CHAPTER IV.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2245, 27 November 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

C HAPTER IV.

The following afternoon he made hia way to Djlatnert'-crescenfc, and knocked at the door of N<\ 6. The neat handin nd who opened it, on hearing his na*ne, ushered him into a prettily-fur-ni-h >d room Over the mantel-piece hunsr a water- iolour portrait, which Godfrey instantly recognised as a likeness of Mr-i W. u grave. A* he stood looking at it, the door opened, and turning- round, he Siw Sybil enter. Coming up to him, .she took his hands into both hers, si\ injr, us she did so. " Welcome, Mr Hume, in memory of your past great kindness t ■ my de.ir mother in that happy mi minor time, which now seems so long a-jfo." Her eyes filled with tears as she -poke. G iJfiev siw the tear.", and said gently, " You hive lost you 1 ' mother ?'' " Yo> ; s'ie did not. live very long after we came b.i"k. " '* Co-ne. sit down, and tell us all about youi.splt ; " as Godfrey spoke, he placed her in a low chair near the window, he hi'nself yointr back to the fireplace, where he stood le.iinnsr agiin^t the mantlepiece, •ttte'itively v.itchiny her face. " We hp.ii'd, Mr Hume, why you had to leave S urloross so suddenly. We were so M>rrv. Your father, I trust, got better?" "No— ho oied." The irirl jrive him a quick look of sympathy, and went on. "My mother and I left soou after you did, and came back to London, where she could be under the care of her own doctor. She had so enjoyed Sandcio-n, the beautiful sea and beach I hid hoped so much from the change, but Doctor Norton told me afterwards nothing would have saved her life, it was only a question of time. She lingered until October, and then I was left alone in the world." Sybil pau-ed, the memory of the past oremimiusr her. Aft,or awhile she coutitiucd. *' 1 don't know wh it I should have done in tint sad lime but for Ueoordh, my mother's oM nuise. The dear old woman c.ime to us in our trouble, .indhclpol ;no t) nune nriv d.ulinsr, ami when all \v.n over she offt j iedto -tay on with tm>. She hid s;iwd enousrh, sho >aid, ti keep herself. And, indeed I could not have yhen her wasros then if she had required them, for I was l^ft with barely enough to kiep myself from Wint. My mother's ppu^iim — my father. Major Wariinue, diod *-oon after my birth — of oouisi' ce.ised at her death; neirly all her little savings were adsorbed by the heavy doctors' lulls. My father had rich brothers, but they l);nl qumvlled with him for manyintr, as they thought, beneath him. a sjirl whose beauty and goodness where her only dower. A lady in every seace of Iho word, was my mother,' said the girl pusu lly, 'with better blood in her veins than they could boast ; but she was a penniless governess, and these purse proud people despised her. As you may suppose, I would rather have starved than have applied to them for help.' 'I can well understand that. Poor child, how you must have suffered.' •Yes,' said Sybil, • bat God was very good. I had one gift, and I determined to turn it to account. As you will guess, that gift was my voice. My dear mother had been proud of it, and had it carefully trained. I decided to begin by giving lessons, and wrote to my old singinu master on the subject. He gave me testimonials, and kindly obtained me some p"p\ls. Deborah and I settled in a cheap suburb, and my work began. It waa dreary enough work, too, sometimeg:

my pupils were, some of them, rather stupid, and of course I had to go out all weather^.' 'And once,' said Godfrey, 'nearly got run over.' She g'anced at him quickly, and then bent her blushing face. ' Tell me the truth,' said he, coming up, nnd taking a seat near hor, ' did you recognise me that day : JL Co, •Then why ' ' Ah ! I know what you are going to say. I * lie I not lecoguistj you just at iirst, and when I did, the aighb of your l.icu brought back so vividly the memory of my loss — then so fiesh. I felt so utterly miserably I could not trust myywlf to speak, and I did not feel quite sure whether you remembered me. How very, very rude you must have thought me.' "No, not rude. I was sorry, because I saw you were in trouble of somo kind, and I did j-o want tahelp you if I could. There i:i some truth," Godfrey said with " in what ' Sylva Carmen ' says after all." '• Who is Sylva Carmen, and what does she say ?" " Sylva Carmen ia the Queen of Roumanh. Sho has written a book of proverbs or saying?. Arnoug them is this one : " Men study women like barometers, but they ouly understand the day afterwards.'" Sybil laughed merrily. " She may bo right, I don't know. Anyway, I have always gratefully remembered your timely aid, for that afternoon proved the turning: point of my life." "I cannot He too thankful I happened to bo passing at the tune," said Godfrey, gravely. " But what do you mean by the turning point? Do enlighfeu me." " Willingly. But it will be a long story." "Never mind that. You shall find me, I promise you, a most attentive listner." 'That afternoon,' began Sybil, 'I was on my way to give a singing* lesson in a fashionable street in the West end. I was duo at three o'clock, but my adventure delayed me, and in spito of omnibus help — I could not afford auba in fcho-o days — 1 was dismayed to fiud, on looking at my watch as 1 o eared the home, that I w<is nn hour late ! Tho footman, who opened the door, told mi Miss H ncourt, after waiting for rao some little time, hud gone out to keep an appointment; she would expert mo tho next day at the usual hour. I was turning- away heart-sick and weary —for I did not want that long* journey ngain the next day — when I heard a childish voice scroamiug, 'James ! J,irae!»! is that Miss Wargrave V The door, whioh w.is witbin nn inch of closing, opened wide, and a chill on crutches came flyiny along the hall. .She was tho younger sister of my pupil, and had been a cripple frutn her birth. So small was sho for her age thit although quito fifteen she did not look more than twelve. Pushing the man a^ido, .she took hold of my dims and tried to pull mo in. 'Oh, Miss Wtrgicvo,' nhe said, 'do come in.' 'But your sister,' I said, 'is not at home.' * I know, but I am, aid so wretched and lonelj'. It is one of mima'a reception days ; the drawing-room is full of visitor-», and I can't sec anything of her. 1 want you to sing- to me. , Do, please.' I could not resist the pleading face. Poor child, her pleasures wore comparatively so few. Wo went together into her own little room. Isabel rang for tea, which was quickly brought. I was, I need scarcely tell you, glad enough of the refreshing beverage. While partaking of it, I gave Isabel a biiuf outline of the adventure which accounted for my tardy appearance. The dear child was quite concerned, and asked if I felt quite well enough to sing. Hor ten, I told her, had worked wonders for mo, and hitting" down at the piano — Isabel reclining on her little sofa— l sang song after song, for I had a most appreciative listener. The short November afternoon was over, the twilight had deepened into dusk, when I heeamo aware, as one somehow dot\«, that Isabel and I were not alone in tho room. Turning round, I saw the dim outline of tvn figures seated near tho window. Oue rose'ns I turned and rang for liir'nts. When th-^y were brought I <»si\7 th.tt one of m) listener-* had le jm Mr- Harcourr. Tho other **he introduced t>me as Lady Bruce. 'An old friend ot mine, Miss W.irgnive,' said Mrs Harcourt, 'aud Isabel's godmother. Lady Bruce always pays me a visit on these days after everyone has left. Isabel has told mo the reason you were too late to give Maude her usual lesson this afternoon. lam sorry for your f right. Many thanks for so kindly singing to my little daughter. You have given ua a g r eat tieat also,' she kindly added. 'Mrs ilaicourt is quite right,' said L idy Bruce, a woman who must have been also beautiful in her youth, her face— although she was verging on old ago— being- still ho pleasant to look upon. 'I must add n*y thanks to hers ; in fact, Muss W.irgrave, your voice has so charmed mo that I am goinjf to ask you a avour. lain (,'ivin^ ji musical parly to-morrow night, and tm ptinu donn'i l>as disippointod mo. Will you take her placo ? You would greatly oblige me by doing 1 so.' ; " Of course, I would gladly do so, and toM her so. It was accordingly arranged I should he ii Liciy Bruco's hoii^o at nine o'clock the following ni'enin-r. MrHartourt was good enough to say tint I could postpone her d uiuhb- r\s le^on for n (by or two. Deborah aud I sat up late th it night furbishing up an" old evening dress. My wardrobe was jib a lo>v ebb in those days. I kep r lay appointment, and since that evening I have had more engagements offered me than I can accept. Deborah and I left tho cheap suburb and took these nice rooms. I found &iti<,'ia«- go much more lucrative than teaching that I h'lve given up all my pupils excepting- Maude Hsir court. I still give her lessons for tho ple.iKine of sinking to her sifter." " That ti kind," a iid Godfrey, as Sybil P'ui^ed. "I was told last ni^ht Mi-s Wargrave was ' quite tho rage ' this teasou." " Well, you know, I mu.«,t make my 1 hay w'tiilo the win t-hinp.i.' Society soon tiics of anew toy. But in talking so much of myself I a»n forgetting- to ask 3on a question. Aro you tho Mr Hume who wrote * Lfarhfc in the Duknods,' the look evci yono is talking about ? ' Godfrey, smiling assent, asked if sho had read it. " I iim ashamed to say I have not, but it id not nty fault. My name has been d-r.vn at tho libriry ior weeks. I am p-itiently awaiting my turn." "Wei!," said Godfrey, as he rose to take his k'.'ive, "you shall not wait any longer. 1 will send you a copy tomorrow, and yon can do as you like about loading it. I will send some other book* with it. Komomber," he said, taking her hand in his, "lam always your fiiend, ami if I can serve you in any way do not fail to lot me know." Sybil thankod him warmly. " Will you," he t»uid, " send mo a list of your engagements ? I should liko to | hoar you »w% again, and I get iuvituti<;n.s to mauy musical parties. Sho willingly promised to comply with lii.-j request. " But," said she, " before you go I must introduce you to my dear old nursi) ; ?he would, I know, like to thank you for your kind care of me last night. I found her so distressed about nic whon I returned. Ono o? her dreadful siolc lieadaches had come on, aud she could not value hoi- head frora tf>D piilDW." .Sybil Jiad touched tho belt as she spoke. Presently tho door opened, and there entered a little old woman with a snowy cap and apron. "Deborah," said Sybil, leading her to Godfrey, " this i 3 the gentleman who sawmo into the cab last night, and who was so kind to dear mamma long ago." Deborah was about to bob a courtesy, when Godfrey took her hand and shoo'c it heartily. "I was very glad to be of some little use to Mi« Wargrave, Deborah." "Bles* yon, sir, for it I w j g h IM known it, though ,- for I thoalclu t have put myself in such a fever worrying about tho poor lamb." Godfrey said farewell qucq more to

Sybil, aivl, with a kindly nod to Deborah, took hU leave. The old woman and the gil stood waMmig,Jjitn doWJfcsJti e street. " Ah, ' said ..Deborah, 5 li Wfyj something like a \r\nit he is ; none W f6\\r namby paniby, dandy chap*, but* Ijroad and strong, ami with a faco— wolf, I .a'pose he isn't wTiat folki call handsohie Tiko, but it's one yon cm trust, and that's the kind of face for me.' "Ye 3," slid Sybil, quietly, as she turned away from the window. "We used often to see him at Sandcross, and dear mamma took quite a fancy to him.'"