CHAPTER XXIV. DIVERGENT WAYS.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 240, 4 February 1888, Page 6

CHAPTER XXIV. DIVERGENT WAYS.

Bttt next morning found him in a vory different mood. He was silent and surly at first ; then he began to remonstrate with her for her priggish ness, as he chose to call it ; finally he adopted a distinctly injured tone. "Of course a man doesn't like to be laughed at. I shouldn't wonder if, the next time I see these two, it was to be * Hallo, Foster, how's Saint Cecilia ? Come down from the clouds again ? You shouldn't take that kind of a person to a music-hall.' Well, I'm nob any fonder of music-halls than other people ; but I don't see anything to offend you so mightily ; and as for Rabyand Russell— what did you expect? You expect too much, that's were the trouble is. You want people to live up to ideal standards that are quite impossible. Wouldn't it be a little more, sensible to take the world as it is ?. And it's all the more J extraordinary in your,, case,; for you haven't been brought up in a glass-house or a nunnery ; you've seen plenty of life- — "

<* seen, a, great, deal of^po^erfty, if that is what you moan," Sa'&jna s said, calmly. "B,ufe poverty is not contemptible/ , 1 ♦♦'What is contemptible, then? What^ ever, doesn't come up to your perfectly impossible standards? Well, I prefer tp take the world as it is. I never professed to live in a" select circle of archangels ; I never met any ; ordinary men and women are good enough for me." She did not answer him ; perhaps she had done him an injury in the sight of his friends, perhaps ho had cause to complain, and perhaps, too, that was the reason he made no further referenco to his proposal that he should accompany her down to Hammersmith ; on the contrary, when ho had lit hi& after- breaisfast cigar and got his coat and hat and cane, he merely said that he would be back as usual in the evening-, and so he went his way. Sabina was a little down-hearted that day, Janie Wygram thought ; and as they were walking along she confessed that sometimes she grew dispirited, and began to doubt the efficacy of the network of charitable associations that .were trying to do something to lighten the misery of the great city. Perhaps it, was true that the weakest must go to the wall ; that the vast social forces must work out their own salvation ; and that all- attempts to interfere with them were useless, or useful only in handing on a legacy of incompetence to the next generation. Of course she did not say so in these words ; but that was fche drift of what she said; and very much astonished and grieved was Jariie Wygram. to find her in any such hopeless mooa, " Why, that's not liko you at all, Sabie !" she exclaimed. "Don't you remember what you said— that one single act of kindness done every day in the week mp.de the world just so much better ? I don't think you see yourself half the- good you do; but I know what ifc would be to me, if I were lying ill, to have you come in- ami talk to me for a minute or two. Oh, yes> I have heard plenty of that kind! of argument — that charity only perpetuates sickness, and creates paupers, and so forth* But I don't see how trying to make people well is holping on sickness ; and it isn't making paupers to get people into situations who would otherwise be idle ; and as for the social forces " Here Janie paused foe a* moment, for the subject was a large ono. " Well, I don't know so much about the social forces, but I should think if they Rawragged brats taken out of the gutter, and washed and clothed and educated, and turned into those 'fine young fellows on board theChichester and the Anethußay well, then, the social forces ought to he very much obliged. Oh, don't you give in, Sabie, whoever gives in* If you only knew what you are in many and' many a home !" Settling-day came and went ; but FredFoster forgot about the twenty-five pounds he had promised Sabina ; and she did not choose to remind him ; she would! rather try, by practising the most rigid economy, to get along with what she nad. And at this time, indeed, Mr Foster had! need of all available, funds ; for the racing world was very busy just then, as it always is, towards the close of the season ; and he was away a good deal, in various parts of the country. Ho went down to- the Manchester Meeting. ,Then came Newmarket, where his usual good luck deseited him ; both the Cesarewitch and the Middle Park Plate hit him hard. She heard of his having paid a flying visit to Scotland. He was for a few days at the Duke of Exminster's training quarters at Helmingsley. Then he returned to Newmarket for the Cambridgeshire Handicap. And always, amid these various and continued engagements, when he chose to run up to town, to those snug little rooms in the Strand, Sabina was ready with the kindest welcome for him, and was assiduous about his small comforts, and there was no look of reproach or of appeal in the calm and serious and beautiful face. " Oh, mother, what has come over Sabie?" Janie \Vygram said one evening (and now there was another admitted to these colloquies ; a young man with a pale face, large, earnest eyes, and long hair ; Phillip Drexel was his name ; and he was no impatient listener ; when either these two, or any others of the women down Kensington way, were singing the praise- of Sabina, as sometimes they did, the young artist's voice was eager in the chorus ; and he stood unrebuked of Janie ; nay, he knew it was the sure way to win her favour). "She has been quite different of late," Janie continued. "No one sees ib as Ido ; for no one is so much with her. She never laughs new — never, never ; and she is neverimpatient and masterful with the people, or scolding, as she used to be ; but always so gentle with them ; and so grave and compassionate ; and her face— -well— well, her face, I think, is more beautiful than ever : there is a kind of sadness ancs loneliness in it that I can't understand ; and sometimes she will walk ever so far with you without a single word, though the moment you speak she is as pationt and kind as ever. I don?fc think ho' actually illtreats her " Here Janie's mild eye& flashed, and her lips were rather pale. "No, if I thought that), I would get Philip to go and smash him, or I would — I would ask Walter Lindsay to coin©- 'across the Atlantic and kill hina. I don't think it's that ; but she is very much alone ; and perhaps her marriage hasa't turned out what she thought it would— though she won't allow a single word to be said. Why ; she is not the least like the Sabie Zembra we used to know !' Dont you remember her — so merry, and proud, and courageous, and just bewildering people with her pretty face and her good humour. That was when Walter Lindsay wanted to paint her— the maiden queen r you know, in scarlet and ermine — was it from Chaucer the lines were ?" Janie should have remembered that there was another artist listening, who had also thought of Sabina as the central figure of certain half-imagined compositions. Even at this, moment was there not before his mind some faint and wavering vision of "The groves Where the lady Mary is, With her five handmaidens, whose names Are five sweot symphonies, Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, j Margarfit and Rosalys. I Circlowiee sit they, with bound locks, And forehoad garlanded ; Into the, fine cloth white like flame Weaving the golden thread, To fashion tho birth-robes for thorn Who are just born, being dead." "And there's another strange thing," continued Janie, who was never tired of talking about her best-beloved, " She has nothing like the nerve she used to have. You know Sabie was never very sentimental ; I used to think her a little too robust in that direction. But now a very , trifling thing will bring tears to her eyes, though' she desperately anxious to hide them. The other day we were going through Stanhope Gardens. There was a, window <spen ; and 'some children were singing, with the mother leading on a harmonium ; and I stopped Sabie for a minute. Well, ifc was" Abide with me, fast falls the eventide,;' and do you know, the singing of the ohildren quite upset her, and she went on Quickly so 1 that I should not" see. You know, mother, that's not like Sabie; she never was sentimental ; I believe it is loneliness that is breaking her heart. There's tbafc

' ' , t ;/ " ' — "-? — z> '■ ,' -'a. , „- ,^' ') KOble boy Waffcon, that, iVfte run over; he? came back bheojSner day from Brighton — she had senb him' to the' Convalescent Home for a> fortnight — and she went down to see how ' life was. Well, it was a little bit. affecting- ; tio see how bewildered he had been by the »%hb of^the sea, for he had never been out; of London in his life j bub Sabie is used to such things ; and I've seen her pretty sharp sometimes with women for crying/ aim- i lessly ; but this time, when she said to the poor little fellow, ' Well, Johny, tell me whafr you thought of the sea when you fir^fc saw it,' and when he Baid, looking up afc her, * Please, Miss, I thought it was like 'evin,' she stopped for a minute uncertain — of course, not wanting to break down — and then she had to turn away, and I saw her dry her eyes. Mother, it is not the least like Sabio to be in a nervous state like that, is it ? — she who was always so full of courage, and bright humour, and briskness. Of courso, there is one thing : you know she hud sent him down for a fortnight ; and it's five shillings a week at the Black Rock House ; and I know she was debating whether she should nob let him have another fortnight ; and then she thought she could not afford the other ten shillings. And, perhaps, when she saw what a treat it had been to the poor little fellow, she was sorry she had not given him the other fortnight — getting the money somehow. " •* Yes," said Mis Wygram, bitterly, "and her father rolling in wealth, and her husband drinking champagne with his dinner every nighb in the week, and that poor creature saving every penny to do good to others. It*3 little the world knows how selfish the people may be that are drinking wino and flaunting about in carriages " "I'm sure they might flaunt about in carriages, or drink all the wine in the world, if only they'd make Sabie a little happier," Janie said, wistfully. " I think she grows more like an angel every day, in her goodness and gentleness ; but do you imagine I like it ? No, I don't. I would rather have her bad and wicked " "Janie!" the mother remonstrated; but she added with a smile, " Well, it's no use talking like that about Sabina, for it cannot mean anything at all." •* Very well, then, mother, I will say this ' only-— that I wish she was a little more like the Sabie Zembra we used to know. Sometimes, when I look at her now, my heart is prefcty heavy about her. And lam not as near to her as I used to be ; she seems to live within herself somehow ; and there's never a word said ; her husband's name is hardly ever mentioned— when it is, Sabie is always on his side, and has excuses for his being away, and all that. But she is not like our Sabie that we used to know." Now, if Sabina was ever ready with excuses for her husband's absence, that wa* a good deal more than Fred Foster cared to be. He took it as quite natural, in their straitened circumstances, that he should, try to pick up a few sovereigns in the only way known to him ; and he intimated that if she chose to occupy most of her time in looking after other people's affairs, ke, at least, preferred to attend to his own proper business. Once, indeed, he offered to let her accompany him. It was on ' the eve of Brighton and Lewes race meetings^ " What do you say to going down for the week to have a look at the old place ?" he said. "Yon would find it lively at this time of the year— the King's Road in November is pretty brisk. We could put up ab the Bedford— l like the coffee-room—-" "Thank you, Fred, but I think I would rather not go," she answered. "Why? I suppose because you don'fc want to meet Raby or any of those fellows. Well, you wouldn't. They'll bo ab the Old Ship, if they are ab Brighton at all. Don't you think you would be safe enough at the Bedford ? There's a ladies' room you might shut yourself up in, if you're so terribly afraid/ She took no heed of the taunt. "It isn't fehat. Bub I'd rather nob go," she said, gently. "Oh, you grudgo the time, I suppose* You cannot tear yourself away from your beloved slums ?"' " N&, it isn't the time either," she said~ '•'It is the expense. I should nob feel very happy about it ; so please don't ask me." "Oh, well, you can stop at home if you like," he said ;~and there was an end of that proposal. However, matters mended very much at Christmas ; for they were to spend that holiday with the old people ; and whatever was best in Foster's nature and disposibion invariably came to the front when his mother's influence was brought to bear on him. A few days before Christmas the old lady came to town, to do some shoppingand take her daughter-in-law back with her ;. and as soon as she had installed herself in an old-fashioned little hotel near Charing Cross that is much patronised by Buckinghamshire folk, she hurried along to see Sabina. She had arrived earlier than expected ; Fred Foster was out ; she found Sabina alone. "My dear, my dear," she said, with some concern, and sho took the girl's two hands, and kissed her on both cheeks, and drew her to the window, "you're nob looking at all well! What is bhe matter? Have you been ill ?" " Oh, no," Sabina said — and _ for bhe momenb her face was all lib up wibh gladness ab finding bin's kind friend near her again ; there seemed coinforb in her mere presence. "Bub this will never do— we musb see whether bhe country air can bringback the roses to your cheeks." said this gentle-mother-in-law, and she kept patting the girl's hand. "And every time you wrote you wrote from London- have you never been away from London sinco we saw you ?" " No, " she answered. * ' But you know I am quite used to that." "Bub you shouldn't be used to it, Mrs Foster said sharply. " I suppose Fred has beon flying about the country just as ho ever did ?" "He has been away at times, Sabina answered evasively. "And how has he been behaving? the elder lady said, wibh some little scrubiny in her eyes. " Pretty much as usual I suppose ? Yes ; but we thought be was going to turn over a new leaf when he married. And so glad lam that you are coming down to us now ; for you will be bhe peacemaker — indeed you will, my dear." Sabina looked up inquiringly. "That wretched boy has boen getting into trouble again with his father," the mobher said, wibh rueful good nabure. " Writing for money I suppose ; and never a word about Crookfield or settling down anywhere else. Indeed, my dear, I think it's mostly on your behalf that his father is so angry ; so you'll have to be the peacemaker—and you'll find it easy enough with that pretty face of your 3." The old lady now made Sabina sib down, and took a chair opposite to her, and proceeded to open a somewhat capacious and country-looking purse, "Now, my dear, I have brought you a little Christmas present ; and I know whab is most useful to a young housekeeper, being a housekeeper myself. Bhe took out a little packet of banknotes, all neatly folded, and bound together with a tiny elusbio band; and then she counted them. "Yes, ten; and as each is a ten-pound

note, yoiMnustn'b leave them lying about, my dear." She put the little packet into the girPs hand, and closed her fingers over it. " Bear mother, it is so very good of you, Sabiha said -and her eyes were grateful enough. >" If you only knew how mtich" I shall be able bo do with it — just at , this time, too— -I confess I was a little downhearted about going away into the country and leaving so many small things undone. And I will be very careful. I suppose I may take ten pounds for myself, if I give the rest to Fred?" "What?" the elder woman ciied in stontly. "You foolish child, I tell you that that is for your own private purse, every farthing 1 of it. To Fred ! Well, I used to help Master Freddie a little ; but I'm done with him now, until ho settles down and conducts himself like a respectable married man. For your own private purse, my dear, every farthing of it !" ♦* Ah, but you don't know," Sabina said, with downcast eyes. "I shall be glad to give it to him. I wish it was in a clearer sense my own. I wish it camo from my family." " Why ?" The girl hesitated ; then she looked up in a piteous way, as if appealing to this kind friend not to misunderstand her. " Don't think I am saying anything against him, or would mean to do that, ' she said, timidly. " But — but sometimes I cannot get it out of my head that Fred appears to think I married him under false pretences. He wouldn't say it," she added, instantly, *' but— but sometimes he seems to think it— and -and of coux*se— if he really was quite certain that my father would do something more for mo than he has done — well, the disappointment is only natural. Dear Mrs Foster I shall be so glad to give him this money j but don't you understand how I could wish it to be more clearly my very own to give ?" "I understand moro than you think," said Mrs Foster, angrily. " Has Fred been worrying you about money ?" But Sabina would make no such admission ; she evaded that question and a good many others that Mrs Foster put ; and indeed the arrival of Fred Foster himself shortly brought these suspicious inquiries to a close. For the sake of variety they went down to Missenden by the familiar old omnibus that still starts — or recently started— from the Bell in Holborn— tbat is to say, they leisurely drove away down by Uxbridge, and Chalfont St. Giles, and Amersham ; and they had now left the great city far behind when the fresh, sweet-smolling country air began to be very grateful to Sabina, who had been so long pent up in the town, Both the ladies were outside ; for this was a very mild December ; and though there had been rain in the night there was a clear, watery sunshine flooding the wide landscape, and what wind there ■was touched the cheek softly enough. And the further they went away into the open country, the more beautiful, it seemed to Sabina, everything became; and there was a strange clearness abroad ; and a multitude of colours to delight the eye. The grey-green of the commons ; the deeper greens of holly and ivy ; the russet of withered peach and withered fern ; the purple red of the haws ; the scarlet berries of the bryony ; the black berries of the elder ; the white waxen-like berries of the mistletoe high up on some gnarled old apple tree— all these were shining in this humid sunlight, that seemed to call up vapours and pleasant scents from the longr swathes of ploughed field and fallow. Of course, long before they reached AJiesenden, night had fallen over the land ; but it was not much of a winter's night ; Sabina regretted that the day's drive had come to an end. And very speedily it appeared that there had been some rather serious quarrel between father and son ; for the old gentleman would scarce take any notice of Mr Fred Foster ; but devoted his whole attention to Sabina, making her his constant confidante and companion. During these next few days Sabina nestled down into this quiet, domestic life with a curious, unwonted sense of comfort and peace. For a long time back she had found herself very homeless and very lonely ; and now these good people were surrounding her with every possible kindness, and she was abundantly grateful. Even Fred Foster, in the society of his mother, showed himself in the best of humours ; and by dint of sheer audacity succeeded in establishing some better relations between the old man and himself. He went out shooting most of the time — picking up a stray bird or a hare occasionally ; while Sabina talked to the old gentleman in the greenhouses, or walked arm-in-arm with Mr Foster through the dank, faint-smelling garden. It was on one of these latter occasions that the old lady again broached the subject of the young people coming and settling down in the country. Sabina paused for a moment in their walk, and regarded her friend with a somewhat wistful look. "I almost think it would be better," she said. "I used to fear it would be selfish—togiveup everything, when there is so much that can be done to help people who are greatly in need of help. And I suppose it would bo selfish. But 1 find now that I cannot do as much as I used to do ; well, the mere want of money interferes, though money isn't everything in that kind of woik. And one feels the need of a home — where one can rest at times." "Oh, yes, yes, yes, my dear," the old lady said, with eager kindness. "I am sure you are right. Of course, you want a home. And Crookfield could be made so nice and comfortable for you : just the prettiest place imaginable ; and far enough away, too, to save you from intrusion— you wouldn't have an ill-natured old mother-in-law coming prying and poking her nose in at every minute. But you must depend on this, my dear child, that anything my husband or myself could do to make you perfectly happy — well, it would be done pretty quickly, I think. " " Ah, you are all too good to me down here," Sabina said, with a bit of a sigh : she was thinking of her life in London. But as soon as Mrs Foster found a convenient opportunity she went to her son. "Fred," she said, "do you know that Sabie is quite willing to live in . the country ?" " Oh, is she ?" he responded, with some indifference. "Now don't you think this would be a great chance for you to give up that idle life V she pleaded., " Even to get a proper home for Sabie would be something. She is not looking well at all. She wants rest and quiet." " Do you mean at Crookfield ?" he asked with a smjrte, "Yes, I do." 4 'Then' you don't know what you're talking about, mother. She would be sick and tired of, it in a week. Her heart would be back in those slums, where she spends the whole of her time and every farthing that she can appropriate .with decency. As if there was such an abundance of money flying about!" "But what as, this about,money now?" his mother ,asked. ' '' Sh,e says that you are disappointed. Did you ever, look forward to. living upon her, income ?" .. , " 1 looked forward, to our joining our not immense fortunes/' ]sajd, 4 he, with much equanimity, 'fso as to share the , domestic

expenses. It's a usual kind of thing, 1 believe." I "And now you at© disappointed with }ior because her father will not give her as much- as you expected !"' • ' ' ' l ' i ' ll>ll , He did not answer this:' he was busy. j ifilling some, cartridges. , ,* . , " At all events," his mother 'said warmly, 11 you have no right to say that she deceived you, or to think it even— she is incapable of any such thing — you should be ashamed to imagine such a thing—" "I don't know what you mean !" ■" Well, perhaps it is a mere fancy on her part— l hope it is— £ hope for your own sake it is — but I know what she thinks— she thinks that you have got to imagine that she married you under false pretences." ** Oh, she thinks that, does she ?" he said carelessly, and he locked up the cartridge-box and put it aside. " Well, 111 1 never said so, anyway." And with that he got his cap and went out, whistling for the rotriover that was lying asleep in the yard. (To be continued.)