THE LADY IN BLACK.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8405, 20 April 1907, Page 2

THE LADY IN BLACK.

CHAPTER ll.—Continued.

Mabin had not gone twenty yards, however, on her way up the slight ascent, when she saw something which diverted her thoughts from the vicarage people. The gates of ''The Towers" were wide open, and Mrs Dale's smart victoria, with its wellmatched pair of small dark brown horses, came out so suddenly that Mabin had to jump off the bicycle to avoid a collision. Alone in the carriage sat a lady in deep mourning, who turned and looked out anxiously at the girl, and stopped the carriage to speak to her. "I'm so sorry! I hope you didn't hurt yourself, in having to jump oft' so quickly?" asked the lady in black, in a sweet, plaintive voice that struck some chord in Mabin's heart, and made the girl gasp and pause before she could answer. "Oh, no—oh, no, thank you. One often has to do thiat," stammered the girl, flushing, and speaking with a shy constraint which made her tone cold and almost rude. And she knew it, poor child, and washniserable over it; miserable to think that now when she had an opportunity of speaking to the being who had excited in her an enthusiastic admiration, she was throwing her chance away. A common and most tragic experience with most young girls. One thing, however, Mabin was able to do. In the shy look with which she returned Mrs Dale's kind gaze of inquiry, she took in a picture of a lovely woman which remained impressed or. her mind ineffaceably. Mrs Dale was a lovely woman, lovelier than Mabin had thought when she only got glimpses of the lady's profile from her seat in church, or peeps at her through her thick black veil. Mrs Dale wore a black veil to-day, but in the open carriage, in the full glare of the sun, her beauty was evident enough. A little woman, plump, pink, childlike in face and figure, with wavy fair hair, infantine blue eyes, and a red-lipped mouth which was all the , more loveable more attractive for not being on the strict lines of beauty, Mrs Dale had, Mabin felt, exactly the right features and the right expression for the sweet voice she had just heard. And through the beauty, and through the voice, the (girl, inspired perhaps by the mourning dresy, thought she detected a sadness which seemed to her the most pathetic thing in the world. In two moments the interview was over; Mrs Dale had smiled upon her sweetly, bidden her farewell merely with a bend of her head, and driven away, leaving Mabir. to scold herself for her idiocy in throwing away an opportunity which she might never have again. She did not try to overtake the carriage ; she watched it down the open road; until the shining coil of silky hair under the black crape bonnet grew dim in the distance. And then, with a shrug of her shoulders, and a murmur that "it was just like|her," Mabin turned defiantly into the road which led past the vicarage. However, nobody was around to throw stones at the bicycle on this occasion, and it was not until she had reached Seagate, changed her father's books at the library, and matched a skein of cable silk for Emily, that she was reminded afresh of the existence of the Bonningtons by the sight of Rudolph, in his knickerbockers and gaiters, standing by his bicycle while he lit a cigarette. Unconsciously Mabin frowned a little. And unluckily Rudolph saw the frown. She meant to pass him without appearing to notice him, but he foresaw the intention, and was nettled by it. For Rudolph, with his black eyes and curly black hair, and his sun-browned face, was the handsomest fellow in the neighbourhood when he was on shore, and was accustomed to a great deal of kindness an civility from Mabin's sex. Her rudeness, which arose more from shyness than from the lofty contempt he supposed, puzzled the young fellow, and made him angry. He remembered their ancient comradeship ; which she seemed to have forgotten; ant), most unwisely, he let a spirit of "devilment" get the better of him, and addressed her as if they had been still on the old terms. "Good morning, Mabin," said he. She gave him a bend of the head, without looking at him, and was passing on to the place where her bicycle stood outside the door of a shop. But he would not let her escape so. 1 "Mayn't I offer you a cigarette?" To do him justice, Rudolph had 'not noticed that a small boy with a i basket was near enough to hear. The boy burst into shrill laughter, and Mabin turned fiercely. For once she did not stoop. "I'm afraid you have forgotten a great deal since you went to sea," she said, in a voice which she could not keep steady. The young man was surprised, and rather shocked at the way in which he had been received. He had been anxious to heal the breech between her and himself, and he had thought that a dash into the old familiarity might avail where more carefully studied attempts had failed. Before he could do more than begin to apologise, to appeal to their . old friendship, Mabin had got on her bicycle, an ridden away. The sun was beating down fiercely by this time upon the white, chalky roads, but Mabin rode on recklessly at a higher speed than usual. She was well on her way back to Stone when, turning her head to look along . the road she had come by, she perceived that Rudolph was not far behind. She had forgiven his indiscretion, by this time, and rather hoped that he was following quickly on purpose to "make it up." So she went on her way through a group of

By FLORENCE WARDEN. Author of **Jn Infamous Fraud," tf J Terrible Family,' 1 "jFor Love of Jack,- "The lions >■ on the Marshr'c., f.tr.

| i..tragglin;.r cottages at a rather slower pace. Tlu'ru was ;i sharp bend in the road at this point, and just ad she sounded hev li'.'i] in fuming the corner, she saw Rudolph, who was now close behind, dismount and pick up so:.;ctiiing from the road. The next moment something' struck the front wheel of her bicycle, and she and her machine were flung with violence down in the road. She had time to utter a cry, no more, before the crash came. Then she remembered nothing, until she heard somebody sobbing close to her ears; and opening her eyes, she saw the sweet face of Mrs Dale with the black veil thrown back, and with tears in the blue eyes, leaning over her tenderly. Mrs Dale uttered a cry of joy, and another voice, which Mabin recognized as Rudolph's, said, "Thank God, she isn't dead at any rate." "Are you better, dear? Are you in any pain?" asked Mrs Dale, with so much solicitude that answering tears of sympathetic emotion started into the girl's own eyes. "I am quite well, quite well," said Mabin. "Only—only—l think my foot hurts." Rudolph and Mrs Dale exchanged glances. "I thought so," said he. "She's broken her ankle." Mrs Dale's pretty eyes began to fill again. "We must lift her into the carriage," said 'she, "And you will go and prepare her mother, and see that a doctor is sent for at once." And, in spite of the protests she feebly made, Mabin was gently raised from the ground by Rudolph's strong arms, and helped into the. victoria, where Mrs Dale took her aeat, and, telling the coachman to drive slowly, insisted on making her own plump !;'ttle shoulder the pillow for the girl's head. But Mabin, having recovered her spirits, if not her walking powers, wanted to talk to the new friend she had so unexpectedly made. "You are very good to me," she said. "I have never had so much kindness from anyone since my mother died. It was so strange; when I woke up just now I felt what I thought was my mother's touch again. And yet I had forgotten all about that. For she has been dead fifteen years." "Poor child!" said Mrs Dale. "I am glad of that, dear, that I reminded you of her," she gently whispered. "Of course, I don't mean that," went on Mabin quickly, trying to sit up. "I don't mean that you could be a mother to me now, as I am. That does sound ridiculous. You couldn't be my mother when you are the same age as myself." As a matter of fact, Mabin looked older than her companion. But when the conversation thus turned to herself Mrs Dale's pink face grew suddenly pale, and Mabin looked at her shyly, and flushed, feeling that she had said something wrong. But almost before she was conscious that she had touched some sensative spot, Mrs Dale said softly:' "Go on talking dear, about your mother, —or —or anything. I am lonely, you know; very lonely. And it is a treat to hear you talk." The girl flushed again, this time with surprise. "You like to hear me talk! Ah, then you must be lonely indeed. For they say at home I never talk without saying the very last thing I ought to say." As she came to the end of her speech, Mabin found that her words insensibly began to run one into the other, and that her voice died away. And, greatly to her own astonishment, she found her head falling heavily upon that of her new friend. "Ah, child, it is selfish of me to make you talk!" cried Mrs Dale. "You are faint, and must rest now. Come and talk to me some other time." Mabin overcame the faintness which had seized her, and quite suddenly raised her head again. The little excitement of the hope held out to her brought all her senses back. "Come and see you? Oh, may I? I should like it very much." The girl almost nestled, as she spoke, against her new friend. But over Mrs Dale's fair, childlike face there came at once a sort of shadow, as if a terrible remembrance ' had suddenly taken the power for all pleasuraole emotion from her. It almost seemed to Mabin that the little fyands made a movement as if to push her away. (To be Continued.