THE THREE SPINSTERS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 11711, 22 July 1901, Page 3

THE THREE SPINSTERS.

It was a sultry evening in July, too hot for train or 'bus, and as I walked homo from the city to my rooms in the West, I was struck, not for 'the first time, by the numbers of well-dressed gentlewomen, evidently going homo from their work. I looked at them critically and appreciatively, for though I am a middle-aged bachelor, I have yet a tender place .in my heart for the female sex. ■■" • :.v ; .. :;..';.'. '• As I walked through the ranks of the women-workers I asked myself the question, "Why are there so many women without men-folk to -work for them, so many spinsters literally fulfilling theii- i designation? They do not spin, since that charming accomplishment has gone out of fashion, but they toil all day, and half the night." .■■. ' 1 I sat idle that evening by my window, enjoying my pipe, and through the wreaths of tobacco smoke I saw a vision of the past and of the present. I found myself, without any feeling of surprise, in an old-fashioned garden, with formal flower-beds and trimpleached alleys. Facing me was a red-brick manor house, with a stono terrace, on which stood a, gorgeous peacock basking in the noonday sun. ! Without hesitation I stepped through one of the low. French windows into a cool dim room. Dark oak panelling rose to the ceilin", a few old-fashioned prints hung on the walls. There was a strange clinging; scent everywhere; ~. the. soent of pot-pourri as our grandmothers made it. In one corner was a carved oak chest, and near, it stood a spinet, tho keys yellow with age. All' these things I noted unconsciously, for my eyes were attracted by a figure in the centre of the room. It was that of a woman, no longer young, and yet with an air of youth. ' She was tall and fair, but the light of the blue eyes was blurred'.as if with many tears, and gray hairs were clearly visible in the soft brown coils at the nape of -her neck. ■ The lines of her face wero strong, though the mouth was sweet; her , whole expression was one of dignified resig- , nation.'. , -,-, -.' . ~■■'■)_ '■-She'was dressed in a soft muslin gown, which came only to her ankles, and a lace fichu , was fastened across her breast. ' A soft, whirring< noise sounded through ;.*■ the room; and I saw with a quicken ing of interest that she was seated at a.spinning-wheel. " Pardon me, madam," I said, ' stepping forward with ) a bow, " but aro you, too, a spinster?" ■' • -• • The brown-haired lady ceased her task and made me a low courtesy. " Without doubt, sir, I am, since I spin, though, that is not my only:occupation. As mistress of this house I have many duties to fill my time; spinning I count only as a pleasure." ' ".May" I beg you to tell me how you pass your clays?" said I. .■•-■_." ' "My occupations vary with the seasons, sir," replied the lady. "In the summer, when the days are long, I tend my garden and gather herbs to prepare simple cordials for my villagers. I bring in fruits with which to make preserves; I dry the rose-petals and scented leaves for* my pot-pourri. In the winter, I fashion garments for myself and my people ;• I visit the sick and those who are in trouble." :■■. . • . v "Then-you are not married?" I asked. "No, sir," she? answered softly, and a look of sorrow filled her eyes. • ;:. ?'" Forgive me, if I pain yon, but I am anxious ;to know why there are so many spinsters in the world —so many women who are not married?" , The lady crossed the room to. the oak chest, unlocked it with a key hanging at her girdle,'? and raised the lid.- Then, beckoning me, she stood motionless:,"while I looked in. There lay 'an : officer's' hat and sword of long ago, ■•• a ■ blue uniform, marked - down | one side , with" dull red. stains, a ; packet of letters tied with a blue ribbon, find a faded miniature of a gallant-looking young man.,; On the top was a paper with a'few lines *in a formal handwriting. It ran thu3: — ." '. .' *' '. ..." Madam,lt is with the deepest regret I have to inform you that Captain ..Fur-' kerson was killed while leading his regiment into action. .He fought all day with the utmost gallantry, and was mortally wounded towards evening. . ,; He . was a brave officer, and a gentleman, and is deeply mourned by all his fellow soldiers.—F have the honour to be, madam,' your most - respectful -.-■ servant, Lawrence Lesly, Major." "Iris 15 years ago," said the lady, turning to me, and it may be 15 more before we meet, but some day I shall see him again, I know. <: Many men "have ; done me .the honour to ask my hand in marriage, but I count myself the wife of him who lies in a ; shallow grave on a distant battlefield. No , other man can ever occuppy a place in my heart, for I shall go to him, though he will not return ;to - me." ... ■■"■-"'.•■ _ ■<■ \ : _ ' There was something so inexpressibly touching in her faith and faithfulness that I could with difficulty restrain my emotion. I bent low before her, • raised her white hand reverently to my lips, and found myself once more on the terrace.. ; . - '."*""- v But the old-fashioned garden had disappeared, and in its place was a row of small houses, each standing on its own little plot of ground. The door of the one nearest to me stood open, and I entered the tiny hall, and passed into the sittingroom on my right.. The afternoon sun was streaming in through the windows, but only a little chink was open, and the atmosphere was indescribably stuffy. A querulous-looking old woman : was lying on a couch with an expression of anything but resignation on her features. ■ She tossed, and turned, and groaned, and sighed. " It's very hard to be left alone in my old age with only one daughter to.look after me," she whined, "and though Mary is a good girl, she's thoughtless, -; like all young things. Now, she might be reading mo a bit of that beautiful address of Mr. Surjohn's, and I don't know where she is. I believe she is still hankerin after that young Mr. Kobson, though it's years since he used to come courting her." . Footsteps came down the passage and I stood on one side to let Mary pass. Young! Had this poor little faded creature ever been young?' Her face was pale and lined and melancholy; ; her smooth hair,,of no definite colour, was drawn severely off her face; a piece of '■■':■ black velvet ribbon was tied round her long scraggy neck. She was the very embodiment of the old fashioned spinster of 20 years ago, who had ceased to exist since . the bustling new woman came to supplant her. In her hands she carried a tray with a teapot and a plats of bread and butter, and the inevitable black cat followed at her heels., "Come, mother," she said in a toneless voice; "I have brought you a cup of tea; that will cheer you up." The old lady appeared to revive somewhat at this intelligence, and sat up to enjoy hci meal. . .v, ■■ * I touched Mary on the shoulder. "Tell me, please," I saiC gently, "why you never married Mr. Robson."', No flash of light came into the woman's dull eyes at the mention of her lover's name. "I ■ couldn't," she said, simply.. '-".You see, some one had to stay with' mother. Rosie and J were tho only ones left, and she was so pretty,'and so anxious to be married.

i tnougnt at ttie ume it miguo-uut « ™ long"—here,she glanced deprecatingly at the figure on .the couch—" and George promised to wait. But he got tired after a bit;' he wanted to get settled, and so we broke it off." i ;•• ,;' ,; ■ .':.'; .;. " • " '; It was only a plain statement "of facts, but what a tragedy of self-sacrifice lay behind! Which was the more worthy of my homage, I wonder, the beautiful woman in the old manor house, faithful to her dead lover, or the plain little old maid, who had voluntarily given up her chance of love and marriage to ensure a thoughtless sister's happiness and a grumbling mother's comfort. No thought of her own heroism consoled her, and my heart ached for her desolate, lot, as I * passed out of the little house into the sunI light. - : Once more the-scone changed, and I was in the heart of the great city. I stood now in a snug little room, at the top of a large building, let out in apartments for professional women. The walls of this room were lined with books, and in the centre stood a table littered with papers. Near the window was a type-writing machine, and a hockey stick reposed with a tennis-racquet in one of the corners. Here and there were photographs of one of the women's colleges; a cap and gown hung on the door. Standing by the open window was a tall, handsome | woman of about 50. In her face there was neither the resignation of a' great soul noi tho apathy of a small mind. .There ,was a look of purpose and resource, of victor) gained after mental struggle. f , With easy courtesy, she handed me a cigar ette, and when I saw her shapely hands were ringless, for the third time I put my query. " Why ami a spinster?" she said, slowly "Well, that is a hard question to answer I think it is perhaps because my head i: stronger than my heart. When I left school I had my dreams of love and marriage, lik< all girls, but as"'the years went on I coulc not realise my ideal, and so I preferred t< live. my own life alone." . ,*' And has your heart never been touched?' I asked. '. . '■"*■ l ' ' .'■■'■;'■■■ '■'-'■' .She smiled." "Ah! it is not so hard a that. ' I had my first love, like most girls but the man who taught me what love mean played the game merely as ; a pastime, am i when I had learnt my lesson he passed on

find a fresh scholar, leaving me to realise only the pain and bitterness. Then I tried to be satisfied with friendship. ,_ % "Another man came into my life in my college idays— man* or the world, a cynic, and a philosopher. ' Mentally he had a great . attraction for me, but that was all; and I could not agree to a marriage which had only intellectual affinity for its basis.' So I deter- "■ mined to let my work fill my life. I have J plenty of occupation and plenty of friends, and I have still my ideal— Ido not think i I am to be pitied." . i " Does no thought of the lonely years to com© ever daunt you?" I asked. "Do you never long' for -the love of husband or child?" t , . . ; , She turned her "face to the setting sun, and a wistful look came over it. " I am a woman," she said, softly, " and in spite of my bachelOi life, true woman enough to / know that there is nothing in this world so much to be desired as a perfect marriage, i where two hearts and minds are in complete accord. But"—and hero her faco became reso- ' lute again'"if I cannot have that I will have none. . '.' j v "I needs must have the highest when I see'it, and I will not be. content with anything less. I have made no vow of spinster- ( hood, but the. woman of to-day cannot afford to sit down and wait. There is work to be done in the world, and I arc glad to have J my share of it. Perhaps one day I shall ' meet the man who will come into my life and fulfil it, and, whenever he comes, he. will find me ready; better so, than if he came and found me too. late!" . . , v Slowly the vision faded from my sight, . " and I found . myself once more in my own room. My question was answered, and I know now that as long as there are women faithful to the memory of a dead love, devoted to the well-being of an aged mother, true to the ideal of a noble mind—there will always be spinsters in tho world. -'