THE WOMAN WHO KNEW.

Auckland Star, Volume XLIV, Issue 303, 20 December 1913, Page 19

THE WOMAN WHO KNEW.

By JOHN BAKEWEZ.Z.

CHAPTER I. HER DIRE DISTRESS. "Hy dear young lady.'—there was just a touch of patronising contempt iv the shopman's tones—"the things are unsaleable." The colour rushed to Blanche Fleming's cheeks, and her lips quivered. It was cruelly humiliating. she gathered up ber little pictures, hastily done, but still with a touch of talent in them, if the man behind the counter had had hut eyes to see, and tried to brush away the tears that would come unbidden to h«r eves. Her necessity was so dire. To the .South her mother must go, or die. and she had not even nourishing food to' give her. She steadied herself against the counter a moment, and barely noticed a tall young fellow who was buying stamps dose beside her. He must" nave beard all. realised that she had offered her pictures, and had them pushed carelessly back across the counter branded j a= ••unsaleable." His dark Dnght eyes— j even then she noticed they were dark ' and bright—looked her up and down, and but added to her humiliation. ith trembling fingers she tied up the parcel, and with a girl's shyness and modesty felt she wished the earth would open and swallow her up. But then again necessity pressed. They bad £5 in all the wide world. £."> to last three of them a month, and her sick mother ought to have so many tilings. "Couldn't you give mc something for them?" she begged. "I see pictures sold everywhere." There was a little piteous quiver in her voice. "Miss Fleming"—the shopman brought his hand down on a pile of garish oleographs that lay on the counter —"we can sell these at four a penny." They were frightful things, crude >n colour, machine made, out still they would give colour and brightness to a room, and there were eyes that demanded no more. Blanche realised that, and with a quick sigh gathered up her parcel, and turned and left the shop, conscious all the time in a vague, unhappy way that the eyes of the man beside her were following her out with just a touch of pity and a touch of amusement. As the glass door of the little stationer's shop swung to. the man turned to the shopman:— "Who is that young lady?" "Miss Blanche Fleming," said tlie man. quickly, and a little defiantly, as if he resented the other's interest in the girl: 'as nice a young lady as you'd meet anywhere in England." "1 don't doubt it," said the other man. with a lazy smile: "but if she's so nice, why didn't you buy her pictures?" "Now," said the man, aggrieved, ""how could I? I ain't got shillings, to say nothing of pounds, to chuck away, and if I bought one she'd expect mc to buy the others. Now, her Pa was a real nice man, but he didn't have any common sense —seems to mc most men are that way, they go dying and leave their women folk to shift for themselves, and mighty hard lines they find it mostly; leastways, I'm precious sure Mrs. Hilary Fleming and Miss Blanche and Miss Clara do."

"Hilary Fleming." repeated the young man with an awakened interest, "surely not the Eev. Hilary Fleming, the rector of Church Litton, a good family and well-to-do people."'

"Good family—the best in England." said the shopman. "I come from there myself, and so I know all about it; but they're by no means well-to-do nowadays. When the Rev. Hilary died there was just a pittance for his wife and daughters, and it don't seem to be enough, judging by Miss Blanche's face. I hear her mother is very ill and ought to go away. Well"—he threw up his head —"I'm sorry, but a pound a week don't allow mc to do anything, and I guess my boss "ud have something to cay if I bought those pictures just because a girl has a pretty face." "Give mc half-a-crown's worth of penny stamps," said Ralph Sutherland, carelessly. Then he asked, still more carelessly, "Where do the Flemings live now? Mr. Fleming coached mc once, hut I never remember meeting his wife or daughters. Of course, they must have been children.''

The man behind the counter—he was not a bad sort—looked at him keenly.

"I don't know if it's a wise thing to give a gentleman like you a pretty girl's address."

"Xonsense," said Sutherland, coldly and angrily, "I tal.e an interest in my old tutor's daughter. It is possible I may be able to help her. There was talent in those sketches, though you seemed to think they were not worth as much as these things you are selling at four a penny."

"Oh. well, it isn't my place to deprive her of a chance. She lives in lodgings at 17A, Finborough Eoad. and if you can help them, for goodness' sake do." "I don't know that l can." said Sutherland, gathering up his change: "but 111 try." And he went out into the gathering darkness in Fulham Koad. The February night was falling, the long lines of lamps were reflected on the damp pavement, the great motor-buses .crashed past, all the traffic of a great city, and overhead the fog was crushing down, threatening to Wot out the lights and the cheery shop windows. Dreary, dreary, it looked, as only Ixmdon can look, and Blanche Fleming had walked along with a breaking heart. She was young, and she felt that the worst thing" in the world had happened to her. It is a cruel thing to feel helpless, tossed like a straw on the waters of Fate; it is harder still to see one's dear ones suffer, and to stand aside helpless. And that was Blanche's fate. Her mother would die—the mother who had been so care«i for all her life till the last year, and she could not help her. Tears blinded her eyes so that she could not see to put the key in the keyhole of the front door of their lodgings, and when she fumblingly opened it and stumbled upstairs her sister met her at the door of their sitting-room; her finger on her lips.

"Hush, Blanchie, she's asleep, poor darling! I really think her cough is tetter at last. Now. if we could only— Blanchie. what did he say about your pictures?" "Said they were unsaleable," said Blanche, crushing down a sob. There ■was a little handful of fire in the grate, the tinest handful, because-their mother was in bed, and coals has to be considered, but it showed the younger girl her sister's face. "Oh, Blanche, poor Blanche! Sit down dear, and don't cry. If we could once get away I don't believe it would cost Us more to live in Italy than it does here." "Xot so much," said Blanche.

"And how could we do it? Is there anything we could sell?" and the girl looked round wild! v.

But their possessions were small, they had been obliged to realise on everything when their father died, even their little jewels had gone, and then they only had £100 a year between the three of them. "There is nothing."' said Blanche.

"If we could do something," said Clara, for about the thousandth time since trouble had come to them.

"Haven't we tried to do something?" said the rider girl, bitterly. "No one wants a governess, there are no children who want to be taught music or drawing, or painting: nobody wants needlework; no one will buy my pictures —yet 1 knowall of these tilings are wanted, and people do live by them. I wonder if I could get, a place as housemaid. I'm tall and " "Oh, hush. Blanche! - ' "Well, but Clara, that would give thirteen shillings a week more for you and mother to live on. It's worth considering. l"pon my word I would be of more importance in the world than a girl who simply can't do anything, not even sell little pictures."

"But. Blanchie, mother would " There came a sharp peal at the bell, and both the girls started.

"Someone for us! No, surely it can't be. It must be for Miss Nelson. Clara, will you and I grow into wizened old maids like Miss Nelson?"

The girls looked at each other, and then the bell rang again, and they heard their landlady answering. Someone entered. Of course, it was for Miss Nelson: but, no, the footsteps came on past the door, and someone rapped.

"Someone from Church Litton," said Clara, looking round. "I'd so much rather they did not see us here."

"They mush see us here" said Blanche, who had strong common sense, which is much less common than its name would imply, and she rose and opened tbe door. ' The light was out on,the landing, and the room was only lighted by the tiny fire, but she saw that at the door stood a tall man.

"Come in." she said, mechanically, and Clara poked the fire into a flickering flame that fell straight upon his face, the face of the man—she knew it again at onee —who had stood beside her buying stamps in the stationer's shop in Fulham Road.

Oh!" she said, with a little gasp. Miss Fleming?" he asked.

"I have just learned your name. Your father was my tutor fifteen years ago. Did you never hear him speak of Ralph Sutherland?"

''So.'' said tbe girl wondering. All sorts of thoughts came rushing to her mind, the thoughts of a shy. inexperienced girl, the remembrance of many tales of the wickedness of London, the knowledge that she and her sister were practically alone here.

"Xo, 1 suppose he -would not. Why should he?" said the stranger, stepping inside and looking around him. "But he was very good to mc always, and I am not ungrateful." "Don't, don't wake mother," said Clara quickly. "It's so long since she has had a good sleep, and she sleeps so lightly." "Xo. I won't." he dropped his voice. "Do torsive mc walking in off the street ou you "in this way. bur. the shopman in the' stationer's told me—told mc " he hesitated. "Told you we were hard up?" said Blanche, quicklr. "So we are; hut lioncan you help us? You don't want to buy little pictures?" "I can't afford to huy pictures, big or ■little," he said. "1, too, am poor, quite as poor as you are."

The two girls looked at him. He was a good-looking fellow, and the flickering firelight showed up his dark eyes and the white teeth, that showed when he smiled. His 'hair was dark, his complexion brown, and he was evidently a man of some three or Tour and thirty. What had he come for, they asked each other with their eyes, and in truth ne seemed a little at a los 3.

"I came," he said, ••because I was sorry." "Thank you." said Blanche. Ifc was good to be sympathised with; she felt that even if the sympathy lead to nothing. Then Clara said "Won't you sit down?" "A seat," added Blanche, "is about ail we have to offer;" and sue touched the armchair—her mother's armchair—before the fire. He dropped into it. and sat looking into the coals, his arms on his knees, and his hands hanging down before him. "I had a sort of feeling," he said, "you ought to have a man to help you; and I'm such a useless beggar."

"You are kind," said Blanche, with a sudden feeling of gratitude. "Kind!" he echoed. "I'hm a bit of a blackguard, I'm afraid. At least, not exactly that, but I've wasted my substance. That shopman told mc your mother was ill and ought to go South."

He "spoke as if they were friends and had known each other for years. He was only picking up the threads of an ac. quaintaneeship that Iliad been inadvertently dropped.

Blanche looked aS him in the dim light, and thought bow good-looking he was. Clara explained the situation.

"And she will die if she doesn't go South," she finished up with a sob. "And you have no money?" "Exactly £5, but it has to last us a month." Sutherland got up and walked across the room and back again, treading softly, as if he, too, were remembering the sick woman. "And I haven't got a red cent," he said. "It's maddening—unless—unless— but no, I wouldn't dare. How much would it cost you to go to Italy?" "We could ail go comfortably for £50," said Clara, quickly. "Is that all?" "All! We have as much chance of getting fifty thousand." "I don't know about that," said Ralph Sutherland, as he took another turn up and down tlie room. Somehow his presence inspired them with confidence.

"Do you think you could sell Blanchie's pictures?" asked Clara, in a half whisper. "Xo," he said, emphatically; and then, as he saw Blanche's face fall in the firelight: "I looked at those pictures, and I think they are good. You might do something with your talent there some day. but not by selling little pictures in stationers' shops. You must get illustration work for the big magazines, and that takes time."

"And meanwhile mother is very ill," moaned Blanche. "she cannot live through the winter —not here." "Do you love your mother more than anything else in the world?" asked Sutherland, turning round quickly, and

ibis eyes met Blanche's, and the colour flew to ber cheek, and her blue eyes sank before his. Was the first whisper or another stronger feeling echoing through her heart? If it were she did not, understand it. and though her cheeks were dyd. she answered fervently, "More thai: anyone in the world." "Then, if you will dare something, I believe I can get you £100." "What wouldn't I dare?" asked the gill. "I don't know." said the man. "but it may be you will not date this, and yet I assure you I have no other way of getting the money. lam going away to Uganda the day after to-morrow, and I can tell you every penny of my income is absorbed for the next two years. I have been an unutterable fool and now I am paying. But I'll lo this tiling for you if you'll only dare." "I'll dure," said Blanche. "I must. I don't know what it is. but I must." He dropped down iiv.o tbe chair again, and stared into the fife. "Look here." he said, "develop that talent of yours. Take your pictures, not to little shopmen, but to editors of magazines, and in time—it takes time—a year. two. three, say. they'll recognise your talent." "But if you are going to help her go to Italy." said Clara, with a piteous little quiver in her voice. Her hopes had been raised, and now were they to be dashed to the ground? "1 can get you a hundred pounds, I believe." he said, "if your sister will only dare." "I'll dare," said Blanche and added, desperately, "anything."

"But it would be a sin that you should leave London and waste your talents. Take my advice, and stay and conquer. Can't Miss Clara loos after your mother. It will be so mucTi better for her in the future if you make a little money."

He was still looking into the fire, talking in an impersonal manner, and the two girls looked at him and at each other, wondering. Who was this man who had come in off the street to them, and promised them not onry money for their immediate needs, but" was taking an interest in their future, giving them hopes of raising themselves out of the sordid surroundings that "had been their 3 for the last twelve months?

"There is one tiling I can do," said Blanche.

"i es." he looked up, quickly. "Paint miniatures." "Then stay, and your chance will come."

"But how first arc mother and 1 to go?" breathed Clam. looking at him anxiously.

He rose to his feet and held out bis hand. "1 think. 1 really think. I am not quite as sure as I would like to lie. but I do think I can raise the money >lf Miss Fleming will only do her part.

"What am I to do?" asked Blanche, also rising to her feet nnd quivering with excitement. He looked her up and down thoughtfully.

"But on your very smartest clothes — not black, if possible—and come out with mc to-morrow morning. I want you to see an old lady. 11l tell you what you're to say to her then. Now, will you be ready at ten o'clock to-morrow morning?"

"Yes." said Blanche. There came to her the feeMng she would have said "yes" to anything, pun to ensure seeing this pleasant young man with the kindly dark blue eyes again. It would be hard to let him go and know they would not meet again, and he had said he was going to Uganda the day after to-mor-row.

It was not comme il faut, of course, but lie was kind, and lie was her dear fathers old pupil, surely he could suggest nothing really wrong! If only she would dare—and what would she not dare for her darling mother?

"Then to-morrow—at ten to-morrow." Sutherland took her hand in his, looked at the soft, slum lingers tor a moment, and then raised them to his lips. Blanche's heart began to beat wildly. In all her quiet, sheltered life no man had ever kissed her fingers .before— "till to-morrow. You are a brave girl, and I would not ask so much of you if I could possibly get you the money any other way." "But what way?" asked Clara. "Never mind, I'll tell your sister tomorrow," and he Vootc Clara's hand, and the elder girl felt she was glad that he did not kiss it. Tlie kiss was for her, and he left the room, and they heard him running downstairs. Clara looked at her sister. "Blanche, this is amazing! Will he get us the money, do you think? Ought we to take it if he does?" "We must take it for mother's' sake, if he does," said the elder girl. "And will he? Oh, I think he will if he can. He looks —he looks good." "He looks as if he admired you very much." said Clara soberly. "I wonder— I wonder- " But what Clara wondered her sister was not destined to know just then, for a faint voice, choked with coughing, called from the other room, "Blanchie, Blanchie." "Coming. mother. darling." said Blanche, as cheerfully as she could. Then she put her hand on her sister's shoulder. "Not one' word to mother, mind. She is not strong enough for any worry. We must see it through, whatever it as, alone." (To he continued daily.)