The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, April 14, 1901, Page 6

THE SUNDAY CALL. RS o vt ( (Copyright in the United States of Amer- ica by D. T. Plerce.) HATE a2 man with a hobby,” quoth lantly, “I belleve you old stones and plants a al more then you do for me. 1 smiled paiiently and indui- trying hard to stifie the haif- d thought that perhaps thére was truth in this accusation. uch a delightful, dain met her first, and ber not kappy in her sur- she had seemed to be 8o him. Everything E e in those delight- Wales; but somehow, at the were in London, and ts were more formeal in characcer frequent and fres, & shadow have drifted between them. He exactly what it was, nor nged toward him, ad surrounded her by bit to be slip- etimes instead of and willful ating they i him and displeased him; and med himself. 4 to tell me thet you hated idle t it was so delightful to find terests und hobbles. Dou't how you would come ut the rocks and ravines g for rpecimens and tak- em for me while I went af- always told you how I and you were going to ® was all very well in Wales, e was nothing else to do; but it's different:. 1 like to g you ought to show up you are always bur- museums, or getting f aull old fogies. I call it Sybil, I always told you I was not society man; and you answered that ated society men, and loved me the for it shrugged up her shoulders and sted, looking like 2 pre‘ty spolit child but her began to feel more womanilness and less child the girl he had wooed for hia see ess § is such a disagreeable way you v f Iways quoting things I have sald. As though one were always in the e's life. You might ar about o ag peppermint balis old fogles because they d they liked them wheu same mood ali ¢ LH , well,” answered Bir Oliver perhaps it is unreasonable e always to maintain tne nt; but 1 did think that you in my collections and thai rderstand why 1 sometime: away from town, ané » my old fogy fashion. 1 ed in Conie t I never sta 1ogether. before you were engaged,” Of course, I thought yot tastes and habits was e your was very patient, but he left t with a ve face and a ment. Sybil had beer ¥ unreasonable anc d spoken words which jarred upon his ensibilities and did much to brush r-like tenderness of time, in spite of sun- givings, he began seri- to ask himself whether this engage- t had not been a mistake. It was a her terrible doubt, for, as a man of wor and of very chivairous sentiments, he would never break the chain himself; and he knew very well that a baronet, even of only moderate means. was a big- ger fish than was likely to come in Sybil's way again, and that her family would mever let her entertain any real misgiv- s even if such suggested themselves to Oliver her. Sir Oliver was not a very young man— indeed, he was approaching forty—an thoe ] very handsome and finely sci up he not look any younger than his years, for his hair had turned very gray, though eyebrows and mustache were as dark as ever, and his face was rather deeply tanned with tropic suns and ex- posure to weather in many extremes of climate. As he looked at his face through his mirror that night he heaved a little sigh “After all, T am getting to be a regular old fogy myself. Well, well, I will go away for this fortnight and make my coi- lection of specimens. Perhaps Sybil will find that she misses me a little after all and will have a welcome for me when 1 get back. But I will not trouble her with letters, since she seemed not to care about hearing from me. I ehall take my young madam at her word for once. I don't want t0 be hard upon this child, but there is such a thing es making things too easy. Perhaps when I come back again she will be in a better frame of mind.” . . . . . . Daphne Rutherford was driving home- along this rather unfrequented road because she had been paying a visit to a eick woman who lived right in the heart of the d. The track, which was soft and sandy and could not be gquickly traversed, led past the beautiful old ruins of the ancient priory, and Daphne, who knew and loved every stock and stone of the ancient pile, turned her face smilingly toward it and wondered whether she had time just to run across and prowl about there for ten minutes. s nly something like & muffied cry seemed to break the stillness of the wood. It was faint and uncertain, but it sounded like a human voice, and Daphne turned her head quickly toward the little groom boy who was perched up in the small seat behind “James, did you hear a call just then “Please, ma'am, 1 don't think it were anything,” answered the boy in evident trepidation. “It might have been an ow &and they do say as folks hears and sees queer things in the ruins at night, and I thirk er late.” Daphne smiled and pulled up the ponfes. “Jump down, James, to their heads. I am going to see; but I won't be long gone. Perhaps it was only an owl.” The boy, thankful not to be sent him- self into the haunted old ruln, obeyed with alacrity, while Daphne sprang out of 'd better be getting on. It's rath- W \ | I H{I!![H[HlKHHUHU“#|lU.‘IHHH[IllflllllllfluflufllllllIllllHiillfll(l!fi[l“lI!ilHillfi!llllllllillwh:fi “MAY 1 TELIY YOU A LITTLE ABOUT IT 7" the carriage and walked with her free elastic step in that direction. She moved with & peculiar grace of action; she was tall and her frame, though slight, was firmly knit and instinct with vitality and health. Her hair was of a deep bronze color, very uncommon, that could look al- most black in shadow and light up to a ruddy gold when the sun shone upon it. It was full of irrepressible waves ani tendrils and, however she dressed it, 1t always formed a sort of halo round her face, a halo of little tender curls that re- sisted damp and heat alike and softened the countenance they encircled in a char- acteristic and bewitching way. The face itself was ratner square in outline, ths brow being full and wide, the eves set rather far apart. a dark penciled gray in color, and the molding of the chin and jaw being very firm. But the mouth was full end gracious in its curves, and the nose was short and straight. and, like all the other features, delicately cut. It was a strong face, but a very charming one withal, and the damask rose color that mantled the cheek was like the bloom of a ripe peach. Daphne was dressed all in white this hot summer’s evening; indeed, white was hér favorite wear for many months of the year. A tall, slim deer- hound waited on her steps as she moved through the woodland track, and at a word from his mistress he sped on ahead and soon gave utterance to a short, sharp bark, which instantly apprised Daphno that he had had a find of some sort or another. The next minute, gulded by the sound, she was standing beneath one of the tot- tering walls of the old ruin, bending with a look of deep concern over a prostrate figure—the figure of a man, gray-headed and ghastly, with a drawn, colorless face and half open eyes; who lay helpless and motionless upon his back, his foot held as in a vise beneath a mass of great stones which looked as though they mig:t have crushed it past recovery. He was almost. if not quite, unconseious, and Daphne almost feared he might be dying. Beside bim lay a green metal cyl- inder, such as naturalists carry with them for their specimens; and In a second she had pounced upon it and emptied it. Then, hurrying to the old priory well, which was always full of clear, sweet water, she hastily washed out all the earth and sand and filling it with water hastened back. After dashing some over his face she lift- ©d his head upon her arm and tried to pour some between his parched and pallid lips. A few minutes later she was reward- ed by seeing his eyes open and fix them- selves dizzily upon her. “Is that you, 8ybil?” he asked, speaking very taintly, *No. but Sybil shall come soon if you want her,”” answered Daphne in full, clear tones. “Now, drink a little more; and then I must leave you for a few minutes. But I will soon come back, and then we shall get help and can get you carried to my pony phaeton, for you must not stay here any longer."” It was rather a terrible hour which fol- lowed, for when the men came and lifted off the stones the foot beneath was seen to be terribly crushed, and the suffering was very great in spite of all that could be done to relleve and mitigate it. And long before Daphne reached home the stranger lay in a dead faint upon the cushions and rugs and pillows that had been collected to make a sort of ambu- 1ance for him. A rumor of disaster seemed to have gohe before her, for as the young chatelaine drove up to the door of her beautiful and stately home thers were servants of both sexes standing about, and an old lady with silver hair _and a pale, anxious face came fluttering down the steps to meect her. “Oh, my dearest Daphne, what has hap. pened?” “Nothing to me, auntie, dear, do not be so frightened; but & gentleman who came to the ruins to collect specimens of some of the rare saxifrages that grow on the old walls has met with a serious accident, and we must take him in here for the present. I can see no other way. Look at him—he looks terrible. We must get him to bed as quickly as possible. Oh, here comes Mr. Margerison driving up! How glad I am that somebody had the sense to sehd to him. Indeed, he cannot be taken farther. I was terribly afraid he might die before I got him here.” The young surgeon, who had had a noti- fication of disaster; now took command of the situation. It was very plain that the patient must be attended to without delay, and Daphne's servants were hur- rying to make preparations, in which their young mistréss took a° personal share. A bedroom was instantly made ready In the west wing, and on the ground floor, t6 save the transit of the stairs, and thither the stranger was transported still in an unconscious condition. A little before the dinner hour Daphne joined her aunt in the drawing-room, her head bent over a sn:all morsel of paste- board which she was examining with in- terest, ‘0, auntle, 18 not this interesting? That poor man {8 Sir Ollver Mowbray; and 1t must be the same &s the one engaged to hat little Sybil Plunkett whom we met aL ice. Yo know she wrote to tell me of her eng ger ent, I tlunk it was in May. .7 &85 9L be 1w 8ir Qliver Mowbrays; wood where the Priory stands, and all treasure trove and flotsam and jetsam I claim as my lawful due. Besldes I have another right te befriend you, Bir Oliver, for oddly enough I am a frlend of your affianced wife, Bybil Plunkett. He looked at her widereyed and as- tonished. “You know Sybil? Have you told her about me then?"’ “No, I have been waiting to ask her address; for I have not heard from her very lately, and she sald they would be maving about, and probably going to Lon- don. Iam thinking of writing and telling her all about it. and asking her down THE. HOBBY. #0 this must be the man.” “Dear me, what a singular colncldence; well, poor man, if he has to stay here awhile, it 18 pleasant to know something about him. But how very much older he must be than Sybil. She was a mere child last year.” ‘‘Bhe is older than she looks. She told me she was thres and twenty then; but had been kept out of the way till her sis- ters had married off. I am afrald Mrs. Plunkett is just a regular matchmaker. I did not like her; and I was sorry for poor little Sybil; but I think she has done well for herself. Poor Sir Oliver has a mice face, I think, and no doubt he will look younger when he is not in such ter- rible pain as he was when I found him. “Poor man. Mr. Margerison says the ankle 1s very much injured and that he will not be able to walk for a long time. But I suppose he wlil be able later on to move into some hotel or house of his own."” “‘Oh, no doubt; but he must remain here for awhile, till things are in good trim; and I mean to make great friends with him. 1t is so comfortable his being a middle-aged man, and engaged to a girl one knows. I shall talk to him about Sybil, and ask if he would like her asked here. I don’t know her address just now, 80 I must walt even to tell her till I can talk to him; but perhaps it will be better to wait till he is rather better befors writing anything. One does not want to make her unhappy.” » It was, however, several days befors Daphne could have any kind of talk with Sir Oliver. For he was in a high fever next day; and although thers was no real danger he was exceedingly ill for some while, and when at last the young mis- tress was admitted by the doctor to pay a visit to her uninvited guest she was shocked by the sunken whiteness of his face, and the sharpened lines of each feature. “I have wanted so much to thank you for all your goodness,” he said faintly, his eyes fixed in turn upon the face of aunt and niecs as they approached. “I had made up my mind that I should never be found. I think that cry of mine was my last conscious effort. And to take me :(o‘_ your house, too! It is overwhelm- ‘““Not at all—it is our right and privil- ege,” spoke Daphne, in her full rich tones. 1 have all the manorial rights over the A here on a visit.” His fact did not light up as she had expected; perhaps that was due to his weakness. He lay quiet a moment and then said: *“You are very good; but if you do not mind I think it would be better not—not Just yet.” “You think she would be shocked? But indeed I feel as though she would so much rather be near to you at such a time.” “I scarcely think so,” he answered very quietly. “Sybil is not fond of sickness and nursing, and she is so full of engagements in the season. Then it would frighten and worry her to know I was ill. I belleve the kindest thing would be to say nothing at all. She did not expect many letters; she is not fond of writing them, and she tells me my handwriting ?s quite impossi- ble. I will send a few lines when I can hold a pen; but I think I shall not say a word about my accident. I would not spoil her pleasure for the world, and she does enjoy her London season very much.” “He i{s a very unselfish man,” said Daphre later on to her aunt.“I hope Sybil appreciates him. Perhaps with her vola- tile nature a man of that caliber would exercise a greater hold and fascination over her than any one more like herself. I hope it may be so.” Sir Oliver had a fine constitution, and In spite ¢f the serious nature of the injury sustained, and the subsequent attack of fever, he regained his strength quickly and was able after a short time to be lifted carefully upon a wheeled couch and taken through the open windows to & fine- paved terrace, where peacocks flaunted their jeweled tails and quaintly cut yew trees threw patches of shadow and the scents and sounds of the gar- den floated up to him as he lay, and the summer seemed charged with messages of hope and promises of happiness. Daphne came and went like the fairy princess of the place. She was the queen of this wide domain and at once Sir Oliver fell beneath the sway of her scepter. She quickly discoveéred his tastes: every day she had some fresh treasure from orchard or greenhouse, from Alpine garden or bog garden to bring him; the wonderful lib- rary was at his disposal, with its treas- ures of ancient tomes on plants and ani- mal life, as well as many of the most modern works on the subject. Theré was a collection of fossils, too, which Daphne 3 brought him one by one, and often he Epent a perfectly happy morning examin- ing one stone or one plant and reading all he could from the accompanying books. “A man with a hobby is a perfect treas- ue!” Daphne exclaimed laughingly to her aunt one day. “Did you ever know any one more absolutely easy to enter- tain, more perfectly content under trying circumstances? I have never heard so much as a sigh or a grumble, though Mr. Margerison says he must suffer a great deal of pain from that abscess in the joint. He Is only afraid of trespassing on cur hospitality, and now he really knows that we like to have him, he has not an- other trouble in the world.” “He is a very cultivated man, and I like him very much,* sald the elder Miss Rutherford ‘gently. *“I do not know whether he is right in keeping Sybil in ignorance of his condition, but I suppose lovers must settle their own affairs with- out interference. I am sure he dnly wants to spare her pain.” “Yes, and I begin to think I understand what he means about Sybil. She is a sweet little butterfly; but she is a butter- fly, and she likes it always to be sun- shine about her. Still, when Sir Oliver Is a little better, I am not sure that I shall not plan a surprise, and ask her down to meet him. I believe he would really be delighted, though he is so afraid of spoll- ing her London season.” The ladies of the Manor became very In- timate with their guest as the summer days flew by. Daphne brought him all Next Minute She Was Bending With Deep Concern Over a Prostrate Figure. sorts of specimens to ask his opinion upon, for she was an immense observer and lover of nature though she had no great stores of learning to draw upon. His mind was llke a mine of information to her, though he sometimes pulled him- self up short In the midst of some Iin- tricate demonstration, to make sure he was not wearying her. “I am afraid I shall grow into a fearful old bore,” he would say laughingly, ‘but if people take a man on his weak side how 1s he to defend himself?” And once, with a humorous twinkle In his eye, he told her My dear old father ‘was as keen as I am over these tnings. I suppose I have inherited the taste with his collections. A young fellow came to lLum once, wanting a little superfictal in- formation—just for some short, ephemeral article he was writing—and my father, who pever understood skimming of super- ficial matter, gave him a dissertation last- ing hours and kept him examining speci- mens and taking notes for a whole long evening. I heard from a mutual friend that he sald afterward: ‘Old Mowbray may know his subject, but he is a caution of a fellow to tackle. You ask him for an inch, and he gives you a—hell!” " ‘“‘What a very naughty young man!” said Daphne, laughing. “Yes, but there's a grain of truth In ft, you know,” was Sir Oliver's smiling re- ply. “I often catch myself up, remember- ing that trenchant saying: ‘When one mounts one’s hobby horse it has a knack of bolting with one before one Is aware.’ “I think I like a bolting horse,” an- swered Daphne. “I know that I do like enthuslasm. Life would be nothing with- out 1t His interest In her life and its varled occupations was as keen as hers in his hobby. As the mistress of a large prop- erty, and a not very large income, Daphne had many perplexities to face and diffi- culties to overcome. She was anxious to be both just and Ifberal; to be kindly, wise and prudent; and it was not alwa: easy to know how to comoine all these ‘qualities. She found that Sir Oliver had been through very similar experiences and could give her excellent advice. She came to have a great fath in his opin- ion, and every day she found herself con- fiding in him more and more, and some- times caught herself wondering what she should do when he left, though, to be for they were now real established friends, and sure, she could write to him. such they would remain. Daphne, however, never lost sight of her intention to invite Sybil. though she I poned doing so more than once count of the tediousness of the ankle to recover. Sir Oliver had to suffer from his crushed foot, and was sometimes prostrated for several with pain and exhaustion; and Daphne had an instinet that it would be no k ness to the lovers to bring them toge till the outlook was spect. But a day came at provement, fairly begun, had tained so steadily that she was no 1 afraid of a relapse, and sent off her le ter, written with loving care and and the answer was eagerly waited Sir Oliver was told nothing, that it might come upon him as a surprise. Daphne opened the reply rather eagerly when it arrived and ran her eyes 1v1:r:' v down the page. -As she did so her face changed and she grew very pale, uttering an exclamation of dismay. “Oh, auntie, what do you think? That dreadful little flirt is going to be married next week to an American with an im- mense fortune; and she has never taken the trouble to break it off with Sir Oliver, because she says she did not know his address. She coolly suggests that I shall tell him the news, and this is the way she ends up: °If you could find him a nev fossil or specimen, that will quite co sole him. He does not really care for any- thing or anybody but his stupid hobbies. Would you believe that anybody real knowing Str Oliver would write words?” “Perhaps, dear Daphne, [hnsa. words show how little she has ever known bim. But nothing can excuse such haste and bad faith.” “And somebody must tell him* sald Daphne distrespfully, *or he will see It himself in the papers in the course of a few days.” The elder Miss Rutherford took that task upon her own shoulders, and Daphne kept out of the way of her guest for a few days. She had a long promised visit in the neighborhood to pay and she took this opportunity of going, and was three nights absent. When she came back it was to find Sir Oliver promoted to join their party at meals, and though he could not yet put his foot to the ground, he was suffering very little with it and was able to enjoy be- ing wheeled about the grounds in a donkey chalr., Daphne's first thought on seeing him was that he looked much younger than she had thought him at first. Thers was a brightness in his eye and a buoy- ancy about his whole aspect that struck her with surprise and pleasure. He met her with all the frank pleasure of an old friend, and beneath there was something in his manner which she felt to be new to it, and which sent quick thrills through all her pulses, yet she knew not why. Sybil's marriage was duly announced two days later, and there was a packet of papers for Sir Oliver the next morning, and when she joined him in the garden later on, she found him surrounded -by them all, reading them with a smile of amused interest. “Come and see Sybil In her wedding finery!” he exclaimed as he held up one of the society papers which gave full length portralts of various elegant brides “It is not very much like her, but no doubt does full justice to her very exten- sive tollette. I have no doubt the littls girl was immensely delighted. I hope and trust her married life will be as happy.” He spoke without the faintest touch of bitterness or self repression, much in such & tone as a brother might speak of a fair young sister. Daphne took the paper and looked, but it shook in her hands. She bent over it that he might not see her face. “And I have not given her a wedding present yet,” he added. “I must ask you to help me in the choice. I see from the papers that they spend a fortnight in the Isle of Wight at a friend’s house before going to America. And Sybil must for- give me for being behind times. I won- der if she is too rich now to care for the things she used to love. I hope she will not get blase too soon, with all the luxury in which she will live.” Daphne suddenly dropped the paper and very faced him; she was pale and her voice shook a little in spite of all her efforts. “Are you acting a part, or can you really feel like that about it? Oh, do tell me that it has not spolled your life He looked her full In the face as he answered very gravely: “I can say with truth that I am deeply thankful that Sybil saw our mistake for herself and cut the knot in her own way. I had begun to find it out even before I left her last. It is not for me to cast a stone at her. We may both be thankful that we learned the truth in time.” Daphne subsided Into her accustomed geat beneath the great lime tree where his couch was generally placed at this hour. She felt herself quivering through and through. “May I tell you a little about it?" he asked very gently. “I should like you to know how it happened. I mét her in a big hotel. I was staying there to botanize and she liked to come and watch me. She was an excellent climber, and I thought she was interested In my pur- suits. She seemed to be almost a little girl at first; but afterward I found she was older than she looked. She told me a great deal about herself. I saw she was not happy. I thought she was misunder- stood and was leading a cramped and uncongenial society life, doomed just to make a grand marriage to satisfy the embition of her mother. I don’t think she meant to deceive me; but she is a creature of moods, and the mood changes. I thought it would be a sweet thing to make her happy; and there was only one way of doing it. She accepted me at once, and I am sure she liked me. No doubt we both mistook lking for love. But when we reached London things changed, and like a chameleon, she changed with her surroundings. I do not blame her. 1 was not very happy; but I mnever dreamed that I might be doing her any wrong in going through with it. That fear only came upon me later, when I began to realize not only that I did not love Sybil with that love which a man should give to his wife, but my heart had gone—I knew not how—out of my own keeping; and that I loved—some one else.” Daphne’s face was downbent, the blood was rushing into It In great pulsating waves; her heart beat almost to suffoca~- tion; she neither spoke nor moved. “I'was then in a great strait, but help came as it so often does, thank God, when the burden seems too much to bear. News came of Sybil's approaching mar- riage. It was like the breaking of the captive’s chain. Now she is married, and I am free. I am free to sek the love of the one woman whom I love. Daphne, I do not ask anything of you yet; but I cannot remain longer here without tell- ing you that I love you—I love you!" There was deep silence between them - for a moment, and then Daphne stretched out her hand and placed it between both of his. TG T e S SO S L e In after years there came days some- times when Daphne—young Lady Mow- bray—would look with a kind of comical des~ir round her hall, littered up with the spoll of a morning’s ramble, and would shake a finger at her husband and stalwart little sons, declaring with a sigh of much despair. “You creatures, you creatures; what a thing 1t Is to live with people gach hav- ing a separate and pet hobby!"" But Sir Oliver would come forward, put an arm about her, and ki % An oy s her, saying “Yes, is it not dreadful, dearest; but I can never regret being a man with a hobby; for it was my hobby that won me my wife!” "