CHAPTER XXVI.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 241, 11 February 1888, Page 6 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XXVI.

A MESSAGE. No sooner was Sabina in3tallod in her new home than she began to try to make it a s neat and prebfcy and attractivo as might bo ; and she had plenty of leisure to do so, for, as it happened, Fred Foster had to be down at Northampton just at this timeAnd no doubt through all these little pro parations tliore ran the wistful hope that on his return he might perhaps be a little more kind and considerate towards her than he had been. Nay, she began to take herself to task, and to seek reasons for his apparent discontent with her. Perhaps her character was somewhat too severe ? Perhaps it was true that she had impossible standards of duty and conduct, that only served to disconcert people ? Perhaps she ought to aim at being a little more like Mrs Deane, whose robustly merry spirits seemed to please her husband very well? Perhaps she' was too strait-laced — too exacting — not tolerable enough of other people's ways and opinions and pursuits? For Sabina coukl hardly believe that this alteration in hi 3 manner towards her was due merely to disappointment over money matters. Why, before marriage, what she had chiefly admired in him was his courageous cheerfulness in making the best of any circumstances. It is true that his mother said on one occasion : ■—• " Well, Sabina, I am afraid Fred is a spoiled child, and I am afraid I am partly responsible for it; but he is very goodhumoured and nice so long as he has his own way." But surely he was having his own way now ? She had given up all the interests of her life to please him ; she was ready to obey his slightest wish ; she would try to mould her character, her opinions, her conduct, in any direction that would be agreeable to him. And perhaps when ho returned, he would be a little more kind to , her? — and remain a little more with her? And she would not forget to be grateful to him for his not insisting on her personally going to seek money from her fattier. Bub when Fred Foster s mother heard of their removal to this furnished house in Surrey, she was exceedingly angry, and wrote a. long letter to Sabina about her son's perversity, as she chose to consider it. On Foster's return from Northampton, he found this protest awaiting him, for he I had enjoined Sabina to preserve for him all lotters coming from his mother ; and when he had read it, he pitched it back impatiently on to the chimney-piece. "Yea," he said, turning to Sabina, "I suppose you wrote complaining that it was a lonely place — that there wasn't enough society for you." "Oh, no, Fred, I did not," she said, rather timidly. " I — I — said I was afraid you would find it dull— l 6 was abouo you that I wrote " " Ob, you may make your mind easy about me," said he carelessly. " You needn't imagine that I am going to sit down and bite my nails — or plant kidney beans. I can't afford it. Our circumstances aren't so flourishing as all that ; I must be about just as much as ever ; you needn't bother about me." Then he began to make inquiries about ' the arrangements she had made with the Epsom tradesmen ; and it was clear that he meant this household to be conducted with a view to economy. " Of course," said he, •' the simplest way to pay Jim Deane for tli^ cob and the ponychaiae would be to sell them both ; and that would save old Noel's wages, besides the keep of the cob " " But how should we get the things out from Epsom ?" she asked. 11 You could send the girl in by train at a pinch. Or dare I say most of the Epsom tradesmen have carts? But I shan't decide on that yet ; we'll see what Newmarket does for me. Oh, by the way, if you have any questions to ask of Mrs Deane, just job them down on a piece of paper. I shall see her to-morrow night most likely." "Are you going away again, then?" Sabina asked without raising her eyes. "Yes, I'm going down to Newmarket to-morrow." So Sabina was left once more alone ; and somehow she was more hopeless now, as she tried this or that bit of additional decoration within doors, or sought employment outside in helping the little old man who worked in the garden when he was done with the stable. At first she had got this ancient to drive her in the pony-chaise —in his faded livery ; but he was not very communicative y and she preferred being alone; and so she took to driving by'herself — going considerable distances sometimes—and letting the cob walk for the most part. In this way she became very familiar with the not over-peopled neighbourhood surrounding her, with the Commons of Stoke and Leatherhead and Esher, with Fitcham Downs and Mickleham Downs, with Headley Heath and Walton Heath and all the scattered little hamlets and nooks and bye-ways to which she could gain access. It was a solitary life for a young woman to lead. Her ostensible object was the gathering of wild flowers for the adornment af the cottage parlour.^ The cob would stand patiently enough in the lanes, or on the open heath, while she explored the hedgerows or the broken sandpits. But sometimes she forgot this pursuit, oftenest when she had got tip to some height from which sho could look northwards across the wide, undulating, wooded country ; and then she would remain there motionless, silent, absent-minded, until she felt helpless tears swimming into her eyes. For she was looking across that wide landscape to London town,, where still she had one or two friends. One day her solitude was broken in upon ; for Mrs Wygram, and Janio, and Janie's artist-sweetheart all came down to see her ; and as this was the first time that Sabina | had acted as hostess in her own home, she I was very proud and pleased, and the excitement of seeing them brought quite a flush of animation to .'the pale and sad face. As for Janie (after one quick,, nervous, anxious look of inquiry directed to Sabina's eyes), she declared that' the little cottage was most charmingly pretty, the neighbourhood was delightfully picturesque, the air so sweet after London, the blossom on the fruib-trees so beautiful. She would go rnto the garden), and was interested in the smallest details ; she went into the stable and patted the cob ; she thought the little \ maid servant such a prebfcy 'looking country lass. But when they had got indoors again, and when Sabina had gone away tor

a couple of minutes to superintend lunch, Janie said sharply :—: — , '♦Philip, why do you stare at her so? I wish you wouldn't stare ab her so !" " I think she is more beautiful than ever," he said, absently. " But it is a rarer kind of beauty— somerhing finer — Janie, I don'b know why, but to me she hasn't the look of a happy woman." *; Oh, don'b say that, Phil !" Janie exclaimed. "Don't say she isn't happy 1" And then she fought with her own fears. " Why, of course, she is happy ! What did you expect? You've seen Sabie before. She's not the giggling barmaid kind of person. Why shouldn't Sabie be reserved —and— and— and refined— and— and quieb in manner? Did you expect her to giggle ?" " Janie !" the mother said, and the warning was only given in time ; for just then Sabina made her appearance. But surely this gentle hostess was nob unhappy, as she so-t there at the head o€ the table, smiling and talking to her friends, and rather bewildering the young artist with the graciousness of her look and address ? He was accustomed to seek his inspiration from many sources, but he could not quite get at the secret here. Was ib her eyes, that were so frank and generous and kind ? Or was it the proud set of the head and neck — as she seemed to incline a little in order to li&ten to her next neighbour ? Her shoulders and the lines of her throat were magnificent, he could see easily enough ; but that was merely physical and obvious ; that had nothing to do with the subtlo charm and sweetness of her presence. Wherein lay the mystery, then ? Was it her disposision ? But a plain woman mighb have a beautiful disposition without possessing this nameless attraction. Or was it association 1 There was something in the Madonna-like forehead and in the calm of the eyes.that seemed to suggest the ideals of the early Italian artists — the serene lovelinefcs—the sadness, even, with which they had endowed their imaginings of the blessed among women. He thought he would like to have a Jook through the National Gallery. Janie would go with him — it would be a pleasant task for her to seek out something resembling Sabina's expression in those visions and dreams of the painters of an earlior world. After luncheon was over, Sabina took Mrs Wygram away for a drive in the ponychaise, considerately leaving the two young folks to go for a walk by themselves. And they had plenty to talk over — at least he had ; for he was telling her of the various Italian cities he proposed they should visit on their approaching wedding-trip ; and he was debating whether it was better to arrive at Venice at night or in the morning. Which was likely to be the more striking to her who had never been there at all — the hushed mysterious blackness of the canals and the gliding by of the hearselike and half-invisible gondolas, or the splendour of the dawn widening over the great lagoon and making a wonder of the islands and the tall campanili and the domes and the palaces? Ho did nob address his conversation to her direct ; he talked as if he was looking at some one away along the road ; perhaps that was the reason he did not perceive that Janie was paying him but scant attention. At last he said to her :—: — "Why are you rilenfc? What are you thinking of ?" " I was thinking of one night at Walter Lindsays," Janie answered, with a sigh. Cl Ah, if you had seen Sabie that night ! 1 never saw her so— so radiant. But I suppose the world changes to everyone." " Oh, as to that," said he, "I duu'i. know that; she has changed so much for the worse. Of course I don't want to say anyi thing against her ; or else you'd be up in arms in a moment ; but the Mi9S Zembra that I used to see sometimes — well, everybody could recognise her beauty — that was apparent enough — but I confess that she was just a^little too straightforward in her manner for me. • There was a kind of want of sensitiveness somehow that is difficult to explain — she was just a trifle too direct and frank " "She was a healthy and high-spirited young woman," Janie said, warmly, "and very busy, with little time to study small details or think of what she waa saying ; but she was, always and always, just graciousness and goodness itself !" " Oh, yes," he said. " Yes, I suppose that was so. But I can't help thinking there is a finer touch about her now " " I suppose you think it is fine to be unhappy !" said Janie, rather bitterly. But she instantly drew back from that proposition — or, rather, from the suspicion implied in it. "Oh, no, I hope she is not unhappy," she said. " Her husband seems to be away a great deal, certainly, and she may be feeling lonely there ; but, you know, he is mad about horse-racing and such things ; and as soon as he has run through the little money that he has, then he will bo compelled to stop, and begin to live a more domestic life. In the meantime," Janie added plaintively, " if he doesn't want her, I wish he would give her to us. Ah, wouldn't you like to see Sabina again in Kensington Square ?" Sabina seemed to be loth to part with her visitors that afternoon. "You will come up for the wedding?' Janie said, shyly, as they stood together in the railway station. " Oh, yes ; and for the Private view at the Grosvenor?" said the young artist, who seemed to consider these two events as of about equal importance to him. " Sabio, do you remember the Private View at the Academy last year ?" There came no answer to the question, for the train came in just then ; and presently these good people were on their way to London, and Sabina was slowly driving back to her solitary home. Her next visitors were of another complexion. Fred Foster came back, of course, for the Epsom Spring Meeting ; and as h© was leaving on the first morning, he said to her : — "Most likely some of these fellows will be coming along to-night for a smoke and a drink ; but that needn't bother you j ycu needn't put in an appearance unless you like. It was their own proposal ; and I'm under obligations to Johnny Russell — I did not like to refuse " "But," she said, quickly, "couldn't I get some dinner for them ? I think I could manage." " Oh, no," he said, impatiently. "We shall dine at Epsom. And you needn't be afraid — Raby vron't be one of them." Shouldn't I have some supper for them, Fred ?" she asked. " No, no ; it's drink they'll want— see that there's plenty of soda-water." Sabina said nothing more ; but all the same she busied herself during the day ia preparing for them a neat little supper, so that they mighb, have it if they wished ifc ; and long before they arrived ifc was all ready for them— a couple of cold fowls and some ham and salad, with bottled etoub and whisky and soda-water in the cup board: there was no wine in the house. And sh» had a fire burning brightly ; and there were clusters of wild flowers adorning the white table-cov«r ; altogether this little apartment looked very neat and comfort aple. It was about nine o'clock when they arrived ; she heard fcho noisy crew, drive up

to the gate. And then, amidsfc the tumult of their getting down, she could make out her husband's voice— and sulky enough it sounded. "Hold your row, can't; you? Do you want to make it out you're all drunk ?" " Keep your hair on, old man r another Raid. " You always were a bad loser, Freddie," said a third ; •• but I must say your luck to-day was awful, all tho way through." And then, as they got to the door, one taid : — "What is it to bo? Cro\vn3 and pounds ?" But when thoy came inside, a hush fell over them ; and they left their coats and hats in the passage quietly enough ; and then, during their brief and rough-and-ready introduction to Sabina, their manner was most demure. Johnny "Russell was the only one of them she know ; and he was quite deferential. "Come along, now, into the other room, Foster said ; " if I'm dead broke, 1 mean to have a drink anyway." "Won't you smoko here? 5 Sabina suggested. " Later on you may want a littlo supper." „ , " Oh, no, we don't want any supper, ne said. "Como along, you fellows." Being thus imperatively bidden, they followed him into the passage; the next moment the open door showed them the supper already laid on the table. " Here, what's the uso of thie ?" he said, turning to Sabina. ' I told you we shouldn't want any supper. Send the girl, and have the table cleared." " Oh, I say, Foster," Johnny Russell at once protested, " that is rather cool. If Mrs Foster has been so kind as to mean this for us— well, 1 think you might give us the chance— what do you say ?" He turned to the others. " Yes, yes, certainly." was the unanimous answer ; but whether that was prompted by any wish for supper, or as a compliment to their hostess, may be a matter of doubt. . . " Oh, very well— very well," Foster said, and he went into the room. Sabina remained for a second uncertain ; whereupon Johnny Russell facetiously remarked :— " I think we shall be surer of our welcome when Mrs Foster takes her place at the table." Sabina needed no further invitation ; and when she sat down they were very kind and attentive to her ; though she had to remind them that it was she who ought to wait upon them. And if, as is highly probable, they wanted no supper at all, still, out of courtesy, they pretended to be valiant trencher-men, and Sabina was highly pleased. Fred Foster was the only one who did not join in ; perhap3 it was his losses during the day that made him moody ; ab all events he remained standing by the fire ; and he had lit a cigar. Supper over, and things cleared away by the little maidservant, Sabina withdrew ; and she knew, by the hilarity that speedily followed, that she had done right in leaving them free. This was not whist they were playing, ehe guessed ; probably it was some round game, in which the ill-luck of the unfortunate was greeted with derision; anyhow, the noise did not dUturb her ; she read contentedly in the small drawing-room until (following an old habit about which Janie used to tease her) she quietly fell asleep. It was near midnight when she awoke ; they were still playing, but less noisily ; so leaving them to themselves, she slipped upstairs and went to bed. But whatever game that was they had been playing. Fred Foster had burned his lingers at it, aa she discovered next mornins. "Those brutes didn't go till three," he said " I hope their walk back to Epsom did them good. I know the}? managed to clean me out before they left." And then he said :—: — " Look here, Sabie, I've been pretty hard hit lately, in several ways. I think I must sell the cob and the pony- chaise. " To pay Mr Deane ?" she asked. "Oh, no, he's all right. He has got a bill for that. But I must get a lot of money somehow. And this would save old Noel's wages, and the keep of the cob besides." . "Very well," she said, without any word of remonstrance or regret. But this sale of the cob and the ponychaise - they were taken away a couple of days thereafter— left her life at the cottage even more monotonous and empty than it had been before. She worked a lifette in the garden ; she wrote to Janie, or to Mrs Foster in Buckinghamshire, evading the old lady's pertinacious enquiries aboub the whereabouts and conduct of her son. But it was a lonely life ; the hours went by slowly ; there were long spaces for reverie, and recollections, and forecasts, which were not always of the happiest kind. But no word of complaint escaped her ; whatever of despair was in her heart she kept concealed there ; she sought for no sympathy. Sometimes,in a half-hysterical kind of way, she would convince herself that her father would relent, and that a larger income would remove her husband's discontent and win him back to her ; and she would go downstairs in the morning with some wild hope of finding a letter there with the joyful news. No such letter came. Sir Anthony's communications were punctual; beyond that, nothing. And so the slow days went by, each one laying a heavier hand upon her heart. She did not go to the Private View of the Grosvenor, nor to Janie "Wygram's wedding; but hereafter she got many and many a letter from Janie, describing their wanderings in Italy, and her joy over these new experiences, The young married couple were not away very long, though they managed to vhit a good many places in the time ; and Sabina began to count the days until their return ; for somehow ehe wished to know than Janie was in London. It was the second morning after they got back that Janie received the following note: "Dear Friend.— Do you remember one night at Mrs Mellord's a Scotch girl singing a song that began something like this — O can yo sew cushions, And can ye sew sheets, And can ye sing ballaloo When the bairn greets? Do you think you could get me a copy of it ? You will try, for Sabie's sake." Just as fast as ever she could walk from Nottinghill to Kensington -square, Janie carried this note, and breathless and joyful she was when she put it into her mother's hand. " See, mother," she cried. " Don't you understand ? — it is a message ! And, oh, I am so glad ! Poor Sabie— she will not be so lonely now." (To be Continued.)

There is a most interesting widow in that appropriately named town, Ifazardville, Conn. This lady has lost tive,husbands ,by powder mill 1 explosions. Is she alarmed ? is she discouraged? Nob al all. She is about to be joined to the sixth, and lie is a powder miller also. Easily Accounted For.— Bill Collector: " See here I have written to you a dozen letters about that 1 bill you owe my firm, and you haven't even recognised them." Country editor : " VVere/ they written on both sides of the sheet?"! "Of'^ourse." "All such communications go into the waste basket without reading.