THE Girl from Madeira.

Clutha Leader, Volume XX, Issue 1034, 18 May 1894, Page 7

THE Girl from Madeira.

In Four Chapters.

By P. L. M'Dermott.

CHAPTER 11. Fenwick possessed in hi-j box, as the reader has already been informed, the sum of L 50 — not a large fortune, but large enough to start him without any anxiety on a journey to Torquay, after which it would be time enough to think where further supplies were to come from. Fenwick had not opened this box since depositing the notes in it at Cape Town. He found some difficulty in turning the key in the lock now j the key was, in fact, as obstinate as though it belonged to another lock. In a determined and impatient effort to make it go round, ho broke the key, leaving one of the wards stuck in the keyhole. This fragment he picked out, and again inserting the broken key, to his surprise it opened tbe lock now. ' All's well that ends well,' he rauttei'ed, throwing up the lid. But one glance into the box caused him immediately to throw up his hands in amazement. It was filled with neatly folded linen garments ; and certain suggestive edgings and frills of lace which peeped at places into view threw him into a hot perspiration. Those mysterious articles belonged to a lady, aud not to him. How had they come there? He turned down the lid, and there were the initials ' E.F. plain enough. Hazy visions of practical jokes, of mistakes, of he knew not what, floated before his mind. But his money was at the bottom, and must be got at. With a good deal of hesitation, and a private sensation that would be entirely out of place in a Customs officer, Fenwick carefully took the garments one by one from the box, placing them on a newspaper as gently as though they were made of thin glass. His astonishment changed to dismay when he discovered in due course that the contents of the box consisted wholly of fpmalfi belongings — that, in point of fact, he had, in his haste and agitation, taken away another box in mistake for his own. Fenwick was quick to realise that he was iv a ' tight place.' He took from his pocket all the money he had, and, counting it with as much care as a shopkeeper giving back change, he found that it amounned to 17s 4d. Then he drew a long breath. The firsc indispensible step was to clear out of tho hotel. He had as yet incurred little liability, and in 10 minutes he was driving away in a cab. He knew a coffee-house near Charing Cross, and there put up for the night, ot a charge for bed and breakfast 4s. It may be added that, soon after he left the hotel, a note was brought from Mr Stone asking Fenwick to come round to dinner ; but the servant had to take back the answer that Mr Fenwick was gone and had left no address. Next morning, thinking tbe matter over on a seat in the Embankment gardens, Ernest Fenwick remembered how he had made the mistake. Among the old lady's luggage there had been a black box similar to his own ; and this he must in his confusion have carried away. He had heard the young lady addressed as ' Flint ;' Fenwick therefore guessed the box to be the property of that young person ', but how to return it to her, or inform her that he had it, was more than a puzzle to him. What a sad sight it always is to see the workless looking for work, and so often looking in vain. Fenwick bought a morning paper and selected a dozen advertisements, all of which he replied to — naming Mr Stone as a reference, as he knew nobody else. Next day he did the same thing ; and on the morning of the third day he found himself so near the end of his money, that if something did not turn up before night he would either have, to sell his spare clothes or spend the hours of darkness under the stars. But when he came down to breakfast his heart gave a bound at the sight of a letter on the table. It was employment. The post which young Fenwick so eagerly welcomed was a very unpretentious one, being that of a general clerk and assistant to a 'foreign and colonial outfitter.' He concluded, and rightly so, that it was his experience of two years in South Africa which chiefly recommended his application. After hastily swallowing his breakfast, the young man started for the city to secure the berth which promised him the moderate income of 30s a week. He obtained it ; and being required next day, he devoted the rest of this day to looking for suitable lodgings. It was on a Friday morning that he went to business at the outfitter's. His employer noted with secret satisfaction that his new assistant . was a gentleman, and he was shrewd enough to appreciate the value of that fact in his special line of business. Before the day passed, he had proof of it, in a considerable sale effected by Fenwick entirely by force of his manners. On closing at two o'clock next afternoon (Saturday), the outfitter paid him a full week'swages as an encouragement. Fenwick ascertained, in the course of the following week, that -the outfitter had written to Mr Stone about him, and bad received a reply. But

although the solicitor now knew where a letter would find Fenvrick, no com munication came from him. He was • dropped.' | The outfitter's establishment closed at six o'clock and it was after this hour that Fenwick was unhappiest. His lodging did not invite him to spend his evenings indoors. Nor is the south side of the Thames an interesting dis trict to walk übout in. Fenwick therefore used to cross the bridge and wander along the Embankment and into the parks, until nine or ten o'clock, when he returned to his humble quarters and turned in for th« night. One morning, as Fenwick was at breakfast, the lady made a communication to him at once surprising and inconvenient. The gentleman in the back bedroom, who was an old and respected inhabitant, required the apartment occupied by Fenwick, and under the circumstances the landlady could not see her way to refuse, sorry as she was to inconvenience the c front bedroom,' which was Fenwick's proper designation. ' Do you mean,' he inquired, a good deal annoyed, for he shrank from the ordeal of looking for fresh lodgings, c that the gentleman wants to exchange rooms with me V • 1 wish it was only that, sir, for it wouldn't be so bad. But it is for the young lady, his daughter, who has been a-finishing her eddication on the Continent, and is now coming home for good, bning finished. That is, sir, the lady will be here in a few days.' This was singular intelligence, and of so wholly unexpected a nature that the young man took a minute or so to grasp it comprehensively. That the individual asleep in the back room — — who rose daily in the early afternoon — should have a daughter, was possible ; but that this young lady should have been completing her education on the Continent, and was now coming ' home ' to dispossess Fenwick of his chamber, was a fact presenting points provocative of curiosity. 'Well, I suppose,' he answered with some irritation, ' I must look out for another room. Do you happen to know of one hereabouts 1 ?' c Why, that I do, sir, and it's very fortunate. Just across the road, only two or three doors down.' She pointed to the house, the windows of which Fenwick observed with satisfaction had clean curtains : and thither he went forthwith and concluded torms. Next day, therefore, Ernest Fenwick removed his belongings, and before, many i days ho discovered, by tho altered | appparance of the window lately his, ; that the young lady had arrived. There were flowers out on the lodge, and white curtains inside tied with ribbon. His interest in the lady went no farther, and he soon forgot her exist- ; ence. j Fate, however, did not intend him to continue long in this state of in- : difference. It was on a Sunday morn- I ing, a week or two later, reading at his window after breakfast, that he chanced to glance across the way, and saw her watering her flowers. The instant recognition made him spring to j his feet. His first impulse was to lean out and attract her notice ; but on second thoughts, instead of doing this, he drew his chair back, and Fat down to watch her where there would be no | chance of bring seen by her if she i happened to look in his direction. He ■ hardly knew why he adopted this | course. Perhaps — very likely — it was i owing to some unconscious prompting j of that feeling he experienced before — j the desire not to meet the girl again. • For it was she, beyond doubt. Then he remembered the black box j which was nol his own. He had not ! opened it since the evening at the \ hotel, and he felt convinced, from the j slender fact that her name was Fiint, , that the initials on the lid represented j her namp. j Having requisitioned the landlady j for a boy to deliver the box, Fenwick sat down to write the following note. ' 76 Low Water Street, June 12. cMr Ernest Fenwick, who was a passenger by the mail steamer Majuba j from the Cape, regrets that on leaving j Plymouth he took the accompanying box in mistake for his own, the two being almost identical in appearance. Presuming that this box belongs to the young lady now residing at No 13, who was also a passenger on the same steamer from Madeira, and who got olf at Plymouth, Mr Fenwick takes the opportunity of returning it He was in ignorance of her name and address, or he would have done so sooner ; and he would take it as a favor if the lady could kindly give him any information concerning his own box.' Having addressed the envelope to 'The Young Lady at No. 13,' Fenwick despatched the boy, and sat well back from the window to observe as much of the result as could be seen from the outside. The boy rang the bell — which was the summons for the first. floor — and the "girl immediately rose from her work and vanished. Presently the | door was opened, and Fenwick saw a small white hand take the note from the messenger. She seemed an unduly long time in reading it ; but at last the boy was admitted with the box, and ! and Fenwick then knew that she was the owner af that article and its contents,

Fenwick made his usual round of I the parks, and the clock in Westminster Palace struck six as he vvas recrossing the footbridge at Charing Cross on his return. His thoughts were so full of the girl now, and of speculation as to the possible results of their discovery of each other in such close neighbor- ! hood, that, on turning into a post, office to buy a few stamps, his heart gave an involuntary jump at seeing her ther<\ She was at the office window, and Fenwick had halted within a foot of. her. She passed LlO notes in to the postmaster, who presently gave, her back a savings-bank pass-book. Then she turned to go. Fenwick lifted his hat ; she betrayed her surprise by a slight start, but granting him no further recognition beyond a scarcely perceptible inclination of her head, she passed passed out, leaving the young man very red and uncomfortable. Smarting considerably from this unmistakable indication of the girl's wish not to know him further, Fenwick found the boy waiting at his lodging for the sixpence promised him for his services. ' Oh — you delivered the box and the letter, did you V 1 Yessir, and I brought another box back. It's in your room.' ' Did you get any answer to my letter T 'The young woman told me to say she was much obliged — that's all.' Fenwick gave the boy sixpence, and went up to his room with an angry flush on his face, and beheld his box on the floor. She had received back her box, and returned his, in a manner that showed her wish to have no communication with him. In the soreness of his wounded pride, he inwardly declared that in his infatuation for this young person he had made a huge mistake. From this, with his eyes absently fixed on the box, his thoughts ran back to the rough but kind-hearted fellow who had bequeathed it to him, Jim Roper, it was certain, had been hit badly before he wandered to Africa, and deceived ; but though he was no misanthrope, no hater of the female sex especially, his distrust of the latter was profound. l There's no truth in Uiem, lad,' he used to say sadly; 'not that they mean it so, but they can't help it.' Poor Jim Roper ! He had made a will on a scrap of paper when down with his last fever, bequething his box and all he possessed to his young friend Ernest Fenwick. The box contained a few odds and ends of the kind such a man was likely to haye — not worth 203 in all — but such as they were, Fenwick Lad kept them, and they were in the box still. Besides these, it contained only a few books, and some clothes he had used when ' roughing it ' in South Africa. But there was also the LSO ; and Fenwick opened the box to obtain the money, with the help of which he now hoped to lift himself out of his present condition. It was his intention to remove from this neighborhood without delay, and wipe from his recol lection every vestige of the episode which had lowered his self-esteem so deplorably. But the episode was not over yet It would be impossible to give an idea of the conflicting and painful emotions which filled young Fenwick when, on opening the concealed pocket in which he had placed the bank-notes, he discovered that they were not there. In finding a strong verdict against the girl on the two counts, first, of allowing him to fall in love with her when he thought she held the position of a gentlewoman ; and secondly, of refusing to recognise him when she ought to have appreciated his generosity in overlooking and forgetting the deception — Fenwick did not in the least remember that his own position was open to somewhat similar criticism. With curious malignancy, the old woman had continued to harp on the theme of Fenwick's effrontery in corning to shake hands with her companion at Plymouth. 'I had no idea, Miss Flint,' she said 50 times over, ' that in allowing you an hour or two to yourself on board the steamer, you would employ the time in making the young man's acquaintance.' 'It was no harm, Mrs Roscoe ; he was a gentleman, and very respectful.' ' Gentleman ! respectful ! Pray, Flint, what has a person in your position to do with gentlemen V For several days Ethel Flint was in a painfully nervous state. Her oiistress was aired for two hours every day in a bath-chair, and it was the girl's duty to walk beside her. A hundred times she was startled by the fear that she recognised in the distance the young man who was now the cause of so much misery and shame to her. He had spoken of visiting Torquay. Had she met him, she would certainly have declined to recognise him, but this would not have protected her from the lash of Mrs Roscoe's tongue. i One morning Mrs Roscoe received a letter. She read it with grim silence at breakfast, and put it in her reticule. Several times during her airing out-of-doors she took it forth and re-read it with the same grim look. But she was very quiet all day. This state of unnatural calm fell upon her at rare intervals ; but Ethel Flint took little comfort from them, as they generally portended a coming storm of unusual magnitude. On the present oocasiop,

however, the calm ■ portended something still more extraordinary. ' Flint, you are thinking how pleasant and restful it would be to be lying dead at the bottom of yonder sea.' The girl trembled, and turned away her face. A flow of silent tears came to her relief. ' T had the same thought, once, at your agfj-r-no ; I was older,, and bad less cause,' continued Mrs jßoscop, in the same monotonous voice. ' I was rich, and might have made- ray lover rich — had he deserved it. He was worthless ; everybody I knew was worthless ; and 1 thought, like you, there would be rest under the water. And revenge also. I converted my securities into money, and stuffed the bank notes into a leather bag ; and one night, between England and France, when I thought nobody was looking, I tied the bag to my waist and jumped into the sea.' The girl was staring at her with a face of fear. • Unfortunately, I was seen, and they picked me up. T think,' she added, ' it would have been better had they left me where I was. No doubt, in time I should have sunk and been at rest ever since. As far as life goes, I have gained nothing.' The calmness with which the old woman related this was horrible to her companion. 'It was these people,' she said, tapping the letter to draw the young girl's attention to it, ' who drove me to that. These, and the worthless lover I spoke of. He deceived another woman into marrying hi in and broke her heart. 1 daresay he would have clone his best to break mine, had I given him the chance. I had money left to me, j which they had expected to be divided [ among themselves; and they nearly j drove me mad with lawsuits to break the will. In this they failed in the end, and pretty nearly ruined them selves — the only satisfaction I had out of the business. — I received this letter from them this morning,' she added unexpectedly. ' Read it aloud to me, Flint — slowly — so that I may grasp it fully.' The girl, astonished, and not a little awed, took the letter in her trembling fingers, and read it slowly and distinctly. It was an answer to one from Mrs Roscoe apparently proposing to spend the few remaining days of her life with her relatives, in peace and reconciliation ; a proposal which they accepted with many' expressions of acute regret for the causes which had separated them so long. When Ethel Flint ceased reading, the old lady slowly opened her eyes, and remarked, as if answering an imaginary question : 'Mr Roscoe 1 Well, Mr Roscoe was a sensible man, whom I was going to get married to about 20 years ago. He manufactured gunpowder — which 1 thought a nice business — but was blown up along with his factory the day before we were to have been married. Some time afterwards I felt it to be a duty to his memory to assume his name ; and I accordingly did so, by a deed poll duly prepared by my lawyer, and registered.' The reflection seemed to afford great satisfaction to Mrs Roscoe, for she nodded two or three times after speaking, in a manner to indicate approval. ' T start on Monday,' she observed. This was Friday, and the girl said something i-elative to packing up next day. 1 You had better do so. I want you ; to write a letter to these people to say I I shall come to them on Monday. ! They live in Wiltshire, which is^not so . far off". I want that letter written and ! posted at once.' (To be Continued.) I —