SABINA ZEMBRA.

Auckland Star, Volume XVIII, Issue 267, 12 November 1887, Page 9 (Supplement)

SABINA ZEMBRA.

SLACK: ...jlacleodofDare^-APrinc^ CHATTERS >■■ BißiJfl ! HO'SY»

Oj| a certain Wednesday afternoon in iiirclh the billiard-room ■ 0 f the Waldegrave Club, PallMali> was the scene of * remarkable occurrence.' vTjjg Waldegrave, ib may *" rt-hVallv, is held m much \A*tf£vS&y <«s as the pj#j "J.■■« re at political party; are supposed feeet the operations of a Stion j thither impecunious JSttsttk for the sinews, of war ; and **" Jitsmembersnipis understood kf" Sdory ans reward of him ft&EdSl to the cause a All this may be so Sso but to the Londoner, < W £to S London diner-oub, the IS is chiefly known for its noble WJ-'lfiy galleries, its excellent MiSlleasant outlook into *$$*■.!& the proportions ftoW of its .library which As for tnemore modest Sit this remarkable oc £ took place, "0 visitor is allowed to Shin its door, which may account i rumour that the proceedings there ■dihW -conducted with a dignity luting the fame and name of iS» dub - lndeed ' lfc ias b * en , mm doubtless by political enemies) Stool-players of. the Waldegrave, Lto fnenoly secrecy of that upper Uer occasionally, and even frequently, Siato wild revelry; that derisive to oT&Helm the " sniggler; that guofexecration bring the " iiuker to Sake; and that the timid and nerferiß frightened out of his wits by & cry that he has "missed the fiwever, these stories are proMtr&; the rancour of party strife ii of inventing anything; and it Jfei pity if the constituencies were that the Waldegrave is anything j,tawhatit really is—that, is to say, $ aad decorous pohtical institujfoafterhoori in question, one of the feidilgDlab wentup to the billiard~sisW door, and went in, greeti|flftiu'sonoand the other of his staocos as he passed them. He was jib, of about sixty; handsome and Mjfreeh-cotnplexioned and whitel||fd|j)onnair look and bland exm\M eridebAly very well pleased ILelf,' This was Sir Anthony. Zemp&member for one of the big manuBAit'in,the north : a man of ■Xwalth; a writer of.pamphlet3.on free trade*and -MndreH ques-' si a alive and industrious politician, bope to be invited to join tpjnjjiafr, ma subordinate capacity, tl fa; days; and socially — well, 3?, the most detested man in London. Heboid be help that ? No one could iijfed.why he was so detested ; he ifflnQtiiow it; nay, ib would have ii|o(Bftle for hira to grasp the idea. IfflteMe) bland of manner; his wife em of-fashion ; his dihners quite ifflktiijir excellence : how could he tested? No, that was the last idea IssMhave gained admission into Sir pjfefa's head.. 'Ifl Me a : ball, marker," he said; SgWre just beginning a new game. few comer walked up to the little ISf box, and deposited the shilling *1 by the pool; then he proceeded to fwitecdeirom its tin case. The fsi m the balls. W^hife—yellow's your player." pi&iflgun. f flat ball am I, marker?" h Sir Anthony; the ball is in the fit..'■ ../iVr.: ,-.■/. * Ipbell,"-: said the marker, best player in the jjarocanred the incident to which been made. Sjw-Mte, that wont do at all," WW Anthony. "Why, I shan't Herschell, WP&;ikt--Well, I'm out; I'm p.tO give you three lives for >f j? W withdraw your ball if you WAotnony," observed the marker. ««ote I do. Mr Herschell's ball is withdrawn," tho EWWHjbgap the- three lives on giwtheu he was about to call « when Sir Anthony interrupted * a,on f» marker, give me that Stalin Beemed surprised, but he .f^pectfuUy,: 38&5' c ? ll ' t have the shilling out. tiL y° nr fcall > ,>ufc fche shil - you can't have that %' ' ' '" ' ™*> Sir- An-Cfii-W" 0 *- Bt onny good nature. C; I™'b played. I'm not 41 D °y°« think I'm going to let %& mnty - Come, <mb with Wm£'' t*kS? helpleas > he could on] y members in an appealing m, ,}•■■ .And -tw i ooked at e acS ikindhadhapno, nor in any ' Then came igry, some half-; the shilling out v joined in the -the rule of the ight-you can't iid with a goodyou think 8 I'm ay money when ou thieves and tily : went up to took out the JCket. Then he J«e in its case, wr he shook bis inner at the old kill had induced feuy, "you; o havo an easy f, thank you." to protest; the neanness,'and Of a kind of aweroom, and they nb gmazement.

"Green pkys yeilo*5 i} the ln&rker Called; &hd this awoke them from thentrance ; and then, as the game Wont on, there were questions asked as tp , the probable dimensions of Sir Anthony Zembra's fortune* and the bigger the figures the greater the disgust. But there was little said, for , tffe marker was within hearing. ; Meanwhile, Sir Anthony, suave, radiant, complaisant—and certainly little dreaming 1 " i 11 3 * 5. conferred a favour-on some eight or ten of his fellow-creatures, in giving them something thoy could definitely produce as a reason for hating him—Sir Anthony, bland, smiling, and debonnair, went down through the hall of the club. Perhaps the nod which he bestowed on his intimates had just a touch of patronage in it; but how could that very well be helped ? His life had been all through so prosperous and so successful and satisfactory. His first wife had died as soon as she grew ugly; his second waa good-tempered, except when he wanted the carriage in the afternoon; the "Times" printed his letters in leaded type ; his digestion enabled him to eat even a House of Commons dinner with equanimity ; and his constituents believed him when he told lies about previous engagements. The old woman who sweeps the crossing at the corner of St. James's Square curtsied lower to him than to anybody else : though never a penny had he bestowed on her. In. St. James's-street the cabmen had to look out for him, not he for them; he went out into the open thoroughfare with a charming nonchalance, glancing neither to the left nor to the right. And so eventually he made his way home, to a big house in Lancaster Gate ; and he walked the whole distance; for Lady Zembra had possession of the carriage, and he did not care to spend money on a hansom. Besides, his appearance was much admired (and he knew it) as he strode along Piccadilly and up through the Park.

He let himself in with a latch-key. The house was very quieb, insomuch that a faint murmur coming from the school-room was distinctly audible. And as the door of the room was open an inch or two, Sir Anthony thought he might as well pause there and discover whether the governess was doing her duty; for this was one of the afternoons on which nothing but French was allowed to be. spoken; and it was Miss Renshaw'e business to impose a fine of threepence for any lapse. However, everything seemed going on well. Master Reginald (his father could hear) was reading aloud a composition of his own. , It was a description of the character and conduct of a dog belonging to a publichouse in the Bayswater Road— ' Un gros (Men gui apparttnit a unt maieon puhlique dans le Baysv;attr Road,' was the youthful scholar's rendering; and apparently that animal had not found much favour in the eyes of the narrator. But presently other sounds smote the listener's ear. A squabble had arisen somewhere. ' Voyez, voyez, madzmoistttc, il a fait powr mon, deesin ! ' JVW, non—cc. n' etait pas moi — nc mentcz vous pas—je vous donnerai—vous donnerai —- unt boite sur I' oreilfo V Sir Anthony thought this was an opportune moment. He opened the door and entered; and there was instant silence. Bub he did not remonstrate or scold ; it was enough that Miss Renshaw should see how his mere presence—his presence, without a look or a word—could produce calm.

"Have you looked through to-day's newspapers yet, Miss Renshaw ?" said he, a*> he strolled up to the chimney-piece and lifted therefrom a pass-book labelled on the outside— "Domestic."

"Yes, Sir Anthony; except those:that came this afternoon," said the patient}? looking, grey-faced young woman sitting there.

And' of these desultory paragraphs that 'lie was now sCftrihih'e with much complacent interest, who."could gneee at the authorabip ? Perhaps the person who had that 'morning; carefully clipped. tHeWoiil; 'dTlhe- varioisfe and pasted them in the pass-book, had also herself inspired them, or even written them out, for. the information of provincial editors* At all events they showed a remarkable familiarity with the comings and goings of the Zembra family, and also a kind of pathetic assumption that these, and the smallest details about them, musb be of keen interest to the British public. Here are some of them :

•* Lady Zembra and Miss Florence Zembra will shortly leave Lancaster Gate on a visit to Lord and Lady Tetersfield at their beautiful place near Marlow." '"Aft'the marriage of Miss Emily Vere and Colonel Langley last week, the costume of Master Reginald Zembra, who was dressed as a page of the time of Henry VIII., was much admired* The design of the costume, we understand, was presented to Lady Zembra by a distinguished Academican." »

" The Chapel Royal, St. James's, was on Sunday last crowded t6 excess to hear a sermon by the Bishop of Truro. Lady Zembra and her daughters were among the congregation." "At the Drawing Room held by the Princess of Wales on Thursday, no costume was more remarked and admired than that of Lady Zembra. Her ladyship wore a train from the shoulder of crimson Lyons velvet, lined with pink merveillenx, and, trimmed with clusters of pink and crimson ostrich feathers, tied with ribbons, of the same colour. Her bodice was of pink merv, over a petticoat of the same material, draped with embroidered r crepe de GMtic, and finished at the bottom with handsome chenille fringe." -.■ '■ ' •' " Sir Anthony and Lady, Zembra* and the Misses Florence and Gertrude Zembra were present at the lecture given by Dr. Felthurst on Wednesday at Princess Hall, Picadilly. Her ladyship formed quite a distinct figure among the assembly, although merely unostentatiously occupying a seat'wah Ber in the body of the hall." ~\. ■ ■'• But all these were as nothing to the description of a- dfress.' ball given' the week before by a' sisteivinrlaw ot Sir Anthony's at which all the, Zembra family {except one, whose acquaintance we will make by-and-by) appeared to _ have been present; and very pretty and. nice were the things which the faithful .chronicler had to say about every one of them. Ib must have been a gay scene, according to this flattering account j everyone looked at his or her best; the costumes were charming"; Lady ;Zembra wae especially admired as Marie Antoinette■; and Anthony Zembra, as a courtier of the time of George 11., was a most picturesque and rtrikinjr figure. It was a great- success in short: -anl never had the BaU-r-oom at the Red House, Campden Hill, presented, k> beautiful a sight as when the children were ranged in two long rows to dance HJir R°K ei de Well? r sfr Anthony was thus pHeasantly engaged in studying the social impression produced by the vanous his Family, when he was somewhat terrupted. - There was an unusual noSe outSr P Then the doors were flung wide open, assffsssa "will you take the children upstairs. J. this room. Take them to the mght this, now?" Sir at once startled and angry at the sudden in -Thfe man hurt," his daughter anfay strewn on » 'coach there. laeyra b »"4hl?i ? heexcWp.«i e giln, a^ffl

carrying an apparently inanimate body alonfr the passage. " Sabiiia, what is this ? who is this ?" " I don't know, papa." She was busy with many things. " Then what do you mean by bringing him in here ? God bless my soul, what are you about? Send him to a hospital! I say he must go to a hospital. Here, my men, what are you doing? Whd told you to bring the man in here ? He must go to the hospital "

"The yqung lady, sir " one of the men said.

" Sabina, what is this '!" her father again angrily demanded. "I will have none of your Whitechapel nonsense here. Ai*e you going to turn the house into a public shambles ?"

But Sabina had made her preparations during these few seconds. She caught her father's arm for a moment, with a gesture of entreaty.

" Papa, I cannot send him to a hospital. This is all my doing. lam to blame for the accident—and—and there is no time to be lost—why common humanity " She turned to iiie footman who was standing helplessly by, " George, vun downstairs and fetch me a basin of water and a sponge, and some cloths; and send for Doctor Hungerford, no, Mr Hungerford, I mean—the son—and tell him to come at once. And you—yes, bring him in now—but gently—gently— the head a little higher up—yes, that will do"—and when they had got him laid on the couch, she, with her own fingers, and swiftly and dexterously too, undid his decktie, and removed his collar, and opened his waistcoat: it was clear to the most ignorant of the bystanders that this young lady knew very well what she was about.

But as for Sir Anthony? Well, Sir Anthony stood looking on for a second or two, very muoh exasperated. But what could he do? Hβ could not summon a policeman and have the whole pack of them thrust into the street: it was his own daughter who had had the man brought in ; and, moreover, she said she was responsible for the accident; and it would not look well to quarrel with her before these people. Hβ wished the wounded man ivas at Jericho; but he did not want to have these rude folk stare at him for what they would doubtless consider his inhumanity. But he was very angry with his daughter; and then again, he did not like looking at a head and neck that were bedabbled with blood; and the doctor would have more unpleasant business when he arrived : so, on the whole, Sir Anthony thought he might as well retire from that scene, only he was growling and grumbling to himself as he' passed upstairs about the midsummer madness of young women who now-a-days went out and got themselves trained as nurses at the London Hospital. On the writing-desk of his study there was lying a pass-book labelled outside ''Political; 1, and apparently his private secretary had done for him what the governess did for Lady Zembra and the family. Aβ he glanced over these paragraphs—" Sir Anthony Zembra, we understand, has consented to take the chair at the next meeting of the Statistical Society"—"Sir Anthony Zembra has given notice that on Thursday next he will ask the Secretary of State for the Home Department," &c.— "Sir Anthony Zembra was present last evening at a dinner given at the official residence of the Prime Minister in Downingstreet"—■/' We understand that it is the intention of Sir Anthony Zembra's constituency to entertain him at a public banquet in May next"—" The remarkable speech on the Land Question which Sir Anthony Zembra delivered in the House of Commons last week, is, we understand, to be issued in the form of a pamphlet"—as he read these and many similar paragraphs. Sir Anthony's brow cleared, and his face resumed its ordinary pleasant and. com■pljicento expression, for he was glad to , have his merits recognised, atid, he.tather Jiked, to contemplate himself iti the mirror of tie public press.

CHAPTER 11. SABIE. Sabina Zembra —'Sabie, her intimate friends called her;; and they seemed rather proud of displaying this familiarity; indeed, many of the women-folk down Kensington way, if you mentioned the name of Miss Zembra, would say, with a kind of [ air of distinction, "Oh, do you mean , Sabie?" as if Sabie belonged to them and to them alone ——Sabina Zembra was a tall young woman and fair; of upright i carriage and . well-poised neck ; with a clear, pale complexion, light brown eyes i that were soft and benignant, and light brown hair that burned gold fa the sun. She was twenty-five, though a dlhiple in h6r cheek when she laughed made her look younger, and hinted, that she was lighthearted enough; on the other hand, her ordinary expression was of an almost maternal gentleness and generosity, A The blandness that in her father was Begotten ; of self-sufficiency, became in her thejblandness of grave goodwill; she looked asif kindness was anatural instinct with her ;' as if she likedseeingthe peoplearoundherbeingmade happy. But even this cannot wholly explain the extraordinary affection that women seemed to have for this woman ;. they would cling around her when she entered a room and pet her with pretty names ; and would send her flowers on any birthday or other excuse; and would treasure her letters, and show them, and say with a touch of bride: "Oh, Sabie has just been writing ; isn't she the dearest and sweetest girl in the world?" "I. hope. Sabie will never marry," was the constant cry of her chief companion and friend (who, poor lass, had not much in the way of pretty looks to boast of}. " Just think what her goodness, and her beauty, and her loving disposition moan to so many people ; and think of her going and throwing all that a'#Oy on a, man !" Of coupe the men professed to 'laugh at this widespread and ridiculous infatuation; and declared that Miss Zembra was a woman's woman, and nothing more; but at the same time it waSobserved, on the rare occasions on which Miss Zembra was to be found, at an evening party, that these hostile critics were hot nearly bo care j less' of her society as in common consistency they ought to have been. . A-A Sabina did not live with her father. Oh a certain important occasion, Sir Anthony had taken her to task and spoken his mind clearly. M ' " Understand me once for all, Sabina, he observed, in a more than ordinarily sententious way. "I am not in the habit of wasting words. What I say I lhean to be final. Now, while you were busying yourself about Industrial Homes, and Training Ships, and. things of .-that kind, I did not object; no, nor did I muid your visiting this or that, poor family, where you knew the circumstances, and knew there was no infection. Bub this new fad is quite different. What will happen after'you come out of the hospital? Ybii are not going in for six months' training for. nothing." ' A " Papa, "she broke m, "T must do something—you don't know how dreadful idleness is." . ■ ■ .- ; " I know that I don't hear your sisters complain," he retorted. "They seem to have enough to fill the time," - ' "Yes, but they care for quite different things," she said ;' and then she added,, with the slightest of demure smiles hovering about her mouth, " Besides, they're ashmed of me. Mamma says I'm a dowdy; and it's quite true. I don't care for fine dresses, and driving in the Park And I then; you see, papa, I shouldn't mind play: ing the part : of Cinderella — I shouldn't mmd it at all, for Cinderella, had plenty tof do and' knew shewas of rsoino: use"; but I know ybu-Vouldn't like.that. 1 You Wouldn't like me become one of the maids arjid sweep the Jsitchen." ......-,.-

"Sabina, this is not a joking matter," Sir Anthony observed, shortly. "Let us return to common sense. When you leave the London hospital a trained nurse, what then? I know very well. You will be more than ever in the slums; and coming and going between them and this house. Well, now, that I cannot permit. It would not bo right and just to the other members of my family to subject them to aueh a continual risk of infection. It is not to: be thought of." . ."Then do you want me to clear out, papa ?" she said frankly. " Yes, if you will persist in this folly." Well, she was a little bib startled, fora girl does nob like to be turned from her father's house. On the other hand,, her relations with her stepmother, Lady Zembra, and her half-sisters, Florence and Gertrude, had never been of the most satisfactory kind ; not that they quarrelled, but that their modes of life and opinions and aims were so entirely different. So the ugly duckling was about to fly away ! "Of course," continued Sir Anthony, "the whole thing is foolish from the beginning. It is simply ludicrous for a young woman of your education and position to turn herself into a hospital nurse, wheu you can get dozens of women, of more hardened nerve, who could do the work ever So much better. Bub we've argued out that question before, t I suppose you don't intend to change your%und?

Surely his tone was unuecessarily hard, considering that he was turning her out of the house. ' ■

"Papa," she said, "I—l think I am doing what is right; but—bub you might make it a little easier for me. It won't be holiday work." "If it is nob the greatest happiness of the greatest number," Sir Anthony continued, calmly, " it is at least the safety of the greatest number that I have to consider. And I have thought the matter over. lam prepared to allow you £300 a year ; thab is ample maintenance ; for you don't spend much on yourself. I have no doubt you will easily find some quieb, respectable family, where there are no children to be put in danger, who will receive you as a boarder, if go you must " A sudden, happy light leapt to her eyes™ those eyes in which "her thoughts lay clear, like pebbles in a brook." It had occurred to her that she could confer a kindness ! Even in being thrust forth from her father's house, her first thought was that there was a chance of doing a friendly turn to certain folk she knew.

" The Wygrams, papa," she said eagerly. " Do you think they would take me ? You know they are not very well off; Mr Wygrrini never succeeds in any of the competitions now ; and this might be a little something, if they wore not, offended. Oh, I know they would take me. Why, Janio spends half her time with me now ; I should be quite at homo there !" "That will be for yourself to decide," said Sir Anthony. And so ib was that Sabina went to serve her six months at the London Hospital. It was not at all romantic work. Occasion-

ally, of course, she had her moments of exaltation; in crossing from the nurses' dormitory, in the strange silence and .darkness of a winter morning, and looking up to the vast, immeasurable skies, with the stars throbbing palely and distant, she would sometimes repeat to herself, ,as with a kind of ineffable longing :— Break up tho heavens, O Lord I and far Thro'all yon starlight keen, .. . • Draw mo, thy bride, a glittering star, In raiment white and clean. But there was little time for self-commun-ing during the continuous labour of tho long day ; nor was she much given to pitying herself in any circumstances; it was the suffering of others that moved her ; and here thero was plpnty of that, only too obvious, all around her. Moreover, she was a particularly healthy young woman; and she could bear fatigue better than any of her sister lion - professionals, ' although when they got away to supper about half - past eight or nine, and all pi, them pretty vyell fagged out vyith'the day's work, they used to joke her about her sleepy disposition. It was rumoured, moreover, that one or two of the medical students who came about had cast an eye on this pretty, tall, benignant-eyed nufse, who looked so neat and smart in her belted gown and apron and cap, and that they paid a good deal more attention to her than to the patient whose condition she had to report to the doctor. But Sabie was impervious to all .that kind of thing. It was only when she was; with the other nurses at night that the dimple in her j cheek appeared, and that; she showed her-" self—as long as her eyes would keep open, —blithe arid : friendly and merry-hearted, j Perhaps she was only a woman's woman after all. . The long period of probation oyer, Sabina Went to live with the Wygramsi a family who by-dint of sore pinching still managed to occupy an old-fashioned house in Kensington Square that was, endeared to them by its association with other and bebter days. Mr Wygram had been at onetime an architect in a fair way of business, and may have saved a little money then; but the capable partner in the firm died; things went badly somehow; and now the old gentleman, who was as industrious as ever, kept working away at competitive drawings, ' each time more and more confident that he was about to carry off.the prize, and never doing so, but scmetimes securing a few pounds by way of compensation. However, old Mr and Mrs Wygram were great favourites in the artist world of London ; and very distinguished people, indeed, might be found together in the scantily-furnished and rather melancholy drawing-room —'at .an evening .party, that is to say, with tea and darkly suspicious' sherry and cake to crown the festivities And what joy filled the heart of their only daughter, Janie, when she learned that her beloved Sabina was coming to live with them ! Now there would be no risk of. thbir chance evenings being dull; now there would be ! attraction and entertainment Enough for all the world ; and she would- be counted somebody among the yqiihg men—for that she cOuld sfecure them, if she chose, an introduction to Sabie; arid she would take off Sabie's cloak when she came in; />' and get tea for her, and sit by her with their arms entwined, and have; her all to herself. •In shorty the arrangement came to work very I well all . round, The ' paid : .bs- ] Sabina- for her board; and dodging (though this was a covert transaction),'was a certain addition to the finances of tho establishment; M*- e Wygramjould, be. her

chaperon when there wag need j and Janie was her constant companion when she "wentabout doing good." For that was her occupation in life—-as many a poor family down in Chelsea knew; and it came natural to her; and she was as busy, and content, as the day was long. Then they had quiet evenings in the oldfashioned drawing-room; and the plainfeatured, wistful-eyed Janie played very well; nor was she vexed when she looked round and found that her poor tired Sabie (who was very unconscionable in this repect) had dropped into a little snooze; and sometimes they had a game at whist, too ; and sometimes a few friends would drop in, and they would have a pretence of supper, and a bit of a carpet dance. But always these young people--and especially the young men—treated Sabina with a certain deference. It was not that she was in any way socially their superior, for that was not the case; the Wygrams had a very excellent circle of friends and acquaintances. It was_ rather something in her manner that distinguished her from them. One would almost have taken her for a young and gentle-eyed matron looking on—not without sympathy and pleasure—at the amusements of those boys and girls. She enjoyed their merriment as much as they did; and her laugh was ready and quite youthful and joyous when anything ridiculous happened; but ordinarily there was a kind of serious sweetness and grave kindliness in her eyes that seemed to keep her a little bit apart. She preferred to be a spectator —but surely a friendly one. ; '

Of course she occasionally went up to see the family at Lancaster Gate, when she could solemnly assure them she had been, near no infectious case ; and it was on one of those visits that there occurred the unfortunate accident already referred to. She had chosen a Wednesday afternoon, knowing that her father would be 'early home from the House of Commons; but when she got to Lancaster Gate she found he had nob arrived; Lady Zembra and Florence and Gertrude were out driving ; the children were busy in the school-room. The only living thing to welcome her was the little spaniel Busy — an old friend and airy of hers; and ib occui'red to hei that, to beguile the tedium of waiting, she might as well take the dog for a bit of a run along the Bayswater Road and back. Hβ was nothing loth, it may be guessed ; and so she opened the door and they went down the steps and made for the front pavement. ■■ . '■ ■...•■

What next occurred may take some minutes to tell, but it seemed to her to happen all in one wild second. "jfow come here, Busy, you keep close to me," she had said on leaving the house ; for she knew the habits of the spaniel kind, and that this one delighted in nothing so much as scampering about in the open thoroughfare — amid cabs and omnibuses and carriages—and always with his nose down as if he expected to flush a pheasant in the middle of Bayswater Road. Busy paid hoed to his mistress so long as she spoke to him; the moment they had reached the pavement he was off—careless

fof anything that might be coming along. She angrily called to him to come back—he turned in his scamper, but still with his. nose down—and,.alas !at the same instant J she knew, rather than saw, that someone ■' one on a bicycle, coming at an alarming speed, was almost on tho dog. i " Look out t Take care '." she cried: ( Now, no doubt the hicyclist had seen the little spaniel; and it is also possible that Busy might have got out of harm's way ' unaided ; but at all events her sudden cry , seemed to startle this young fellow, who : was coming along at such a rate, and prob- " ably from gallantry as. much as anything j else, he swerved sharply from his course, tc ] make quite sure of missing the spaniel. . Unhappily, at this precise spot there was a littlo heap of gravel,,, used for scattering , over the wooden pavement, lying by the j roadway, and apparently the bicycle caught , on some of the pebbles : the next thing she | saw was some terrible thing hurling through ( the air .and striking heavily against the kerbstone, where it lay motionless. The blood forsook her face, but her courage was firm enough"; she was at his side in a moment, trying to raise his head ; and then a few bystanders came, hurrying up, and she besought them to carry him into her father's house. White as her face was, she , seemed calm and collected ; • there was an , air of authority about her; they did not i even suggest the hospital. Nor, it must be : confessed, did she pay much heed to, her father's remonstrances ; her hands, were full. , of work—work; that she knew; moreover, Sir Anthony almost immediately retired, grumbling. She was left alone to deal with the,wounded man* a maid assisting her, for the footman, 'Oeorge, had rushed off to summon the surgeon.. f'Pore young gentleman young : gentleman!" the maid kept'saying; and was rather; inclined to look on, in a feeble commiserating attitude; but her palelipped young mistress had no time for mere pity- " ~'' • I '' Catherine, get some calico — quick ; and cut it into strips; and put them, into, cold water—look alive:.!" Fox there was a bad scalp-wound on the side of the young man's head, and she had to stanch the blood, and thereafter bind the cold wet bandages round it. He lay in a heavy stupor, only that once he murmured the words "•fcherry blossom," and, busy as she was, it seemed pathetic to her that he should " babble o* green fields." And then, when she had. bandaged his head, she passed her hands lightly over his neck, and back, and shoulders, and pretty well satisfied herself that there was no serious fracture or dislocabion ; nevertheless she was anxious that the surgeon should appear forthwith. She was moistening her patient's lips with cold water when he'drew a long breath and slowly opened; his eyes. He looked at her wich a kind of mild wonder, and then: at the room around him then he seemed to recollect. , ■"That Was a nasty one," he managed to say. "Did! hurt the dog?" ; A i ''Oh, no, you did not,? 5 ; Sabinaf i quickly.. " Pray don't think of that. lain so sorry A It Was all my fault, I should' not have called to ( you-r I am so sorry."-' ; : " Oh, don't trouble about me," he said, ; with a faint kind; of smUe--for, the shock [ and loss of blood had weakened him. , "This isn't my first cropper. There are ' no bones broken, I suppose—" i i *"T think hot-s*l .'think not," she said, ; eagerly. "And-ithere >yill bea Bwgeon j here directly" ~ , ;.: ' , A." '. $ 4 Whose house fethiß f* h(| ,' ! wasall that he d^r^tftft^.

♦'Sir Anthony ZembraV' Babinft answered, and she added without embatv rassinent: "I am his daughter. It was my little dog that made the mischief—or rather, I did myself." Ido hope you are not seriously hurt."

"Hurt? No, no—don't you bother, I shall be all right," he said. He was a fairly good-looking young fellow of some six or seven and twenty, with clear blue eyes, curly but shortcropped hair of a reddish yellow, and a healthy pink and white complexion that had got a wash of sun-tan over it. Clearly he had lived much in the open air ; and his frame seemed wiry and -vigorous, with not an ounce of spare fat on it anywhere. As for guessing at his profession or calling or social status, that was not easy, 1 seeing that he was clad in a bicycling suit; but his manner was well enough ; and he seemed good-natured. Suddenly he uttered a. little involuntary exclamation, and bit his under-lip.

1 ' What is it f' she asked instantly. "My knee—and I hardly moved it—oh, thunder!"

The pain in his face was obvious; and he was about to make some effort to raise himself, when she caught him, and caught him firmly..

"No, no; you must not move on any account—it may be serious—you must lie perfectly still till the doctor comes." " Yes, but when is he coming ?" he said, with a touch of impatience. "If I have broken my leg, I want to know. 'You.don'fc understand what that would mean to me." "You have not broken your,leg," said she, calmly, " but you may have injured, your knee." And then alio added, without any false shame or hesitation, " If you like, I will see what harm is done, and tell you. I know about these things ; I have been in a hospital. Or if you would rather wait, I am sure the doctor will be here in a few minutes." ; "Oh, of course, I will wait—l could not think of troubling you," he said instantly. " And in the meantime I will make a splint," said she, "just in case it should be necessary. Catherine, run and get me some cotton wool." She went to the table, tore the cover off one of the children's drawing books, and cut a strip of the thick pasteboard about three inches wide and over a dozen long ; and she was in the act of swathing the improvised splint in cotton wool when the young surgeon arrived. Everything she had done he approved; but he was nob surprised ; he was well aware of Miss Zembra's qualifications. Then came the examination of the knee, and that was simple enough, for he had merely to unbuckle the knee-band of the knickerbockers; bub the next moment he had grown grave. Sabina had withdrawn a step or two ; her assistance was not needed. " What is it, : doctor ?", the young man said—noticing that look.' " Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you that you've dislocated your knee-cap, and there's a bad bruise beside. Miss Zembra, I haven't brought anything with me—your man met me in the street—" Sabina came forward. "Here is a kind of a splint," she said, " and I think there's enough calico here for a figure-of-eight bandage—if they will do in, the meantime—" • A "In the meantime .that will do excel' lently, until I' run.; home and get some things." ~ ' ' . ~',., " But, doctor,", the young man on the coucb said, and he was rather pale now, partly from loss of blood, no doubt, but also partly from anxiety, "what does all this mean? Is it really so bad? You don't mean that I'm : to be laid up with a splint ? Why, how soon—how soon, now, snail I be all right again? Nob long, surely!" • '" \A "I don't wish to alarm you," thesurgeon that it is a rather serious case, and that the greatest care will be wanted. Even then it maybe months before you can put your foot to the ground." »' .'.'. "God bless me, you don't know what you're saying!" the young man i cried, faintly, and very white his face was now. "I'm afraid I do," the surgeon said quietly. . ■ ■ ■•. The Other remained silent for a second or ; two; then he said, with a kind of forced resignation: ~ ■■- As "When can I be taken to my own rooms?" The doctor turned to Sabina. ; '.It is a serious case," said he. "I would nob advise his removal, if your people would not mind letting him have the use of this room, for a few days even." > "Oh, but they must; of course they will," Sabina exclaimed eagerly. "Oh, you don't know, doctor ; it was all, my-fault that the accident happened; lam more grieved about it than I can say; Icannp't even think of it; and what we can do we must do, but how can I ever atone for such an injury ?" ■■ ■■ ■ oi '";AA ;: •:.;::■>■ r-f^'.-t^

" The young lady had nothing to do with ifc," said the manned man; bufc&ehad to hold his breath now, for the surgeon was about to put his knee in the splint. By-atid- by, whteri the doctor was giving a few parting directions to Sabiria (who had already installed herself as nurse, the maid Catherine assisting), and promising to be back shortly, the young man dh the couch called to him in rather a fainfcvoice: " Doctor!' , "Yes."

"I wish you to do me a favour, will you ?" "Certainly." "When you are out, will you go to a telegraph-office and wire to the Duke— the\Duke of Exminster—that I shan't be able to ! ride Cherry Blossom for him' in the Grand National. It's hard luck,' it is. Twenty times, have I dreamt of lifting the old horse over Valentine's Brook. Don't forpefc—the Duke of Exminster—he's at Helmsley just now. Well; it's hajrd , luck"; I knew the horre. Nobody else can do anything with him but myself, , I jcould; see* us ov(fr the ditch and Ml fence near the bridge and fairly >: Iα the line, for Home.' Poor old Cherry Blossom—it's very hard luck." -/ v : -V : ;•.■■•; . ■'

I "Arid from whom shall I telegraph ?"■ the doctor said, gently... A ■/''■ " Oh, my name, you mean ? Fred Foster, Bury-street: the Duke knows," * : Sabina bad left theiroom for a minute or; two, and so remained .undeceived as to the' mistake' she had made about his having " babbled o' green fields," But that was not of much account, perhaps. What was of more account, at least to one very tender heart, was that poor Janie Wygram was now to be deprived tor many a loiig day to come of the society arid companionship of her beloved Sabie. • A, {To be continued.) r ;.,, .

tracted by the news of the gold discoveries in Victoria, he resolved ia try his fortufie in , Australia, and wetit to the Overts goldfield with some of his shipmates, and from ihefiCei to Ballarat, arriving in the latter" place hi February, 1853. He and his partners} took; up claims on the Bureka Lead and Gravel Pits, and looked upon themselves && being , in a fair way to amass a rapid fortune, when' an unhappy conflict between the Ballarafi miners and the authorities rudely shattered their plans. There had been a miscariage of justice in connection with the murder of a miner at; Bentley's Hotel, and the infuriated diggers burned down the hotel.. The prosecution of some of the leaders in this riot made, matters worse. For a long time the diggers had been grievously oppressed by thy license-hunting raids of the police. A mass meeting was held on Bakery Hill on the 29th November, 1874, at which ifc waa determined to take out no more mining! licenses, and the diggers publicly buxnedt ! the licences they held. The Government, instead of inquiring into the grievances that were justly complained of, insisted that the letter of the law should' be fulfilled. The police, with arms, again set out in search of unlicensed miners. This was the last straw that broke the patience of the' diggers. They resolved to put down the tyranny by force of arms. Meetings were held, at which it was vaguely proposed to , overthrow the Government. Mr Lalor, gun ! in hand, addressed some of the meetings, 1 urged the miners 1 to insurrection, counselled those who had not got firearms to manufacture pikes, and swore in adherents under a flag,which bore, the Southern Cross. ; /The oath administered was in thefollowingfrirm.: —" We swear by the Southern Cross to stand truly by each other, and fight to defend, our rights and liberties." Nearly a thousand men armed themselves and formed into squads for drill. A stockade, chiefly composed of ropes, slabs and overturned carts, i' was also hurriedly thrown up on the Eureka Lead for the protection of the insurgents. The Government authorities, with the police and a detachment of soldiers sent up from Melbourne, occupied a fortified camp on the western plateau, theinsurgents facing them on the eastern■_■ grounds. Mr Lalor being chosen commander of the insurgent forces, appointed a Minister of War and issued warrants and manifestos. The in- j surgents contemplated taking the initiative [ and attacking the camp, but Captain' Thomas, of the 40th >regjment,who com-; manded the Governmenfcjfcees, took them; by surprise. It so happened that when the conflict came the diggers had only about? 200 men under arms, for there were some working on their claims within the stockade who had no thought of fighting. Before daylight, on the morning of Sunday, the 3rd December, $he Government force* 1 consisting of 276 mcii of all arms, include ing a .strong body of cavalry, left camp for i the purpose of attacking the stockade. A(3 early dawn the advanced files being des-; cried by the stockade sentries were:fired ; ' upon. Captain Thomas then laid on his men rapidly to the attack. The st'aekade was stormed, and after several volleys had. been iired on both sides the stronghold of the insurgents was- carried, the greater part of the defenders being driven put into the shallow holes. of the neighbourhood, wher,e many of, them where shot. or; bayonetted. The foot police were the first over the barricade, and one of; their number secured the rebel.'flag under a heayyfire. . ;,-.'-' V v The whole affair did npt last more than 20 minutes. After burning all the tents within the enclosure: and in the immediatevicinity the troops returned to camp with, 125 prisoners, and carts were sent: out for. the wounded. The number of insurgents killed, is estimated at from 35 to 40, and, .'HJSiSy; ql* %Qss fewraght in wo.undediajterwards died. Of the three -Tvefe : Killei^ :y *andvseveral wounded, one of wiping died. Tw6 officers were wounded,; and pne, Captain Wise, died. He was shob. while leading on the scouts at the beginningof the action, , Among the arms ;taken in. the fight were pikes of a rude construction, - # made onthe spot, and furnished with a socb of hooked knife to cut the 'bridles of the cavalry. The dead were buried-the same day in the cemetery. A few days afterwards Sir Robert Nickle arrived from Melbourne, with 800 troops, and the district was placed' under martial law. There was no further troußlehowever.thesingleactionhavingbeen decisive. It is on recordthat Mr Lalor and; the other rebel leaders fought well. . >Wh&t-t ever their deficiencies in military strategy . might have been, they.•; showed no lack: ofj courage. In th c early part of theengagemento Mr Lalorreceived a ball in the shoulder and fell. He was covered with 'slabs by a friendly pikeman, and lay. apparently in agony of death, with a stream of blood flowing from his wound .while the military were searching for prisoners; After thasoldiersandpolice had withdrawn Mr Lalor,: mada his : way : to a; hut on the ranees. \ On the. followingnight hewas conveyed to Father. Smyth's house, where his arm was amputated by Dr. Doyle. It was said that Lalor's betrothed in, Geelorig, whom he afterwards married, saw himiina vision on the early morning of; the-s 3rd December," just when: he was woundedand bleeding before her. ; Lalorwas secretly moved from place to place-to escape arrest*, for the Government had offered? a reward of £200 for his .apprehension, and he had many, narrow escapes. Finally* he reached; Geelong, where he underwent further surgical operations and made a good recovery. *