MR. PERKINS

Auckland Star, Volume XIX, Issue 141, 15 June 1888, Page 3

MR. PERKINS

Of New Jersey,

OR, THE STOLEN BONDS.

CHAPTER VIII.

For a week she continued in this dazed state, sitting motionless for hours ; gazing out of the windows, now on the floor, now at the wall, yet seeing nothing ; going over and over all that had happened; sitting motionless, taking no heed of time. Sarah did all in her power to rouse, to cheer, to comfort her ; and after a week or two, Was rewarded by seeing a slight improvement in her. With the elasticity of youth,-Ethel began to rally fromthenumbing, effect of the great blow. Then Sarah, whose many virtues were dimmed by the vulgar vice of curiosity, burned to know what- wa3 the reason that she came all on a sudden that night, and was it that she had no friends nor relations? So, being unable to contain herself,, she ventured to inquire of Ethel where was her father, and with a little pumping got out most of the story. Its tragical end and Horace Jeffreys's perfidy did not seem to surprise her much. She was prepared to believe any act of folly in women, or vileness in men. 'It is what they are born for,1 said she. 'Women are fools and men are rogues, always, where one another are concerned.' ' Acei all men knaves ?' asked the horrorstricken Ethel. ' Weir,' if th:ey ain't knaves, they are all knavishly' inclined,' said the pessimistical Sarah. ' t That is the' bulk 'of 'em,' she added, hastily; * Now, there's Master Alex; he's a glorious exception, though I say it myself that shouldn't say it—Yes, a glorious exception. Master Alex is as good as gold—that he is, as good as gold.' , .' , ' Ethel heard this hard cash.valuation of Marlow in silence. Her mind was a pendulum. She recoiled with horror at the idea of the universal depravity of man ; on the other hand she shivered at the thought that tho man she loved and admired should be a special monster. But Sarah, whose gloomy views of mankind' were caused by a disappointment in early youth, now dismissed this favourite topic to return to the more interesting subject of Ethel's adventures. But when the girl told her how Mrs Ramsey, on hearing of her daughter's state, had turned her out of the house, Sarah's wrath boiled over. ' The hussy !' she ejaculated. 'Oh, no! she is no huasy,'Ethel mildly remonstrated. ' She is no better than she ought to be,' said Sarah, with the austerity of unimpeachable virtue. ' None of us are,' said Ethel, simply. 'The blessed little creatur !' muttered Sarah to herself. ' Poor nurse was wild with sorrow,' Ethel continued, 'I try to think that she did not know what she said or did -and yet—' Ethel shuddered as she recalled Jenny's frantic words, which her mother's actions seemed to corroborate, and she relapsed into silence. '.;.-_. Then a new, idea arose in her mind to harass her. She felt very shy. of Marlow. How much did he know ? What had he beard? He had met her on the street— that he had been at the hospital she did not know—dream. But he had seen her turned out of the house by Mrs Ramsey; what must he have thought? what could he have thought? what should she say, to him? how could she explain ? She did not know what to say, so she hid from him. She kept to her room so close , that she grew pale and languid. At last Sarah' suggested she should come downstairs and take dinner with Mr Marlow. '■■'■'■• ' "'■■■ ''■ ■ ■'■■-■■•■' : '■■ - 'Oh! no! I cannot!' cried Ethel, shrinking; back. "■'•-'- ---' Well, I wouldn't be skulking here like I was hiding,' said the outspoken Sarah. ' People will think something.'"' ' Think what ?' said the girl. •' ■ •' She looked so innocent, and was so ignorant of worldly affairs, that Sarah became suddenly non-committal. ' Never mind !' said she, shaking her head; ' Sarah, what do you mean ?' said the girl a little alarmed. ' People say what ?' ' That you are ungrateful to' Master Alex after he has adopted you,' said Sarah, at a loss for a word! 'Oh; I wouldn't be, that,' said the girl, hastily. ' Sarah, I'll do what you wish.' .. < Now, that,,is' a sweet young Miss,' said Sarah, charmed, by her submission. ' What am Ito wear ? All my things are soiled.' ;j . ' "-.,, ■ ' J.u&t.help yourself out of this bureau and wardrobe,' said Sarah. 'These are Mrs Marlow's clothes, but Master Alex said you were to wear'em.'. .-.,'.■• .-,. . ■: This was, so. Marlow, at Appier's suggestion, refrained from sending for Ethel's clothing, so that no one might know where she was. So Marlow bid Sarah select anything of his. mother's that was suitable for her to wear. ' And now, at twilight, she. crept downstairs and stole, into the parlour to await Marlow's return. Seated at the window, she looked out upon the street at the people passing by, then around at the silent room. A'feeling of intense loneliness crept over her, and the tears sprang to her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. ';".". , She. grew very shy and timid as she waited; there for Marlow. She' hardly knew him when she saw him, and here she Iwas living in his house as one of the family; all of his ' family for. that matter, unless Sarah was included. All her claim on him that she had lost' her father as he had his mother, and that her father was his valued cfriend.., '"j , 'Well, no one could know papa, but to love him! no one; he was tender and loving—Oh !if she only knew where he was now !—if-—if-' Some one came up the steps, the door opened, a man's footsteps were heard in the .hall. A panic seized her. Oh, what should ( she say ? What should she do ? As Marlow entered the dim parlour a slim figure rose up in the gloaming, and stood mute and motionless to receive him. Its timid, shrinking attitude touched him. He advanced quickly. ' Good evening,' he said, kindly. 'I hope you have recovered from your fatigue.' . 'lain very \vell,' she answered, in a trembling voice.- ~. . . ' I ani clad to hear ifc. I was afraid you would make yourself ill, you kept so close,' he. said, taking a chair near her. The girl said nothing, but sighed wearily. Alex took'a match' from his pocket case and lit the gas. Then each looked at the other.' She saw a young man who was neither handsome nor stylish, with a pair of honest blue eyes, and a kindly smile that lit up his face, and. made it better than handsome. At the same time he saw that the dazed look had gone out of her eyes, which were now swollen with weeping, and that even her face quivered as if she could hardly keep the tears back. The sight softened him completely; he forgot she was'his enemy's daughter; he only saw the poor distressed young creature. ' I hope, he said, gently, ' that you will try and feel at home here? She,was silent, and.looked at her slender, interlocked fingers as they lay on her lap. 'Is Sarah good to you I ' he asked, not knowing what to say. 'Very good.' 'Dinner is ready,' said thab personage, suddenly drawing back the folding doors thatled into the dining-rdbni : '•; 'So are we,' said Marlow, rising. • Come, Miss Dorset, come.' She timidly allowed him to lead her into the room. But Ethel had no appetite;

she played with her food and finally laid her knife and fork down. •What is the matter?' asked Marlow, who had been hospitably pressing everything on her. , ... ' Nothing ; I have dined quite heartily, she murmured faintly. 'Do you call this dining heartily ? How do you manage to exist?' said Marlow, smiling. ' I am not hungry,' she said. 'No, you have been cooped up so long, Sarah must take you to walk ; better nob go out alone.' The dinner came to a disastrous end. ' Now,' said Marlow, after their return to the parlour, ' what can I do to amuse you ?' ' Nothing,' said she, faintly. Then tho rudeness of this speech bursting upon her, she became overwhelmed with confusion. Marlow laughed. 'Mr Marlow,' said the girl suddenly. ' 'Will you please answer me a question ?' 'If lean.' ' Well, is it proper for me to stay here ?' ' With Sarah, a respectable woman, in the house to take care of you, I can't see that it is improper,' said Marlow gravely. 'If you didn't stay here, where else would you go ?' ' Nowhere !' cried the girl in a quivering voice. ' I have no friends !' and she burst into tears. Alex took her hand tenderly. 'Dear little girl,' he said, 'don't be so distressed. Here is one friend to begin with, and there is no telling how many more be- ■ side.' But Ethel mournfully shook her head. ' Have you no relations ?' ' None that I know of—l have heard of a few—but papa had quarrelled with them.' ' Your uncle, Mr Perkins ?' ' Papa and he fell out, and indeed we never had much to do with him ; I hardly knew him.' ' Did you always live with Mrs Ramsey ?'. Marlow asked, thinking she was very refined for that woman's rearing. . . ' Not always. Mamma died when I was . a baby and Mrs Ramsey took care of me : till I was eight years old. She was very kind to me then.' ' She was your nurse ?' ' And papa's housekeeper, and Jenny and I tvere playmates: she was older than I. Then papa sent me to Miss Dudley's private school. She was very select and kept only a few scholars. She was very kind, but very strict; we had to do just so and jusb so,' said Ethel, half smiling. We must* hold our elbows down, our chins up. ; ' I endorse Miss Dudley,' said Marlow, looking at her straight, reed-like figure. j 'Never cross, our feet, never hold our! arms akimbo, and always clasp our hands | on our laps,' continued Ethel, unconsciously j falling into rule. ' Mrs Ramsey said it was j all foolishness, but papa said it was all. j right; that girls could not be too particu-; lar in their deportment.' i ' What else did you learn besides deport- i ment?' asked Marlow, amused, and anxious j to take her mind off her troubles. 'Oh, a great many dry things,' said: Ethel, ' and some nice things too.' ' What were the nice things ?' ' We read Scott and Tennyson for amuse- j menb-some of Tennyson Miss Dudley, would not let us read at all.' . -. . : ' Yes ?' . said Marlow. ' Did she not teach ' you any accomplishments ?' ' Oh, yes ; I can draw and paint a little, and sing and play a little.' . ' Why, Miss Dudley did a retail business ; in the accomplishment line,' said Marlow, '; smiling. ' She said we were not to boast, itwwats t vulgar,' said the girl gravely, 'and it was ' fearful to be vulgar.1 ' Very terrible,' said Marlow, ' But I am afraid I don't reflect credit on Miss Dudley. I can only sing ballads and play dance music. Papa did not want any other she said it wag a racket. He wanted." me to learn to sing Scotch and Irish nielo-', dies, because mamma sang them, and he was: devoted to her, though she only lived : a-' year after they were married.' ' ' Are you like your mother ?' asked ■ Mariow, thinking she did not resembla Doi'set in the least. ' Very much, and lam named for her ; i Etheiinda was her name. , Papa called her Linda, so he called me Ethel; he said he could not bear to hear her name called about.' ' When did you leave Miss Dudley ?' asked Marlow. - ' Early, last winter, and in March papa disappeared ; he went. out one afternoon ■] and crossed the ferry; that was the last seen of him—'her voice. trembled and she: stopped abruptly. ■•: • . . . . f (To be Continued.) ..;., : /. '