THE WOMAN OF THE IRON BRACELETS.

Press, Volume L, Issue 8625, 28 October 1893, Page 2

THE WOMAN OF THE IRON BRACELETS.

By Frank Barrett. (Continued, from last Saturday.) CHAPTER Vlf — I Find x Prodigious Change in my Friend St. John. Happily St. John was bending closely over his work; no that if tn*y face betrayed the agitation I felt in identifying Mary Smith as the escaped felon the symptoms were seen only by her.

" Well, doctor, what was this ' curious experience ?" asked St. John, after waiting a moment for mc to continue. Recovering my self position, but still fixing my eyes on Mary Smith, I answered. "An experience so terrible that I have not trusted a word of it to any living soul." " Oh, come, that won't do," said he in a light tone that showed he suspected nothing. " You have told either too much or too little to retreat. We must have the story, eh, Mary f "If Dr. Harvey wishes to till it," she answered, speaking low yet distinctly. " I don't wish to tell it," said I, " and what is more I never will tell it, either to Harry or anyone else." She rose swiftly to her feet with inexpressible gratitude in her face, and with a side glance at St. John, still plying steadily as his wood block, she stepped silently to my side, took ray fingers in her trembling hands, and before I was aware of her intention raised and pressed them to her lips. "Professional etiquette or some such nonsense," growled St. John. Professional etiquette ! Had he looked round he would haye seen a curious specimen of the nonsense in question, for carried away by the impulse of the moment, by sympathy, by joy in finding again the poor wanderer whose image fading away into the dark has haunted mc continually since the night I thoughtlessly abandoned her to her own resources, I was at that instant kissing the bowed head of Mary Smith.

" Stickto your penny dreadfuls if yon

like 'em." said J, putting his sketch before him. "I did not come to harrow the feelings of my patient. Come, my dear, let us see if there isn't something more to your taste in here," and with that I took off the lid of the basket I had brought, displaying as handsome a collection of roses as any professional gardener could take to a show.

She was too much up3efc by emotion to take immediate interest in the flowers, but I managed to mask her silence and the perturbation of her ideas by my loquacity, and this without much artifice, for it there i 3 one subject upon which I feel enthusiastic ie is my roses. And Hal laying asice his graver and joining us felj to admiring the blooms and talkingabod&the old garden and incidents in the past which he said were recalled to his memory by the scent of the roses. Then, seeing us so cheerful and chatty, Mary's thoughts gradually turned into a new course, and a natural smile lit up her carewornface. So one by one we took out the fine blooms and laid them on the table; then St. John peeping into the basket said :

"This is all very well, Doctor, but are we only to see and smell? Have you nothing down there to gratify another sense? Take out that cabbage leaf, Mary."

She looked at mc for permission, and I nodding, she lifted the leaf, and discovered the strawberries which I picked myself this morning as soon as the sun had dried off the dew.

"Ha, hah' cried St. John, rubbing his bands -with his old boyish glee r "I know the look of 'em all. I could swear that fat, shining, rosy chap came from the bed by the peach wall."

"Yea, they're my Goliaths," said I, laughing. " You rascal. I find 'em more plentiful now than when you used to drop in of a morning, and I'm sorry for it in one sense, far the main delight in growing them is to see young people enjoying 'em. Do you try these, my dear, ere Hal leaves none worth'eating."

We all dipped into the fruit, laughing and chatting in this simple fashion, and Mary laughed too; bub there was a hysterical ring in her merriment, which did not please my critical ear, and I was not surprised when presently her hand slipped from the basket, and she bowed her head low to conceal her face from us. The reaction had come; she was crying. St. John looked down on her and then over her shoulder at rae in trouble; and I winked at him with a frown to bid him take no notice, myself beginning a longwinded story about the urchins who got over the garden wall and couldn't scramble up it again ; bub this was all to no purpose, for the tears would flow, and after vainly attempting to check them, poor Mary was constrained to rise quickly and go out of the room. Hal followed her, and I was left alone to my reflections.

" Well, well," thought I; " these are good symptoms all the same. No hardened culprit would be touched by a little kindness in that way. There is good in her* and under proper treatment all that is bad may be eradicated. Unhappy propensities she may have, but she is too youug for confirmed habits. One can see by her face that there is nothing radically wrong in her disposition. After all she may be guilty only of a momentary yielding to temptation, and I warrant she is mora sinned against than, sinning. But for all that she must nob sbay here. That is more evident now than ever. It is plain that a strong attachment already exists between her and Hal, and it would not be difficult to foresee the result of the attachment if they are left to themselves. No doubt they honestly regard each other as brother and sister now, but ib is not in the nature of things that they should continue reasonable for-long. And much as I sympathise with Mary Smith, I cannot stand passively by and suffer St. John to make her his wife —knowing what I know about her past."

My meditations had gone about so far when Hal returned to the room alone. " I have persuaded her to lie down for half an hour," said he.

" I am glad of that," I replied, " the poor girl has overtaxed her strength. It will do her good to rest awhile, and give us opportunity for a gossip. Dp you fetch mc a jug of water; then you can go on with your work while I see to ray roses, and we may chat at the same time.",

He fetched the waber, and then after a few words about the flowers, he seated himself at the window and took up his graver. " I have seen Fawcett," said I, opening the conversation, " and told him how matters stand at Higham Court." "Oh, and what does he say ?" " Well, he takes a most unaccountably common-place view of the case, and seems to see nothing of an extraordinary nature in the behaviour of Mr Lawson." " I am disposed to think he is right," replied St. John after a pause. "We are apt to exaggerate the faults of people we dislike—"

" And the virtues of those we love," I added, surprised and not very well pleased by this alteration in my young friend's views.

"We watch their actions through the distorting medium of sentiment,, so that passive defects may appear to be positive vices. Fawcebt's view is more likely to be the correct one."

"Why, how's this; you seem to have grown mighty responsible in a few days."

"Have I?" said he, with a laugh. " Well, I can't explain how the change has come about."

" Bat I can," said I to myself, thinking I saw which way the cat was about to jump. " You are catching at an excuse for shirking your responsibilities, my boy, and leaving poor little Olive to fare as she may. But that won't do for mc." "Tell mc all that Fawcett said, Doctor," pursued St. John. I told him conscientiously all that I remembered of my conversation with Fawcett, pretty much as I have written it. "Yes, that must be it," said he, when I had come to an end. "It is more likely that Lawson is an ordinary man than an extraordinary villain. Mean, crafty, contemptible wretches one meets every day, but a thorough-faced, stick-at-nothing villain nob once in a lifetime." "Yet they are not scarce—villains of the most exbraordinary capabilities—to judge by the papers." "Do you think so ? They seem to mc extremely few—l mean villains drawn from our class of society, considering the enormous number of individuals we make. . "Ah," said I, with a grunt of dissatisfaction, " in that case you won't think it advisable now to take Olive away from the Court." "That's not to be thought of," said he emphatically.

I was about to make some very sharp retort, when he continued—

" In the first place, Fawcett pointed out, Olive may not choose to leave the court, and we wrong her to suppose that she would forsake her mother. In the second place, we have to consider what that poor woman's condition would be if Oiive were taken away. If Olive is unhappy, ib is safe to conclude that Mrs Lawson is unhappy also. The power to make women wretched and a delight in inflicting pain upon them seems to be characteristic of mean and cowardly men ; and though we may take it that Lawson is not an absolute villain I feel perfectly certain that he is mean and cowardly. Well, fancy the lot of any woman abandoned to the mercy of such a man without a soul to turn to for sympathy and love." " This is very true, my dear boy," said I, congratulating myself that the harsh words on my toujme had not been spoken; " but what is to be done ?' " I know perfectly well what I ought to do," be replied quietly. " And what's that, Hal V

! " Apologise to Lawson," he said ia the ; same oven voice.

I could say nothing for astonishment, and he continued:

"That dawned upon mc the day I came to you to borrow money to pay my turf debt. And the light has been growing stronger ever since. The change began then, doctor."

He laid aside the graver, and turning on his stool faced mc, norsiug his knee and looking at mc with great tenderness in his deep eyes. "I think it was tha cawing of the rooks that first struck the chord of remorse. The look out of the old workshop made mc think how selfish and callous I had grown since the days when I used to stand there dreaming a chivalrous future, and building up golden castles in the blue mist of the weald."

""My dear Hal," said I, taking a seac by his side and laying a hand on his, " I am happy to hear you talk in this way. You used to hint something of these dreams to mc; could you let mc know what chivalrous idea is now in your qaind ? "

" A project as unromantic and practical as the age we live in—simply to eat humble pie with a view to drawing nearer to my mother and Olive. Lawson has expressed the utmost goodwill towards mc. conceiving that I should never bend my pride to accept anything from him. He shall find out Chat he mistook mc. Knowing my repugnance he begged mc when we last met, to take that place at Higham Court to which I am entitled as Mrs Lawson's son. Next time he makes that offer, I will accept."

" But, my dear boy, this means the subversion of all your habits, the sacrifice in some measure of your freedom, and independence. Have you thought of these things f "

' : Yes." he replied with a smile, "if it weren't for the sacrifice, the thing would be as easy to do as to think about doing. I don't want to attempt too much for fear of breaking down, and naturally I shall try to reduce the sacrifice to its smallest proportions. You see lam not bound to stick perpetually at the Court. If I only go down there for three days at a time— a week now and then it may do some good. It will cheer Olive at least, and if there is any unholy influence at work there, I may be able to counteract it a bit."

" Capital!" I exclaimed. " This is really a most common-sense practical way of overcoming the difficulty. I wonder it never entered my mind. But just then a question occurred to mc which made mc silent." " One difficulty has to be overcome before I can attempt anything in that direction," he said, after a few moments' silence, and as though he had divined the question that troubled mc. " I must do something for Mary." " Ah, to be sure. We have lost sight of her," said I, as if this was a surprise to mc. "It isn't easy," he continued. "I am sure she would not be content to be dependent upon my help. That is evident by her anxiety to get speedily well and strong. She is very reticent, but I found her yesterday poring over the advertisement columns of the papers." "She is a good girl, I feel sure, Hal. A right-thinking and right-feeling young woman. Ib would surely lessen our esteem tor her if she were willing to live in idleness upon the—eh—upon—"

" Charity," said St. John, supplying the word I hesitated to utter. "Poor soul-, she has pride, too. thank God. If you had seen her, doctor, the day I found her, you would have said that her spirit was completely broken, and could never revive again. She was sitting on the embankment in an old waterproof cloak that had probably been given her in pity. Yet even in that waterproof she looked a lady—there was such grace in her bent figure. Her face, though; it was that struck mc. It reminded one of Yigny's "La Cigale." Bub with the beauty, the pathos, and purity of that ideal there was au expression ot terrible resignation so deeply tragic that—thinking only of myself—it struck mc that here was a study for the young Melpomene I have had it in my mind to do! I sab down beside her, and made some observation with a view to opening a conversation. She turned, looking mc straight in the face with a gaze that literally awed mc, but she answered not a word. Presently laughing at myself for my temerity, I told her brutally that I would give her a sovereign if she would come to my rooms and let mc sketch her face. Still silent, she rose and nodded assent to my proposal. She would not walk by my side, but stopped awhile. Mystified by her strange behaviour, I went on a couple of yards, thinking she had thought; better of my proposal, and did not intend to accept my offer. But turning round I found that she was following mc with the spiritless docility of a beaten dog—a cowed brute with tho face of |a saint. In that strange way wo walked on, she following mc like an automaton along the streets, into the house, and up the stairs. She was behind mc when I opened the door, and when I bade her go in she entered. Bub by Heaven I believe that had I pointed to the well of the staircase and bade her throw herself down there she would have obeyed mc with the same passive resignation.

" Good God I" "Ib was.in attempting to remove her hat at my bidding that she fell down like a clod upon the floor. I believe she was dying from starvation.".

" Did she tell you how she came in that condition ?"

" She has never told mc one word about her past. I know absolutely nothing concerning her except that she has neither friend nor home, and that her name is Mary Smith." . .

"My dear boy," said I, as impressively as I could, " If after aUyour kindness, and with her evident grateful regard towards you, she has told you nothing about her past history, 'tis a sure proof she has good reason for wishing you to know nothing about it. Therefore we shall be only doing what i 3 right and proper not to make any inquiry whatever with what concerns her only."

St. John nodded, smiling at what he thought was a very simple and obvious conclusion on my part. Then he said, gravely, after looking out of the window absently for a minute:

" To come back to our point of departure it is a difficult thing to find an occupation for her. She has intelligence, and a certain amount of accomplishments—quite enough to fit her for the situation of a governess. But who would take her without reference? Why, the commonest chandler's wife wouldn't have her for a drudge without what is called a character,"

"My boy," said 1 " that's a difficulty I can help you out of in a twinkling. Bub hush, I hear her foot in the passage."

CHAPTER YIIL—I See Mr Lawson

AND GO TO HIGHAM COURT. The foot I heard was not Mary Smith's —as I might have known by the heavy fall of it had I considered a moment-r-but the woman of the house with the tea things on a tray. However, before she had ceased to rattle the cups and saucers Mary came into the room as quietly as a mouse, and stood before us abashed, as if with shame in having succumbed to her weakness.

" The sound of the crockery has brought you down I warrant," said L "You knew you would be wanted, and you're quite right, my dear; for I can't abide to see a man pour out tea."

" Well, you've poured it out for yourself years enough, Doctor," said St. John; " Aye; but I like it none the better for that," said I, and then the woman leaving the room I set a chair for Mary, and laying my hand on her shoulder as she seated herself, added, " The rest has done you good, my child V

"Yea,said she, looking up in my face, "bat I still feel ashamed of myself. It was so foolish to give way like that just because I felt a little too happy."

"It wasn't happiness, but want of strength. If you were a little bit stronger all tbe happiness in the world could yield you nothing but Bmiles. You need country air aud country diet to give you strength—none of that for mc, my dear,'' said I, holding her hand as she was about to pour milk in my tea cup. "I love chalk well enough in the Kentish hills, but not in my tea. Are you fond of the country, Mary?" " Oh, I think Brixton is beautiful," said she, looking out into the patch of ground at the back of the house with its miserable stunted vegetation. Why, surely there is nothing there to remind you of the country. Look at those poor wretched things in the shape of bushes—so begrimed with soot. and abominations that you can scarcely see the natural colour of their foliage. They fill mc with pity, and I can but wonder how they exist. And see the colour of the atmosphere. You can look the sun in the face without blinking, and it seems no brighter than a copper plate for the murky cloud that comes betwixt us. Why, all the oxygen in the air is burned up by the kitchen fires, and here are millions of the men and women about us all sickly and wan for the want of it. And there's bread you can smell the alum in ib, and as for your butter I believe there's not a particle of cream in it."

" Well, this is a queer return for our hospitality, Isn't it, Mary ?" said St. Johu, laughing.

" I find no* fault with your hospitality, Hal," I retorted, "but'tis the only thing I find to admire in Brixton. Brixton 1 Why, my dear, has he never told you of Wrotham Hill, where the fresh breeze comes from the sea over miles and miles of woodland and pasture, furzy common and pungent hop gardens."

"Yes, yes," she replied, but without enthusiasm.

"And has ib nob inspired you with a desire to see more of Nature than you can find in that miserable strip of ground that 'tis satire to call a garden ? "

" Si on n'a pas cc gu'on crime, il faut aimer ca gu'on a," she replied, with a grave little smile.

"Ha, ha I You would fog mc with French, would yon? But 1 understand you, for all that—'lf you haven't what you like you must like what you have '— that's about your meaning, I suppose. But to come to the point, for you may be sure I have not made this journey to Brixton without a motive—will you give mc the pleasure of seeing you at Wrotham as soon as you are strong enough to make the journey?"

The girl looked across the table to St. John in silence, as if for counsel. He nodded acquiescence, and said : "It will do you no end of good, Mary."

" Ay, more than all the drug 3in London," I added. " And if you wish to regain strength and vigour quickly "

"I do want to. be strong," she said, earnestly. " For I have to earn my living, doctor."

"Indeed?" said I, pretending to be vastly surprised. " Why, this happens most fortunately. For by the time you are in a fit state for work you will know whether you like Wrotham or not; and if you do like it, ib may suib you to accept the engagement which I shall be only too happy to offer you. For, you must know, I'm at my wit's end to find a nice little lady who would undertake to be my housekeeper."

"Bub I'm afraid I don't know anything about housekeeping," said she, gravely.

"Well, then, my dear, the sooner you begin to learn, the better. There, we'll Ray no more upon the subject just no tor. But when I am gone you can discuss it with Hal, and raise all tbe objections you can find, and if you surmount'em all—as I sincerely hope you may—l shall expect to see you next Monday, by which time I doubt not you will be able to manage the journey. You shall drop mc a line on Saturday, Hal, to say what train you will take, and I will be at the station with the trap to meet you."

With this I rose and bade them goodbye. And I gave Mary a kis*, partly because a sweet expression of gratitude in her soft eyes drew my heart towards her, and partly because I wished her to understand that she had nothing to dread in the future from the harshness of her employer.

And now I have to tell Morton and his wife of this new arrangement; bub I doubt if it will be quite agreeable to them for these admirable servants work like slaves, and really do the duties of half a dozen, in their anxiety to prove their gratitude, by sparing mc the expense of housemaids, gardener, &c. I should be very, sorry if they thought I was dissatisfied with them. However, they must be told, and the sooner the better. Still, I think, as it is now late* that I may postpone the explanation until to-morrow morning.

Mem.—To send St. John a cheque to meet Mary's present requirements. I observed that she was very well and prettily dressed, but she will need a perfect outfit of gowns and bonnets in coming here.—Also to speak firmly but not harshly to Morbon.

I told Morton, when he was clearing the breakfast table, that I expect a young lady to come next week, and that in all probability she will take the place of housekeeper here. He said " Certainly, sir " n his usual respectful manner, but I saw oy his constrained manner that he was upset by the unlooked-for intimation. And I was nob greably surprised when, half an hour later, he came into my study where I was reading the paper, his wife accompany ing him. At the first glance I perceived by the set of Ann's lips and her husband's submissive attitude that she had undertaken to speak, and she did. She asked mc if I had any reason to complain of the service, and when I replied in the negative, she said, " Because mc and James, sir, can't understand wny we are to have an housekeeper put over us."

" This is a matter that concerns my own convenience and inclinations," said I, firmly.

"Because we'd rather leave, sir, if we ain't giving satisfaction." "If you wi-jh to leave me—" I began ; but at this the poor woman, putting her apron to her eyes, began to whimper, and James, taking a handkerchief, turned aside to blow his nose. " After serving you for so many years," she sobbed. "And doing of our best at all times," added James. " To be turned away like-tbia for no fault of our own," she continued, sobbing. " I don't wi3h you to go," said I. "Come, come, be reasonable. This young lady is bright and amiable. She will not interfere with your arrangements in the least, but, on the contrary, will lighten your duties and anxieties in many ways. Though, to be sure," I added, looking at tbe case from another point of view, " another in the family means additional work, and so we must engage a maid to help you, Ann." "Oh, I couldn't abide to see another servant in the place, for there is not a bib more than I can do," said she.

"Well, then, it's only just that yon should have the wages I might pay to someone else. So I shall raise your salary ten pounds a year, my good woman."

" Oh, I'm sure you pay us quite enough, Bir," they both declared in a breath. And then, declaring that they wished nothing bat to give satisfaction to mc, they said they should be most happy to take their orders from Miss Smith, and would show her the same obedience, and respect they had shown to mc, and so-, the incident closed to our mutual satisfaction.

In i:ho afternoon I received a letter from Mary Smith written in a very pretty hand and gracefully worded, saying that neither St. John nor she had been able to raise a single object to my proposal, and that her only fear was that I should bo disappointed and find her leas worthy of my kinduess than she herself wished to be. In conclusion she said that her desire to accept my invitation had led them already to study the time-table, and decide on taking the 10.00 train on Monday. To-morrow we must set about preparing rooms for my visitors, for of course St. John will stay here some days before taking any decisive Bteps towards obtaiuing a footing at Eigham Court.

The most unexpected thing has happened. This morning, as I wan returning from my round, I caught sight of Mr Lawson coming towards mc. On seeing mc he raised his hat, and ie was evident he desired to speak. I pulled up by the footpath.

"How do you do, Doctor?" said he, in his usual bland and somewhat patronising tone. ** How do you do?" " Very well, thank you, Mr Lawson," I replied, " All well at home?"

"Hum," with a little shrug, a dubious shake of the head, and lifting of the eyebrows, " I do not feel quite easy about Mrs Lawson, and I fear that Dr Heath doesn't quite, understand her. Might I ask you to call in one morning and see her ?" " That I will, with the greatest pleasure. But will my visit be equally agreeable to Mrs Lawson ? " "I assure you that nothing but timidity, a fear that you could not forgive her the unreasoning prejudice she took against you years ago has restrained her from meeting you, when you have been good enough to call upon mc at the Court. That timidity I have overcome, and indeed she expressed a desire only this morning that I should ask you to call when tve next met." .

"In that case I will certainly drop in as I pass." *

"Howkind ot you 1" said he, beaming up at mc with that eternal smile creasing his sallow cheeks. I looked down into his face as I again took his offered hand, trying to read, if he was telling the truth, but I could never make anything out of his shallow colourless eyes. "He may be truthful; it is quite possible I have wronged this man by my suspicions," I said to myself, and yet I could not overcome my dislike to him. I fear lam too apb bo judge by appearances, and to mistrust the things I cannot understand. And I feel that till the end of time I can never like Mr Lawson's face, or be sure that its expression was an honest index to his character. But that is not surprising, for I believe that a professed physiognomist-would be puzzled by the queer compound of intellectual and animal characteristics to be found there. I have been looking at the plates in Lavator's book on physiognomy, and I find in half a dozen different types a certain resemblance to Mr Lawson. Some of the characteristics are good, others bad : "Intelligence," "Foresight," "Calculation," "Purpose," there is a touch of all these in the upper part of his face; and then comes "Avarice," and " Rapacity," marked by the thin receding wings of the nostril, and the vulture-like outline of the nose; "Brutality" in the underhung jaw (parly concealed In Mr Lawson's case by the closely-clipped beard), and "Sensuality." in the red and pendulous underllp. What is one to make of a face combining these antagonistic traits?

I was shown into the dining-room at the Court—a room bhab always chilled mc, for the sun never enters it, and It was made more gloomy by the shadow of the firs that skirt that side of the house closely. But I was not left there long in solitude, for presently I heard a quick pattering of feet upon the stairs, and a minute after the door opened, and Olive, with her fair complexion and bright aunny hair, and in a light morning gown, came in like a ray of light, panting for breath with the haste she had made.

" Dear Doctor Harvey I" she exclaimed, resting her hands on my arms and raising her cheek to be kissed. "I have been hoping you would come, for papa said he should ask you to call, and ib is so long 6incelsaw:you I"

" Why, that fa nob my fault," Bald I, "for I've called three or four times In the last month with, the hope of seeing you— but you have been out I suppose, every time." " No; each time I was at home. Once I stood quite close to you as you passed along the path, there, through the firs; but," she added, dropping her voice as a vague fear fell upon her face, " I dared not come to you." "Surely, my dear," said I, tentatively, one forbade you to speak to mc." "Oh, no, noil cannot tell what it was I feared* A spell seemed to come upon mc —just as when Harry came and I stood upon the stairs, unable to move, yet trying to run downto him." "And you felt no reluctance to come to mc now ?" I asked in perplexity. "None.'-' " Ah, well, that's a sign the spell is broken," said I, laughing to conceal my misgivings from her; "but if this kind of thing occurs again, mind, I shall feel it necessary to insist upon seeing you—not as an indulgent friend, but a most uncompromising doctor of medicine."

This nonsense brought the smile back to her cheek, and she led mc upstairs to the drawingroom, where I found Mrs Lawson sitting beside a tambour frame, at which she had been working probably when my visit was announced. She rose to meet mc with someembarrassment, for though I had never ceased to call at the Court occasionally, this is the first time we have met as friends .since the death of her first husband. I have visited as the friend of Mr Lawson, and always been received either by him or by Olive—for. whose sake I have kept up this semblance of friendship with the step-father. She gave mc her delicate little hand as she murmured something about the past in a tone of apology.

"Not a word upon that head, madam," said I hastily.' "We will fancy we met as friends no longer ago than yesterday. And looking In your face 'tis no difficult matter on my part to forget the lapse of time."

This was not quite the fact, but a compliment never comes amiss to a lady. Her hair is quite white now ; bat her face and figure still retain some of the delicate grace and prettiness which distinguished her in the old days.

We chatted about the weather, the crops, and such matters for some time, and then at length I said,

" Now, come, Madam, I must ask you to tell mc what is the matter with you, for though I have been watching attentively, I can detect nothing to account for Air Lawson's uneasiness." Mrs Lawson turned to Olive, and they both smiled. "There is positively nothing the matter with mc. I eat and sleep well, I have no cough,- no pain, and I am fairly active for an old woman. But my husband is so dreadfully anxious about us, that the slightest thing alarms him." " Oh, papa Is continually thinking that we are unwell—one and the other," said Olive, - I looked at her and then at her mother in perplexity. There was no sign In either of an attempt to deceive each other or mc ; no .semblance of that trepidation which I believed was Inspired by Lawson. It was incomprehensible. "Now what was it, dear," said Mrs Lawson' reflectively, turning to Olive. " What was it that alarmed your papa last night?" "I think It was your remark that you should like to make your will."

"Ab, yes, that was it. If one did not

know Mr Lawson's freedom from « """ *'■ prejudice one would think that 1 1( > »• ftr V the common superstition Mm', '' will is an omen of approaching rtpfti * % " May I ask if aiiyihlng \ m{ | to you tho advisability of moklnga S*;" £ Mrs Lawson turned away f rom I' I *' £ slightly, as if conscious that her dan i I wa-i regarding hor with anxiety, arid ' I no roply for a moment-. It, that 1 detected on their faces vvidenco of ?' I suppressed terror which I had nr*,*i M I looked for i:i vain. vim m&, | "Nothing has -.ceurred," nnid _Wf 1 son with hesitation. Thou mcetln* E eye she added, " nothing 0 £ ft _. *ty § kind." »' M J»lpjj I " That implies? that something nol , 1 physical kind has occurred." l * f "Nothing that I can explain lo 1 Doctor, or to anyone." '1, " Do you wish to relieve Air I jJIWso -. his Anxiety on your account V * "Certaluly," she replied, m _ « tone. nrfi iet "Then, my dear madam, y oa m.. conceal nothing from your doctor _ '■ long as you do you give cause or ana to everyone who loves you," I nl_n«m.» ' niflcantly at Olive, " I wl |i li_ ate 7> difficulty if I may. Toll mc If U lO ".J"J tion you referred to just now had ero»! i" your mind—if in connection with then of making your will the fe„ r 0 f j'.*: suddenly came before you." ,ia *. Mrs Lawson bowed her hempressing her lips to control their an?' ing; then after a momeut'a silenca Vn" said in a low tone :— m

" I confess that I did." "Mother 1" exclaimed Olive seizW j, Lawson's hand. R4 * r ■ "Then my dear madamo" said L".. must take your doctor's advico-mrtkero will at once, and get this porulcL™ nonsense out of your head." - w "That Is exactly what I foltlougMf,, to do, Doctor," she replied, lookln tt 1 into my face with gratitude. " I „, tioned it to Mr Lawson last night onttttt account. Ho would not listen to It; Wj wish to do it none tho less. Can you t»H mo whom I ought to consult l tl __, matter?"

"I know the very man," said I, (M pulling out a vote-book, I wrota tl» address of my friend Fawcett, ofMiitj. stone, and handed it to her.

"Thank you very much," aha m, reading the note. "I will write to Mr Fawcetb this afternoon." " And so will I," said I to myself. (To ha continued.)