CHAPTER IX.

Te Aroha News, Volume I, Issue 37, 16 February 1884, Page 7

CHAPTER IX.

"heaven pity me !" "Mary, my dear, this is a fearful knot,' 1 said Christopher Stone, one evening, as he came across Mary Converse upon his landing. His own eyes were dull with work and the entrance out of twilight, or he would have seen that Mary's were swollen and faded with that rare experience for her steadfast, patient soul, a fit of convulsive weeping. "What is it, sir, can I help you?" she asked meekly, though she turned her face aside that he might make no further discoveries. " Dear heart, I don't doubt it, if we only knew where to set you to work. It's almost time we gave it up to women," he added, in a tone of unmitigated disgust. "I don't know what you are talking about, sir, I am sure." " Why, about this business of ours. Here are three shrewd men all ran ashore and completely in the dark. And each so sure in the beginning that he had the right clue. It's an infernally black case, Mary, that's the fact." " You have heard from Chester ?" she said a little quiver in the patient meekness of the voice. " Yes'; there he is fuming and fretting over there, spending his money in a fashion that don't suit his plans for a certain economical house-furnishing we've heard of. And not a whit nearer his proofs, he says, for all he is dead sure of his man.'' " Poor Chester ! it is very hard !" breathed Mary, scarcely above a whisper. "And there's poor Si Green wandering over the land like a lost spirit. Not a shred of tangible evidence does he obtain," went on Christopher. " And as for me, I've run my own trail into a nest of hornets. Col. Rivei'S knows something that I do not about Conway Searle's disappearance, but Avhat it is I haven't the luck to discover. I'm disgusted with the lot of us. I say it's time we let women take hold of the case." " We know it's always darkest before daybreak," murmured Mary, who could not bo Mary Converse and not find a ray of comfort for other people's tribulation, though her own heart might be ever so heavy. " It's a tough knot to untie. I feel rather blue, I'm free to confess. How's the old cat to-day ? If she isn't extra snarlish I wish you'd manage to look in upon me to-night a few minutes. You do know how to cheer a body, you good little girl." "I will try," answered Mary, gently, but not in her own bright fashion. And then she glided down the stairs, back to her dreary mission, too unselfish to betray how her own heart was aching for a crumb of comfort, and what piteous need she had herself for cheei'ing up. For life was growing very hard for our gentle little Mary. The one consolation for the sore trials was failing her. The blind mother was growing querulous, reproachful, exacting. Poor soul, it was not so very strange. Mary said so over and over again, that it was not to be wondered at. The temptation was very strong and these were sore times. The new trial was this : The owner of the building had lately looked in upon his tenants. The fair, meek blossom whose fragrance beautified the dreary room of the snarling paralytic had not escaped his admiring notice. He came often, he watched closely, and it is needless to say that his admiration deepened, and a new resolution grew. He was a man a little beyond' middle age, prudent, sensible, with a more than comfortable income. He did not need to be told what puch a woman as Mary Converse would be in his lonesome though handsome house. He began by seeking to brighten their hard life, to soften their bitter dependence. He brought fruit, wine, a dozen needed delicacies for the blind mother. He took her out to ride, even after he knew her daughter would not be allowed to accompany them. He made known his hopes before he ventured a word with Mary, artfully securing this powerful ally before he startled the unsuspecting girl by his proposal of marriage. Of course it was quietly but firmly declined. Poor Mary hoped that her mother's first bitter upbraiding when she learned this unwelcome result would be the most painful of her trials. But she had not learned her elderly lover's character. There was a sort of dogged perseverance about the man that grew to sullen obstinacy when his wishes were thwarted. The refusal only whetted his desire into passion. With cruel adroitness he set before thepoor, abused dependent on a cruel relative's grudging bounty, what it would be to be mistress in an independent home, with plenty, and good cheer about her. What it would be to know her pretty Mary as the lady mistress of a handsome house,

pressed in silk, and riding in her own > modest carriage. The idea was one full of its own fascination, that only needed to be introduced to cast its seed, and bring forth an abundant harvest. From that hour the one refuge of poor Mary ' 3 troubled heart was refused her. She could no longer slip away from her aunt's biting sarcasm, and nestling close to her mother's loving lips forget it all in the tender kisses given there. "Don't ask me to kiss you, a daughter who persists in keeping her blind mother in suffering and penury. A headstrong girl, who sets her own will against the best ad vice of her nearest friend. Who might be a proud and happy woman in a beautiful home, instead of living upon begrudged charity, in sorrow and wretchedness ! Don't protend you love me, Mai-y," was the repeated reproach rung in the poor child's ears, until she shrank from any attempt to obtain sympathy or affection. This day the trial had been unusually severe. Aunt Lucinda had been more savage than even her quarrelsome wont. Mr Smith had sent in a basket of grapes for the blind woman, with a label especially designating their destination. Mary, shamed to the very quick to be accepting such favours, had tried to spirit them away before her mother's other alert senses took service for the poor blind eyes. But Aunt Lucinda, with her usual amiable motive, intercepted her in the act by the sharp demand : " What are you doing now, Mary Converse ? Setting away those nice grapes for ft private lunch, I presume It's come to a pretty pass when folks as eat other people's bread hide up the delicacies. I s'pose the grapes are too nice for my eating. Oh, yes, of course." With a patient sigh Mary came back from the closet, basket in hand. " I'm sure mother will be glad to give you some, Aunt Lucindn. I had no idea of eating any myself." "Eh," spoke up the blind woman quickly, "what's that, Lucinda ? Grapes for me ? Was that what that knock at the door meant ? I thought it was the grocer's boy. Mary Converse, didn't you mean to tell me that I had received another present from that good, kind Mr Smith ? Bring them here ! " Bring them here !" mimicked Aunt Lucinda. "It's quite astonishing what airs some people have come to assume ! This wonderful Mr Smith has made quite a lady of your mother, Mary. I expect he'll be offering her a fine house and carriage next. I wonder if he won't settle up old scores besides. I'm sure I should like to have him." "And so I might have my house and carriage," declared Mrs Converse, quickly. "And it's only because I'm a poor, unlucky, unfortunate creature that I don't. It isn't right for mo to be comfortable and happy. Oh, dear ! Oh, dear !" And here the poor creature broke into a low murmur of sobbing articulations, and rocked herself to and fro. "Don't mother, please don't," begged Mary. "Here are your grapes, they are very tempting-looking. Let me give Aunt Lucinda this cluster, and I will bring a plate for each of you." " Oh, no, pray don't think of such a thing," sniffed Aunt Lucinda, in the most sarcastic tone ; "keep them for your own delectation, my deal*. Set them away as you originally intended." " I had no such idea, Aunt. I could not eat a single grape, it would choke me," faltered Mary. " Oh, yes, because they came from Mr Smith, a kind, worthy, respectable gentleman, who has a house of his own, and every comfort besides, to offer the woman he asks to marry him. Quite a contrast to somebody else who doesn't even stay at home to look after his bedridden father, and sister, but goes rummaging all over the world on a wild-goose errand. Mr Smith is a man with a steady business ; but that isn't romantic enough to suit some people, oh, no !" interrupted her mother, pushing away her plate angrily. "I'm sure the grapes ought to choke such ingratitude. It is a shame to accept them from dear Mr Smith, while you are so unkind. Take them away. I won't eat any either !" " I should be glad to return them, mother, if you don't care for them," said Mary, in a low, sad voice. "1 don't think it is right to accept favours from him ; but I was afraid you " "Hear her ! just hear her !" cried out the blind woman. " She's ready now to snatch away what little coinfoi't a poor blind creature can obtain from a generous friend's kindne&s. And Iso fond of grapes, and with such poor appetite ! She wants to take away my grapes. Was there ever such a cruel daughter ?" And she made a rude grasp at the basket, and held it fast. _ Mary's bravo lips quivered. She turned silently and went about her work at the other end of the apartment. " Borne people are so selfish," presently ruminated Aunt Lucinda, grimly, as she watched the glossy emerald globes disappearing as fast as the blind woman's slender fingers could pluck them from their stem. "I know ib well," returned Mrs Converse, in a deeply injured tone. "It is of no consequence to anybody in this house what becomes of me." " Nor whethor / have a single taste of those elegant grapes," pursued Aunt Lucinda. And both women turned indignant faces poor Mary's way. The girl looked at them one single instant with piteous reproachful eyes ; then swallowing down a low di'y sob that would not be conquered, she came forward. " You don't either of you mean one-half you say, and it is well for you that I know it," she declared. "You are both well aware that if I had no thought about either of you, I should go straight out of this house, find myself a comfortable place as some milliner's or dressmaker's apprentice, and live decently spending my earnings on myself as other girls do. Mother, will you spare Aunt Lucinda some of the grapes, since you are going to keep them ?" "Take them all," returned her mother, pettishly. " I know very well how angry you are to have me eat one." Mary quietly divided the spoils, set a plate by either chair, and went back to her work. Peace, however, was not to ensue. Mr Smith's visits had done incalculable harm in rousing Mrs Converse out of her old meekness and filling her with a vague but positive sense of her own ability and deserving. She had fed herself so lavishly with daydreams of grandeur and position that she really looked upon herself as the veritable mistress of Mr Smith's handsome house, unjustly kept out of her rights by an undutiful daughter. The taunts from Aunt Lucinda, that had formerly wounded sorely, but been met by abject silence, now roused an irritated belligerency that was morbidly on the watch for offence. The wordy warfare that ensued, flung to and fro over the head of the devoted Mary, stung her like so many nettles. And, indeed, neither of the wranglers had the wish to spare 1 her, and both turned often to fling the bitterest taunt to the gentle peacemaker whenever she ventured to intercede on the one side or the other. Quite worn out by this scene, Mary seized the first opportunity to escape, and ran up

stairs to old Mr Harris, trusting that here, at least, she should hear a tender, comforting word. Bjt the old man had had a bad night, and his u venile nurse was weeping bitterly when Mary stole in upon the scene. "What is it, Carry, dear?" she asked compassionately. " Oh, Mary, I'm clear discouraged," complained she. ' ' I was up almost all night, and I couldn't get my lessons to-day, and the teacher scolded. And the pudding was burnt. And the doctor's bill came. And father is worried all out because Chester didn't send any money. And, oh, dear ! its hard work living. Sometimes, Mary dear, I don't think it is quite worth while, I wonder if anybody else has such hard times as I do." "Hush, Carry, child ! Don't be ungrateful. You have your brother, and your father loves you, and Chester was neyer unkind in his life. These are a great many blessings that other people don't have," ro turned Mary, steadily. But how her heart ached ! " Oh, Mary, I don't know. It looks so dark to-day. And then I think of other girls in our school. Why, they haven't a care in the world, except to match their ribbons ; and have loving mothers, and servants to wait upon them. And I am only fifteen, and I have all this to bear alone. You don't know how my back ached dragging father around, nor how my head snapped when I tried to study. And what shall I do about the money ?" "It will be all right. Mr Stone will attend to it. I'll speak to him about it. I thought Chester paid John May to come in and lift his father about." "So he did ; but he's sprained his ankle, and can't come. Poor father felt bad enough about it." " I know he did. He grieves more than you guess, Carry, over his helplessness, and the care you are obliged to bear. He is a loving father, dear child ; don't ever forget that." " Oh, I know that— poor, clear father ! I didn't mean to blame him ; no, indeed. Only I—lI — I guess it's nothing, Mary. I was tired, and blue, and crows, I do believe. How you can brighten me up ! I suppose half was the disappointment of Chester's letter. He's out of spirits himself, it's easy to see. Oh, and there's a lettsr for you, Mary. I forgot all about it. I'll get it for you." Mary returned the girl's penitent kiss, and went forward to speak her cheery word to the invalid. His eye brightened when it met hers. "Dear sir, Carry tells me you've had a poor night. I'm afraid you've fretted over business matters. You know you promised Chester not to do that. I will get Mr Stone to settle the doctor's bill; you needn't have any concern about that. And I think I'll come to-night and stay a while with Carry." " You're an angel, Mary Converse, and I know it as well as Chester," said he, speaking in the slow, halting accents of a paralytic. But it was the sweetest sound Mary had heard that weary day. It gave her strength to smile serenely while she stroked his poor stiff arm, and to add a few more encouraging Avords for the young girl's benefit, when Carry came with the letter. "I hope— oh, Ido hope Chester has not written discouragingly. I shall be sorry to have this letter a bfuo one to finish up the wretched day," Mary murmured, as she carried it away to read in solitude. It was, however, the last ounce. The j ! young man had never before given way to such despondency. He told how cunningly his best attempts at incontestable proof had been baffled ; how farther off than ever seemed the longed-for prize. And he ended with : "Oh, Mary, if I only could have a few of your comforting words !" Mary sighed softly, and wiped away a few tears as she folded up the letter.' It was the last ounce indeed. "Carry is right; it does seems a hard life," she thought. And then she lifted up her meek eyes penitently. " Heaven forgive me ! Am I going to be faint-hearted, too ? No, no ; the good arc always cared for, the right must triumph in the end. The clouds will roll away, and we shall have blue sky and sunshine again. I won't despair ; I won't be disconsolate. " And smiling bravely, she went back to the thankless charge that was her own especial duty. So that, after all, the back was not broken, even when the very last of all the ounces came with her unwelcome suitor's evening call, and l'enewed his description of the superior lot awaiting the enviable Mrs Smith that might be. Would her brave little spirit hold out also against the severest trial of all for which that evening paved the way? For, accidentally, Smith said to Mrs Converse : " I'm afraid you're not as well as usual, madam . You look quite wasted, I declare. " And she answered, dolefully : "It is quite true, and no wonder. I sha'n't be here to trouble anybody long. I have felt weaker every day. " "It's certain she does look worse," whispered Smith, when he saw the wild alarm that dilated Mary's eye. "You won't object to my sending my own doctor, will you ?" And when he went away he said to himself, triumphantly : " It Avill be the first game I set my mind to win, and failed. I know what is trumpcard now." And the next week Mrs Converse took to her bed, and the doctor came and shook his wise head mysteriously. "We'll see what can be done. But there is some insidious cause sapping her strength. She ought to have a decided change, and that speedily. There's nothing fretting her secretly, is there ? If there is, she'll slip through our fingers in spite of us." And Mary heard, and pressed two fierce hands against her startled heart, while she turned her anxious eyes upward, and murmured : "Heaven pity me! I never thought of that !"