CHAPTER XXIX. TOO LATE !

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 243, 25 February 1888, Page 6

CHAPTER XXIX. TOO LATE !

" I srrrosE you would like me to pawn my wife's redding ring ?"' [fc Mas Fred Foster who spoke in this hurt way ; and it was his friend Jim Donne whom he addressed. But all the usual i^ood humour was absent now from Mr Deane's small, ferrety, clear eyes, and fiom the weather-pinched face with its lined features and small, neat whiskers. For there was no Sabina present to mollify his manner. Rather he seemed to be following hi» wife's brisk counsel of the year before — that he should no longer submit to Fo^t'V.s snpoiior aiis; and indeed at this moment his expression was far from beiiijr placable. The two men were in a small apartment at. the top ot a house in Welling-fcon-street, Stiaml. \\ hioh now constituted Fred Foster s lodging 'w hen he had to stay in town at ni<rht. " I'awn it or sell ifc, that don't concern me," was the retort "But what I want, you to understand is that I am not going to £0 on renewing that bill e\ cry three months. Mind, I don't like the look of the transaction at all. 1 don't think it would look well in court. You take over a horse and trap ; give a bill for the amount ; then you sell "fc'iem ; bub instead of taking up the bill when it is due, it appears that you stuffed the money into your pocket and spent ib. Well, now, you know " " Oh, what's the use of talking like that ?" Poster impatiently broke in. " You would have had the money long ago if 1 hadn't •struck such a curaed vein of ill luck. Just look at Altcar, last week. Did you ever see such luck ? Shrapnell breaking her legs and Tricksy Kitty and The Lad coming to grief almost immediately after. How can . you expect anyone to be in funds ?" '"And there is that house," continued the other. " You have been in it all this time, and not one penny of rent paid ! Well, I Cc*n't afford to rind people in furnished houses all for nothing." " You've come to town in a pretty temper, Jim,*' Foster remarked coolly. " Why, I took over the house and the things to oblige you— you wanted to be oft'fco Newmarket in such a hurry." "To oblige me?" Mr Deane repeated. * { Well, jouH obiige me by clearing out; that's all I've got to say I'll forfeit the rent up till now ; but J n't mean to be made a fool of any longer. " Why, man, do you mi k you could let the house at this time of the year?" " That is my affair." " Coins, be reasonable Jim," Foster said, in more conciliatory tones. "You know very well chat I always meant to pay you, and mean it now. It isn't like you to be hard on a fellow who is down on his luck ; and the iuek I've experienced of late would melt the heart of a grindstone. Anybody deader broke than lam at the present moment I can'b imagine But it won't last. Just give me till Sandown Grand Prize, and then you'll see." Deane's small eyes brightened up a little. "What are you on— Victory or Cherryband ?"' "Cherry-band." " Chert y-band is a very good horse," he remarked slowly. " I got on him at 8 to 1," Foster said, ■with some cheerfulness " And what do you stand to win, if it's a fair question ? ' the other asked. " Well, 1 put everything I could scrape togethei on him, ever}' scrap ; but you may suppose it wasn't millions. Why, that's been the worst of my luck ; when I have pulled oil a good thing there's been nothing on \vo'*th speaking? of." " Cherry-band is a good horse over the sticks," Deane said, contemplatively. "We'll go across to the Gaiety bar," said Foster — perceiving thafc Mr Deane had giown more amenable, "and drink his a^ood health. It's Cherry-band has got to pull me tli rough." When they were over the way, Foster, •whose temperament could move from one extreme to another with remarkable facilit}', to his companion :—: — " Lool; here, Jim, I'm bo certain of this t.Sing coming all right that I'll tell you what I'll do with you — here, now, .at this very counter. If you are worrying about the rent of the house, I'll tell you what I'll do ; 1 11 get paper and ink and write down to my tfife, directing her to send you a ceitain sum every month out of the household money. You may depend it will bo paid ; for she's a? methodical as clockwork ; and so is her piecious prig of a father, too, although I believe he would prefer to see us starving. Now will that do? And how much is it to be ?" Mr Deane looked somewhat uneasy. " ]M— no, I don't think I will trouble Mrs Foster." he said, with some hesitation. " Business is business, of course ; but I prefer dealing with men." "Then you are content to wait to fee what Wednesday does for me?" "V— yes." " Now." Foster continued, boldly, " will you lend me a tenner to put on Cherrybund ?" " No, I will not," Deane eaid, with much sharpne?3. " Why, you're out of your se^.-ies !" s* It's always the way," Foster said plaintively, " when I've got hold of a real jafoad thing, a moral, iV. always happens jusfc then that I *,m out of funds, and lose my oh a rice."" " And what if Cherry-band shouldn't ■p\\\\ it off?" his companion said, eyeing him. Foster laughed in a curious kind of way. " We'd better not speak about that." It was in the interval between this conversation and the Sandown Park Meeting that Fred Foster had learned for the first time that henceforth his father meant to forward his quarterly allowance to Sabina ; iv fact, it was on one of his occasional visits to Wayside Cottage that the cheque arrived, payable to her order. And he chose to be very angry about the circumstance, despite her demonstrances. "What difference will it mako?" she said, ."lou will get the money all the same.". " Why did you hide ib from me all this ' time that he had spoken to you about it ?" lie asked, roughly enough. "1— I did not hide it. I thought perhaps it was only a threat," she said. "Indeed, I had no wish thut he should do anything of the kind." "He thinks he can twist you round his finger. Wants you to go to Missendon ! Oh, yes. I wonder what he will try next. Anyhow, this cheque comes in handy enough, for I'm off to Sandown to-morrow —so you'd better sign it now."

"But;, Fred, you don't mean to tako the whole of it away with you?" sho pleaded. "Oh, you needn't imagine I am going to risk all of it on horses," ho said. " There's something more immediate than that. Tho Collinsons have a writ out against me — the contemptible cads ! — and I must got it squared. That comes of doing people a kindness. I wonder how many poople I havo got to fciy their champagnes — without a farthing of commission. But everyone** hand is turned against mo just now. Hero's Deano rowing about tho rent of this houso, when ho on glit to havo been glad to have tho place kept warm and dry through such a winter. Oh, I've had some nice experience of late of human gratitude ; 1 could write a book about it. As soon as you're down in your luck, then tho truth comes out. If you can ask them to dinner, and give them the best of everything, thon it's *My doar fellow,' all over the place ; or if they fancy you're on good terms with some of tho trainers, they are ready to black your booth ; but the moment your luck 'turns ! against you, thon it's ' Pay up, or you'll be in the County Court next week.' Well, wo'll see what "Wednesday does. I hopo it will bo I the turning-point. I've had ill-luck before; but never such a run ; the time has come tor I a change." "It seems such a pity, I' 1 rod," she ventured to say (for sho was thinking of the I small boy upstairs, and of many littlo plans and schemes she had been drawing out on 1 hiN behalf), " that you should let everything ' hang on a mero chance." •' Oh, yes, I know," he returned, scornfully, " that is what women always say. It's such a pity we're not all angels. Well, I never pretended to be one. Besides, the question doesn't interest me. What does interest mo is whether Cherry-band is going to win tho Grand Prize at Sundown on Wednesday — that interests me a very groat deal, I can tell you." He paused for a socond or two, staring into the tire, and then ho me and went and filled a pipe. "Oh, he must," he said, half to himself, | and indeed, ac if he were inclined to laugh at himself. "He must, ho must, he must. Every man and lad in the stable has put his last farthing on him. He'.s ten pounds better than Cryddesho. " She came to him with the cheque. "Here it is, Fred, but don't be reckless." upon her. I tell you wo simply can't live on the income we have at present, and when I try to make things a little better, you say I'm reckless ! You don't suppose any human being oon have a constant run of good luck. I had a fair slice of it after we were married, and you didn't complain then. You must take the bad with the good, like other people ; and its no use, when things are bad, when one is trying one's best to pull through, I say it's pure nonsenso to talk about recklessness. 1 ' But that was neither his tone nor his manner when, early on tho morning after the Sandown Grand Prize had been run for, he came back to Witstead. For the first time in their life together Sabina saw him thoroughly cowed ; he was cowed and agitated, and at the same time unusually reticent. No wonder she was alarmed. " What is tho matter, Fred?" she asked. "Everything is the matter," ho answered, curtly. He went upstairs to his dressing-room and got together a few things, which he brought down and proceeded to put hurriedly into his bag, and while doing so made her some brief explanation. "I must get out of the way fora little while, that's all," he said. " I'm in a me»s. I must clear out and get away until I see how things are to be squared." "Where are you going, Fred?" she asked, calmly. " You'd better not know. You can say you don't know. But, look here, whatever money you can send me — and you may imagine I shall have need of every permy — you can send it to Captain Raby ; he will know how to pass it on." He scribbled a few words on a piece of paper. "That is lu3 address. If you send post office orders, make them payable to him, not tome." "Is — is everything gone ?'' she ventured to ask. "Everything? I should think so. Everything !" She went forward and put her hand on his arm. " Fred, will you let this be the end now? I should not regret the loss of money if only you would promise to have done with betting. Will you ?" He shook off her hand. "Oh, don't talk. Cherry-band was drugged. I saw it the moment I clapped eyes on him. Ho vras quite dazed and helpless whon they pulled him out to run. Well, it has done for me. Even if the owner and trainer find out the scoundiel, that won't help me. What money have you in the house ?" The sudden question startled her. Clearly he was bent on immediate flight. " A little over four pounds, I think," she answered. " Well, I must have it," he said, briefly. " Fred !" " Now don't make a fuss, but go and gob it. Do you think this is a time for talking ? I can tell you it's more serious than that." He had finished his packing by this time, and had gone to the sideboard' for a pieco of cake and a glass of spirit? and water. Sabina said nothing further, but went away upstairs, slo»vly and stealthily, for the | child was lying asleep. j On the landing, however, she paused ' irresolute. Sho could just hear within the girl she had left in charge hushing the baby, I and, indeed, making some effortat the cradlesong that Sabina Avas used to' croon. 'Bub ! it was nob to listen she stood there, it was to bringher mind to this robhery of her child, as she considered it ; and ab last she gave way, she could not do it. She went down j again to the room. " No," she said, with her face grown very pale, " I will not do it, Fred, I cannot be so mean. It is not of myself I am thinking. If I were taken ill — and nothing in the house—" " Oh, if you won't get it, I must fetch it for myself, I suppose," he said ; and upstairs he went to the bedroom, where he found no difficulty in getting the money out of her desk. A few minutes thereafter he had gone from the house and was on his way to the station. And so Sabina was once more left helpless and penniless and alone ; and it is hardly to be wondered at that more than over, if that was possible, she^ prized and treasured the one consolation of her solitary existence. The child became tha very life of her life ; the source of any glimmer of "joy that shot athwart those darkened-daya. *,' the one cheerful thing she could think of as regarded the future. She was angry aiid indignant with tho little maid-servant for not understanding what Baby said— -efforts at conversation which were mostly the creation of a mother's fancy ; she wroto wonderful accounts to Janie of his exploits and qualities ; when Baby was pleased she was ' happy, and for the moment forgot every* ! thing else. Indeed, it was oftentimes with a wondering attitude* that, amid alt her i dumb fears for tho t'uturd and her present

anxieties and trouble, she could turn to this other living creature, as much concerned as herself, but so happily unconscious. She would sing the cradlo-song to him :~ "Nowhush-a-baw, lammio, And hush-a-baw, deai\ [ Now hush-a-baw, lamnno, Thy minnie is hero ; i The wild wind is ravin', Thy minnio's hoart's snir, Tho wild wind is ravin', But yo dinna care." And very glad was she to take tho last of those lines as solaco to herself. It may be niontioned that Walter Lindsay, incidentally, of courso, asked Janie, in a letter, whether it was likely that Sabina had hoard of tho Highland mother's pot name for her child—" the lamb of my hoart ;" and it is to be guessed that that piece of information was not long in finding its way clown to Wilstead. Sabina was glad to have the pretty phraso ; the fact implied in it she had already found out for herself. But soon thin uneventful solitude was to be startled by unwelcome news. Old Mr Mr Foster wroto :—: — " Dear daughter - in - law,— Mother has prrovvn much worse. Sho anxiously wishes to see you, and the boy if it is possible. Tell Fred ho must come at once." Sho feared what this might mean ; and instantly telegraphed to Captain Raby for her husband's address. To her astonishment and indignation, instead of answering this telegram forthwith, Captain Raby made his appearance at VVitstead Cottage, and hopod that sho would command his services in any possible way, if ho could be of assistance to her. She briefly answered that all she wanted was to know where her husband was at that moment. She remained standing, her tall figuro drawn up to its full height, her mouth firm, her eyes proud and invincible. It was he who wa«i somewhat abashed ; and he began to make a few excuses for his visit —saying it was necessary just then to be a little cautious in revealing Fred Foster's whereabouts, and tho like. And then, twirling his waxed moustache tho while, ho endeavoured to introduce a littlo bland facotiousness about Mr Foster's ways and weaknesses ; and cloarly wished to be asked to sit down and prolong tho interview. Sabina had no such intention in her head. With cold insistence she got from him, if not hor husband's actual address, at least the name of a oerson in Yorkshire who was in communication with him ; and then with a formal "Thank you; good morning," Captain Raby found himself dismissed and free to return to London. His temper was not improved by this visit, as one or two of his associates discovered that afternoon. Sabina, not understanding precisely why her husband should wish to remain concealed for the moment, concluded that it Mould be hotter not to telegraph to him ; but she wrote him an urgent letter, tolling him of tho news she had received, and begging him at once to go down to Buckinghamshire. As for herself, ho would know it wad impossible for her to go j sho had not the money, for one thing. *She posted the letter at once ; bub she might; have spared herself the trouble. The very next morning there came a telegram ; she opened it with trembling fingers ; it contained a brief and laconic message from a broken-hearted old man — "Do not come. All {■> over." Sabina let the paper fall to the table. That gentle-eyed woman had been very, very kind to her. And it seemed so pitiless that the one idol of her life — for whom she had striven so much, for whom she had sacrificed so much — should not have been with her in her last hours. It was next to impossible that any intelligence of the approaching end could have reached him. It was three days after that, and late in the evening, that Fred Foster suddenly made his appearance at Wayside Cottage. She was horrified beyond measure at the sight of him. He was as one demented ; his face was white and haggard ; his eyes furtive and yet with a strange glare in them ; and his clothes were crumpled and soiled as if he had been asleep on the floor of a third-class carriage. "Did you get my letter?" she said, breathlessly. " What letter ?" he said — and his speech was thick in his throat. " No, I got no letter. I saw the — the announcement in the ' Times.' My God I" He was pacing up and down the room, like some wild beast in a cage. " Did she send no message to me ? Was there no message for me ? That's what I have come for. Surely — surely — a word — " "Here is the letter from your father," she said, gravely ; and she handed it to him. He glanced hurriedly over it ; and then with a slight cry as of pain, he threw himself on the sofa, face downward, and broke out into a wild fit of gobbing. Sho was terrified. For a young woman, she had seen a great deal of human sorrow ; but she had never see a man so moved before. "I wish I was dead too," he said, in broken sentences, between the sobs, "and it would be better for everybody. Oh, I can't see it well enough. I wish I had never been born. It's been my luck all the way through, to bring misery to everyone ; and what's the use of holding on now when you can only do more and more harm ? It's no good t'-ying any more now everything's against me ; and there 1 she has gone away just when I was at the worst. But— but Ican make reparation — to others. The old man won't have to fret any more. And why did you ever marry me ? 1 told you what kind of fellow I was. I might have been better if there had been' a little I«.ck \ but it was all against me. ' And yo\i*ll be all right ; you are a strong woman) ' Yes, you are a stronger woman than t atfi a man ; but there is something you are hot stfong enough to do ; and. I am going *,to do it ; it's the only thing I can do -now. lam goinsr out of this world altogether — it's the only reparation I can make" j if the poor, Mater knew, she would say it was doing right " •*• '-' Sabina went to him and put her hand' on his shoulder. " Fred, you must not talk like that > Tell me, are you going to the funeral ?" "I daren't— l daren't," he groaned. "1 would kill myaelf on her graven And perhaps the be.«t thing, too, that ; pould happen ; for it's all over now." ; "No, no; don't take ;6h 80," she said soothingly. " See, here i$ a piece of porcelain that I have been painting for Baby's birthday, with the date on it, and a wreath of mixed none-ao-pretty and forget-me-not. Janie is going to have i"A glazed and fired forme." By-and-byehe rose : but he would listen to none of her proposals that he should have something to eat or drink, or that he should go to bed. He would not go upstairs that night, be said ; he was going out, and might be back late; he did not wish to wake the child* And ,tben he wandered away into the darkness- ' It was about* three in the 1 morning when he returned; and thereafter she, lying awake in the silence, could hear him pacing up and down ; and sometimes she thought she could hear him say " Mother I" And if she was convinced that this passion of grief was sincere enough for the moment, still she could not tell that the remorse accompanying it was likely bo be a per* manent or fruitful thing ; on the contrary, as she looked away to the future (in those despondent hours that herald in the dawn), and as she considered that the one salutary

and controlling influence over Fred Foster's life had now been taken away, she could only despairingly conjecture what the fate of herself, and of her child, that was doarer to her than herself, was likely to be.