A SINGER FROM THE SEA.

Auckland Star, Volume XXIV, Issue 278, 23 November 1893, Page 6

A SINGER FROM THE SEA.

BY AMELIA E. BARE.

Ao-l-or of 'The Baada of Tasmar,' "The Mate of the "Easter Bell,"' 'The Household of McNeil/ * E'riend Olivia,' Etc., Etc., Etc.

CHAPTER XlV.—(Continued.)

Denasia left Elizabeth's house in a very un. kappymood, and, at a rapid walk, proceeded to her lodgings in Bloomsbury. She would havo folt the confinement of a cab to be intolerable, bub ib wa3 a relief to set her personality againsb bhe friction of a million of encompassing wills. And in a short time she succumbed to that condition of electricity which they evolve, and permitted herself to be moved by it, without consider. Ing her steps. At length she was hunery, and she turned into a place of refreshment and eat with more healthy desire than she had felt for many months ; and then the restless, fretting creature within was pacified, and she resolved to walk quietly to her room and eleep, before she suffered herself to think any more. Howevor, a3 she was following oub this plan, she came bo a famous bheabre and the name ab bhe entrance attracted her. ' I will be my own judgp,' sho said. _' I will see and hear and be more unmerciful to myself than any other could be.' So sho entered the place nnd eat^ throughout three scenes. She did not wait for the final act. There was no necessity. She had arrived at hor verdicb. Ib was in her eyes and attitude when she left the building, but she gave it no voice until she sat weary and sad before the glimmering fire in her room. ' I could bo queen of England as easily as I could be a prima- donna,' she said mournfully. ' Thore was, perhaps, a time— perhap"—perhaps—whon youth and beauty and love could have helped me, but bhab time has gone forever.' She said bhe words slowly, and the weight of despair was on each one. For she realised that in her case oilorb had brouehb forth no lasting fruit, and thab endurance had been withoub avail; and she was exceedingly sorrowful. For there is a singular vitality in tho idea of public singing or acting, when once ib has taken root in any nature ; and Denasia had been subject that night to ono of its periods of revival. She had told herself that she would probably have a bhousand pounds ; bhab she could go to Italy and pay for bhe besb beachera ; that it would please Roland, if ho knew, if he remembered, for her to do so ; thatit would annoy Elizabeth in many ways if she became a singer ; that she would show the world •it wan possible to eing and act and yeb be in every respect womanly, purehearted and blameless before God and man. These and many such ideas had filled her mind at intervals all the way across the Atlantic ; and her jmesionato renunciation of the stage, made that miserable day when Roland deserted her, began to lose its reasonableness, and therefore its sense of obligation. After her interview wibh Elizabeth the question of money to carry out such intentions waa practically settled, and she had therefore only to arrive aba positive personal conclusion. Once or twice in her public career, she had received what her heart told her waa a just criticism. Ib had not been a very fliittoring one, and Roland had passionately deniod its justice. Bub the folc bhat the hoar had now come when she tpusfc have the truth and accept the truth. -So she had tested herself by tho natural and acquired abilities of the greabesb singer of the day. Ib was, perhaps, a pitiless standard, but she felt bhab her safety demanded its extremity. Her comparisons made her burn with shame at hor own shortcomings. She wondered how Roland could have been so deceived. How he could have hoped or believed in her at all. She forgot thab circumstances had quite altered Roland's firsb inbenbions ; and thab in following oub his secondary ones less distinctive talent was sufficient. On their marriage if he had taken her, as he proposed, to Italy ; if the last three restless, miserable years had been spent in repose in a favourable climate, un ler fine instructors, with a happy, satisfied, hopeful affection to stimulate and support her ambition—ah,, then, all of Roland's hopes might have been fulfilled. But lack of patience as much as lack of money had brought final failure. The blossom had been gathered and worn with bub small eclat, and there was now no hope of fruit. Full of such sombro thoughts she turnod up the lights and looked at herself. Gone wero her radiant beauby, her splendid youbh • gone also her buoyanb spirib nnd invincible courage. That niuht, as she sab there, alone, she buried forever this hope of a life to which she had no destiny. Yeb it was while sitting on that very hearth together Roland and she had felt the joy of her first triumph at Willia's Hall. She could remember every incident of her return home the nighb of her brilliant debut. How Roland had praised her and loved her. Neither of them then thought the temporary success tc be bhe first downward step from their original, grander ideal; bhe firsb step toward a miserable failure. Now it was clear enough. Alas ! Alas ! Why cannot joy as well as sorrow open bhe eyes? Why are they only washed clear-Beeing with tears? . . When the hopeless ceremony was over and she had fulty accepted the lot before her, she rose and with tear-filled eyes looked around the place of her renunciation. She felt as if her husband ought to have some consciousness of her disappointment ; as if the longing in her hearb ihould bring him to her side. Where was ho? Where had he gone to? 'Roland! Roland !' she whispered, and the silence beat upon her like bhe blows of a hammer. Was he present ? Did he hear her ? She felt, until she reached the very rira of congcions feeling, and then, alas, nothing bub a mighty mystery looming beyond. Weary and exhausted wibh emotion, she lay down and slept ; and in the morning, the courage born of a resolved mind was with her. When she had finished her business with Elizabeth, then thero was her father and mother and her real life again. She mueb go back and take ib up j'isb where she had thrown it down. And this humiliating duty was all thab her own way had brought her. Nevor again would she take • her destiny oub of bhe keeping of the good God. who orders all things well. On this resolution she stayed her hearb, and somehow, in her sleep, bhere had come bo her a conviction that the time of smiles would mi rely come back to her once more. For Q id giveth hia children in their sleep, and iho .orrowful wake up comtorted, and the weak Btrong, because some angel has visited them, and ' they knew ib not.' Elizabeth was quite prepared for her visitor. She was indeed anxious to get the affair settled, and to dismiss Denasia from her life forever more. Hor lawyer and appraiser were busy when Denasia arrived, and without ceremony each article specified in Roland's lisb was examined and valued. Elizabeth ottered her sister-in-law no courtesy : sho barely bowed in response to her greeting, and there was a final very severe struggle as to values. Mrs Burrell had certainly hoped to satisfy Denasia with a thousand pounds; bub the official adjustment waa sixteen hundred pounds, and for this earn Roland', widow, who was irritated by her sister-in-law's evident ecorn and dis'ike, stubbornly otood firm. Ib is probable thab Elizabeth would also s»ave turned stubborn, and have suffered

j the articles to go the auction room, had not her personal pride and interests demanded I the sacrifice. Bat she had already introduced Lord Sodleigh to these family treasures ; and she Could nob endure to goto Sudleigh Castle and take with her no heirlooms to be surety for her respectability. So that, afber all, Denasia won her rightso easily, because a man whom she had never seen and never even heard tell of pleaded her case for her. But she had no exceptional favour. It is the people whom |we do not know, that are often our helpers. It is the people who seem to have no possible I connection with us that are often the tools used by fate for our fortune. When the transaction waa fully over, and Denasia had Elizabeth's cheque in her pocket, the day was nearly over. The business agents left hurriedly, and Denasia was going with them, when Elizabeth said: •Return for a moment if you please. Mrs Tresham. I have heard nobbing from you aboub my brother. I bhink ib is your duty to give me some information. lam very miserable,' and she sat down and covered her face. Her sobs, hardly restrained, touched Denasia. She waa sorry for the weeping woman, for she knew that if Elizabeth had loved any human creature truly and unselfishly, it was her brother Roland. ' What can I tell you ?' she asked. • Something to comfort me, if you are not utterly heartless. Had he doctors—helpcomforts of any kind ?' 'He had everything that money and love could procure. Ho died in Mr Lanheame's house. I was at his side. Whatever could be done by human skill to save his life was done.' ' Did be name me often ?' • Yes.' \ •And you never said a word—never would have done so ! You were going away without telling me. How could you be so cruel ?' 'Ib was wrong. I should have told you. He spoke often about you. In his delirium he believed himself with you. He called your name three times jusb before he died, lb was only a whisper then, he was so weak.' Elizabeth wept bitterly, and Denasia, movod by many memories, could nob watch her unmoved. After a wretched pause, she said : •Good-bye! You are Roland's sister, and be loved you. So, then, I cannot really bate you. I forgive you all.' \ . Bub Elizabebh did nob answer. The loss of her brother ! The loss of her money 1 She was feeling bhab bhis woman had been the causo of all her sorrows. Grief and anger swelled within her heart. Sne felfc it to be an intolerable wrong to be * forgiven.' She was silent until Denasia was closing tbe door; then she rose hastily and followed her. •Go !' she cried. ' And never cross my path again ! You have brought me nothing but misery !' 4lb ia quibe jusb that I should bring you misery. Remember now thab if you do a wrong you will have bo pay bhe price of it.' Trembling wibh anger and emotion, she clasped her purse tightly and called a cab to take her to her lodging. The money was money at any rate. A poor exchange for love, certainly, but still Roland's last gifts to her. Ib proved that in his dying hours he loved her best of all. He had put hia family pride beneath her feet. He had pub his "sister's interest second to her interest. She felt that every pouud represented to her so much of Roland's consideration and affection. Ib was, too, a large sum of money. It made her in her own station a very rich woman. It she put ib in the St. Penfer bank, ib would insure her a great deal of respect. Thab was ono side of the qiiesbion. The obher was lees satisfactory. People would speculate ds to how _he had become possessed of such a sum. Many would nob scruple to say : 'It was sinful money won in the devil's service.' All who wished to be unkind to her, could find in it an occasion for hard sayings. In small communities everything bub prosperity .8 forgiven ; that is never really forgiven to any one; and, bhough Denasia did nob find words for bhis feeling, she was aware of it; because she was desirous to avoid unnecessary ill-will. She sat with the check in her hand a long time considering what to do with it. Her natural vanity and pride, hor sense of superior intelligence, education, travel and experience urged her to take whatever good it might bring her. And 3he went to sleep resolving to do so. But she awoke in tbe midnight with a strange sense of humiliation. In that time of questions she was troubled by soul inquiries that came one upon another close as the blows of a lash. She was then allocked ab bhe intentions wibh which she had fallen asleep. The libble vanities and condescensions and generosities which she had planned for her own glory, how contemptible they ap-1 peared ! And in the darkness sho could see their certain end—envy and hatred for herself and dissatisfaction and loss of friends for her father and mother. Had she nob already given them sorrow enough ? Her right course was then clear as a band of light. She would deposit the money ab inberest in a London bank. She would say nothing ab all aboub its possession. Before leaving for St. Penfer she would buy a couple of printed gown 3, such as would nob be incongruous with her surroundings. Sho would go back to her home and village as empty-handed as she left them—a beggar even for a little love and sympathy—for toleration for her wanderings—for forgiveness for those deeds by which she had wounded the consciences and self-respect of her own people and her own caste. This determination awoke wibh her in the morning, and sho followed ib literally out. The presents she had resolved to buy, in order to get herself a little favour, were pub oub of consideration. • She purchased only a few plain garments for her own every-day wearing. She lefb her money with sbrangers,-who-attached no imporbance to ib ; and wibh one smalt American trunk, holding easily all her possessions, she burned her face once more bo bho little fishing village of St. Penfer by the sea. (To be Continued.)