LOVE'S BOND MAID.

Auckland Star, Volume LVII, Issue 199, 23 August 1926, Page 16

LOVE'S BOND MAID.

By MAY WYNHE,

Author of " For Faith and Navarre," " Mistress Cynthia," "The Spendthrift Duke," etc., etc • CHAPTER XXm. The smoking lamp flared high, preparatory to going out. Eoger turned restlessly on his side. "There's a candle end in the bos," he muttered. "On the table —will you light it?" Muriel obeyed. She was trembling still with the excitc.nent of the scene through which she had just passed and the horror of the present was strong- upon her. The small, bare room with its close atmosphere arid aspect of utter poverty and want oppressed her with an overwhelming pity. The contrast of this miserable garret where death made boon comrade of want and starvation with that happy, prosperous home where they two might still have been living in comfort and peace was too awfuL With tear-filled eyes looking down into the shrunken, pitiful face she had no blame to give, only a growing anger and hatred against the man who had so nearly tricked her into marriage. The lamp finally flared and went out with a noisy splutter, filling the room with the stench of burnt oil. Only a single candle flickered in its place. "Sunshine," whispered the dying man tremulously. poor Sunshine —can you ever forgive me': No, it can't be; I can't ask it." The old name, linked with a hundred cherished memories of the past, and unheard now for so long, brought the tears stinging again to her eyes. She had no voice to reply with, but her kisses were warm on his cold brow. "What will she say?" he whispered. "Her little Sunshine left alone and penniless in a cruel world. I daren't go out into the darkness and tell.her." She knew he was thinking of his mother who had welcomed her prodigal home with such implicit trust, and the man's need for comfort strengthened her for the task. "Dear uncle.," she answered gently. '"All that is forgiven long ago; do not think of it; do not trouble. I—l am very happy, and —and quite able to take care' of myself, but you must not talk about that now. You are ill, and I have come to take care of you." If he smiled in the darkness 6he did not see it. "I am dying-, Sunshine," he said. I She knew it, but would not allow it. ''You do not know what a good nurse I am," she replied, with a brave little a'tempt after cheerfulness, "and you want a lot of nursing, that is all. Have you had a doctor?" "Xo." "When did you have any food?" Her finger was on his pulse with quite a professional manner. "I forget; yesterday, I suppose." She bent to kiss him again. "I am going to leave you just a minute."

'"It's not fit for you to go outside in this place; you don't know—call Jim, if he's anywhere about he'll go a message — any message, but don't waste your money on doctors; it's no good."

Muriel went to the door, unlocked it and looked out down the dark steps. On the lower landing a light flared. "Jim," she called uncertainly. "Jim." No answer.

She went down the flight hesitatingly and called again, "Jim, Jim."

From below rose a turmoil of sound. Drunken laughter, snatches of song, oaths and curses, the wailing of a baby. "Jim, Jim."

Her voice rose higher. A door opened behind, and a man came reeling out. Muriel flattened herself against the stone wall where the shadows lay thickest and watched him staggering down the steps with a palpitating heart. "Jim." The tone was N piteous. "Wot dyer want?" A tousled head appeared from somewhere, followed by a tattered body and grimy, bare legs. It was the boy who had shown her the way to her uncle's room. "Listen, Jim," she said, drawing him into a corner. "I'm going to ask you a favour." The bold blue eyes.met the grey ones. Jim smiled. "Fire ahead," 'he vouchsafed. "I want you to go for a doctor," she said. "Quickly, quickly. Your pal upstairs is very ill. I'm afraid he's dying, but I have come to nurse him. I want the doctor at once, or he will die, do you understand?" He nodded. "Dr. Sam, he's the Dloke," he said. "Corned to see Muvver for nothink when she was took with the fever. 'E's a bit of orl right is Dr. Sam." He did not wait for more, but turned to run down the steps, Muriel' leaning over the iron rail to bid him make haste. She was in a fever of anxiety. •'And yet how elowly the moments dragged by as she waited in the semidarkness of that stifling room, beside her uncle, who had lapsed now into a state of coma, and lay, breathing heavily and rapidly, with a nervous twitching of his hands upon the thin coverlet. And she could do nothing till the doctor came! A heavy step on the landing outside, the opening of the door, and a deep voice asking if this were the right room announced the coming of Dr. Sam. She rose and came hastily forward. "Oh, I am so glad you have come," she whispered. She had not outgrown the childish fancy that doctors are all but omnipotent. Dr. Sam had no time to waste in words, not even time , to express surprise at sight of a pretty, well-dressed girl playing the role of nurse.in a back slum. "Where's the patient?" he asked. "And can't we have more light?" "There was only the one candle,"' slil' replied. "All right, we must make it do. Ah!" He was bending over the mattress by this time, holding the limp hand in his whilst he gently lifted the quivering eyelid. The examination did not take long. He turned to Muriel, with the abruptness of a busy man. but the kindliness of a sympathetic one. '"Your——," he paused, glancing from the slim, neat figure to the bed. "Uncle," completed Muriel. "Oh, tell mc doctor, it is only that he is starved and neglected, it will be possible to save him?" "My dear young lady that is out of human power, your uncle is dying." She could not suppress a little sob. "Your uncle is dying,'" —it was the knell of so many hopes. In spite of his hurry Dr. Sam waited, interested in so' strange a case, and Muriel a. brie* outline of her sitiiatiat^

"If you would not mind changing it," she faltered, laying Mrs. GreshamBrowne's cheque before him. "My purse was etolen from mc in the streets and I have no money."

"Fifteen pounds," mused the doctor. "I am afraid I'm not in the habit of carrying that sum about with mc, but I'll get it changed for you with pleasure, if you can trust mc with it till tomorrow?" His keen eye travelled pityingly over the childish figure before him.

"I suppose you have no money to go on with," he said. "And you ought to have someone here to help."

He thrust his hand into his pocket and brought out a handful of loose silver.

"See." he said. ''I had better leave you. say. thirty shillings of this to get neces-

;Yes. and I'll send Nurse Rose along to be with you till morning. You must tret your uncle to take as much nourishment as possible; he's starved at present, sinking from exhaustion, probably after a severe attack of influenza. Of course. patients do rally miraculously at times, though T can't sive you any real hope. eon~:<!esing the state of his heart."

"But there is a chance?" Youth was ready to clutch at slenderest of threads.

"A ghost of a one. Good-night." He ?hook hands warmly. Tho srirl'? beauty and =n<l position appealed to him. use'l as he was to scenes of suffering nnd despair. "Xtirso Rose shall be sent round at onre." were his farewell words. "I don't think the end i« likely to come for a day or two. Til look in again tomorrow, and bring your money —Goodnight." Muriel returned to her uncle's side with a lighter heart.

(To be continued daily.)