TALES & SKETCHES.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 951, 23 May 1890, Page 7

TALES & SKETCHES.

[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.] A BITTER Bi&TH&IOHT OR, LADY GILMORE S TEMPTATION. BT DORA RUSSELL, Author of ‘Footprints in the Snow,’ ‘The Broken Seal,’ * The Track of the Storm,’ &c. [All Rights Reserved."] SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. Chapters I and ll.—Poor Mrs Loftus, wife of a Colonel in India, is expecting his return daily to Englaud, to her and her family. She receives news, however, of his death, and the family are thrown into extremities. Writing to a friend of hers, Lady Blenkensop, she consents to find one of her daughters, Nancy, a situation, and visits Lady Gilmore, whose family of daughters she thinks might require a governness. On arriving at the residence of L-nly Gilmore she is met by terrible news. Her son, Lord Gilmore, a young man has been shot in the wood, and is even now dying of his wounds. Lady Blenkensop hurries to the spot indicated and finds the wounded young man ebbing away his life’s blood on his mother’s breast.

CHAPTER 111. A Woman’s Name. Lady Blenkensop was a woman of prompt and energetic action, and she did not waste any time in exclamations of pity or horror, as her eyes fell on the young lord’s white face. She knelt down on the grass, raised one of the limp, colourless hands, that hung helplessly by his side, and fe ! t in vain lor any pulsation at the wrist. But still something in his expression told her that the last breath of life had not passed away from his pallid lips. *He has fainted from loss of blood, I think,’ she said in her quick way, addressing Lady Gilmore, whose face was rigid with the anguish and terror of her soul. ‘Wo must try to stop the bleeding until the doctor comes,’ Bhe added, glancing round at the agitated group of servants present. ‘ Have any of you a knife or a pair of scissors ? We ought to cut the sleeve out of his coat; and we want brandy.’ The butler, a respectable, middle-aged man, now stepped forward and produced a cut-glass bottle containing brandy. ‘ 1 caught up this, my lady, as I ran out of the house, as I thought it might be useful,’ he said. ‘ It is very well you had the good sense to bring it,’ replied Lady Blenkensop, as she rose from the ground. She was wearing a handsome new plush cloak lined with fur, and as she put up her hand to unfasten the olasp for a moment she hesitated, for as a rule, she was a saving woman, and very careful of her garments. But the grass was damp and Lord Gilmore’s hands cold and icy, and Lady Blenkensop saw no help for it. So she took off her cloak and spread it on the ground. ‘ Now. Lady Gilmore, let yoar people lift him on this,’ she said ; ‘ yon should not hold up his head as you are doing and I will try to get a little brandy between his lips, and first of all we must endeavour to stop the bleeding.’ Lady Gilmore was too much overcome to offer any opposition to the elder woman’s

stronger will. She allowed them to take her son from her arms, and lay him on Lady Blenkensop’s cloak, crawling to his side on her knees, while Lady Blenkensop tried to pour a little brandy between his lips, and directed the butler to rub his hands and feet with the spirit. Then Lady Blenkensop began energetically to cut the sleeve out of the young man’s coat, through which the blood was still pouring fast. She soon accomplished this, and rolled back the soiled shirt below, and came to tha wound close to the shoulder, to which she at once held a handkerchief with her firm hand. *Go to the house for linen bandages, pillow cases—anything will do,’ she said, looking up, and one or two of the womenservants at once ran to do her bidding, and in a Bhort time Lady Blenkensop had every, thing she required, and knew enough of the nature and binding of wounds to be of the greatest possible assistance to the injured man. * I

Be sighed faintly twice, and his face lost its extreme pallor even before the doctor arrived. This doctor, a little, pompous, fat, red-faced man, was in a state of considerable excitement at being called in to attend on Lord Gilmore, as his services had only hitherto been required by the servants at Wrothsley. But he was the nearest medical man at hand, and the groom had ridden to his house in the village close by, and had happily found him at home, and Doctor Roberts had lost no time in hurrying to the young lord’s side. He is beginning to revive, isn’t he, doctor ?’ said Lady Blenkeasop, addressing him as he knelt down and took up one of Gilmore’s chill hands and felt for his pulse. * I hope so, my lady,’ answered the little doctor nervously, and then he proceeded to examine the faintly blue-edged bullet wound. ‘ The shoulder is badly injured, I am afraid,’ he said. ‘ Is the bone broken ?' asked Lady Blenkensop inquiringly. ( * Yes,’ answered the doctor, ! but we can

do nothing with that here; Lord Gilmore must be taken at once to the castle.’

He bound the wound up and then directed a mattress to be brought, and a gate to be hastily taken off its hinges, and when this was dope, Lord Gdmore, still wrapped in Lady Blenkensop’s cloak, was lifted on it, and thus carried home, followed by his mother, whom Lady Blenkensop had raised from the damp ground. ‘Come, you must not give way ; he is aIS right; he will pull through,’ she said, kindly and consolingly, to the white, or lather greyfaced woman, as she put her arm through Lady Gilmore’s, and took her hand ; and Lady Gilmore rose stiff!} 7 , never once taking her eyes off her son. Four men now lifted the gate on which Lord Gilmore now lay, and bore him to the oaetle, the doctor walking by his side and just as tbe two.ladies were about to follow Lady Blenkensop felt someone touch her gown, and turning quickly round saw the young maid servant who had accompanied her to the spot standing by her side. ‘lf you please, my lady,’ ehe said rathor in a frightened tone, ‘ I picked up this ribbon by the bush there, near where my lord was lying, and T thought I had better give it to you.’ • ‘Quite right,’ answered Lady Blenkensop quickly, and she took the bunch of cardinal-coloured ribbons iii her hand. It had evidently belonged to a woman’s dress ; a dainty bow, fresh and new-fangled, and without another word, and without attracting Lady Gilmore’s attention to it she slipped it into the pocket of her gown. ‘lt had caught on that, bush there,’ said the maid, pointing to a trailing bramble y and Lady Blenkensop nodded, and then silently put her arm through Lady Gilmore’s, and together they walked out of the little wood behind the men who bora the young lord. Lady Gilmore’s footsteps faltered, and sometimes almost failed her, and it needed Lady Blenkensop’s strong arm to support her trembling frame. It was piteous to see the expression of her face, the fixed look of anguish in her dark eyes, as they followed the bearers of her son. All his life he had been the idol whom she had worshipped with an exceeding love, and to see him thus struck down in his young prime - seemed almost more than her reason could endure. No wonder, then, that her strained gaze never moved ; that her pallid lips spoke uo word.

Lady Blenkensop proposed that they should drive up to the castle in her carriage, which was waiting on the roadway through the park, but Lady Gilmore made a mute sign of dissent. So they silently walked on, and as they did so Lady Blenkensop was speculating curiously how the cardinal ribbon bow had found its way to the spot where Lord Gilmore lay wounded. * Probably a woman's at the bottom of it,’ she reflected, and her head gave a little de« precating shake. But she said nothing to Lady Gilmore, and showed both good sense and kindness when at length they reached the castle to the half-bewildered mother, who seemed, indeed, to have lost the power of thought. ‘ We had best telegraph for two of the first surgeons in town, had we not ?’ she suggested, and Lady Gilmore eagerly caught at the idea, though before it had never occurred to her through the mists of her absorbing grief. Lady Blenkensop therefore at once wrote ont two urgent telegrams and sent the hutler to the nearest post-office with them, and having done this proceeded up the magnificent front staircase of the Castle iu sea'ch of Lady Gilmore, who had closely followed bor son. As she did this, and was passing down one of the long broad corridors, two little girls who were standing with frightened faces at the door of a room, ran up to her as she drew near. ‘ What is the matter, Lady Blenkensop ?’ they both began almost as if in one voiqe. ‘ What is the matter with Gilmore ?’ ‘He has got hurt somehow, my dears,’ answered Lady Blenkensop, kindly laying her hand on the shoulder of the girl nearest to her ; but I hope he will soon be better.’ ‘Mother will not speak to us,’ she answered, raising her pretty face with an injured air; ‘ and no one will attend to us ; ‘it is very annoying.’

‘Where is your governess’’ asked Lady Blenkensop, her quick mind instantly travelling in the direction of Nancy Loftus, for these children were the twin-daughters of Lady Gilmore. ‘ She’s gone,’ they both answered simnltaneously, for they had a curious fashion of saying the same things at the same moment; ‘ mother said she was a fool.’ ‘ Ah, indeed ?’ smiled Lady Blenkensop. ‘ They had a row, you know,’ explained the young ladies in the following words: ‘ They had a row, you know,’ said Miss Dossy ; ‘Oh, yes, a row, y >u know,’ echoed Miss Flossy, a'moment later. It was the same in all their conversations, and their features,, hair and complexions were as like as their ideas. They were pretty children, aad had inherited, as their brother had done, the good looks of the late Lord Gilmore, and not the dark eyes and sallow skin of their mother. * And when did she go ?’ asked Lady Blenkensop, who was interested in the departure of the governess. ‘Mother packed her off yesterday,’ answered the twins; ‘packed her off at an hour’s notice, and a good riddance,’ It was fuuny to hear these children talk in their old-fashioned way. They, in truth, lived with grown-up people, and Lady Gilmore was not a judicious mother. She gave way to her quick temper before them, and would scold and pet them in one breath. She found fault also with their governess in their presenDe, and laughed when they caught up Gilmore’s phrases and words.

‘Then you will want a new governess?’ suggested Lady Blenkensop. ‘ I suppose so, but it’s a nuisance,’ said Dos3y. ‘ Yes, a nnisance,’ echoed Flossy. Lady Blenkensop said nothing more about the governess, but she patted both the fair heads with her large, strong, white hand. ‘ Well, I shall go and see after your mother aad your mother now, my dears,’ she reposed. ‘ And will you kind!} 7 come and tell ns

Bow Gilmore is ?’ replied the twins together. * We are anxious, yon know, and everything seems at nixes and sevens.’ * Yes, I Bhall come and tell you,’ said Lady IBlenkensop ; * but you are too young to be ■with. Gilmore while the doctor is there, as he an at present, and I suppose all the servants are busy.’ * Yet we havs a proper sohoolroom maid who does nothing but attend on us,’ answered Dossy with some dignity. * Nothing but attend on us,’ repeated Flossy. ‘ Gilmore’s accident has put the household in confusion, I daresay ; but I shall not forget my. promise, and will come and tell you how he is going on. If 1 walk down feere shall I come to his room V * It Is in=the left wing,’ replied both young ladies eagerly ; * if you walk straight down here you will come to a staircase, and if you go up that you will come to Gilmore’s suite of rooms ; they are the best we have.’ Lady Blenkensop obeyed these directions and went along the richly-carpeted corridor, which wan hung on either side with valuable old armour, until Bha came to the staircase which led to the left wing. She ascended this, and meeting two maid-servants, was directed to the bedroom into which Lord Gilmore had been carried. She found him lying on the bed, looking faint and even ghastly white. The doctor kept his fingers anxiously on his pulse. He had relapsed into unconsciousness, and looked so deathlike that a vague fear darted into Lady Blenkensop’s heart. His mother was kneeling by one side of the bed, and never glanced round '-as Lady Blenkensop entered the room. A silent moment or two passed—solemn moments, when the faint, fluttering breath seemed almost stayed, and the grey shadows of death grow very near—and then young manhood, strong and vigorous, asserted its power against the foe. Once more Lord Gilmore sighed, and the extrema pallor again passed from his face, and the little doctor, who bad grown quite palo with anxiety, breathed a Bigh of relief. ‘ He’s ooming round, my Lady,'he said, and his words proved true. But he was very weak and low, and the doctor made no further attempt to examine the wound, Lord Gilmore being in too prostrate a condition for him to do so. It was not until nine o’clock in the evening, the two surgeons having by this time arrived at Wrothsley, that ita real nature was ascertained. He had been shot in the upper part of the chest, close to the shoulder, and the bullet had lodged in and broken his shoulder-bone. It was a dangerous wound, though both the medical men declared not a fatal one, unless the young Lord sank through fever or weakness. But it was so serious that Lady Blenkonsop gave up all idea of returning to her home until the crisis was passed. She therefore sent her carriage back to Greystone Lodge, which her husband, General Sir Charles Blenkensop, had taken for a season while he commanded in the neighbourhood ; and she entrusted her coaohman with a letter to Sir Oh»rle3. Let u=> read this characteristic epistle, and understand the somewhat grim smile with which the General did so.

‘ Dear. Charles, —I drove this afternoon over here (to Wrothsley) for the purpose which I mentioned to you this morning at breakfast, namely, to try to get a situation for Nancy Lofbus. I found everything in o -nfusion, for the young Lord had just been discovered, it was feared, in a dying condition in one of the thickets of the Park. Ladp Gilmore’s distress was so great that it seemed almost to deprive her of reason, and I trust I was able to be of some little help to her. He was bleeding to death from a bullet wound when I reached him, and no one had had the sense to try to stop the hemorrhage. I succeeded in doing this, and we had him carried to the Castle, and I telegraphed for Sir James Thompson and Mr Lyhnrst, whom I thought were the two most eminent men I could choose. They came down from town by a fast train, but it took them three hours, and they did not arrive until nine o’clock. By this time Gilmore had gained a little strength, and the doctors were able to give an opinion on his condition. He is dangerously, but we hope not fatally wounded, and though from its nature the injury might have Seen self-inflicted, it is of course quite impossible to believe that it was. Gilmore has too many of this world’s good gifts to wish to quit it. He is young, rich, and handsome, and was not at all likely—for he is self-indulgent and selfish, I am told—to cause himself suffering and pain. And also no revolver was found near the spot where he lay ; but something very significant I think was. I will tell you more of this when I see you, for at present I think it is my duty to remain with poor Lady Gilmore, who really requires some sensible person to be with her. I hope also to be able to arrange about Nancy Loftus earning here as governess to the twin girls. They are old-fashioned little things, but pretty, and not in the least like their mother. Nancy will just suit them, I think, and Lady Gilmore can well afford to give her an excellent salary, which will be a great help to Mrs Loftns. ‘ I shall be pleased to hear from you, or see you if you have time to come over.' And I remain, your affectionate wife, ‘Margaret Blenkensop.’ Lady Blenkensop having despatched this letter and presided at a late dinner for the two London doctors, and settled that one of them was to remain all night at Wrothsley, and that Sir James Thompson was to return in the morning as they then contemplated the extraction of the bullet, and having also telegraphed to town for two professional nurses, about eleven o’clock again found her way to the yonng lord's room. It waa in semi-darkness, and the mother and the country doctor still were there, and Gilmore had sank into a restless slumber, and was murmuring uneasily in his dreams. Suddenly he half started and gave a cry. ‘Alice ! Alice !’ he uttered in a plaintive voice of pain, and as the womans name passed his lips, his mother’s brow contracted, and Lady Blenkensop silently watching her, saw her small hands clench and her pale face grow whiter still.

CHATTER IV. TRe New Governess. Thn next few days were spent by Lady Gilmore in a miserable state of suspense between hope and fear. The bullet was extracted from Gilmore’s shoulder safely, but a slight attack of fever set in, and even the doctors admitted to Lady Blenkensop that his position was extremely precarious Thev did not tell the poor mother this, but with the deep, strange instinct of love she understood it, and watched night and day by his bed—her eyes, wistful and pathetic, fixed ever on his face. He was delirious at times, and again and again addressed some imaginary person he called ‘ Alice.’ He had talked of other scenes, too ; wild hours of debauchery and riot, and Lady GilmOre listening, bowed her head down upon the bed, and offered many a silent prayer. She brought her crucifix there also, and hung it by his head, kneeling before it and asking for his life with an intensity of passion and faith which was utfcerably touching. Her two little girls, Dossy and Flossy, seemed at this time to be totally forgotten by her. She neither asked after them nor saw them, but Lady Blenkensop paid frequent visits to the sohoolroom, and one day ventured to speak to Lady Gilmore about Nonoy Loftus. ‘Your little girls should have some lady to look after them, don’t you think ?’ she suggested. ‘I can think of nothing now but of him,’ answered Lady Gilmore, looking towards the Open door, which led to Lord Gilmore’s bedroom. The two ladies were in an anteroom where Lady Gilmore took her hasty meals, and lay occasionally down for an hour’s disturbed rest, and she and Lady Blenkensop were now drinking some tea. ‘Of course, your anxiety is most natural, though I hope it will soon be over,’ said Lady Blenkenson, kindly, ‘ but the3e children really ought to have a governess. I wish you would let me engage one for you. I know an extremely nice girl, well-born, and wall-educated, who through the sad and sudden death of her father is compelled to do something for a living.’ ‘Do you know her? Is she a friend of yours?’ asked Lady Gilmore with interest

* I know her well; have known her since she was a child, and her father, Colonel Loftus, was a great friend of my husband’s, and was killed, poor man, quite lately, while out pig-sticking in India, and I am sorry to say has left bis wife and family in poor circumstanoas. But this girl, Nancy, who is a nice-looking, lady.like girl, is most anxious to do something to assist her mother; and as you happen to be without a governess I wish you would try her.’ * She is a friend of yours, that is enough,’ said Lady Gilmore with a sudden gush of impulsive gratitude, rising and clasping Lady Blenkensop’s hand. ‘ Do you think I forget what you did for my boy ? But for you—oh, I dare, I dare not talk of it—engage this young lady, of course, if you wish it, and give her whatever salary you think proper ; 1 leave it entirely in your hands, and I thank you very much for thinking about the poor children.’. ' Would you think one hundred a year too much ?’ asked Lady Blenkensop, who was prompt and practical, and knew that Lady Gilmore was very rich. * Certainly not j more if you like—but hush—did Gilmore speak then ? And as Bhe spoke Lady Gilmore stole quietly across the room, and went to the open bedroom door in an attitude of intent attention. She stood listening thus for a few moments, and then, with a silent gesture of excuse t > Lady Blenkensop, entered her sou’s room, and Lady Blenkeusop, after one or two minutes’ consideration, thought herself justified in writing to town to engage Nancy Loftus to be governess to the Honourable Misses Gilmore. She was very pleased to do this ; pleased because she had arranged the matter, she believed, very cleverly, and because her kind heart rejoiced to be able thus to assist the daughter of her old friends. * She ought to allow seventy-five pounds a year to her mother,’ she decided before sbe penned an epistle to Nancy ; * twenty-fiveis ample for the dross of a girl of her age. I shall give her a hint what she ought to do with her mone3 7 .’ And she gave Nancy this ‘hint’ in her usual pronounced and open way. She wrote to her from Wrothsley the same evening that she had spoken to Lady Gilmore, and told her how she happened to be staying at the eastle, describing, a 3 she had done to her husband, her own good services to the wounded lord. Then she came to the pith of her letter. ‘They say, however,’ she wrote, ‘that good often springs from evil, and in that case it certainly has done so. The assistance I was fortunately able to render to Lord Gilmore, has won for me the extreme gratitude of his mother, who is devoted to him, and I have availed mvself of this feeling to procure a most excellent situation for you. On my recommendation alone Lady Gilmore has agreed to engage you as a governess to her two little girls, at the very handsome salary of one hundred a year. I am very pleased about this arrangement,- dear ' Nancy, because out of this sum you will be able materially to assist your mother ; as five-and-twenty pounds a year will be ample for your personal expenses here. I wish you, therefore, to come to Wrothsley at once—shall we settle to-day week?—as I shall then still be here to receive you, and induct you into your new duties. To prevent any worries or expenses to your mother about your dress or train fares, I enclose a cheque for twenty pounds, which I hope you will accept from your old friend, with her best love. I am very glad indeed to have been able to do so well for you, as I had a great respect and regard for your dear father, and the tone of 'your latter also pleased rae, and 1 feel sure you will do credit to my recommendation. With love to your mother, I remain* sincerely yours, ‘ Margaret Blenkensop.’ This letter, indited in Lady Blenkensop’s firm, clear handwriting, duly arrived at the little house in the north-western suburb, where poor Mrs Loftus and her children ■were still drinking the bitter cup of sorrow. More than a week had elapsed since Nancy had written to Lady Blenkeusop about pro-

curing a situation for her, and Nanoy had begun to think that her father and mother’s friend had perhaps rued of the offer she had made to endeavour to do so. Therefore," Lady Blenkensop’s letter was welcome, for Nancy saw very plainly that she Obhld not afford to live at home. This fact had been pointed out to her, also, by her late father’s only sister, Airs Barclay, or ‘ Aunt Fannie,’ as this lady was very generally called in the small household. Mrs Barclay was the widow of a naval officer, and had been abroad at the time when the news of Colonel Loftus 1 sudden and untimely death readhed England. It was a shock to her, and disturbed her so much that she broke through the easy tenor of her ordinary life sufficiently to return to London and condole with her brother’s broken-hearted widow. But though she felt very sorry for the bereaved woman and her fatherless children, knowing well the pinched circumstances they must bo in, Bhe bad no idea of sparing any of her own small hut comfortable income for their benefit. ‘I have just enough to live on, you know, Lucy, so I can do nothing for the children,’ she told Mr? Loftus ; ‘ and the heat thing Nancy can do is to find a situation, and I am very glad to hear that she is trying to do so.’ Poor Mrs Loftus winced terribly at this advice regarding Nancy's future. ‘ Her handsome Nancy, of whom her dear father had been sc proud,’ she thought, sorrowfully. She had secretly hoped that perhaps Mrs Barclay would take one of the girls, for her sister-in-law led on the whole a very pleasant life. She Mved in a private hotel or boarding-houso, at Queen’s Gate, when she was in town, and she went abroad in winter, and paid visits amoug her friends in the antumu, and took the greatest possible care of herself always. If she had now consented to live with Mrs Loftus, their united incomes would have maintained the little family in comfort, but Mrs Barclay never for a moment contemplated such a self-sicrifice. ‘ I cannot bear the noise of children,’ she confided to a friend ; * poor Mrs Loftus would have liked me to remain with them. I believe, and, of course, sharo the expenses, but I could not stand the worry ; and young people, t go, are always wanting something, and I really have no money to spare on them—but I am very sorry for them, poor things !’ But a week spent in the melancholy household was about enough for Mrs Barclay, and she was just considering what excuse she could make to leave London and its fogs and gloom behind her, when Ladv Blenkensop’a letter arrived for Nancy. This was duly shown to her, and ‘ Aunt Fannie’ was delighted with its contents. ‘ It’s a splendid chance for you, my dear,’ she said, ‘ and one which you would never have had if Sir Charles and Lady Blenkensop had not respected your poor dear father as they did. And how kind of Lady Blenkensop to send twenty pounds ! And, of course, you can easily spare seventy-five pounds a year to your mother out of your salary of a hundred ; why, it will almost double her income ; I am so glad !’ Nancy’s pretty colour deepened, but she did nob speak. * But how can I leave poor mother when she is so weak ?’ she said a moment later. Unless you, Aunt Fannie, could stay on with her for a little whils ?’ she added looking wistfully at the stout comfortable woman before her, with her soft dark eyes. ‘ My dear, it is impossible, these fogs are killing me,’ answered Mrs Barclay. * I had two coughing fits this morning, and felt quite depressed all yesterday with the darkness and heaviness of the atmosphere. And do nob talk about not leaving your mother, Nancy ! Why, what’s she to live on if you don’t leave her ?’ She must rouse herself and not give way any longer ; and you of course, must go to Lady Gilmore's on the very day that Lady Blenkensop names.’ So it was all settled for poor Nancy. Aunt Fannie went up to Mrs Loftus' bedroom, and talked 4 sensibly,’ pointing out how extremely lucky Nancy had been to procure such an excellent situation, arid what a great assistance seventy.five pounds a year would be to herself. ‘ And who knows,’ added Aunt Fannie, warming with her subject, ‘ that Nancy may not even marry well yet? She’s a goodlooking girl, and would have had no chance living in little poky rooms with you, but in a place like Wrothsley Castle there are sure to be rich young men about; and then with Lady Blenkensop so near, too, and che general in charge of the district. I should not be very much surprised even if some man in the service was to pick her up.’ Mrs Loftus’ pallid cheeks (lushed, and her pale lips quivered, as she listened to this speech of her sister-in-law, which was spoken in perfect good faith and belief in its sense and kiudness. There stood Mrs Barclay, a little, stout woman, with a drabbishtiuted complexion, ordinary features, and somewhat watery, rather bloodshot, humorous grey eyes, talking to the refine.i fond mother, of her pretty daughter in these coarse words, thinking all the while she was helping to raise her sister-in-law’s spirits, and really pleased with herself for doing so! . Ard Mrs Loftus dare not retort. The miserable, humiliating want of money kept her silent, for Aunt Fannie had her small, but certain income of five hundred a year in her own power, and who but her brother’s children were likely to inherit it ? Therefore, In the interest oE these children their mother was tongue-tied, and Aunt Fannie got her own way about Nancy. ‘ It would be selfish, my dear Lucy, really intensely selfish,’ argued the little woman, ‘ to keep the girl one day later at home than the day Lady Blenkensop has fixed for her to go. It is her chance in life, and if we throw away that we never get another ; and then Lady Blenkensop’a kindness in sending the money prevents any bother about raising it.’ And Mrs Loftus stifled back the feelings of her heart —to part with Nancy, thesweet, bright girl who had mourned with her, comforted her, loved her—made her vet freßh bitter grief more bitter still. But it had to be borne, and Mrs Loftus tried to bear it as bravely as her poor, week nature could. Aunt Fannie at last agreed to stay a

week or so after Nancy left; at least, she said she would do this by way of consoling Nancy about leaving her mother ; and she took her niece out to buy what she required, of course with Lady Blenkensop’s money, and even presented Nanoy with a boa, which was a little worn, as she saw a new one which she thought would suit herself better. And thus the days passed, until the one Came—Only too soon—when Nancy and her mother were forced to part. It is sad even to write of these last tearful kisses ; to tell how these two clasped each other’s hands in silent pain. Nancy utterly broke down, and clung to her mother, until Aunt Fannie was forced to interfere, anti tell Nancy some hard home truths ; reminding her she would lose her train if she wasted any more time ; and so, pale and trembling, the poor girl drew back from her fond mother’s arms. ‘ Write Constantly, darling tell your mother everything,’ whispered Mrs Loftns. ‘Come, my dear, we shall hardly reach Paddington as it is,’ urped Aunt Fannie, watch in hand, and a few minutes later, for the first time in their lives, Nancy and her mother separated. Fancy scarcely heard all the good advice which her aunt poured so volubly into her ears on the way to the station. Such sentences as ‘ Be sure you lose no opportunity of expressing your gratitude to Lady Blenkensop ; be very deferential in your manner to Lady Gilmore ’ were quite wasted on her, for Nancy was thinking of her poor mother, of her dear father’s sad death, and the great' and terrible changes which had happened to them all. And after Aunt Fannie had kissed her, and’placed her safely in a second-class railway carriage, and the train began speeding away from the din and smoke of the great oity, to sombre, country winter scenes ; past quiet homes standing amid green fields, Nancy was still thinkng of the one she had just left. She was going into the world alone; going among strangers, and all her future was doubtful and uncertain, and the girl felt afraid and sad. For good or evil, how would it end ? Well might her heart beat fast ana her face grow pale, for the life-journey she was beginning was fated to be no smooth one, ami athwart the days to come a dark and tragic shadow fell.

(To be continued.)