TWICE LOST.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1095, 24 February 1893, Page 8

TWICE LOST.

A TALE OF LOVE AND FORTUNE is

BY RICHARD DOWLING, Author of 1 A Hidden Flame,’ ' Fatal Bonds,’ 'Tempest Driven,’ 'A Baffling Quest,’ &c.

[copyright.]

CHAPTER XXIX.— The Engagement Ring that was Gold.

It was a busy time with John Crane, and at first when the new consideration of Pollie Jeaters’ future had to be faced he felt as though all he had to do before leaving for America could not be accomplished in the time. Nothing was to be gained by delay. The documents in connection with the loan from Wrighton and Fry on the Yiaduct and the deed of partnership between himself and Ben Sherwin could be got ready within a week; his own preparations for the voyage could be completed at the same time, so there was nothing to prevent his leaving England in ten days.

He was going to New York first, and there he was to find out the best way of reaching Yera Pax, a place of which he could learn little or nothing, He had ascertained that such a place existed, but no one seemed to know anything of it. If it had been a seaport he could have found out all that was to be known of it, but it lay inland somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Yucatan peninsula. At one time it bore to him the appearance of a district, at another the appearance of a town, and then of a district and a town in one. Even its very name did not always seem the same. His memory of his uncle’s letter made the place Yera Pax ; he found no Vera Pax on several maps he consulted. On one lie discovered VeraPazand another had Santa Pax, which looked an impossible kind of name for any place or thing, except the nominator was a joker or a lunatic. The news of his uncle’s death, and the intelligence that Arthur Stebbing left all he died worth to John Crane, his nephew, had come from one George Pounder Crook, of whom Crane had never heard of in all his life before. Crook, who seemed to have been a friend of the dead man’s, wrote evidently in the belief that uncle and nephew had corresponded, and that Crane knew all about the old man and his affairs; instead of which Crane had received no letter for three years, and knew only what his uncle’s letter of three years back had told him. Crook’s letter had the "brevity of a telegram. It was written at San Salvador. It told the young man that the writer was on his way to Shanghai. The part of interest to Crane ran : 'lf you have not heard the melancholy news already you will be shocked to know that your uncle Arthur passed away last Friday week in Yera Paz. I have often heard him say that everything he possessed was to go to you. Owing to the condition of this unhappy place you can do nothing towards establishing your rights or getting possession of the property unless you are on the spot, so that you will have to come here, and the sooner you set out the better,’ *

Crane was not daunted or discouraged by the difficulties in front of him. His resolute and confident nature did not care for easy things. He did not seek obstacles for the mere pleasure ot overcoming them, but when the obstruction was worth overcoming he merely pulled himself together and began the assault. He had no promptings towards adventure as adventure, but having made up his mind that it was good to go on, and that it was possible to go on, he would go on so long as he continued undisabled. His uncle had left him some property or money, or both. He wanted money to develop his business with a view to marrying Edith Orr, and be would go to Yera Paz or anywhere else that man could go for this money. He was young, intelligent, and in sound health. Nothing short of physical bar should stay him. No doubt the journey and the experience would interest him, but such considerations were by the way, and had no influence in determining him to set out on the expedition. The unexpected discovery of Pollie Jeaters (or as she wished to be known for the future, Fannie Blackwood), in her deplorable condition introduced new matter into his considerations and arrangements. Fortunately he could provide tho best of all asylums for her. Where could a poor wrecked being find safer haven and more kindly hands of succour iff distress than at Muscovy Place, with kindly, sympathetic Mrs Orr, and her beautiful daughter, whose full spirit had the calm of sunny hills. Until the evening that Crane proposed to Edith Orr there had never been a word of the private life of either between them. Since then they had so many matters of the present and future to discuss that Pollie Jeaters’ name had not been mentioned by Crane. He was glad of the fact now, for if Pollie desired to be called no longer by either of her old names, it would be just as well Edith had never heard of her by either.

The morning after his meeting with Pollie at Mrs Natchbrook’s he told Edith of the cousin he had not seen or heard of for years, and of the deplorable condition and circumstances in which he had found her. ‘ The unhappy woman,’ said be, ‘ does not wish ever again to be reminded of her life before her marriage, or of her married life, and she has begged me never again to call her by her maiden name, or by that of the man who I am sure treated her too shamefully for words to say. She wishes to be known as Fannie Blackwood, the name of one of her family long ago. ‘Of course,’ said Edith, gravely, ‘if I ever meet her I shall know her as Fannie Blackwood, and I shall be acquainted with no more of her story than she cares to tell me.’

‘ Then,’ said he, 1 if you will put on your hat we shall go and see her at once. I told her about you and she is anxious to make your acquaintance.’ Edith ran out of the shop upstairs, and came back in a few minutes ready for walking. ‘ By the way.’ said Crane to Mrs Orr before they set out, ‘ has your lodger come back since 1 ’ ‘No,’ said the mother, ‘ and somehow I feel lie won’t come back now. Perhaps he heard that his portmanteau burst open and we found the rope for the robbery.’ * I don’t think it is likely he heard that,’ said Crane. ‘ I did not tell anyone of it, or go to the police. You see we had nothing but our suspicions, and it is very dangerous to act on mere suspicion. If he comes you must say that he can’t have the rooms. Then

let him take his legal remedy if hd chooses.’

* Oh, he’s sure to come or send; He is not going to make us a present of his watch as well as the portmanteau. What I meant by his not coming was that he will not claim the lodgings.’ 1 If he does, whether 1 am here or not, you must refuse to let him in. From what I saw of him he does not look like a man likely to have honest business in this place. He looks to me too much of a fop for Furham. The clerks in the Arsenal would no more think of taking lodgings in Muscovy Place than of going to sea before the mast. Edward Fancourt, take my word for it, is hereabouts for no good to this neighbourhood.’ The day was fine, and Edith suggested that for a change Crane and she should walk to Yerdon and take the free steam ferry to the Isle of Dogs. The steam ferry at the Isle of Dogs is a diminutive river boat which takes passengers alone. It is no more like the Furham ferry, with huge upperdeck capable of accommodating the horses, men, guns, limbers, caissons, and tumbrels of a battery of artillery, and low deck with room for a battalion of infantry, than a gazelle is like an elephant. ‘ I never went across Ihe river by the Yerdon ferry,’ said Crane, ‘ and I am not sure that I know where it is.’ * Oh, I’ve been across it,’ said she. ‘ I’ll take care of you and show you the way.’ ‘ My'bousin is in a low and wretched condition, as you may imagine. She has no look of the pretty girl I once remember her—and she was downright pretty once. She is very young to be done with her life. There never was a child, and I don’t see what she has to look forward to.’ 1 What was she before she married 1 ’ said the girl, looking with calm steadfast eyes at him. ‘ In a draper’s or milliner’s Bhop at Hoxton. It is most unfortunate that I should be going away just now. I have time to make no arrangements about her ’ * Let her come to us—to mother and me at Muscovy Place.' ‘ I did think of that. I came over this morning with the intention of asking you if you would take her. If she might stay with you I should go away perfectly at rest about her. She is only my cousins I know, but then she is my only living relative now, and if she has been cast eff by her husband there is no one else for her to look to but me.’

‘ Why do you take such trouble to convince me 1 I do not need convincing, Jack. I was convinced the moment I heard her history,’ said tho girl, quietly. ‘ I know that. lam not trying to convince you. lam only talking my mind aloud. You see, when my uncle died and left me all and her nothing, he made his will in the belief I was not well off, and that she had married a rich man. Whether her husband was, or is rich, does not matter now, for she says she will never even listen to his name again. It is not likely she would take an allowance from a man whose name she will not hear. If my uncle had only lived to know of her misfortunes, it is certain he would have done something handsome for her—leave her half, or move than half. I shall take care thashe will be no worse off than if he had lived to hear of her misery.’ ‘ Yes, Jack,’ said the girl, on his arm. ‘ I would have said something of this kind to you, but I knew I need not. I knew you would think of all I could think of. You are not so much speaking your thoughts aloud as giving words to mine.’

‘ Yes, dear, for you are my heart, and speaking to you is only putting my niind into words for my heart to listen to. That is the way sweethearts ought to be.’

‘We go this way,’ said the girl, leading the way to the right. It was a quiet street.' Not a soul was in view. A coveved van stood at a door a little way down the street, but the driver was not with it. When the two lovers got between the van and the door, Crane put his arm softly round the girl’s neck and drew her head towards him, whispering as he kissed her, ‘ My darling, I always knew you were my heart, but you are growing to be my spirit, my body, myself.’ He kissed her again. ‘Not so loud, sonny, not so loud. You’ll frighten my horse,’ said a voice.

Edith and Crane started and turned round, and saw a huge man coming from the doorway in front of which the

van was drawn up. The man had a large basket of dust and charred rubbish on his back. Edith and Crane laughed in confusion. The roan winked and nodded knowingly, saying, ‘ I won’t tell ma if you don’t tell any of the blessed authorities. You didn’t expect to find ate here, and I didn’t expect to find you or anyone else here. Young man, you’re all right. You got what you wanted down here. Well, I'm trying to earn a dollar. I’m sweeping and cleaning up this old barracks. It’s against rules, but I was going to heave this basket of rubbish in the river. It’s only burnt paper and rags and if you don’t tell on me I won’t tell ina on you, and my name is Digby. and I’m an honourable man.’ ‘ Yery good,’ said Crane. * It’s a bargain. I won’t tell.’ They had been walking down the quiet street behind Digby. At the end of the street rose a railing, and to tho left lay a parapet, and at the other side of the parapet the Thames. Digby rested his basket on the parapet and flung the charred contents into the river. ‘What is that large building out of which the man with the basket came ? ’ asked Crane. ‘ Oh, [that’s the St Yincent Hotel. You know it was a failure and has been shut up far years.’ ‘1 think I remember reading something about it,’ said, he glancing over the parapet at the mass of floating charred paper and rags in the water. He looked up and down Museum Terrace. There was not a soul in view. ‘By the way,’said Crane, ‘I have made something for you. Take off your glove—the glove of your left hand.’ She did as she was told, On the third finger of her hand he slipped a plain gold ring with a gold shield, and on the shield the v/ords, ‘This woman keeps my heart. John Crane.’ She read what was on it, and her eyes filled with tears. ‘ You are what my mother called you,’ she said. ‘ What was that 1 ’ ‘ My man.’ To hide her happy tears from him she turned her eyes once more upon «■ the waters. The ashes of Pollie Stebbing’s wed-ding-dress had disappeared. CHATTER XXX.— The Wedding Ring that was Dross. When Edith and Crane reached Mrs Natchbrook’s they found that good woman wearing a long and woeful face. The young lady, who now gave the name of Fannie, instead of Pollie, was not as well as before the gentleman called yesterday. No doubt the excitement of the gentleman’s visit had been too much for the poor broken-hearted child. Oh, yes, the lady and gentleman could see Mrs Blackwood (she had now given her other name), but it was doubtful if any good could come of the interview, for the poor afflicted creature’ could hardly be induced to utter a word. When the two visitors were shown into the room where the patient lay they found her in her old position, on her back with her eyes fixed on the blank ceiling. She merely moved her eyes on their entrance, and then once more returned to her stare at the ceiling. ‘ I have brought Edith with me to . see you, Fannie, dear. I told you of Edith Orr, whom I am going to marry when I come back. She and her mother will take care of you while lam away.’ Edith had sat down by the head of the bed and taken the sick woman’s hand in her own. ‘ Yes,’ said a thin, weak, husky voice from the bed. ‘ And to-day, or the first day you are r strong enough to be moved, you will be brought to Edith and her mother’s place at the other side of the water.’ ‘ Where V said the prostrate woman, removing her eyes from the ceiling and looking at her visitors with the first gleam of interest. ‘Muscovy Place, Furham.’ ‘Near Verdon?’ said Polly, raising herself slowly on her elbow, and glancing from one to the other with round wide-open eyes of horror. ‘Yes.’ She sat up fully, and with one hand brushing the hair out of her eyes, stretched out the other towards them and whispered, ‘ I’d rather you put me back in the river where they found me than take me to Furham or Verdon.’ ‘ But, my dear/ said he gently, ‘ you

would be with friends and you need be afraid of no one there.’

‘At Verdon or Furham my enemies would kill me, slowly, surely, cruelly.’ ‘Your enemies, dear. They could not get at you. I should leave you in safe and most trustworthy hands,’ said Crane with a secret glance at Edith.

‘Not all the soldiers of the Queen could save me from the enemies I have in Verdon and Furham. Can you or anyone else protect a woman from the memories of a lost love V

‘ You shall not go there if you do not like, my dear,’ said Crane, very tenderly. ‘ You shall stay here, or you shall come to my place at this side of the river, or you shall go to some other district if you prefer it.’ ‘ I wish/ Pollie said, falling back exhausted, ‘ I could go beyond all, for I have gone beyond all. My life is over. My love has left me. My life is dead.’ ‘Jack has told me all,’ said Edith, speaking for the first time, ‘ except what you do not wish told to any one. Let us hope love may come back.’ ‘ What dies once never comes back to life again—love least of all. But I do not wish to speak of this now. I do not wish to speak of it any more. It is good of you to come to me, for I am a poor spent thing. You are at the beginning of life, and I am at the end of it.’

‘ The end of life ! Oh, no ! Why, you are no older than myself. You will live many a year yet.’ ‘ I have no child, and the man who took me in his arms for love’s sake has pushed me from him. Ho does not want me any longer. He is tired of me. He may love another. Ido not care about that. You love your sweetheart, and he loves you. He is with you in your nature, like your marrow or your soul, or the blood of your heart. That is the way I loved him any way. Do you love less?’ ‘ No/ whispered Edith, pressing the hand she held and blinded with her tears.

' Very well. If you love until love is aU the world, and your love is all you, and then your love goes from yr u, what business have you with life ? What is the good of walking up and down through life hungry for love, empty for love. I talk to you, for you are a woman in love, and know what I say, or you are no woman and worthy of no man’s love. I have no intellect, I know. I have no breeding, I know. I have no arts, or manners, or accomplishments. I had nothing but the power to love, and some few good looks to draw eyes to me. I was weak in all things but in love, and in love I seemed stronger than anything only human could be. In love I seemed stronger than all things put together. I did believe that by some mysterious power of my love (the way of which I did not know), my love could draw him to me from the other end of the earth, could put life back into him again if he were dead. And yet when he tired of me he walked away from me like any other man. Edith Orr, pray night and day that the man you love may never walk away from you and leave you empty.’ ‘ Oh, he could not,’ said Edith Orr. * I should hold him back. -I should beg him on my knees to stay with me.’ ‘A man/said the voice from the bed, ‘ can walk away if every step he took drew your heart’s blood from you. I know it. Men are not like women. No woman who can love at all can love twice. My head is reeling. I can see no daylight now. Is the sun gone out? Or am I in the dim darkness of that hall again ? I hear the water in my ears. 'J he water of the hateful Thames. The pit lies before me, and something moves me towards it from behind. Frank, save me !’ She had fainted. Crane stole out of the room and sent Mrs Natchbrook upstairs. In half an hour that good woman come down saying Mrs Blackwood had come to herself, and appeared more reasonable and natural than at any time since she first found shelter under that roof.

‘ She asked your young lady to kiss her and forget what she had said, and it was beautiful to see the two of them like most loving sisters after one coming back from foreign parts, a place they tell me your going, sir, among the niggers, sir, and them that ought to be niggers, if all kept to their own, and didn’t take the daughters of others to rival them/ said Mrs Natchbrook, with a distracting wealth of confusion. While Crane was waiting for Edith lie explained the difficulty he found himself in about Fannie, and after some resistance on the generous woman's part, came to a business arrangement,

by which Polly was to be provided with clothes, and food, and lodgings, all of the good woman’s providing, until his return from among the haunts of the heathen savages of Ceni ral America. When Edith appeared she promised to call next day to see the patient again, and then the visitors took their leave, having won the good graces of Mrs Natchbrook. ‘That was a terrible scene/ said Crane as they walked towards his place in North Furham. ‘lt would make many a woman on whose finger the engagement ring was not yet warm wonder whether she had not better fling it into the Thames.’ ‘lt might have such an effect on a woman who did not very well know her own mind or the mind of her own man/ said Edith, soberly. ‘ I am not in doubt of either.’ ‘All misfortunes in love come of wrong estimates of one another/ said Crane. ‘All,’ said she. ‘lf I were not absolutely sure of myself, Edie, I never would have spoken to you.’ ‘ And/ said she, ‘if there was any flattery in the way you spoke to me I should not have been sure of our happiness. I remember seeing somewhere that when unwise people come to London to seek their fortunes they take rooms on the first floor; they end in the garret. The wise people begin in the garret and end in the first floor. Yon began with the prose, Jack ; but it was the fine simple prose of a man who was not afraid of himself or in 3oubt of himself.’ ‘Do you know what you. are doing now, Edie?’ ‘ What ?’ ‘ Making love to me.’ ‘ I dare say,’ said she, with a bright smile. ‘As you do not begin I must lead the way, Life is not all rain any more than it is all sunshine.’ ‘ All life is beautiful to the sober mind/ said he, solemnly. ‘ All life is love/ said she, ‘ where life is worthy.’ When they reached Water Lane, Ben Sherwin was very indignant that in the absence of any warning of their coming he should be found unshaven, wearing his apron and with greasy and blackened hands. ‘ Honest toil/ said he, ‘is a fine thing to write about, but I don’t think anyone bothers much to praise honest dirt. The horny-handed sod is, no doubt, a worthy fellow, but even in a circus I don’t think anyone ever tried to get applause out of the black handed, fish oil fist of the watchmaker.’ Crane put Edith aboard the great ferry boat, and, as he was bidding her good-bye, said, ‘Now I am going to plunge into the full tide of ray preparations for going, dear. You are not likely to see too much of me between this and the time I start. I hope you will not come to think when I return that you see too much of me then. Anyway, acting on your principle of beginning in the garret and opening love with prose, you and I are going to have our first separation before marriage.’ * Our first and only ?’ said she, with a smile ‘ Ay/ he said, slowly. He had not recovered from the effects of poor Pollie’s words. ‘I am not, as you know, an heroic soul. But I think I deserve credit for one thing,—for one great piece of courage.’ ‘ What is that ?’ ‘ I am not likely to be tempted to wander in my mind while I am away. I am not the kind of man that women make love to. lam not good-looking, and I fear lam a trifle heavy. Don’t you think I am doing a very heroic thing in leaving you behind me.’ ‘Do you know what you are doing now, Jack ?’ ‘What?’ ‘Making love to me,’ and with a low laugh she shook her bead at him and tripped about the great grimy ferryboat. As the boat moved away from the shore a man came towards her and raised his hat, saying, ‘ How fortunate I am to meet Miss Orr.’ ‘ Oh, Mr Fancourt, you startled me/ said she, with a sudden loss of her good spirits and serenity. ‘ I am on my way/ said he, airily, ‘to take up my new lodgings at 8, Muscovy Place,’ (To be continued.)

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