THE GIRL WHO WAS STRANDED.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1611, 14 January 1903, Page 10

THE GIRL WHO WAS STRANDED.

CHAPTER I. “If you please, cap you tell me the way to IsleAvorth? The girl Avha asked the question Avas cycling on the dusty road from Staines to Twickenham, and she looked tired. Tiie last rays of the setting sun rested upon her slender figure in its light cycling frock. “I can. You aaull have to ride through Twickenham. I aahC'l show you the Avay, as I am going there." “Thanks, very much." For a little Avhile they cycled on. side by side. Then the man said gently, “I am afraid you are rather tired." “Yes, I am. I can scarcely sit ont mv machine. I have been to Windsor." “From Isleworth P" “Yes." “And I dare say you have not had much to eat?" “I have had a little fruit, a couple of bananas. I did not care about eating." “That is the way with. ladies," said Ralph Darrell. “They drink tea and eat a little fruit when they ought to have a good square meal, and then are surprised Avlien their strength give® out!"

“Hoav "well you know us!" exclaimed the girl, looking into his face. Such a kind face it Avas! She felt sure he w r as a good mail and true. A sudden impulse to confide in him, strangeir though he was, caused her to add, with a little sigh, “besides, I hadn’t any money to waste over luxuries."

Darroll glanced at her with concern. The look in her young face expressed more than mere fatigue. "Necessaries are fiat luxuries,” he said gently, and then bent over his handle-bar to do something at his hell, foa; the tears had come into her eyes. "I am in a rather awkward predicament,” she said, dashing her tears away and making an effort to speak calmly. "The truth is I came over from New York to some friends of my late father, who were under an obligation to him, but they appear to have forgotten it, and have given me the cold shoulder. Besides, one of them, has got hold of the little money I had, so that I cannot return to America, and the fact is I am rather stranded out here.” She ended with a little sob. Darroll uttered an exclamation. For a moment or two he did not speak, then he said earnestly, "My dear young lady, this must be looked into. I am glad you met with me. I will see you righted.” "You?” She looked at him incredulously. ‘You do not know me. Why, should you do this?” "I feel for you. Tho fact is, I returned myself, not long since, Australia, and I met with the cold

shoulder at first. It—it wasn’t a pleasant experience.” “I can’t imagine anyone treating you to the cold shoulder,” said the girl, “and if they did, I shouldn’t think you would feel it.” “Why? Do I look so hard?” <( You look so strong. Head and shoulders above most people.”

Ralph was silent. Casting about in his mind'how he could best assist her, he knit his brows a little, as was his habit when perplexed.

The girl feared that she had spoken too freely, and that he was annoyed. “I’ve an American habit,” she said, “of blurting out everything I think. I hope you don’t mind?” “Mind? No, of course not”; then he continued, “Resides, I shouldn’t he a man if I did not like to be strong, yes, and to appear so. I want to he your friend, and to do what I can to help you.”

“It is very good of you,” began the girl, but he cut her short. “Not at all. I’m a man of no occupation. That is to say, I have both .leisure and inclination to help other less fortunate people out of their troubles.” “I begin to think I have met with a Knight Errant, n said the girl, with a beautiful smile. “Not at all. Just a plain man, at your service. But now we entering Twickenham, and the traffic is a bar to conversation. Will you tell me your name and address, and my wife shall call upon you? Or perhaps it would be better if you will call upon her.” “Yes,” Said the girl, “thank you, I think that, would be better. You see, I have not a house of my own, or a position in which I can receive visitors. Tlvo fact is ” “Take oar©!”

A motor oar whizzed past them, with its suite of dust. The girl swerved, but held on to her handle, and the next moment continued, “The fact is, I am acting as a secretary .and companion, just to pay for my board and lodging. That is why I. have been to Windsor. The people I am staying with lent me a machine that I might gcr there to Jock into the state of some cottage proper ty.”

“£to you have had to act as unsalaried agent to these people 'who have seized your money!” “It is only one of them who has borrowed the money. He made me promise not to tell the others.” “Cad!” ejaculated Ralph Darroll. “Well,” he continued, “I will see you on the Isleworth road. Then I must return home, for my wife will he expecting me. We shall see you at our place ta-in arrow.” He handed her his card as he spoke.

The girl took it with her left hand, and stuck it into her belt as she rode on. She could not read it without stopping, and wanted to speed on her way. “I have not my card with me,” she said. “But I will bring one with me to-morrow, when I oal'l upon Mrs —- —” He did not supply the name, being engaged just then in negotiating some heterogenous traffic. - “This is the Isleworth road,” he said at last', when they had turned their backs on Twickenham. “There are plenty of people about, so that you will not he lonely. All you have to do is to ride straight on.” “Thank you very much.” “Good-night. Don’t lose my card.” “No. - I hare it safe. Good-night.” CHAPTER 11. /. After leaving Ralph Darrell the girl cycled on quickly until she reached the beginning of Isleworth, when she turned in at a lodge gate, which stood open, and proceeded rapidly up the drive to the house, a handsome modern building ablaze with lights shining out into the gathering darkness.

“If you please, Miss,” said a page, who ran forward to take the cycle, “the mistress wishes you to go at once to Master Raymond.”

“Very well.” But the girl sighed as she entered the big hall. Amusing a crippled boy who had been spoilt and mismanaged from his infancy was not the least irksome of her multitudinous duties. As she crossed the hall a girl of about her own age already in evening dress, swept by her, with the words, “Date again, Mary! You’ll be reprimanded! The mater is in an awful rage!” “What am I to do?” asked Mary. “I am sent to Raymond, and have not time to dress for dinner.” “Go without, I suppose,” replied the other, shrugging her shoulders and passing on. . _ n Mary hurried upstairs, and then across a corridor to a passage, and along it until she reached a door whence proceeded the sound of shrill cries and noisy vociferations. “Master Raymond ! Master Raymond,, he quiet. You naughty boy!! The mistress will come, and will be so an a£ y ' care 11 I want Mary !! You bete chose! Mary ! Mary !” “I am here. . Oh, Raymond ! What did vau promise me?” “I can’t help it! I can’t be good. They should have given me straight

legs. These irons hurt me sol” and the hapless boy burst into tears. “Poor laddie!” Mary put her arms round him to lift him gently into a more comfortable position, deftly turning bis pillows as she did so.. “You must have patience,” she said. “The doctors say you will be cured in time.”

“In time! And I wonder bow long that will be?” -wailed the sufferer. “You’ve been such an age away, Mary!” he complained. “Master Raymond has been crying ■out fox you these last two hours,” said his nurse. “Now you have come, Miss, I suppose that I can go and have my tea.” “Yes. But you must send someone, for I cannot stay. It will ho dinnertime immediately, and I have to see Mrs Darroll. Oh, don’t Raymond, Give it to me back!” * The hoy had snatched the card out of her belt. “Shan’t!” he cried rudely. “You’vo stayed away from me a long while, and now I have something of yours I shall keep*it, just to. punish you,” and he crushed the card in his hand and thrust it behind him. “No, dear, givo it to me. Nurse, he must!” and Mary looked ground appealingly for help. But the woman had gone, and she was left alone with the child of eleven, who, having been neglected from babyhood by his worldly, unmotherly mother, was now undergoing a martyrdom in order to have his crooked limbs made straight. “You shan’t have it! You’re a nasty, selfish thing, staying out when I wanted you.” Mary tried by all the means in her power to induce him to give up the

card, but in vain. Raymond was obstinate to a degree, and she saw that, unless she used violence, she could not get the card from him. She was still making fruitless attempts when his mother entered. Mrs Gerald Darroll was dressed in a black satin gown cut low in the bodice, and wore an extremely long train. The expression of her face was one of peevish discontent, which was not belied by the peevish tones of her voice, as she began to ask many questions relative to the business upon which Mary had been sent to Windsor. Mrs Darrell, trusting no one, had commissioned the girl to examine the state of the property supposed. to be looked after by an agent. As soon as she was able to speak of anything else, Mary begged the mother to induce her son to give up the card. Raymond, however, having scanty respect for his parent, refused i>o> lictnd it over, and Mrs Darroll became curious about Mary’s evident anxiety to possess it. “What card is it?” she asked. “Only the card of a friend of mine — I want the address, which is on the “Don’t yon know it?” she asked. “No. The fact is, I have not read it yet. Oh, Raymond, I will play dominoes with you all the evening if you will give it up.” “And will you do everything I want yon as well?” the boy began, utilising the opportunity of making a bargain. But his mother interposed. “Mary, she said, more pleasantly than she had yet spoken, “you are very tired. Go to your room and change your dress, it is almost dinner-time. I wll get your card for you whilst you are away.” “No, you Won’t!” muittered Raymond.

But his mother took no heed. “Go at once, Mary,” she said. Seeing there was no help for it, Mary reluctantly left the room, and when she retunied in ten minutes it was to find Raymond alone crying violently. * “Where is your mother? Where is my card ?” she asked, ror some time in vain.

At last, however, the lad turned his wet and swollen face towards her, to answer, “She got it from me. I couldn’t help it! She beat me. I hate her. Oh ! oh ! oh !!” Mary tried to comfort him. What did your mother do with iny card?’ slio asked presently. “She tore —tore it up into hits, and then burnt them in the fireplace.” Mary was amazed. Why should she do that? “I heard her say it was the card of a man you must never meet,” sobbed Raymond. “Mary, don’t go! Don’t! Oh, Mary, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” But sho rang tho bell for a servant, and thon left him, and, hurrying down the stairs, met Mrs Gerald. Darroll crossing the hall to the diningroom, with her family and one or two guests. She gave Mary a contemptuous glance, and answered her unspoken question by saying “I destroyed .it .—for your sake. Ho is a most improper person. You must have nothing to do with him.” She s ,-ept on, and Mary was again stranded. “I hoped,” she said to herself afterwards, as she lay awake long in the silent hours of the night, “I hoped that I had found a friend to help me. But I have lost him now, lost him entirely, for I do not even know his

name. What shall Ido ? Oh, father, mother, in that land where you have gone, can you see the need and the great loneliness of your poor child?"” And again she sighed, “What shall I do? Oh, whatever shall 1 do?” And it seemed as if only the night wind answered, as it shook th© window panes and rattled down the chimney, while she turned over to weep again upon her pillow.

CHAPTER 111. Ralph Darroll was surprised and disappointed, because the young stranger in whom he was so interested never came to call upon his wife. Hawing no suspicion of the real state of the case he was afraid that, in spite of her innocent appearance, she could not verify the statements she Iliad made, and therefore feared to repeat them, and Mrs Darroll, iii whom he had confided, -was also of the same opinion. That the girl was in the house of his cousin, Gerald Darroll, the one man in the world who was his enemy, he never suspected, or he would have known that in all probability she was being kept away from him. _ Often, when cycling on the Staines road, or through Isleworth, he found himself looking involuntarily for the slim figure of the girl who was stranded. Yet in vain. She seemed to have vanished completely from the neighbourhood. One Saturday evening Ralph Dar-. roll’s son Tom, a medical student at St. George’s Hospital, came to him in a state of no little indignation. “What do you think, dad,” said he, “as _ I whs returining home iln th;e District Railway I accidentally .overheard a fellow, whom I recognised as my halfcousin Percy, boasting to another man that ho had chiselled a poor girl out

of ‘her money, and was making use of her pennilessness to -urge her to marry him secretly. The fellow was saying it all to the other man in French, in a low tone, too, and I suppose he thought as I was reading a newspaper, that I was not attending, but of course I understood ©very word.” Ralph uttered an exclamation of disgust. “Tho cad must be his father over again!” he said. “I have warned you, Tom, about (my cousin Geralidl. Ho Ly away, I believe, at Monte Carlo, as usual. But even if I have to go over to his house —a thing which I should hate to do —his son’s littie plot must he spoiled.” “I don’t think you need go to the iiouse, dad,” -returned Tom, “for I heard Percy say that the girl had promised to meet him in the Temperance House in Ivew Ga-rdehs, to-morrow, as soon as it is open, that is at on© o’clock.” “We must he there. Tom.”

“Yes. I thought you would say so.’' He glanced admiringly at 'his father, as he added, “You’re such a man, dad, for sticking up for the oppressed!” “I hope you will be, too, my lad'. You know,” Ralph added, “some people don’t think I am what is called a deeply religious man, for I cannot babble about creeds and all that sort of thing. I’m a plain man, and no preacher; it’s enough for me to try humbly to follow the example of Him who sought after those that were lost and picked up the lambs that fell down, and canted those which were weak. I can’t take them, straight through to Paradise, lad, as Ho did, and I can’t preach to them, I can only help them over a rough! place, pick a stone out of their way, strike a blow for them when it’s needed. and set them on their feet in the right road.” “It’s a great deal, dad. If mar© did it. there’d be less trouble in the world.” “Yes, yes. Well, we can’t do big things, but we must each do what we can.” Tom looked as if he could say much, but forbore; the shyness and reserve of early manhood wrapped him round. His father understood, however, and! nodded pleasantly as ho turned away. And if, just then, Ralph’s pride and pleasure in his first-born predominated over every other feeling, who can wonder ? The man was essentially a father. CHAPTER IV. “I have come, Mr Darroll. Have you brought the money?” Percy iDarroll nodded,. Then he said, rather shortly, “Sit down, we can have a talk her© without any fussing mothers or prying sisters to overhear. Sit down,” as he repeated the words he waved his hand 'towards a garden seat placed invitingly beneath, the shade of a Norfolk Island pine, in the huge conservatory know as The Temperance House in Kew Gardens. Mary White saa down. She was flushed, and apparently very nervous, her hands clasped and unclasped each other restlessly, the corners of her pretty mouth drooped. She looked if she were going to cry. “I must not stay,” she said; “I must hasten home. I only met you because you promised to return my money if I would do so. Please, will you give it to me?” “Presently. I wish to talk with you a little first. It isn’t so often that I have an opportunity, and this is a grand, one. What? You will not let me put my arm round your waist? You little vixen!” Mary had sprung up. “How dare you touch me!” she cried. “Give me my money, and I will go.” “Nob so quick! Not .so quick, my lady. I will give you your money, but upon lone condiibictm. Where it goes I go, too. If you have one you must have the other.” He endeavour 4 - ed to take hold of her hand, but in! vain. She moved further away. “If you talk like that I shall have to leave you,” she said, ‘“and you promised, you promised that you would pay me £100.”

“I "have stated the condition,” said Percy, moodily. “I will not return your money unless you comply with it. Be Treasonable, Mary. A life of drudgery'’ lies before you, and poverty, unless you many me.” “I would rather starve,” said Mary. “Hush, my dear. Those people who) are coming up will hear you_ if yon talk so loudly. I ask you,” his tones grew angry. “this simple question: Will you marry me, and, by becoming Mrs Percy Darroll. step at once into comfortable, easy circumstances. Wo shall only have to keep the matter secret until I see my way to win over* my parents to consent ” “I will not marry you!” interrupted Mary. “But I beseech you to let me have my money ” “I will not let you have it, unless ” “Ga, please do. I want to return to New York. I am so lonely here, and so miserable,” and the poor girl burst into passionate tears. “You may cry, but you shall never have .your money ■” He was interrupted. Ralph Darrell, with his son, had emerged from behind the trees and shrubs, and the former, now standing _ before his nephew, looked him straight in the

face, commanding, “Give the lady Her money. ..Yon cor 3” Percy cowered before His righteous indignation. He knew his uncle by eight, and that was all—the two families had no dealings with each other, because of wrong done in the posit, which had never been expiated by confession and repentance—but he did not dare to oppose him. “I was going to give it to her,” he murmured. “Here it is—oh!” He searched his pockets, and taking out a note-book, examined it with care, yet no note or money could he find. “You don’t mean to say that you have come here without it, after promising this lady!” and Ralph, seizing fas nephew by the collar,-shook him like a rat. “You miserable wretch!” he exclaimed. “If you don’t, go home and find that money and bring it to me at Teddingfcon Old Hall before twentyfour hours have expired I will prosecute you for obtaining money by fraud.” “Ah! but Mary has no witnesses. There is only her hare word against mine; and whioh do yon think would ho believed, that of a gentleman residing in Isleworth, or a penniless American adventuress?” “You call her that! Shame on you, Peroival! Begone! Out of my sight! You scoundrel! And, Tom, look here, go after him and make him deliver up that money. Tom, Tom, what are you doing?” and he looked round for 'him.

Tom was supporting the half-faint-ing girl, and gazing down into her face with inexpressible tenderness. His heart had gone out to her in those few minutes during whioh his father and cousin exchanged hot words about her money, and it seemed to him that h© had never before senn anyone so beautiful and so sweet. “She’s quite upset, dad,” he said. “I think if you had a little brandy in your flask. Thanks. Now. drink that, dear?” The last word slipped out involuntarily.' Somehow it did Mary more good than the brandy. The strong arm supporting her, too, seemed to impart strength. Nevertheless she stepped away from him when she recovered her self-possession. “It is you!” she cried, holding out her hand to Ralph Darrell. “H-ow I have longed to meet you again!” • <f Why did you not come to see my wife ?”

“Oh, because I couldn’t. They got your card away from mo before I had read it, and I did not even know your name. I was in great trouble about that,” aud tears filled her eyes at the recollection of all that she had been through.

Tom was in great distress. Oh, don’t! Don’t think of it,” he said. “Perhaps, dad, you had better comfort her while I run after Percy and make him cash up. I know you will be very gentle with her, and ” “Tom! Do you think I don’t know how to behave to a lady? Go and fetch the money. Go!” Tom went regretfully, and his father sat with the girl in the beautiful* conservatory, talking gently to her and listening to the touching details she had to give him.

“You must never return to Mrs Gerald Darrell,” he said, when she had ended, “and there is no necessity for you to go hook to New York. Cannot you make a long stay with us? My daughters are about your age, and they will be glad to have a companion to cycle and play with. We will try to make you happy.” “I am sure you will succeed,” said Mary gratefully. “But,” she added, “I have really no claim upon you.” “Yes, you have. My cousin’s wife and her children have imposed upon you shajnefully, so you must allow me to try to make amends for it.”

This and much more Ralph said, until, at length, Mary was won over to consent to stay with him and his wife and children at Teddington. Then he took her there at once, saying that her luggage should he sent for, and when an due time Tom arrived with her £-100 —Tom never owned hy What means ho Was ahle to wrest it from Percy—she was already located as a loved and honoured guest at Teddington Old Hall. A very happy time followed for Mary White, in which a certain medical student from St. George’s Hospital took a prominent part, with the result that when he completed his medical studies and became a qualified doctor, he and she became engaged to be married, with the full consent of his parents, who wisely remembered that Tom would never be in a position to need money, whilst Mary would bring to -him as her dowry that which is infinitely better than silver and gold. Her character, as they grew better acquainted With it, proved to he of real sterling worth, and Darrell was always glad that he made the acquaintance of “the girl who was stranded” when he was out cycling on the Staines and Windsor road.

A touching incident happened upon the day on which she and Tom were married. Poor little Raymond, being cured, made his way 'alone to his uncle's house, to beg that he might >e ait owed to be the bride’s page at the wedding. “For she was so kind to me, always,” *he said, “even when I was horrid to her.”

His wish was gratified, and the wedding was all the brighter for one child’s happy face.