ON THE EDGE OF A PRECIPICE.

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 273, 17 November 1899, Page 6

ON THE EDGE OF A PRECIPICE.

By MAPvY ANGELA DICKENS,

Author of "Prisoners of. Silence,

"Against the Tide," "Some Women's Way," "Cross Currents," "A Mere Cypher," "Valiant Ignorance," etc.

etc., etc,

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS,

CHAPTERS I. & ll.—Mr Cecil Cochrane, an unlucky ne'er-do-well, visits his uncle, Mr Drummond. and asks for pecuniary assistance, which is denied him. In the second chapter, Cecil's par-tially-deformed sister, and an unsuccessful playwright, Andrew Hamer, who has produced a play which has turned out a failure, are introduced. Hamer tells her he is about to leave the country for Paris, and possibly for St. Petersburgh. Cecil returns from his visit to his uncle.

CHAPTERS 111. & IV.-Cecil tells his sister of his interview with his uncle, and also his suspicion that his uncle's money will descend to bis cousin Violet.

A day or two afterwards an accident throws his cousin into his way. She is riding- a bicycle and falls, striking1 her head on the kerbstone. She is rendered unconscious, and Cecil has her carried Into his house and put to bed. In a day or two afterwards she wakes from her stupor, but her mind appears a perfect blank, givingl the answer, "I don't know," to almost every question asked her. CHAPTERS V. to Vll.—Cecil decided to use the opportunity offered by the appearance and mental condition of his cousin to obtain money out of his uncle. In the meantime the manager of the theatre in which Hamer's play, "Virginia," has been produced, decides to withdraw the play, in consequence of the leading Lady, Mrs Ffolliott, declining to play the part. Cecil's sister, Rachel, hears the news, and struck by the beauty of her newly found cousin, Violet, she coaches b,er into a proper rendering or •the part. When Cecil returns home after a useless journey to his uncle's, who refuses to see him, he is delighted with the performance, and decides to see Rastrlck, the theatrical manager, at once.

CHAPTER IX. MISS SYLVIA MAYNARD.

The Coehranes no longer lodged with Mrs Simmons. They had left that worthy woman's dingy but cheap apartments and had established themselves and " Miss Sylvia Maynard " in a very different-style of house. There was nothing1 obviously frowsy about their surroundings nowadays. Their rooms were well if somewhat showily furnished, and if they still bore the old littered air, that was the fault of the occupants. They had two sit-ting-rooms, and it was in the smaller of these, which they used as a diningroom, that Rachel Coehrane was waiting, dressed for walking, on the clay following Hamer's appearance at the theatre. There was a change in Rachel's appearance, too; though it was hardly so marked as that which characterised her brother. Something of the bitter cynicism of her expression had faded. She looked a shade better satisfied. Her dress, however, remained practically unaltered in character. She was wearing now a coat which was neither new nor fashionable, and a shabby little felt hat. She was putting on her gloves, when her brother, resplendent in a. velvet smoking" jacket, strolled into the room. •

"Morning !" he said. " Going for a constitutional ?"

She nodded. '"I'm waiting for Sylvia."

The name came from her lips with the ease of familiarity. The brother and sister rarely spoke of Violet Drummond even between themselves by her real name. They had agreed tacitly that it was desirable to accustom themselves to that which they had given her.

" By-the-bye," said Cochrane, drifting carelessly from the subject, " I've a little bit of news for you. Hauler's back."

Rachel lifted her head in the act of fastening her last button.

" What ?" she said. " How do you know ? Who told you ?"

" He was at the theatre last night. I saw him. He's coming to call today." ...

" What time ?"

" About three o'c" jck," was the answer. "He always ■ was the most transparent fool in the. world; and it isn't difficult to see that he's quite mad about Sylvia."

Rachel turned sharply, her brows contracting involuntarily. Then they relaxed again, and her rare slight smile appeared.

"Ah!" she said; and there was a curious and most unusual softness in her tone. "He thinks she plays the part well ?"

" He thinks she's magnificent," said Cochrane. "He wanted me to introduce him last night. He's coming today on purpose to see her. What do you think about it ?" " What do I think about what ?" Her brother looked at her. " Why I suppose we must let him ?" he said. " He'll be, about the theatre, you see. We may as well introduce him, and then we can manage that he doesn't see much of her." Rachel's lip curled.

" I do-nt suppose he'll want to see much of her," she said. " Yes, of course, they must meet."

Then as a step was heard in the hall she went out of the room.

At three o'clock that afternoon Rachel was by herself in the second sit-ting-room—a nondescript apartment, smoking-room, morning-room, draw-ing-room, all in one, and partaking of the character of each. She had thrown herself into an easy chair in front of the fire, and concentrated herself rather ostentatiously upon a book. She did not even close it when the front door bell rang, and she turned a page deliberately as the room door opened. The servant announced, "Mr Andrew Hamer," and she rose.

"How do you do ?" she said. "So you went •to St. Petersburg after all ?"

She spoke as coolly as though they had parted on the previous day, and Andrew Hamer fell into her tone at once.

"Yes," he said, "I was as good as my word "for once. Arid you have been a great deal better than yours —as usual. I always knew you would be the making of Virginie."

She flushed a little and sat down .

ogam. j "Are you pleased?" she said. ( ( , "Pleased!" he ejaculated. "J m , preposterously pleased! I'm as delighted as a "child. I couldn't have believed that anything could, be so . satisfying." She gave a quick sigh of pleasure ! and leaned back in her chair. _ i "You've seen the notices?" she said. "They're good, aren't they? And the best men appreciate it best, I always knew they would." "They understand it, don't they? ; he saicC his face lighting up. "That's what's so splendid. There's a bit. in the 'Wednesday'—just what I thought j I'd give anything for somebody to j feel. Only "l never thought they j would." ■

"I know." she responded, impulsively. "I know you'd like that. Oh, why weren't you there on the first night!"

He shook his head

'•Why wasn't I?" he said. '"Why was I "such a fool as to leave no address? Do you know I was within an ace. of writing to you several times? II missed o\ir talks awfully: and I got an idea for another play, and I wanted to tell you about it. Only I thought it would bore you." "Thai's not true,"' she said, uncompromisingly. "You know it wouldn't bore me." He drew himself back in the old attitude, his hands clasped behind his head.

"You're right,"' he confessed. "I hate writing letters, and that's the truth. And'so I missed my own first night while I was tearing over Russia in a sledge! Tell me about it. Should I have liked it?"

She made a little grimace. "How can Hell?" she said. "You're a genius, you know; everyone says so now. How do I know what a genius likes? You might, have preferred to be hissed."

"I obviously liked to be jeered at," replied Hamer, "or I shouldn't come and see you. You're not a bit altered."

She took no notice of his words. "I like it," she said. "But then it wasn't mv success."

"But it was your friend's success."

llamer leaned suddenly forward, and taking up the poker began to balance it in his strong hands, according to a restless habit he had of fid.g'eting with anything near him when he was excited. "It was your friend's success; no wonder you liked it." Eacliel was looking straight into the fire. '"Yes," she said, "it was my friend's success." "It was like you to find her for me ho went on." "She's simply the making1 of the play!" Rachel had started violently. She. looked at him for a moment. "Oh, you mean Sylvia Maynard!" she said, arid her voice, was rather harsh. It soft ; ened again as she added after a pause: "You think her like your Yirginie, then?" "I think her wonderful," he returned. "'I couldn't have believed that any woman could have so entered into the spirit of the part. I couldn't have believed that any woman could have so brought out every turn and shade of feeling that I had in my mind. I want to see her, Miss Coehrane. I've come here on purpose. Is she at home?" "You've come here on purpose?" said Eacliel. "You; were always delightfully outspoken, and you certainly never went in for politeness."

The muscles round her mouth had grown a little hard, "I can't describe to you how.-odd it is," lie went on, ignoring" her words as though she Jiad never spoken them, evidently never even hearing them, "to see the woman of your dreams, the woman youi have created, suddenly materialised for you in flesh and blood. To have seen my Virginie misrepresented, to have seen her ugly, ungraceful, unsympathetic, to feel her "lacking even in those little details of which nobody lcnows but me—oh, itwould have been a ghastly business!" "Sylvia,Maynard is not ugly, certainly." "Not ugly!" he exclaimed. "She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld. She is line for line the Virginie 1 have pictured tq myself." "She looks the part to perfection!" '■And plays it to perfection," he returned, lie had been pacing1 vehemently lip and down the room, and he 'came to a standstill now in front of her, his hands clasped behind him as he looked down insistently at her. . "And plays it to perfection! Miss Cochranej youi don't mean to say that you don't think so?' There was a moment's pause, and then Rachel lifted her eyes. "No," she said, "I think she. plays the part—to perfection." He nodded approvingly, and dropped into his chair again. "I know you must think so," he said. "Who should if you do not?" For who understands the part as well as you do, except, perhaps, Miss Maynard? Miss Cochrane, aren't you going to let me see her?" Rachel- rose suddenly. There was an odd smile about her lips.

"Yes," she said, "you shall see her." She rang the bell, waited till the servant came, and said: "Tell Miss Maynard that I want her, Ellen." "Where does she come from?' asked Hamer, "as the door closed again. "Rastrick said something about France; but there's no French blood in her, I should say?" There was a moment's silence, then Rachel said:

" No : her parents were both English. She has lived in Franc e all her life —but don't talk to her of her pastime if you want to make a good impression on her. It's a painful subject with her." "Ah!" said Harrier, sympa.thetically. He stopped abruptly and sprang to his feet as a voice said :

" I>id you want me, Rachel ?" It was Violet Drummond who stood in the doorway ; Violet Drummond transformed almost beyond recognition into Sylvia Maynard. She had grown thiner and paler, and both these facts seemed to emphasise a cer-' tain> pathetic droop that had come to the month, and to make the large blue eyes look larger and a little more Avistful. The one blemish an her beauty—her pal e yellow hair —existed no longer. Her head was crowned now with waving rippling masses of reddish* brown. The lack of colour which this change would hare made too perceptible in her face was so, delicately supplied that it was hardly possible to detect its artificiality. She wore a dress of some softly falling silky green material, and it was so made as to make her tall young figure look even slenderer and more graceful than it actually was. She made so beautiful a picture, standing"

there "with her hand on the latch, of the door, that it was little wonder that Andrew Earner, impressionable and beauty-loving stood gating at her transfixed. Eachel did not look at her Her eyes sparkled rather contemptuously'though she spoke not imshe said. "This is Mr Andrew Hamer, Sylvia- He wants to be introduced to yon." Then, as Haiuer moved forward like a man in a dream, to meet the girl s advancing figure, she added : _ "Mr Andrew Earner; Miss Sylvia Maynard," and turning away, seated herself at a writing-table. Violet bowed, rather shyly, in response to Eachel's introduction. She did not speak, and Hairier said : •' It is very kind of Miss Cochrane to -ive me 'this pleasure, Miss Maynard. I want to tell you, if you will allow me, how immensely impressed I've been with your performance in

I Virginie." , . | He turned a chair towards her as he spoke, and Violet sat down. -J am glad you like it," she said, mechanically. Rachel knew the formula. She had herself taught it to the girl, and as she heard it now she smiled "again. -Like it is hardly the word," Andrew Earner answered. "I find it absolutely perfect: and you must let me thank yon for it with all mv, heart." Violet looked up at him. She was, used by this time to being told of her beaut/ and her talent, but this was not the form of words to which she was accustomed. " Thank me ?" she said. " What for ?" " For making the success of my play, for one thing," he answered. " And much more than that; for embodying my idea to my entire satisfaction." He smiled as he spoke ; a quick smile which deprived the words of any touch of conceit. But Violet did not smile in response. "Oh!" she said. "Did you write Virginie ?" " I wrote Virginie," he answered. " But I had no idea that I should ever think so mnch of her as I did last night. I needn't ask yon whether you like her, Miss Maynard. You could not play her as j'ou do, if you did not."

Violet was playing- with the folds of her dr.ess. She stole a faintly appealing- glance towards Rachel. Bnt .Rachel was apparently absorbed in a note she was writing. "Yes," she said. "I like her." " There are some things you do," went on Andrew Hamer, in his rapid headlong fashion, " some things yon do, in the last act particularly, which are quite wonderful to me. It ds amnzing that anyone else should see the thing so exactty as I see it." He paused. Violet's eyes were fixed on the carpet. "Is it?" she murmured. " It ought not to be, I suppose. But a man is very seldom so lucky -as I have been, I imagine. A part rarely falls into so exactly the right hands."' He smiled again, and this. time, glancing up, she met his eyes, and as if involuntarily, an answeringl smile, faint, shy and altogether lovely, curved her lips. Andrew Hamer did not realise that she had said anything-. " Virginie is your first part, they I tell me," he said. " And I hope you Will s always keep a corner in your heart for her. Eut I ought not to wish to keep you altogether to my--self. Indeed, I don't. I want to see you play Shakespeare —Imogen. Now, have you ever thought of playing Imogen ?' •

The smile died out of her face.

" I don't know," she said.

" Please don't tell me that you belong to the new school," he said, " and that you don't admire Shakespeare. I know you love him."

" I like Shakespeare,' she said faintly. Again she glanced round to the writing-table, and this time Kachel rose. ~

" I'm sorry to interrupt your talk," she said, " but I must do it all the same. Miss Maynard is not very strong1, Mr Hamer, and she finds your Virginie a very tiring part. She must go and rest now, before she dines."

Violet rose with alacrity, and Andrew Hamer rose too, perforce.

\"I would not tire Miss Maynard for the. world," he said; " but I'm very sorry. ,1 shall see you again," he added to the girl. i% I shall be tit the theatre to-night. Good-bye for the present." „ " Good-bye," she said. She hesitated a moment, and then held out her hand. •He took it for an instant. As the door shut upon her Rachel turn-ed-to Andrew Hamer. There was a slight suggestion of triumph about her, and also a touch of defiance as though she were prepared to stand on the defensive.

." Well ?" she said

■ " She's, simply the most beautiful creature I ever saw in my life," he said. " And the most charming ! How gentle ! How modest ! How utterly unaffected ! I hope I didn't say too much. I hope I did not ofEend her. One isn't used to dealing- with, natures like that. One .is altogether '• too coarse and outspoken." •

Rachel stood for a moment gazing full into his face, her own changing gradually, but surely.

"Oh !" she said, in a low, grating •voice. " Oh, that's it,' is it ?"

(To be continued.)