Daisy Ashford: Her Book Part 13

Beatrice jumps up and putting on her bonnet walks quickly to the 5th bungalow. It is a little white one on the outskirts of the jungle and close to the battle field, and in it there is a bed, two chairs, a jug, basin and table. Beatrice takes hold of a small cup and measures some ointment into it, and then taking a sponge bathes the man's wounds. He is a very thin man with long slender hands and black hair and eyes, and at a first glance Beatrice sees that he is on the point of death. She does all she can for him and then at his wish reads some Holy Scriptures to him. Then seeing his eyes droop she goes to the other end of the bungalow and waits.

Presently she hears a weak voice say "Beatrice!"

She starts, it is a long time since that name has fallen on her ears.

"Beatrice, dont you know me?" says the voice once more.

In a minute Beatrice is at his side clasping his hand in hers. "Oh Lawrence, Lawrence!" she cries.

Then there is silence. "Lawrence can you ever forgive me?" moans Beatrice at last.

"Forgive you my darling? It is the one thing I have lived for" says Lawrence.

"Accept me as your lawful wife," cries Beatrice bending over him.

"Yes darling, yes," says Lawrence faintly. He then tells her in a few words how in despair he had given up everything and gone into the Army and lived only long enough to forgive Beatrice, for that day he had received his death wound in a sharp battle with the enemy.

"And now," he adds, "I shall die happy, and will you remember in after years (for I shall not live to) how here it was our hearts were re-united--once more joined together, here it was I accepted you for my wife, and here it is therefore that Love lies Deepest!"

"Oh my dear!" groans Beatrice heavily, "Lawrence, here is what I was going to have given you at the French Inn," and she presses a pair of gold links into his dying hand.

He smiles back at her and says "keep them darling as a remembrance of me."

Beatrice's only answer is a wild kiss, the last Lawrence will ever receive, the memory of which follows him to Eternity, the next minute he falls back with a groan.

Beatrice stands for a rigid moment and then falls p.r.o.ne beside the bed.

And there is only one in all this wide world who knows for certain if Lawrence Cathcart died a happy death.

THE END

THE HANGMAN'S DAUGHTER

PART I

CHAPTER 1

PROLOGUE

John Winston had entered into manhood with every prospect of a bright and brilliant future.

His parents had died leaving him a nice little legacy and a great deal of land for farming But with all this good fortune, things did not seem to go right with him.

To begin with, he was idle and did not care for farming, so he let land waste away till it was good for nothing, and was forced to sell it. He then encountered a severe loss of money, and by degrees sank lower and lower in the world till he at last found himself a penniless man with barely enough to keep a roof over his head.

His only resourse then was marriage. There were plenty of rich girls about whose parents would be glad to find a suitable husband for them.

John Winston was suitable enough, for he was good looking, witty, and had a certain amount of good sense; but his kind heart would not allow him to fall in love with these girls merely on account of their riches, so had to look out for someone he really loved.

During these explorations he met Helen Carline, a young girl, poor, and with no relations in the world. She was wondrously pretty with a profusion of fluffy golden hair and sad blue eyes which spoke all their thoughts.

Of course John Winston fell in love with her at once and proposed accordingly. After a little hesitation she accepted and John Winston's joy was beautiful to witness.

The married couple took a little cottage on the outskirts of the Malvern Hills and engaged one servant Jane Marshland, by name, about whom we shall hear more later on.

In the spring of the following year a little girl was born as a crowning joy to the young husband and wife.

But three months afterwards Mrs. Winston died of fever, which she caught when visiting a gipsy encampment near her home. So at an early age, little Helen, (for that was the child's name) was left without a mother, but she lacked no love or tenderness, for Mr. Winston's only care was for his beloved child, and Jane Marshland now the nurse, did every thing she could for the child's health and comfort.

Mr. Winston had to give up his dear little home, and retire with Jane and his baby to lodgings in London till he heard of some employment.

At last he found something not very satisfactory, but as nothing else offered he decided to take it. It was to perform the office of hangman in a small country town in Hants by the name of Kenalham.

It was not a nice position to be in certainly, and Mr. Winston's nerves were not strong, but the payment was good, and after all only about two people were hung a year at Kenalham.

So with a sinking heart Mr. Winston packed up his goods and departed with his child and servant to the little cottage in Kenalham, already furnished for him. It was a nice little house and Mr. Winston smiled as he entered the drawing room, "after all" he said to Jane, "so few people are hung here that nearly all my time will be devoted to my darling Helen," and he kissed the rosy face of the child.

So, now having explained the position of my story I will skip over a few years and go on again at the time when Helen had grown up into a charming sweet mannered girl.

CHAPTER 2

THE COTTAGE BY THE HILL

The little village of Kenalham was situated in the south of Hants and lay at the bottom of some picturesquely grouped hills.

No river watered the little town, but a broad stream wound through the neighbouring medows giving a rich green shade to the gra.s.s on its banks; the high green hills stood out clear and tall against the blue sky, and the ruins of an old castle on the top of one of the heights gave a strange weird appearance. To add to the strangeness of this little scene, at the bottom of the very hill on which the ruins stood was a villa of the modern kind nestling amidst a woody dell of beach trees.

This was no other than the residence of Mr. John Winston and his daughter Helen, and it went by the name of "Beach Dale."

It was a charming little house and had the preveleage of possessing a beautiful view both back and front. The front looked out across miles of woodland scenery with no sign of human inhabetance any where safe a single cottage which stood out like a white speck among the greenness which surrounded it.

The back looked out on the lovely blue hills, and far away in the distant loomed the white cliffs of Portsmouth.

Having now given the reader a correct idea of the surroundings of "Beach Dale" I will endevour to describe Helen Winston.

At the time my story opens, our heroine was a charming young lady of nineteen years. She had an abundance of dark brown, almost black hair, curling gracefully over her forehead. Her beautiful brown eyes were headed by well marked eye brows of a lovely black; her complexion was like that of a blush rose and her pretty little nose and mouth added to the charm of her features.