|Newspaper Title||Mercury and Weekly Courier (Vic. : 1878 - 1903)|
|Trove Title||A Golden Dawn|
CHAPTER X. "He is worth the winning"-that was Lady Fraser's verdict after she had passed an evening in Alan's society, True he had devoted himself to Hyacinth; but she had had time to note the beauty of his face, the grace of his manner ; and Lady Rosedene had told her that he was wealthy be yond the ordinary run of Squires-so wealthy, in fact, that Miss Vane was the envy of all the young ladies in the country. Lady Fraser opened her beautiful eyes. Surely she cohld not desire no better husband than this handsome young Squire, who was wealthy enough to gratify every whim ? Still marriage was an affair of the future. She had not that to think about yet. Very soon she attracted his attention; as she felt sure she should. She had startled him out of his calmness. He had looked into the depths of her, splendid eyes, and for one moment had lost himself. He had admitted to him self that her beauty was wonderful; and then he had turned with redoub!ed love to Hyacinth. It was like rest in the sweet moonlight after the over powering light of day. " He will not forget me," said Lady Fraser to herself. " He knows now that there is another fair face in the world, and he will be puzzled soon as to which is the fairer." When the hour of retiring came, Alan wished her good night. Once more those wonderful eyes of hers were raised to his and seemed to pour a
flood of electric light into them. Sweet Hyacinth, standing near, saw the look, and shrank from it. Lady Fraser went to her room well content. " He will think of me," she said to herself; "and to-morrow he will be anxious to see me again. He will have more to dream of to-night than a baby face and golden hair." She lay back in the easy-chair in her dressing-room while her maid brushed out the long silken dusky hair. She looked over an album filled with photo graphs, and smiled as she thought that she wonld in all probability add Alan's to the number. The first she glanced at with a little laugh-the original had simply ruined himself for her sake-believed in her, asked her to marry him; then, when she had laughed at him, had thrown up his commission, and gone to the bad. "How he loved me," she said to herself; "but how foolish he was !" The next portrait was that of a fair haired clergyman. She laughed again as she remembered the tragedy of his de'pair. They told her that he died cursing her. It mattered little to her whether he did or not. Then came the sad face of a young Frenchman, whose eyes seemed to look at her with the weariness of passion and leepair. "I never liked him," she thought "I should never have cared to know him ; but that white-laced little Countess professed to believe him so loyal to her." Then came a soldier with a bronzed face and fearless look. He had led his regiment against a fire few would have cared to meet-he had fought desperately; but on the day this beautiful woman smiled in his face, and told him she had no more thoughts of marrying him than she had of turning Mohammedan, he went home with the soft sweet laugh ringing in his ears, and shot himself. Her brilliant face paled as she re membered this, and she turned the page with a sigh. She never liked to think of Colonel Leslie and his dread ful end. Then came the handsome face of the youngest son of a noble house. She would have married him had he possessed any money; but he had none. So she let him ride away, leaving the best part of his life behind him. Then came the face of the man she had married, a City knight, whose wife she had been for one short year. An old stern face it was, full of wrinkles, with harsh eyes and lips. But Sir Heriot Fraser had been a good husband to her, and had left her all his money wihout any conditions or stipu lations. She had never pretended to mourn his death, but she wore her crape in the most becoming fashion, re solving to enjoy herself for a few years, and then to marry again. In the mean time her craving for the cruel amuse ment of flirtation was at times too strong for her. Some people had asked who Lady Fraser was. No one knew anything about her. She said herself that she belonged to the "Lanches of Durham" ; but one or two suspected that she was the daughter of a French milliner who had married the captain of a Spanish ship. (To be continued.) French cookery-terms are now commonly used all over the globe; still one is hardly prepared for the illustration of this fact con tained in the following anecdote. Two mis sionaries who had landed on the shores of an island believed to be inhabited by canni bals wandered about for a couple of days without meeting a single human being. At length they came to a place which was strewn with human skulls and bones. "Ah, this is the cemetry!" said one of the mission aries; bhut the other, who had espied a signboard fixed to a tree, was horror-struck to find that it bore, in large letters, the word " Besturant."'