CHAPTER II.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 229, 19 November 1887, Page 6

CHAPTER 11.

SABIK Saeixa Zembha — Sabie, her intimate friends called her ; and they seemed rather proud of displaying: this familiarity; indeed, many of the women-folk down Kensington way, if you mentioned the name of Miss Zembra, would say, with a kind of air of distinction, " Oh, do you mean Sabie ?" as if Sabio belonged to them and to them alone Sabina Zembra was a tall young woman and fair ; of upright carriage and well-poised neck ; with a clear, pale complexion, light brown eyes that were soft and benignant,_ and light brown hair that burned gold in the sun. She was twenty-five, though a dimple in her cheek when she laughed made her look' younger, and hinted 'that she was lighthearted enough ; on the 1 other hand, her ordinary expression was of an almost maternal gentleness and generosity. The, blandness that, in her father was begotten of Self-sufficiency, became in her the bland-

had taken her to task ar-A- spoken bio zm,nd clearly. " Understand me once for all, SaHna," he observed, in a more than ordinarily sententious way. " I any nob in thebabit of wasting words. What/ 1 say I mean to be final. Now, while you. were merely busying yourself about Industrial Homes, and Training Ships, and. things of that kind, I did not object ; no, nor did 1 mind your visiting this or that poor family, where you knew the cucumstauces, and knew there was no infection. But this new fad is quite different. What will happen after you come out of tba hospital ? You are not going in for six months' training for nothing." " Papa," she broke- in,. " I roust do something—you don't know how dreadful idleness i»." "I know that I don't hear your sisters complain," he retorted. " They seem to have enough to fill the time." " Ye.«, but they cave for quite different things," she said ; and then she added, with the slightest of demure smiles ho\ ering about her mouth, " Besides, they're ashmed of me. Mamma says I'm a dov, dy ; and it's quite true. I don't caic for fine dresses, and driving in the Park. And then, you see, papa, I shouldn't mind playing thd part of Cindeiella — I shouldn't* mind it at all, for Cinderella had plenty bo> do and knew she was of some use ; but I know you ouldn't like that. You woulibi'l like me to become one of the maids ajad sweep the kitchen." " Habina, this is not a joking mftfofcar," Sir Anthony observed, shortly. "Let us voturn to common sense. When you leave the London hospital a trained nurse, what then ? 1 know very well. You will be more than ever in tho slums ; artfl coming and going between them and this house. Well, now, that I cannot penmt. It would not be right and just to the other members of my family to subject them to such a continual risk of infection. It is not to be thought of."' "Then do you want we to clear out, papa ?" she said frankly. " Yes, if you will persist in this folly." AVell, &he was a little bit startled, for a girl does not like to bo turned from her father's hou&e. On the other hand, her relations with her stepmother, Lady Zembra, and hor half-&i.sters, Florence and Gertrude, had never been of the most satisfactory kind ; not that they quarrelled, but that their modes of life and opinions and aims were so entirely different. So the ugly duckling was about' to fly away ? "Of course," continued Sir Anthony, " the whole thing is foolish from the beginning. It is simply ludicrous for a young woman of your education and position "to turn herself into a hospital nurse, when you can get dozens of women, of more hardened nerve, who could do the work' ever so much better. But we've argued out that question before. I suppose you don'fc intend to change your mind ?" Surely his tone was unnecessarily hard, considering that he v. as burning her out of tho house. "Papa," she said, "I-I think lam doing what i& right ; bub — but you might make it a little easier for me. It won't bo holiday work." "If it is not the greatest happiness of the greatest number," Sir Anthony continued') calmly, "it is at least the safety of the greatest number that I have to consider. And I have thought tho matter over. lam prepared to allow you £300 a year ; that is ample maintenance ; for you don't spend much on yourself. ] have no doubt you will easily find some quiet, respectable family, where there are no children to be put in danger, who will receive you as a boarder, if go you must " A sudden, happy light leapt to her eyes— those eyes in which cr her thoughts lay clear, like pebbles in a brook," It had occurred to her that she could confer a kindness ! Even in being thrust forth from her father's hou&o. her first thought was that there ' was a chance of doing a friendly turn to pertain folk she knew. " The Wygrams, papa," she said eagerly. " Do you think they would tako me? You know they are not very well off; Mr 'Wygram never succeeds in any of thecompetitions now ; and this might be a* little something, if they were not offended. ,Oh, I know they would take me. Why, Janie sponds half her time with me now ; I should be quite at home there !" "That' will be for yourself to decide," said Sir Anthony.' And so it was that Sabina , went to serve her hix months at the London Hospital. It was not at all romantic work. Occasionally, of oourso, she had her, moments of exaltation ; in crossing from the nurses' [ dormitory, in the strange silence and darkness of a winter morning, and > looking up to tho vast, immeasurable skies, with the

stars throbbing: palcl'jn and distant*, - she* would sometimes repe&b to herself, as -with - } &<lsind of ineffable longing : — '< Break up tho heavens, 0 Lord! and far i ' Thro' all yon starS^Hf&'keen," i ■ Draw me, thy bride, a glittering stari \ In raiment white and clean. 1&S8& there was little time* for self-commun • ing; during the continuous' labour of tho ■ long day ; nor was she-much given to pitying* herself in any cimanastances ; it<>was the suffering of others feliat.moved her ; and ifXBQ there was plenty of < that, only too>obviousy all around her. Moreover, she was a particularly healthy ;:«ttog? woman ; .and she? could bear fatigue better than any of how sister non - professionals, although \yh)en they got away.yto supper about lioJf - past eight or nia&, and all *of them pretty well faggciJ'oixfc with the day's wonk, they used to j'^lte her about . her sloepy disposition. It. was rumoured, moreover, that one or "bv/o« of the medical students who came abcut- had cast an eye oruthis pretty, tall, berii#nja.nt-eyed nurse, vi bo- looked so neat and- smart in her belted gown and apron and eap> and that they p^id a good deal move attention to her thaw to tho patient v-feose condition she h°,d to report to the doctor. But .Sabie was impervious to all that kind of thing. It was only when she -was with the other IV-M'sos at night that dlie dimple in iher cheek appeared, and V<\ab she showed herself — as long as her eyssr would beep open — blithe and friendly aad merry-hearted. J-terkaps she was onl} , vo woman s woman , ?jfier all The long period of \ :uobation over, Sabina , iseiati to live with the Wy grams, a family - w.ho by dint of sore pitching .still managed bo occupy an old-fashioned house in Kensington Square that vas endeared to them.i by its association w'fch other and better days. Mr Wygram had been at one time • an architect in a fair way of business, and , may have saved a little money then ;, but the capable partner la the firm died ; things , went badly someho'v j and now the, old gentleman, who wao as industrious as ever, kept woiking away,ai» competitive draws ings, each time mcue and more confident that ho was about ho carry oif the priae, and never doing so, >ut sometimes securing, a few pounds by ( way of compensation. However, old Mr r ciid Mrs Wygram \yqr.e great favourites in the artist world of London ; and \c\g distinguished people, indeed, might bc>. found together iv the scantily-furnished,, and rather melancholy drawing-] oom — 'x'a an evening parjby, that is to say, -vith tea and darkly suspicious sheiry and cake to cro-vu the festivities. And. what joy filled the heart of their only daughter, Janie, when she learned that he ',- beloved Sabina w?s coming to live with thaa ! Now there wo^ld be no risk of their (.banco evenings being" dull ; now there wo»jjd be attraction .«\nd entertainment enough for all the worM> ; and she would bo cou'Atud somebody ruiong the young men — for that she could s'icure them, if she cho&c, °.n introduction to Sabie ; and she would Lfrke off Sabie's clor,k when she came in ; and get tea for lier, and sit, by her < -\ll\ their arms erjqwined, and have hcj. all to hcr&elt. In short,, the avrtvagoment came to work very, well ail, round. The ram paid by Sabina for her board and lodging (though^Jiis was a covert 'fansaction) \v:iu a certain, addition to the finances of the establ^hpaent ; Mrs Wyg> am could be her chape *'dn. when chore was aced ; and Jama was h^r constant companion when she "weiife about doing good." For that was her occupation in life- -as many a poor iarryjy, down in Chelsea knew ; and it. came nat".\val to her ; an r l, she was as busy, avd content, as the dv/ was long. Then they had quiet ovcuings in U;e oldfaehjpued drawing-room ; and the plainfeatured, wisbtul-evfal Janie pla>cd very w.cJl j nor was she vexed when she looked sound and found thi»Ji h&r poor tiysd, Sabie (who was very unconscionable in, this repect) had dropped a little siuoze ; and sometimes they lv:jd a game at whist, too ; and sometimes a ? 3\v friends would diop in, and they would l.aye a pretence- of bupper v and a bit of a jarpet dance. But always, these young people — and especially theyoung men — t rsated Sabina with a certain* deference. lv was not that she Ayas in any way socially tieir superior, \or that was. sAt the case ; tho- Wygrams had a very oxcellent circle oi friends and acquaintances. It was lather something in her manno** that distinguisl'.eel her from them. One would almost have taken her for a young and gcntlo-e^d matron looking on — not without sympathy and pleasure -at the amusements of those )>oys and girlb. She e?ijoyed ehcit merriment as much as they did ; and her laugh was ready and quite youthful and joyous Avhen anything ridiculous happened ; but ordinarily there was a kind of soiious sweetness and grave kindliness in her eyes that seemed to keep her a little bib apart. She preferred to be a speotafcor — but surely a friendly one. Of couiro she occasionally went up to see the family at Lancaster (Jato, when she could solemnly assure thorn she had been near no infectious case ; and it was on one of those visits thai there occurred the unfortunate accident already referred to. She had choson a Wednesday afternoon, knowing that her father would be early home irom the House of Commons; but when she got to Lancaster Gate she found he had not arrived ; Lady Zembra and Floronce and Gcitrudo were outdriving; the children were busy in the school-ioom. The only living thing to welcome her was the little spaniel Busy — nn old friend and ally of hers ; and it occurred to hei that, to beguile the tedium of waiting, she might as well take- the dog tor a bit ot a run along the Bayswater Road and back. He was nothing loth, it may be guessed ; and so she opened the door and they went down the steps and made for the front pavement. What next occurred may take some minutes to' tell, but it seemed to her to happen all in one wild second. " Now come here, Busy, you keep close to me," she had said on leaving the nonse ; for she knew the habit 3 of the spaniel kind, and that this one delighted in nothing so much as scampering about in the open thoroughfare — amid cabs and omnibuses and carriages— and ahwiys with his nose down as if he expected to flush a pheasant in the middle of Bayswater Road. Busy paid heed to his mistress so long as she I spoke to him ; the moment they had reached the pavement ho was off— careless I of anything that might be coming along. i Sho angrily called to him to come back — he turned in his scamper, but still with his nose down— and, alas ! at the same instant she knew, rather than saw, that someone pne on a bicycle, coming at an alarming speed, was almost on the dog. " Look out 1 Take caie !" she cried. 1 No,w, no doubt the bicyclist liad seen the littlo spaniel ; and it is also possible that 'Busy might 'have got out of harm's way ; but at all events her sudden cry seemed to startle this young fellow, who *was coming along at such a rale, and probably from gallantry as much as anything ;elso, he swerved sharply from his course, te !make quite sure of missing the spaniel. -Unhappily, at tin', precise spot thero was a liittlo heap of gravel, used for scattering jovor the wooden pavement, ' lying by the^ jroadway, and apparently the bicycle caughfc jon some of the pebbles,: the next thing she ;saw was some terrible thing hurling through '"the air and striking heavily against the

ness of grave' gopdwill;, sbeloolced aeif kind lness was anatußaMnsbinciitfith hftr ; as ifshe^ likedeeeing the happy. Bud evatt* this, eannofc- wholly' explain the extraoHittary,- affection that women seemed bo have fcr )J bhis>W©inan ; they would cling around her whan she entered a room and pot her with prfctty names ; and would send her flowers ovt- aanjr birthday .or other excuse ; antlrt woivfci treasure her letters, and show bK&mi and aay with a touch of bride : "OV-Safei© has just been writing ; isn't she thetdiaveat' and sweetest girl in the world?" "I bop© Sabie will never marry," was tbo consftaisfe cry of her chief companion and fvisnd (who, poor lass, had not much in the w&y> of pretty looks to boast- of). ' ' Just thinit awhaifc her goodness, and her beauty, and her* lovijjg disposition moan to so many people ;, aaitJ think of her going and throwing cli tliat away on a man!" Of course the 'men professed to laugh at this widespread and ridiculous infatuation ; and declared that Miss Zembra was a woman's woman, and nothing more ; but at the same time it was observed, on the rare occasions on v<hiohi Miss Zembra was to be found at an evening party, that these hostile critics -were nob. nearly so careless of her society as Irn common consistency they ought to hero been. Sabina did not live with, her father. On a certain important ooca c »lc i «» Sir Anthony

kerbstone, .\Mhere it lay motionless. The blood forsook :her face, but her courage was firm enough.; ;ishe was .at his side in, a momenit, .trying 'to raise his head ; .and then a few bystanders came hurrying Aip» and she besought them to carry him into her father's house. Whito as her face was, she seemed calm and .collected ; there v?as an air of authority about her ; they did not even sugge&t the hospital. Nor, it must be confessed, did she pay much heed to hor father's remonstrances ; her hands were full of work—work that diekuew; mor.eovor, Sir Anthony almost immediately retired, grumbling. She was loft alone to deal with the wounded man, a maid assisting her, for the footman, George, tad rushed off to summon the surgeon. "Pore young gentleman !— pore young gentleman !" the maid kept saying j and was rather inclined to look on, in a feeble commiserating attitude ; L>«t her palelipped young mistress had no time for moie pfty- * . , "Catherine, get some calico— quick; and cut it into strips ; and put them into cold water — look alive !" Foi there was a bad scalp-wound on the side of the young man's head, and .she had to stanch the blood, and thereafter bind the cold wet bandages round it. He lay in a heavy stupor, only that once he murmured the words " cherry blossom," and, busy as she was, it seemed pathetic to her that he should " babble o' green fields." And then, when she had bandaged his head, she passed her hands lightly over his neck, and back, and shoulders, and pretty well satisfied herself that there wa« no serious fracture or dislocation ; ne\eitholcss she was anxious that the surgeon should appear forthwith. She was moistening hor patient's lips with cold water when he drew a long bieath and slowly opened his eyes. He looked at her wioh a kind of mild wonder, and then at the 100 m around him then he seemed to recollect. "That was a nasty one,' 1 he managed to say. " Did I hurt the dog ?" "Oh, no, you did not," Sabina said, quickly. " Pray don't think of that. lam so sorry. It was all my fault. 1 should not have called to you - 1 am so sorry.'' " Oh, don't tiouble about me," he said, with a faint kind of smile -for the shock and loss of blood had weakened him. 11 This isn't my first cropper. There are no bones broken, I suppose—" "I think not— l think not," she said, eagerly. "And there will be a surgeon here directly. " " But whoso house is this ?" he asked — it was ell that he dared to ask. " Sir Anthony Zem bra's," Sabina answered, and she added without embarrassment : "I am his daughter. It was my little dog that made the mischief — or rather, I did myself. Ido hope you are not seriously hurt.'' "Hurt? No, no — don't you bother. I shall be all right," he said. He was a fairly good-looking young fellow of some six or seven and twenty, with clear blue eyes, curly but shortcropped hair of a reddish yellow, and a healthy pink and white complexion that had got a wa&h of sun-tan over it. Clearly he had lived much in the open air ; and his frame seemed wiry and vigorous, with not an ounce of spare fat on it anyu here. A& for guessing at his profession or calling or social status, that was not easy, teeing that he was clad in a bicycling suit ; but his manner was well enough ; and he seemed good-natured. Suddenly he uttered a little involuntary exclamation, and bit his under-lip. " What is it V she asked instantly. "My knee — and I hardly moved it — oh, thunder !" The pain in his face was obvious ; and he was about to make some effort to laise himself, when she caught him, and caught him firmly. "No, no; you must not move on any account — it may be tenons — you must lie perfectly still till the doctor comes. " " Yes, but when is he coming ?" ho said, with a touch of impatience. "If I have broken my leg, I want to know. You don't understand what that would mean to me. " "You have not broken your leg," said she, calmly, " but you may have injured your knee," And then she added, without any false shame or hesitation, " If you like, I Wi\" HQO wna k harm is done, and tell you. I know ab>? u k k ue »£ things ; I have been in a Wpital." Or : f V^n would rather wait, I am sure the doctoi' will .be here in a few minute?." " Oh. of course, I will wait— l could not think of troubling you," he said instantly. -And in the m^™ l WlU^°^ splint," said she, " just in case it &nu,.. - necessary. Catherine, run and get me some cotton wool." She went to the table, tore the cover off one of the children's drawing books, and cut a strip of the thick pasteboard about three inches wide and over a dozen long ; and she was in the act of swathing the improvised splint in cotton wool when the young surgeon arrived. Everything she had done he approved ; but he was not surprised ; he wa? well aware of MissZembra's qualifications. Then came the examination of the knee, and that was simple enough, for he had merely to unbuckle the knee- band of the knickerbockers ; but the next moment he had grown grave. Sabina had withdrawn a step or two ; her assistance was not needed. " What is it, doctor ?" the young man said — noticing that look. " Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you that you've dislocated your knee-cap, and there's a bad bruise beside, Miss Zernbra, I haven't) brought anything with me— youv wan met me in the street — " Sabina came forward. "Here is a kind of a splint," she said, " and I think there's enough calico here for a figure-of-eight bandage — if they will do in the meantime — " "In the meantime that will do excellently, until I run home and get some things." ♦'But, doctor," the young man on the couch said, and he was rather pale now, partly from loss of blood, no doubt, but also partly from anxiety, "what .does all this mean ? Is it really so bad ? You d6n't mean that I'm to be laid up with a splint ? Why. how soon— how soon, now, shall I be all right again? Not long, surely !" " I don't wish to alarm you," the surgeon said in reply, "but I ought to warn you that it is a rather serious case, and that the greatest care will be wanted. Even then it may be months before you can put your foot to the ground." "God bless me, you don't know what you're saying !" the young man cried, faintly, and very white his face was now. " I'm afraid I do," the surgeon said quietly. The other remained silent for a second or two ; then he said, with a kind of forced resignation : "When can I be taken to my own rooms ?" The doctor turned to Sabina. "Itis a serious case," said he. " I would not advise his removal, if your people would not mind letting him have the use of this room, for a few days even." '•Oh, but they must; of course they •will," Sabina exclaimed eagerly. " Oh, you don't know, doctor ; it was all my fault that the accident happened ; I am more grieved about itthau I can say'; I cannot even think of it ; and what we can do we must

do, butijwnv can I ever atone for siich an iui' jury ?" , . " The young lady had nothing to do with, it,'' said the maimed man ; bufc he ha<cTfco hold his bsreafch now, for the surgeon ' was about to pat his knee in the splint. By-and-by, when the doctor was* giving a few parting directions to ' Sabina {who had already installed herself as nurse, the maid Catherine assisting), and promising to bo back shortly, the young man on the conch cabled fct? him in rather a faint voice : "Doctor!" "Yos." "I wish you to do me a favour, will you ?" "Certainly." " Whon you ai*e out, Avill you go to a tolegraph-office and wire to the Duke — the Duke of Exmiuster — that I shan't be able to ride Cherry Blossom for him in the j •Grand National. It's hard luck, it is. Twenty times have I dreamt of lifting the old horse over Valentine's Brook. Don't forget — the Duke of Exminster — he's afc Helmsley just now. Well, it's hard luck ; I knew the horse. Nobody else can do anything Awth him bub myself. I could see us over the ditch and rail fence near the bridge and fairly in the lino for home. Poor old Cherry Blossom — it's very hard luck." " And from whom shall I telegraph ?" the doctor said, gently. " Oh, my name, you mean ? Fred Fo&ter, Bury-street : the Duke knows." Sabina had left the room for a minute or two, and so remained undeceivod as to the mistake she had made about his having " babbled o' green fields." Bub that was not of much account, perhaps. What was of more account, at least to one very tender heart, was that poor Jauie Wygram was now to be deprived tor many a long day to come of the society and companionship of her beloved Sabie.

{To be continued.)