CHAPTER II.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXVII, Issue 51, 21 December 1899, Page 23

CHAPTER 11.

A month had passed and the numerous advertisements for the friends of the unfortunate Madame Veutria had ended in failure. It was clear that the name had been assumed, and the little girl, on being questioned, was quite ignorant of her surname. Bosie — that was all the name she had ever known. There was no mark on the dead woman's olothing, though the child's were all marked ' Rosie D.' — a proof that Vestris was not their real name. In any case the search had to be given up as hopeless. The question now became— what was to be done with Rosie ? Orphaned, nameless, unclaimed, the little gipsy-faced child was truly an object of pity. Since that evening on which she had first strayed into the garden, Bosie had been a constant visitor at the convent. She had conceived a special attachment for Sister Angela, and, indeed, seemed quite happy when with any of the nuns, though Mrs. Griffith declared that she was constantly calling for her ' Mamma ' when with her.

However, as was but natural in so young a child, these inquiries became less frequent in time, and during the last week had been rarer than ever. Yet whenever she was not at the convent she seemed lonely and discontented. • I don't like 'oo,' she would aay when Mrs. Griffith would bring her home in the evening, ' but Ido like de nuns.'

And when Bey. Mother said to her one day, ' Bosie will soon be going away to a grand school where there are a lot of other little girls,' she had cried, and clinging to her had said, ' Bosie won't go. Rosie stay always with 'oo.' When, some days later, Mrs. Griffith brought her to say goodbye, she tightly clutched Sister Angela and declared she would not go. ' Rosie never, never leave 'oo,' she sobbed ; ' Rosie want to stay here always.' The nuns were deeply touched. Even the policeman who had come to take her to the Industrial School had not the heart to force her to go with him. The Rev Mothrr, in deep distress, called the senior nuns around her. According to their Rule they were bound to educate every year five or six children free of cost. This had hitherto been carried out in the boarding-school, into which Rosie was too young to be received. But instead of one of these boarders, could they not maintain Rosie at Mrs. Griffith's while she attended the day school attached to the convent ?

The idea seemed feasible and was acted on at onoe, to the delight of the nuns, who had all grown fond of the motherless child. So the policeman was dismissed, and Bosie became the adopted child of the convent. Her education began next morning in the day school or the 'Academy' as it was called in the town, and thenceforth, except that she slept and took her meals at Mrs. Griffith's, she might be said to have lived there entirely. She was never happier than when trotting about the schoolroom after one of the nuns, except, indeed, when Sister Angela took her down to the garden — and then her happiness was truly perfect. She became a prime favourite with both teachers and pupils ; she was the ' baby ' of the Academy and her lovable ways and pretty chatter endeared her to all. But it was her extraordinary beauty that perhaps fascinated them most — a beauty which unlike that of ordinary childhood became more evident as she grew older. Signs of unusual precocity, too, became apparent. It was marvellous with what ease she understood things that are stumbling-blocks to other children. But from the beginning mnsio was her speoial forte. She had not been many days at the Academy before it was noticed that whenever anyone was practising she was sure to siddle up to the piano, listening all the while with rapt attention. And when the player ohanced to be profioient she would clap her hands and ory with dancing eyes :

' Oh, dats lovely— Bosie like dat.' So it was decided that she should be taught. Sister Bernardette never forgot the delight of the child at her first lesson. She bad

learnt the scale in a quarter of an hour ; by the time she was a email maid of eight she played better than most people at treb.e her ae@>

At this time it was discovered that she possessed a voice of surpassing sweetness, and the nuns, fully alive to the fact that she would want all the talents she possessed, put her, when old enough, under the tuition of the German singing-master attached to the school. This worthy man, though but the organist in an obscure cathedral town, had in him some of the divine fire of genius, and his compositions, unpublished through lack of money and patronnge, ought to have made him famous. Certainly, in comparison with the inane ' inspirations' of latter-day musicians, his indeed breatlW real harmony. Tired of the monotony of training second-rate voices, Herr Scheren was charmed with Rosie's full, clear mtes. Ah 1 here was something to work for at last. This girl would be a credit to him — would make his name renowned in musical circles, for, of oourae, with such a voice, cultivated as it should be by him, she must go on the stage. The nuns would not like it perhaps, hut the little rfne was friendless, and she would have to work for her living. True, it would take long years of patient trouble before such a thing could be thought of, but what cared he 1 Fame awaited him in the end. She would be a great Binger, and he, her master, would share in her triumph.

So the years slipped by till Rosie was a tall maiden of eighteen. Look at her this evening as she paces under the lime trees on th» terrace in earnest conversation with Rev. Mother. She is a fine specimen of early womanhood as she steps gracefully along, her dark head erect, her brilliant eyes gleaming from under their long, black lashes, her slender, well-shaped figure showing through the loose folds of her simple school dress.. Looking at her thus you would not think her a nameless orphan. Yet co it was, for there had been no trace of kith or kin during these fifteen years. 1 1 agree with you, Rosie,' Rev. Mother is saying. 'It is time that you should take your place in the world. Yet I had hoped you would never leave us, but you say that is not to be?' ' No, Mother,' answered the girl. ' I don't think I have a religious vocation. You have been too kind to me always, and now you would receive me among you without a penny, without even a name. Oh, Mother, if I ooula only know who I am.'

'Don't fret about it, Rosie. I felt bound to tell you your history now that you are old enough. Besides, who knows but you yourself may find your relatives 7 That,' touching the locket which was suspended from Rosie's neck by a thin, gold chain, ' is certainly the miniature of your father, for the features are yours. Then I have carefully kept all your mother's letters and things and your own little clothes marked " Rosie D." God's ways are wonderful, you know.' ' Yes, I know,' said Rosie humbly ; ' and I must only keep on praying for the best. But, Mother,' in a changed tone, ' why cannot you consent to what I proposed V 1 Because, Rosie,' gravely returned the nun, ' the life is full of dangers. You know too little of the world to understand what I mean. I would rather try and get you a situation as governess, or Binging mistress in some school.' ' Ah, Mother,' but Herr Scheren is so sure I should be a success if I went on the stage. He has set his heart on it. He says I must do it — that I owe it to him as well as to myself.'

'That is what he has been filling your head with, that wily Herr Scheren. That is why he was so dreadfully afraid you would want to be a nun, " like co many of your young ladies," as he says. Well, I suppose I must not blame him Rosie,' earnestly, ' are you very much set on this V 1 Oh, so much I' was the eaeer answer. ' And yet the very thought of singing in public makes me shiver, but you see Herr Scheren so wishes it, and I really think singing is my vocation. I suppose it is in my nature.' ' Perhaps so,' assented Rev. Mother ; ' yet I don't think your mother was a singer by profession. I mar be wrong, but from all I heard about her at the time I think she must have been a lady. Well, Rose, we must take time before deciding — I must think the matter well over.'

' Then I know you will consent,' joyfully exclaimed the girl. 1 That is what '* thinking ie over " always means with you. How glad Herr Scheren will be. But oh, Mother !' with a sudden note of sadness, ' how shall I leave you all — the nuns, Mrs. Griffith, the children, my happy home II 11I 1 and the tears sprang into the girl's eyes.

'We all had to leave happy homes, Itosie, real homes. You have but to endure the same pang in a minor degree, for after all you are not parting from your own flesh and blood.'

' This has been dearer to me than any real home,' said Rosie tear fully, 'and instead of my poor, dear mother, I have had, not one, but many mothers.'

(To be concluded next week.')