upon Cassar's Camp.’
“ How old wore you when he w> nt oiit. ^
“Oh, quite a small boy," replied i,vim ■
“It was just before I first staved '™' ; i f [-
Howover, lie has had a regular SMl, .
photographs sont out to him, and will kuu
easily enough.” , ,,-n
Poor Derrick! I can’t thmit of thatd->. b -,
now without a kind of mental sure r-
watched tho great steamer as it glided it[ ‘
quay, and Derrick scanned the crowd'
1 to
h of to
i no ile-
was raised to the side’of the steamer,
kept his position so that he could instaa>'.-
sight of his father as ho passed d"wn- , ' ra-
close behind him. and watched the iu< ■ j p,.,
cession of passengers; most ot t><‘i , s i.
dull, colorless Bkin which bespeaks 1 * jui
dencein India, and a particularly • • * lou jiy
peevish-looking old man was griunim - ^
as he slowly made his way down the f ;
“lho most disgraceful scene. lie '
The fellow was as drunk as ho could . -•
“ Who was it?” asked his companion- , f
“ Why, Major Vaughan, to bo sure- j ei ti
wonder is that he hasn’t drunk him "
by this time—been at it yonrs eno'igi-
Derrick turned as though to shod r ^
from th“ curious eyes ot tho trs 1 9ee!ae J
everywhere tho quay was crowded- yu.
to mo not unlike the life that la' ()|> yd;
with this new shamo. which , co , U . , uervmto
and I shall never forget tho look ot u
face. .. .. „r that spiW*
‘1 Most likely a groat exaggeration • w joy
ful old fogey’s,” I said. No'I . nil
thing that you hear,’is a sound •
you not better try to get on board . itb ot >.
“Yes; and for Heaven’s sake tom- , [t
Wharncliffe 1” he said. “ It can * , , tUon* ‘J
is, as you say, that man’s spite- or - piut nto 1
some one else of tho name on tear -
be it—some one else of tho name. dei-ei^
I don’t know whether ho manag > , aIll I bo
himself. We made our wav mot-'^
spoke to ouo of tho stewards, wn 01
to the saloon. I know from tho bld over-
the man’s free that tho words that« gUncJ
heard were but too fame; «»
that he gave us, yot if ho had uk
belong to that old drunkard! ’ { [,jve ^
I’m n it in their shoes 1 . 1 £S?li\ind-
ter understood what was in his | S 10 ' id
There were three persons onl) *-—5
face, ap^mnttyto"ship’ 9 doctor ;
- - ^.inwhomf^ouce^^