A Modern St. Elizabeth

Auckland Star, Volume XXXIV, Issue 149, 24 June 1903, Page 3 (Supplement)

A Modern St. Elizabeth

By NETTA SYRETT.

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CHAPTER XVII,

jjjg Royston'a dutie3 as wife and mother underwent a considerable amount o f postponement during the months yhich followed. For weeks after her return to town, jhe devoted herself almost entirely to her friend. Betty was recovering, but Ter y, very slowly from the illness Mab had feared for her when she first recognised, with a shock of dismay, the change in her appearance on the day of her homecoming. It was not too much to say> tho doctors declared, that the rirl owed her iife to Mrs Royston. Mab had indeed thrown all the energy of her capable nature into saving her. X was a h'U'd. fight, for Elizabeth herself was against her. She made no effort to live, and when Mab allowed herself a moment to think, she knew that it was the fear that she might get veil which brought that haunting look fcf dread into the girl's eyes. At these times Mab would not meet her gaze. She forced back her own tears, slmt B way in the depths of her heart any gophistical pleadings against the cruelty Of dragging' her friend back from the peace and forgetfulness she was seeking, set her lips firmly and went on with the hand to hand struggle with death.

Saved alive Betty should be, if human strength could save her,' for was she herself blameless in the matter? Why had she left her month after month without a word of help or comfort, for nothing but a miseraDle paltry feeling of unreasonable anger—? And though weak and helpless as a baby, saved alive Betty [was, after days and nights of anxious watching. "She will do now," said the doctor at last, "but it's been a near thing. Overwork and worry, chiefly. There's something on her mind, no doubt. If you could only put that right now. No? Well, ehe's out of danger at any rate —and we must trust to time."

In the meanwhile there was nothing lo be done save to wait patiently, and in these days Mab had reason to be grateful to the boys and girls at the Club, for their letters evidently roused and interested Betty more than anything else tEat she could have devised. Mrs Royston scrutinised every letter Ihat came with ever-increasing eagerness as the days went on, and, though Elizabeth said nothing, it was obvious ithat she, too, listened eagerly for the postman, and seemed relieved when she had glanced over her correspondence. There was never a letter with a foreign post-mark and Mab hardly knew whether to he uneasy, or to share Betty's evi3ent relief. Were it not for the unspoken anxiety which they shared about the letters, Mrs Royston might almost have imagined the whole thing to have been a dream. Mrs Crosby b.ad not as yet been told, and she was too guileless and shadowy-minded, to gues3 on her lown account, how matters stood. "It will be time enough to blazon her marriage abroad when the wretch comes tome," thought Mab, vindictively. "The question is, when is iie coming, and why 'doesn't he write ?—though I'm thankful that the child is left in peace, at any Irate till she is stronger." One day, after receiving the usual missives from the Club, Betty laid down the funny blotted little notes with a

>igh. "I wish I could go back to them. I'm (tired of lying here," she said rather wistfully. "And that stupid boy, George Colman, hasn't proposed to Katie yet. He Hvon't till I go back." Then Mab rejoiced exceedingly for a Hr!sh of any kind was a hopeful sign. "Shall I go?" she said suddenly, "and Bay you are getting well, and give your Jove to them. ... Oh, yes! I

Should like it," in answer to Betty's fca<*er but half doubtful look, "Only let me talk to the boys. I like boys best!" So it happened that Mab went to the Club and learnt many new and wonderful things about the friend she thought Bhe already knew thoroughly—the friend iwho was known at the Poplar Club as "the Lidy."

CHAPTER XVIII. One day iowards the middle of Augtost Betty announced that she was well, that she could endure London no longer and that she was going away. Mrs Royston was spending the afternoon with her when she made this declaration, for though she had given up her place as nurse to Mrs Crosby she still insisted upon staying in town to superintend her friend's recovery. To suppose that Betty was capable of getting .well alone was, of course, ridiculous, as she had explained to Rex when he was packed off to South Wales with the other children, to be "out of the way." Mab looked at her friend critically &s she sat leaning back against the cushions of her large chair. "H'm!" she remarked, sniffing scornMy. "I was just going to Temark that with your fluffy short hair and your white dress you have a sort of thistle-downy effect, as though a puff of strong wind would blow you away. Still, of course, you know best," she went on ironically. "Perhaps you are also thinking of beginning to study again? You look quite fit to take Borne light, easy Lyceum character, one ia which there is no strain involved, such as Juliet or Lady Macbeth, for instance. Do let me renew the correspondence with all these theatrical people for you!"

"No—but that is why I'm so anxious to go away, to get strong—quite strong you know," Betty answered, restlessly. "I want to begin in the atsunmn. I must begin then," she aaaea, in piteous defiance of Mab's tolerantly smiling gaze.

"Well, you shall go away, then," said Mab, wisely ignoring the latter part of W speech. "You shall come to Cliffside with me next week. The children Me wild to see you, and every other % Rex bothers me with a letter, 80—"

"No. Don't be angry, Mab," interrupted Betty deprecatingly, "but I Would rather go somewhere quite fresh "-somewhere—" she stopped, and her hands trembled as she looked up with painfully bright eyes at Mab. Mab turned away sharply. This was B uch a different Betty! A vision of the mocking, laughing, gay girl of last year *ose before her so vividly that she dare ?°t turn her head lest she should burst ttto tears.

There was nothing left of that Betty **cept the pretty gentleness which had ■**S Pne of her chief charms even, at

her wildest moments, a gentleness which was terribly pathetic now.

Mab's heart swelled with impotent anger and bitterness against the man who had so changed her.

"But it has come to this, that I should be thankful if he wrote to her now," she thought. "This suspense is worse than anything. It's killing- her— and he'll turn up after all, the wicked abominable wretch! It's only the people who are not wanted to that die," and Mab sighed deeply, reflecting on the contrariness of things in general, and of Power in particular, and of how much bettor she could have managed everything if the universe had been left to her skilful and diplomatic guidance.

"Well, perhaps a complete change would do you more good," she allowed, after a moment's silence, "if only," she looked round cautiously, "that dear, distracted old lady were fit to look after herself even. But you will have to superintend everything, Betty, down to reminding her several times a day of her own name!"

Mab's opinion of Mrs Crosby had sunk considerably during the last month.

"I can take Davies with me—and I think I want someone to look after," answered Betty. "I am rather tired of thinking about myself. I have become such an utterly uninteresting person." "But where shall you go? You're forgetting that part of it."

"I—don't know. It doesn't matter. I mean I haven't thought about it." Beatty hesitated, and then, making a visible effort at taking some interest, "I used to think I should like to see Clovelly," she said. "It will be quiet there, won't it? and it's by the sea, and it's pretty, they say. Why not Clovelly?"

"Because it rushes down a steep place violently into the sea, and that's not good for invalids," began Mab extra vivaciously, because her heart was sore. Betty always spoke of everything in the past tense now she "used to want to see Clovelly!" "But there's really no reason why you shouldn't go, dear, if you think you would like it," she added. "I believe you want rousing now, and those cobble stones will do it when all else fails. By the way, how Mrs Crosby will enjoy herself there, poor old soul!" she exclaimed laughing. "Don't breathe the word cobble stone till you get to Clovelly, and then you may safely leave all the conversation about them to her. I shouldn't wonder if she takes to bad language and perhaps even to drink before you come back! ...

( "By the way," she went on, "we shall be nearly opposite one another; you can almost see the Welsh coast from Clovelly. And it's really clever of you, Betty, to hit upon Clovelly, so near and yet so far you know! You knew you'd be well rid of me with the sea between us. I wouldn't cross for worlds."

Betty smiled but faintly. She sat looking absently before her, moving her thick gold wedding ring up and down her finger.

Mab watched her with a sort of savage impatience.

"Why do you wear that thing ?" she exclaimed at last, and then bit her lip with vexation as the words escaped her.

Betty laughed, "It is proper to wear one's wedding ring, isn't it?" she asked. Clovelly was finally decided upon, and Mab stayed at the flat the night before Betty started. They slept together, and once Mab woke with a start. Betty was sitting up in bed.

"What is it?" she asked. "Nothing," replied Betty, shuddering, "I dreamt my—he was dead," she whispered presently. Mab sighed. "Go to sleep," she answered, "and I will dream this time; a bad dream —by way of expiation." Clovelly, as every one who has seen it knows, is an enchanted village. It has drifted away from Arcadia, and has resettled itself in the same delicious fashion in a valley which cannot bo less beautiful than its former home.

Elizabeth had been there a fortnight, and the charm of it, and the peace which enwraps it had sunk deep into her heart. She had fallen under its spell, and only vaguely felt that the anaesthetic could not last much longer. Sooner or later she must step out of the dreamcountry into real life, where there were thorns and briars —and thoughts. In the meantime—the gods had sent a season of drowsy summer weather; blue sea seen through misty golden haze, blue sky and the deep green of thickest woods.

It had been a hot day. Betty, who had been out of the village all the afternoon, driving in the country, had seen Mrs Crosby safely to her room, and was now walking down the village street, on her way to the little grey pier. As she went slowly down the cobblepaved staircase, of which the houses form the rails, she glanced lovingly from side to side. She passed cottages whose white faces were covered with a veil of fuchsia dropping scarlet fire. Lower down, as the street staircase grew steeper, each little house had its bright green platform, approached on the steepest side by a flight of steps. From the first platform one looked down on to the next, from that on to a still lower one, all alike gay with yellow and red trailing nasturtium. Now the narrow street widened a little, to give one room to step back and admire a cottage of which clematis and Virginia creepers had made a fairy bower, and here a long bench was placed, where sailors in blue caps and jerseys added the last picturesque touch to the picture. Here Betty paused a moment to look down on to the greendraped roof of the little house immediately below, and over it to the sea. The rough t steps still led downwards from the°platform on which she had paused, and after a moment's rest she went on. Once again she stopped half-way down the flight; one hand resting on the rough stone wall. It was an evening of enchantment; the light on the sea magical, the sky of a like fairy blue. Her traze travelled back to the flower covered cottage which made the foreground of the picture, and fell upon a man sitting on the step just below her. He had an easel in front of him, and was painting. She had noticed him casually just as she stopped, and now her eyes wandered from the cottage back to him. He had turned and was looking up at her as she stood just above him. Their eyes met and Elizabeth suddenly grasped the top of the wall, and leant against it faintly. "But—you are dead!" she whispered, and then she laughed a little. (To be continued in Saturday's Supplement.}, _,