OH THE BRINK OF A CHASM.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 3293, 11 August 1911, Page 3

OH THE BRINK OF A CHASM.

A RECORD OF PLOT AND PASSION.

(By L. T. Meade, author of “A Son

of Islunael,” etc.)

CHAPTER XXL

A CRAFTY OLD LADY

Mrs Ives was like and yet unlike her daughter. She had the same sandy complexion, her face was slightly freckled, and lier lips very thin; she had shrewd, kindly eyes, however, and a brisk, active manner. She was about sixty years of ago. Clara bustled about now to make her mother comfortable.

“You sit just here,” she said, pushing the old lady into the only arm-chair which the little room, contained. “After you have had l a good l breakfast you shall lie down for a bit. There’s a great deal to be done and I have much to tell you.”

“Well, tell it and be quick, Clara. You always were a queer one, and you look changed—you’ve got so smart. Why are you wearing that pretty dress? I thought you always wore your nurse’s livery.” “I’m "not going to be a nurse any more, mother,” said Nurse Ives.

“A mercy me!” said the old lady, throwing up her hands. “And after all the expense of having you eddioated, and you one of the Nightingale nurses at St .Thomas’s Hospital and all. They think a sight of you in the old place. "Wherever Igo the folks is always asking me how Sister Clara is getting on, and I tell you I’m just as proud as 'Punch of you. I say you nurse all the dukes in London, and that you’re took up wonderful by the Royal Family. They believes it —some folks will believe anything. And now you’re going to give ’it all up. You’re not going into domestic service again, are you?” “After a fashion I am, mother; but there, don’t talk so much. Drink your warm coffee. I’ll have a nice rasher of bacon and an egg done for you in a jiffy.” “I can’t abear them cooking eggs,” said the old lady. “I’ll have a bit of bacon if you do it crisp and tasty. I travelled up without any fret or worry, and slept the whole of the way. "What a queer, extravagant thing you was to say I might come first-class. Not me! I travelled third. I’d like to see myself first. It wouldn’t seem respectable to the quality.” Clara did not reply. She knew her mother’s ways. , “There’s no necessity to be so very close about money now,” she said, after a long pause. “I’m doing well and I want to have all comforts.”

“You’.re doing well when you give up your profession ? It looks like it. Are you gwine to be married?” “Well, that about it, mother. You’ve hit the nail on the head now. “I am.”

“Tell me all about it, Clara,” said the old lady. “I love to hear a right good rattling love story. Is it to the grocer, or the fishmonger, or the baker? I always said you’d do well in a shop. You’re the sort- to draw customers, though you are plain, to. be sure. Your freckles seem to have spread. Can’t you get a lotion to take ’em off? They’re not at all becoming.” “Dear me, mother, don’t mind about my freckles now. I was horn with them, and they must stay on my face.” “That they must, Clara, and it’s •wrong ifor me to grumble, but I did fret about them freckles when you was a little tot. Dear heart! I used l to dream of ’em at nights. I used to say, they’ll come between you. and matrimony—such a plague of ’em as you had—but now it seems I was all wrong. Maybe freckles have come into fashion. Who’s the lucky man, Clara?” .“It’s not the baker, nor the grocer, nor the fishmonger,” said Clara quietly. “Here, mother, eat your bacon. I’ll tell you everything afterwards.” While Mrs Ives enjoyed her breakfast the nurse withdrew into the inner room and began to dress little Piers. “I am ever so well,” said the boy,” “I am going out for a bit to-day.” “But my dear, it’s raining.”

“That doesn’t matter You can send for my carriage. I -always drive in the brougham on wet days. Nurse, who was that person you were talking to? 1 heard a voice keep chattering and chattering. Who was it?’*’ “My mother, dear.” “Has your mother come? Oh, I am glad. I want to see her.”

“You shall see her when you are dressed, Piers.”

“But I’m very sorry I wasn’t in the room’ when she arrived I wanted to see you kiss her. Are you beginning to obey her already? You know it’s the fifth commandment' —children ought to obey their parents. “Oh, it’s all right, dear. Don’t talk quite so much, Piers. Sit still while I dree you.” “I feel so well and jolly,” said the child. ‘When may Igo home?” “Not for a bit yet. You would be as bad as ever if you did—you’d have that sinking feeling you spoke to me about.”

The child shuddered and began to tremble visibly. “You’re not going back at present, darling. '; *■ You don’t mind staying in this cosy little house with me, do you?” “It’e like a doll’s house,” said the child ; ‘and your mother must be the head doll. • What fun 1 I’m ones of the litle ones and you’re another doll.” “Now, come here, Piers, and stand by me, and let me say something. I believe you are a brave boy and that you wouldn’t tell a lieP°j

‘Of course I wouldn’t? I’m quite an important person, you know. Do you think great men suoh as I shall be tell lies?”

“I don’t believe you could tell a lie. Piers. Now I want you to promise me something ; I am sure when you promise you will keep your word. I don’t want my mother to know that you are Sir Piers Pelham.” • • “Why?” “I canot tell you why. Some time she* may know, but not yet. All you have to say is that you are Piers, little Piers, my patient. You are not to tell her what your surname is, nor anything about the grand house you used to live in, nor about your mother, nor Dick, nor Barbara. Just say you are my little patient and that you love me—don’t say anything else.” “Must I really promise?” “Yes.” “It seems such an awful lot to promise, and lam afraid. You know I am not old and I might forget. It's difficult to remember that you’re not to talk of the people you love. Why must I do it?’ ’ “Well, Piers, I thought it would be fun, but you need not if you dislike it. I cannot take you to my mother if you do not, that’s all. I’ll 'have to send- her back, to Carnwall. She’s a very amusing old lady, and you’d like her.” “Oh, I’ll promise then,” said the child. ' “Kiss me, Piers, on each cheek, and then make me the promise very solemnly.” “If it’s going to be solemn I’d better kneel down and pray to God to heip me to keep it,” asid the boy. “You can do that by-and-by when you say your prayers, but not now. Kiss me and promise.” “I promise,” said l the child. ‘That’s my brave little lad. Now I will take you and show you to my mother.” (To be continued To-morrow.)