SENT INTO EXILE.

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 7, 10 January 1899, Page 6

SENT INTO EXILE.

By C. E. CHEESEMAN,

(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.)

Jft-uthor of 'A Rolling Stone,' 'Had He , Known,' and 'On a Lee Shore.'

SYNOPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAPTERS. CHAPTERS I. and ll.—The manager of the Violet Hyde Dramatic Company, Mr Tomlins, and Mr Dalzell, one of the actors and husband of the star, having discussed the extremely unsatisfactory Condition of business, resolve that the one thing to revive the ebbing fortunes of the company is to get Dalzell's little girl to take a part in the performance. The child is a born actress, but very delicate, and Mrs Dalzell, who has lost another little girl-through overwork on the boards, has resolved that the one that remains to her shall not be sacrificed in the same way. The manager easily gains the husband's consent to Hilda's appearing in the next piece. Dalzell is a thriftless dissipated individual, who has squandered his wife's earnings, and is chiefly anxious to get more money for himself, but Mrs Dalzell is not to be dissuaded from her resolve, and determines that rather than that her child should go on the stage she will send her away to be brought up by friends in England.

CHAPTER 111

A LAST FAREWELL

The end of the Company's long seaBon in Sydney had arrived. The day of their departure was fixed; their passages were taken for San Francisco. They had given their third farewell performance; they had had as many 'positively last nights.' The very last of these had been distinguished by a perfect ovation; the actors had been deafened by applause, and had literally waded through, flowers. Mr Tomlins' complexion was almost of a sanguine hue; he had seldom felt better after balancing his accounts, than at this very successful end of a season that had promised to be disastrous. 'Everything has gone well with us since we put that on the boards,' he said, alluding to the play that had made their first success. 'It was the turn of the tide, and we took it at the flood. I only hope our luck will hold.' 'Luck never does,' said Dalzell, sententiously; 'at least the right sort of luck doesn't. But only get in the way of the other kind, and it will hold faster than the suckers of an octopus/ 'Ha! I've seen that on the stage, said Mr Tomlins. 'What! the octopus? I didn't know that was to be found amongst theatrical "property." ' 'Why, you know the play taken from 'Victor Hugo's book, and the scene in which the man—the hero I suppose—fights with an octopus. 'Ah well,' said Dalzell, with a laugh, ♦some poor wretches are fighting with one all their lives long.' 'That's true,' the manager answered, 'but they might soon end that fig-ht. Why don't they cut oft the arms that are dragging them down/ 'Why don't they?' Dalzell elevated his eyebrows, and gave a shrug to his shoulders. He knew well to what the manager referred. 'I don't suppose you'd get'an answer to that question, if you went round and asked them ail, one'by one. Perhaps the enlightened people" who know exactly whats wrong with the world, and what is o-oing to cure it, might tell you. But dear me! why are we ™>rahzing about it?—you a trader m dramas and dramatists/and I a seedy actor, a strolling player. I don"fc know why I took to this vagabond life of the stage. I might have trVed literature, I.'might have written dramas, or perhaps novels.' ~| , ~ 'Not you,' Mr Tomlins said decidedly. 'Not your line at all. Novels! Why you'd never have patience to finish one, or if you did, by the time you'd got to the end of the second volume, you'd have forgotten what was in the first. You would be killing a man in one chapter, and bringing him up again, as fresh as a lark, in the next.' ■~ , ~ 'Often done, my dear fellow, said Dalzell, 'very often done in novels. It's effective. But I was going to say that you need not look so jubilant, A run of good luck never lasts. This Pacific slope, as they call vt, may prove the down grade for us. We did well in Melbourne; we have done well here. Therefore, it is as clear as daylight that we shall not do well m 'Frisco.' , ♦What does Mrs Dalzell say about her daughter now'?' the manager asked, ignoring Dakcll's last remark. •Is sho still opposed to hei acting, now that everyone is amazed at the talent shown by so young a child?' •Mrs Dalzell will never say but one thing. All those wise sayings, Tomlins, that have passed into proverbs about the changeability of woman, shduld be struck out of the list. My experience convinces me that they are untrue. A woman never changes her mind.' , So far as Mrs Dalzell was concerned, her husband had spoken the truth. She would not change. But he little thought on what purpose she was beat/with all the force of a resolute and determined nature. Mrs Parkes, who had promised to take charge of Hilda, had been em--ployed in some subordinate positipn in the theatre in Sydney, but was not a member of the company, and only travelled with them as far as Auckland, where she had a married dau-e-hter whom she wished to see before having for England. All this fell in with Mrs Dalzell's plans. Her child would be with her until Auckland was reached. She would go ashore with her another and. Mrs Parkes, but she would not return,' and probably her disappearance would never be noticed until long after the steamer had resumed her voyage. Mrs Parkes would take passages for herself and her charge by a direct steamer to England, some three or. four days after their arrival at Auckland. Of the trustworthiness of the woman in whose care she had placed her child, Mrs Dalzell was assured. She had provided Mrs Parkes with money to meet all expenses, and in addition had paid her well for her services. The money she had in hand was not

sufficient for this, and in consequence she had been obliged to sell some of her jewellery.

Sydney v.as left behind, and the steamer v.as breasting the deep— | troughed waves of the Paciiic. Within five days she would gain the shelter of the New Zealand coast. During- j this time, Dnlzell saw but little of his j wife and child—as little as lie could well do, considering1 that they tray- | elled in company. Jnst now, he felt j a little uncomfortable while in their J presence. He was ashamed and dis- j satisfied—much more so than he would have liked to own, or than anyone who'knew him would have supposed. Before leaving Sydney, lie had transgressed again. He had had money in his possession, and so long as he had money, he was never safe j from two temptations—to drink and to gamble. While on .the steamer, he was, fortunately for himself, under some sort of restraint, and if one refused to consider the extraordinary number of cigars he had smoked, and the hours upon hours in which he had sat with three other men fingering certain well-worn pieces of paste board, with the dexterity of one who was an adept at all games of cards, his conduct might have been described as singularly temperate. Meanwhile Hilda "and her mother, left to themselves, clung- to each other in a companionship which, never had been so close. In the fine weather that prevailed most of the way over, it was their chief pleasure to sit side by side, watching how wave after wave was overtaken and passed, how the clear dark green water was rippled and flecked with foam in the steamer's wake, and how from east to west, from north to south, the blue arch of the sky curved to the heaving sea. They had little to say to eacli other, much to think about. The sad and wistful glances in which their eyes would meet, the tender hand-claspings, _ the caressing way with which the little girl, crouching besides the low deck chair in which Mrs Dalzell sat, would lay her head upon her mother's knee, showed the drift of those thoughts they could not put into words. They were leaving each other —for how long? Somehow they were afraid of that' thought. But now the New Zealand coast had risen above the water line. The headlands opened their arms, the islands came out from the shelter of the coast, the swell of the open sea sank lower and lower. It was the midst of winter; a mild-tempered winter, that had left the shores so green, and whose sun shone so brightly on the city whose white arms clasped the bay. The rain-washed sky was of the deepest blue, the harbour was a glittering sheet that dazzled the eye. There was just a suggestion of frost in the cool," crisp air—a frost-that had not been able to bear the face of the sun, but had vanished in the early morning hour How near at hand seemed the islands and the distant hills, whose edo-es were sharply cut against the sky. One might fancy that a short ride an hour's sail, would take one to the enchanted land that was purple on the far horizon, or to the islets that at the entrance of the port were blue upon the gold. The passengers went ashore; those who were only here for the day as well as those whose voyage was ended. Mr Tomlins had business in the town. Dalzell had some vague intentions of enjoying himself in, one way or another—strolling- about the streets, callin o- on people whose acquaintance he had made when some time ago he had soi'ourned in Auckland. Mrs Dalzell had no friends to see. She walked about the town with Hilda. Mrs Parkes had not been with them when they left the steamer, but it had been arranged that she should join them afterwards, and a meeting-place had been appointed. To the park, m the midst of the town, they turned their steps, and finding- a vacant seat sat there, waiting for their friend. After some time she came. She had, indeed, not hurried herself, knowing that the two who waited for her wished to spend these last moments alone. 'You will take care of her?' said the mother, looking anxiously in her face. 'I'm sure I will, just as if she was mv own,' said honest Mrs Parkes. 'I think I have told you everything that you must say to Mrs King. But she will have received my letter before you get home. You said you would nave Hilda's things sent ashore with your own?' , 'Yes; I've seen about that, said Mrs Parkes. J ~ 'Then there is nothing more to be said—nothing but good-bye, Hilda. They clung together in silence for a moment. Then Mrs Dalzell turned away, with a white but tearless face. 'Take her away,' she said. 'We have been saying good-bye for a whole week, and I can bear it no longer. 'Oh, ma'am,' said Mrs"Parkes, almost really to burst out crying, 'are you sure about this? Must you do rt? It's -breaking your heart.' 'Oh. no,' Mrs Dalzell said, trying1 to speak cheerfully. 'We are not going to break our hearts, are Aye, Hilda? I shall write such long letters to you, and by and bye you shall come back to me,*and never, never go away again.' , The child looked at her wistfully, but did not answer. With wonderful self-control she had kept back her tears. 'Mamma told me not to cry, she said, looking up into the goodnatured face of Mrs Parkes, who was leading her by the hand. They did not look back; but Mrs Dalzell stood where they had left her, watching till they were out of sight. At dusk the steamer was slowly moving out of the harbour. The shining bay was streaked with rose. The sunset glow that overspread the west, in a sky that was marvellously clear and pure, seemed like a blush on the delicate cheek of a child. Past, the low and rounded bluff on the northern shore, past the three-peaked island, whose wooded slopes were fading from purple into grey, the vessel was steered. When night had fallen she was again on the unsheltered sea. In the lodging-house bedroom which she shared with Mrs Parkes, Hilda cried herself to sleep. At the same time Mrs Dalzell lay in her cabin berth, with closed but sleepless eyes. Now that all was over, she felt a strange sinking of the heart, a shuddering fear of the consequences of her act. But right or wrong, this was not to be undone: it belonged already to the unalterable past. (To be continued daily.)