Our Novelettes.

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 1584, 8 April 1887, Page 3

Our Novelettes.

BAB GDTFOBD. Chapter V.-~ (Continued). "Quite wonderful," repeated Dr. Penn stiffly. Perhaps the doctor was thinking that the poor mother's labour was in vain; for it was his painful part to tell Miss Gifford that his penetration had been at fault—ho had been mistaken in his modical verdict—and that hi* skill could do nothing to save liitie Delia, the only ohild of the Giffords of Linton, not although she were ten Delias and there were ten Lintons banging on bis breath.

Just when the cowilips were nodding in golden tufts in the paddock for the little girl to pluck and dry in pedantic piny, since she was too old to toss them in cowslip balls; and when streams of new milk were flowing for her to bathe in, if need were for the waste 5 when her Aunt Eunice was r,ady to employ for her private benefit all her sound, welldigeMcd theories of early hours, and mingled exercise, and study; Deii* was fist bound for the narrow house of her father's grave.

It was not easy to convince the energetic, strong-willed woman that there was nothing but premature decay and death for Delia, nothing but submission and loss for Eunice ; that the little neii e and successor, on whom she had originally set such store, nnd who bad been stolen away from her, was only found again to be resigned for ever in this world; and that Linton might go to a far-away cousin who did not even bear the name of Gifford. Poor Dr. Penn had a more trying task to fulfil. He had to warn Rae that her pet was not hers to keep, that he could not stay Delia's departure, and that the departure was so near at hand he dared not defer the misery of the, warning. He did not shrink from his duty he even appropriated it, as if to prevent its falling into Eunice's hands, either to spare Eunice or Rae. " When may Delia be able to sit up again, Dr. Penn P This lying ou her back does not seem to agree with her. 1 half think she grows weaker every day," R:io said to the doctor one May morning, when she had followed him to the drawirg-room, whore he was consulting sadly with Eunice. Rae was 1 trying to read his face with eyes straining themselves, yet recoiling in auguish from what they should read there. " Yes, she is a a rent deal weaker," said Dr. Penn, very curtly and gravely. " Should you like me to briug another doctor, Mrs Gifford ?" "&o; why should I?" She set her mouth to repel the suggestion. Dr. Penn was very white, and he put his hand up to his quivering mouth. "Because I am very sorry—l am afraid II " Don't say it, Matthew Penn! How can you be so cruel ? Oh 1 Spare me, spare me —don't tell me that!" cried Bae, putting out her hands to stop him. " I came to you to cure her, because I believed in you after all; and you will kill me also, if you tell me that I must give up my child, my little ewe lamb, the only one thing on earth I have to care for. How can you expect me to bear it P" Rae resisted madly. " Ba<\ these are most improper words. This is most unbecoming conduct to Dr. Penn. Do you think no one suffers with you in your selfish sorrow ?" cried Eunice, more harshly than she had ever spoken before to her sister-in-law. But Dr. Penn put her aside quickly, and caught Mrs Uifford by the arm. "Rue," ho sai I, pitecusly, "I could do no more. Don't give way thus. While there is life there is hope. Do you hear me, Rae ?—you used to hear me. Heaven may interpose. While he was speaking nearly as de perate words as Kae's, the mother thought she heard a call from Delia. Rae changed in a second from striving in love's fury to smiling in its sublime despair, as she broke away from him to go back and stand by her child's bed. " Oh, God!" he said low, looking after her, " I wish I could comfort her." Eunice Gifford gazed on the two. Her face pale grew a shade paler. Her firm lips were compressed almost painfully. There was a gathering intelligence in her eyes which blighted everything they looked upon in the old familiar beloved house, even more than the news of poor liltle Delia's fate. Eunice, whom nobody was watching, of whom nobody was thinking, quitted the room by a step goaded on by what she left behiud. She went and locked herself in her rojm, and withdrew for the time from all charge and nursing of the dying child. When Eunice reappeared, it was because Delia, flinging out every tendril of her heart, in a way commou to the dying, summoned her. Even then Eunice came reluctantly, and with her clear ivory features all drawn and tremulous from recent conflict. Delia had that divino maturity, or that inspiration, which sometimes precedes a little child's death. The senseless little one had received unspoken notice of her condition; the shy, loving child waa timid no longer, and was calm in her affection, while those who bad been her older, wiser friends were awed into restraining their shivering, sobbing grief. Delia was supported by her pillows like a l.ttle woman, or rather like a tiny angel who somehow had its wings soiled, and trailing with this world's sin and sorrow, but who had shaken theui free. She told her mother not to be sorry for her. She said that she was going to a better home. She thanked Dr. Penn, and bade him kiss her and say good-bye; and then she turned and cast her eyes ou Eunice, with a little break iu her perfect composure. " How vexed Aunt Eunice must be to part with mo, to make her look like that," said Delia, in a perplexed tone. And Eunice bowed her stiff neck and hid her assured facs. " Don't be so veied, Aunt Eunice," the child commanded, recovering herself; "be friends with mother, bo friends with her without me." And then she died.

Another spring's grass was green over Delia's grave. Eie still lired on at Linton, and Dr. Penn continued to come there, with full permission from Eunice. "I see it all," said Eunice to Dr. Penn when they were alone together one day. She spoke frankly, and not without friendliness, yet a shade of condescension had come into her tone which had not been always there when Dr. Penn was concerned. " You must speak to her." And then she added, with a stretch of fancy for Eunice Gifford, who was softer and more indulgent since her own ramparts had been broken down ever so little, for ever so short a time, " I believe you two have been designed for each other. I don't mean to say she is worthy of you, Dr. Penn; I don't pretend that any more than I pretended it to Christopher; but you have never.got over your separation, and will never be happy till | you come together.

Dr. Penn took advantage of Rae's pensive j custom of strolling in the paddock, where she had carried her haby, and spoke to the purpose. He reminded her of his own false pride which had first tried her beyond her strength. He assured her that while he might have l>een indignant and resentful, unjustly, indeed, he I had never yet been able in the worldly triumph of his life to forget the loveliest and moat derotod woman ho btd known.

The words were foolishness to Rae, bat she was not resentful—had never been resentful, and it was in self-depreciation that she implored him,—

"Don't ask me to forget my darling, Matthew Penn."

" Ah! Rae, you know nothing of it," the doctor exclaimed, with sorrowful passion. " You women are all egotists. Your darling was jours while you had her. Think what it must be to have a darling who was another's, and who bas forgotten you ?" His words rung from Rae a great and bitter cry. "I never forgot you, Mat; I tried, and it half broke my heart; but I could not do it, forgetfulness was not in me. But when I got my child, I could live for her and I could die for her. When I came back and heard you were courting Eunice Gifford, I thought it was something more I bad got to do for little Delia, and I could have done it—l, who would have died for her—to brook to see you and Eunice man and wife."

Doctor Penn said no more of woman's egotism.

" Come home, Bae, to your own old home, which I have occupied for you —which I have prepared for you." And his eyes shone, for lie knew that she couli not choose but come.

The doctor's prosperity was no longer hollow, nor his study cheerless. Clouds had reason to declare afresh that Joe Corbet's girl was a wonderfully taking girl—a wonderfully taking woman and lady. Eunice cried, another prodigy ! Her old drag, Rae, was at once sagacious and bright as her husband. Little children, with Delia's face, clasped the longsuffering doctor's reck, and heard from him, as from their mother, as the little si-ter who had clasped it before them, and bidden him good-bye, and who had helped to bring their father and mother together. THE END.