Untitled

Clutha Leader, Volume XX, Issue 1035, 25 May 1894, Page 7

CHAPTER 111. Ethel Flint's train was due at Paddington at five. Her father came to meet her two minutes before that hour. For this interval he retired to the refreshment bar, and emerged again exactly at five. His hat, clothes, and boots presented an appearance of dinginess, which the brushing and polishing they had received rendered more noticeable. His hair was oiled and his moustache waxed ; and a more repellent face one could hardly imagine. His daughter he found at the luggage van, and touching her on the shoulder • — her back being towards him — he said: 'Well Ethel, I am glad to see you.' The girl turned quickly, and the look of her eyes was piteous when she

raised them to his facp. There was just a moment's hesitation, the embarrassment of which Mr Flint put an end to by turning his attention of his daughter's luggage. So there was no further greeting between them. He had the luggage carried out and placed on a four-wheeled cab. 1 Fthel,' he said as he handed her into the vehicle, ' I shall not be able to accompany you homo, as T h-ave a very important business appointment to keep at half-past five. But 1 shall be home a few minutes after you, and you will find all ready for your reception. — Thirteen Low Water Street,' he called out to the cabman. And with a wave of the hand he disappeared. It never struck Ethel that her father had started for Charing Cross by the underground railway in order to avoid the office of paying the cabman, or, in the alternative, the unseemly necessity of requesting his daughter to do so herself. When Ethel Flint arrived at the lodgings, she surveyed her room in silence. There was not much in it to inspect. She put her trunk and box (Fenwick's box) in the corner, paid the cabman, and sat down by the window, staring out in the street. Her lot was a melancholy one. She was 19, and already the burden of the sorrows of a long life seemed to weigh upon her. At an age wh«n the golden gates of the future ought to be opening before a vista of light and happiness, present and future were wrapt in cheerless desolation When Mr Flint reached the lodgings, and sat down with 'his daughter to tea, which she had prepared, he apologised for the poverty of the accommodation. ' The truth is, Ethel, what with one thing and another, my circumstances Lave not been flourishing lately. — I thought it best,' be added tentively, ' to take this room for you, provisionally, until I knew more about your circumstances.' 1 You know I am out of employment,' she answered quietly. ' Why, yes, of course ; but then Well, in fact, I did not know but that — in fact, you might have some money put by.' c I hope you received my remittances regularly, father V 1 Yes, yes — quite regularly,' he replied, fidgeting uneasily and avoiding his daughter's pyo. ' I have told you, father, I sent you all my salary. I must seek for newemployment.' 'Yes, yes; that you must, Ethel. We should have hardly enough to live on here. The rent of two rooms — ahem — the thing is, to scan the papers every morning, i must go out now for an hour or so, and I will send you in this morning's papers.' She saw no more of him that night. She had breakfast alone next morning, for he was asleep. After this, she went out to make some domestic purchases. He rose while she was out and looked into her room, half dressed. Not seeing her there, he entered, and regarded the trunk and box attentively. He believed she must have some money, and he wanted some badly. Where did she keep it? The trunk was unlocked, and raising the lid, he narrowly scrutinised its contents without disturbing them. If she had money in the trunk, she would not have left it open. The box, consequently, excited more interest, as it was locked. In. truth, it had never beon opened since it came into the girl's possession, for, after vainly trying the key in the lock, she perceived that the box was not hers at all. But the lock was no uncommon one, and Ethel Flint's father soon found a key to open it. At first, he was as much surprised as disappointed. What on earth could his daughter want with those rough, earth-stained male garments, and old tobacco pipes, and knives, and other rubbish of the kind 1 There were a few books in the box, with well-worn covers, and nothing else. But the hungry, inquisitive eye of Flint was struck with the curious way the inside of the box was padded in rough leather, and feeling it round with his finger-tips, he was not long in discovering the pocket. His eyes gleamed as he drew forth the banknotes and counted them ; and after satisfying himself that there were no more of them, he restored them to their place, felocked the box, and slipped back to bed. He seemed to be still asleep when his daughter came back. Though the man showed somewhat better humor for the next few days, he continued to manifest his desire that i she should obtain another situation. She was as anxious about this herself as he could be ; and as soon as she received the testimonial promised by Mrs Roscoe, she addressed herself earnestly to answering advertisements. Then, after some days, she received that note from Mr Ernest Fen wick, returning her box. Her surprise was great at discovering that he, too, was a lodger in this mean quarter. But the gentle tendency of her thoughts was suddenly stopped by a suggestion that sent the blood leaping to her face. Had he really been in Torquay, and kept her under observation, and followed her to London, and taken a lodgings on the opposite side of the street in order to heep in close pursuit of her? It was in the excess of indignation caused by this suspicion that

she sent back his box to him with verbal thanks. It was the same feel ' ing, only stronger when she rant him at the post office, that impelled her to ignore him. A few evenings after this, she saw i the young man's belongings taktMi i down to the street and placed on the top of a cab. She stood concealed behind the curtains and observed him throw one quick glance up at hpr window as he got into the cab. Fenwick was gone. She ought to have felt relieved, but she did not. She had come to know that he had ocopied the room she was now in for weeks before she came to London — that he was poor like herself, and unable to afford better. His going away from the neighborhood was not without reference to herself ; she had wronged him, and was very sorry. Something else in connection with his removal gave her pain, when she thought of her father. She had advertised, in her own name for a situation, and next morning had a reply, requesting her to call at the office of Mr John Hooley, Adam street. Mr Hooley was Mrs Roscoe's solicitor ; but Fthel Flint had only heard his name incidentally, once or twice, and had forgotten it. Mr John Hooley 's private room was a rather large one for so small a man. He was in the habit of making appoint- ' inents, which he was seldom ready to keep just at the time named ; and the client or fellow professional who called under such circumstances was temporarily regulated to the armchair behind a screen, while Mr Hooley finished what he happened at the moment to be doing. It chanced thus with Ethel Flint when she came, as requested, at eleven o'clock. The man received with hurried but old-fashioned courtesy, placed her in the chair, and said he would be ready to talk to her in a few minutes. She opened a newspaper as another visitor was shown in, and, paying no ! heed whatever to his name or business, went on reading an account of a shipwreck. Oddly enough, it was a Cape steamer which had come to grief at the Sicilly Isles, homeward bound. This drew her thoughts back to, the Majuba, and she could not very well recall that voyage without associating the memory of Mr Ernest Fen wick. At this point the name of the latter steamer, spoken either by Mr Hooley or his visitor, she could not tell which, caused her to start with surprise and listen. 'The Majuba was it?' Mr Hooley was saying. ' And you spent two years in. South Atrica. Were you able to save any money at all in Africa?' • I only had LSO coming home,' was the answer, uttered in a low tone. ' And you spent it, I suppose^ before you thought of looking for work V ' No, sir ; I lost it.' ( Might I inquire how 1 I insinuate no reflection of any kind — it is merely curiosity.' The other hesitated. Then, with evident reluctancp, he told the story of the two black boxes, and their eventual recovery by their respective owners. When he opened his, the notes were | not there. ' Ah,' observed Mr Hooley, ' I see how it was. That young woman dis- j covered them, and probably thinking i she should never find the owner of the box again, she used the money.' Ethel Flint's face was burning with shamp. Her first impulsp was to show ; herself and repudiate the imputation. She stood up ; but, held by an intense j desire to hear what Fenwick thought ! of her in the matter, she remained still I as a statue. The first flush of shame had passed away, and she was Very ' pale ; then another flood of crimson j spread over her face as she thought of her father—and of theae notes Fenwick must have seen her depositing in the Posfc-offica savings-bank the evening she had returned his box to him. In truth, do what he would, Fenwick could not expel from his mind the hideous recollection of that banking transaction. Hesitating only a ! second or two, he answered, in a clear and decisive tone ; l 1 should be profoundly ashamed, sir, not to think much better of her. My conviction is unalterable that the young lady has ■ never known of that money being in my box. Some one else must have discovered and taken it.' To this speech Mr Hooley made no answer. After eliciting from Fenwick hts history since arriving in London — ■ excepting that portion having reference to Miss Stone — Mr Hooley gave him ail encouraging decision. ' You have not, perhaps, all the qualifications I desire, but I think you would try to acquire them. I shall write to you in a day or two j meantime, you had better not give notice to your present employers until you have my final answer.' • I hope it will be favorable, sir.' ' As far as I can judge, I think it will. — Good-morning.' A glad cry almost broke. from the girl when she heard what Fenwick said about her. Mr Hooley was now ready to see her, and he led her to the chair which Fenwick had occupied a minute before. A surprise, and a disappointment, awaited her. ' You have written to me, sir, to call here, in answer to my advertisement,' she was saying, when Mr Hooley sat bolt upright in his chair and looked at her through his spectacles with some astonishment

'Your advertisement, Miss Flint? I know of no advertisement. I wrote to you to call, in consequence of instructions from my client, Mrs Roscoe.' ' Mrs Roscoe 1 I rememhe.r now, 5 said the girl, blushing. • She mentioned your name to me, but I had forgotten it. lam very snrry ; I really thought it was an answer to my advertisement for a situation.' ' Mrs Roscoe instructs me to pay you L2 a week j your need of a situation will not therefore be pressing.' c She mentioned to me,' said Ethel, hesitating, * 30s. I think Mrs Roscoe meant it for the case of my living alone.' ' I don't think Mrs Roscoe reckons much on. the support you are likely to got from your father, Miss Flint. At all events, her instructions are positive to allow you L2 a week while she lives. That, of course, may not be long. But Well, I know something, I am sorry to say, about your father, Miss Flint. I would advise you to let him know nothing concerning this allowance. Call here every week for it yourself. As for a situation ' •But I should like to obtain employment somewhere, Mr Hooley,' she interrupted earnestly. Mr Hooley reflected Yes ; he was at no loss to understand the girl's wish to get away from her father. He knew the man. 1 Don't advertise for a place,' he said presently. 'Leave the matter to me. J may be able to find something suitable among my friends.' She was thanking him gratefully, i and preparing to go away, when he stopped her by a gesture. ' Have you forgotten the business on which I sent for you, Miss Flmt V In truth, for the moment she had forgotten it ; but Mr Hooley now rang for his cashier ; and in a few minutes Ethel Flint had signed a receipt and been paid L 4 for two weeks' allowance. As she was rising, Mr Hooley suddenly asked> as the thought just struck hitn : • What ship did you come by from Madeira V ' The Majuba,' she replied, blushing. 1 How singular ! I don't know whether you overheard the conversation I had with that young man who has just left — he is an applicant for a post as private secretary to a friend of mine, and I think he will suit.' The girl thought it best to tell Mr Hooley all she knew. Mr Hooley was a kind of man to invite confidence. She told him everything, even to her dread that Fenwick must have suspected herself, after that incident of the Post-office bank. The notes she deposited there were the two Mrs Roscoe had given her. ' You heard what Mr Fen wick said V asked Mr Hoole}'. • He is very generous — very noble,' she answered, ' because he had a right to suspect me. I — l wish I could thank him ! Would you — please — give me Mr Fenwick's present address 1' she asked, with come embarrassment. 'To write your thanks to him ? I don't think you need do that.' 'No ; I want to repay all I can of the money he lost. I have L2O in the , post office.' ' I will give you his address, if you wish,' said Mr Hooley, writing it as he j spoke, on a slip of paper. ' But you must promise me not to send him any money until I tell you to do so. Will you promise that V She gave the promise, although she was at a loss to imagine what it meant. • A good young fellow — a proper young man soliloquised Mr Hooley as he handed her the address. — ' Good morning Miss Flint.' The girl glanced shyly at the address on the slip of paper as she i-eached the street. It was a place in Battersea, and she knew enough in a general way about London to be sensible that this could be no great improvement upon Low Water Street. (To be Continued.)