A DOWERLESS MAIDEN.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1617, 25 February 1903, Page 6

A DOWERLESS MAIDEN.

(By E. C. Kenyon.)

CHAPTER I. “No, John, no. I love you too well to wish to bring you to' poverty." “But Miriam, there will be no poverty. My little farm nearly pays its way now, and with you to* help- ” “I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment, John, if I could bring a few hundreds with me. But, as it is, when I haven’t even one —” Miriam’s filled with tears, and then she broke down altogether. John put his arm round the slim waist, and drew her nearer. “I couldn’t marry for money,” iie said, “and with you alone I shall be rich.” She nestled near to him for one minute, and then freed herself from his arm. “it wouldn’t do,” she said, shaking her head, “in theory it is all very fine, but in practice we should find that we couldn’t live on sweet words and honeyed speeches. \Ve shall need bread and butter; yes, and clothes, and they won’t spring up like mushrooms just when they are wanted. We must have money with which to procure them.” “I will work hard and -earn money, lots of money; you’ll see if I don’t.” “If your will could do it the thing would be done, hut to> make your farm succeed you must have capital.” “I know. I wish that I had seme.” “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” quoted the girl, lightly. John looked a little hurt. No one is so sensitive as your impecunious lover. “Above everything, we must have common sense,” continued Miriam. “I have never been distinguished for learning,” she added, “but I am glad to say I have always been able to see my way about; and when the supreme influence in a woman’s life, the love of man, comes in her way, I don’t see why she should lay aside her ordinary business instincts to* take a leap* in the dark.” “If vou call marrying me a leap in the dark—- —” “My dear John, don’t* be personal. I am speaking of the thing in the abstract. Personally”—she hesitated, the colour coming and going in her eager face. “Yes, personally?” ho queried. “I should not like to be Annie Daker, Avho, after an exceptionally grand wedding, and a prolonged and costly wedding tour, has been obliged to* return to 'her parental home with her wee baby, whilst, her husband exists somewhere in poor lodgings!” “Our case would bo different.” But Miriam shook her head. “Out of nothing, nothing can come,” she said. “It is impossible for you to make a sufficient living for us both out of your little farm —unless, indeed, you could find a gold mine under it,” she added. “By Jingo!” He started up. “Are you going?” “Yes.” “Well, good-bye, John.” “Good-bye,” gruffly. “Oh, John!” But he did not hear the signs of relenting as he hurried towards the door, never once trusting himself to look hack. CHAPTER 11. Ralph Darroll, millionaire, the exAustralian, who had taken the fine old hall at Teddinton, felt unusually worried —even millionaires sometimes feel worried; The fact was, his letters that morning contained news from lia of increased riches for him. owing to the fact that a mine of his, abandoned because of its apparent worthless-

'ness, proved, after all, to contain gold beyond the dreams of avarice. To get at tlie precious ore, however, further capital was required, and additional help in the way of honest. Yesponsible overlookers. Rogues enough there were, but men who could be trusted were rare indeed. The man who proposed to manage tho mine for its owner was an old and tried assistant of Darroll’s, but he wanted a younger, mere active, and perfectly reliable coadjutor; and such was not easy to find in a place where gold and the lust of gold worked havoc with men’s charasters. I would rather have a man sent out from the old country even if I have to wait for him,” wrote the manager. Ralph Darroll cast his eyes mentally over the young men, his relations, some of whom he had helped on in the world since he returned to England, but these were now doing so well, and were so comfortably settled in their homes, that the idea of disturbing them was untenable. Others, whom Ralph had tried to help, only seemed to have slipped further back into the mire, and the Anglo-Australian learned from bitter experience that to* give money to some people is only another way of assisting them downhill. “If you please, sir, a gentleman wishes to see you,” said the butler, entering the library. “What is his name?” “He would not send it, sir. He said you did not know him. He only wishes to sco you on business—his business, sir,” said the man, significantly. “Ah, another beggar —” “No, sir, not a beggar!” exclaimed a young man, who had followed the butler into the room. “You are a rich man,” he continued, hotly, “but even your riches do not give you a right to insult people.” “God forbid!” said Ralph Darroll, quickly. “The fact is,” lie added, as the butler left the room, “I am in rather a pessimistic mood this morning. The responsibility of wealth is a heavy one —and I have’ made mistakes.” The other’s ingenuous face brightened. “To err is human,” he said, “and I have heard that he who makes no mistakes makes nothing.” “Quite so. Will you tell me your name ?” “John. Dawson. You do not know it. I am a stranger to. you. I fear that my troubling you is unwarrantable, as I am not one of your own people.” A look of distress came into the fine, open countenance upon which the older man was looking searchingly. “My people,” said Ralph Darroll, softly, “are His.” “Whose?” asked the other, stupidly —as he felt afterwards —for he might have known. “His who gave me the responsibility,” replied Ralph, gravely. “But if you are going to honour me by your confidence,” he continued, “you must know at the outset that I have learnt by hitter experience not to give and not to lend money to strangers.” The young man drew himself up. “You forget,” he protested. “I am not a beggar.” “I beg your pardon.” “It is true/’ said John, “that I have come to you, having heard of your exceeding benevolence and also, which everyone knows, that you have been most successful in Australian gold-min-ing, but I don’t wish you to give me anything except advice.” “I will give you that willingly,” said Ralph, “if you will be quite open with me.” “I will tell you exactly how I am circumstanced.” And, forthwith, John Dawson explained that be was a poor gentleman, whose late parents had bequeathed to him little except a small farni amongst the Welsh hills. _ Part of his land was .extremely sterile, so that it was only by dint of bard work and industry that be could earn his own living upon it. All went well, however, and he was content, until ho fell in love with a charming gtrl, who was governess in a gentleman’s family in the neighbourhood. She returned his love, but refused to marry him owing to bis poverty and hers.' A remark that she made about the impossibility of their gaining a livelihood on hifc

farm unless he found a gold mine m it, suggested to him that ho should let his place, and go out to some goldfield, there to seek his fortune. “And because I had not the slightest idea where to go,” he added, “1 to come to you, to ask you to very kindly give me some advice upon the subject.” “Willingly, my dear fellow, most willingly,” was the hearty response, as Ralph plunged forthwith into a short and graphic account of the Australian goldfields which had come under his own observation, and the chances there were out there for a young man of pluck, determination, and sterling character. “I happen to know of a post at this moment for a man of that sort,” he observed, in conclusion. The colour came and went in the young man’s face. There was no mistaking his eagerness, as he sa;id, “I wish X were qualified to apply for it. I suppose some training is necessary?” “Well, a good deal can be given on tho spot. At first the man who gees out would simply have to obey his chief’s orders, and carry out his instructions. Ho would have to give mo references.” John Dawson smiled. “I can do that,” he said. “The doctor and the parson, who have.known me all my life, and the ether farmers, the older farmers who have lived in the neighbourhood as long as I can remember, will do, I suppose?” “Splendidly.” “Here, give me a few names and addresses.” “And, by-the-bye, if I get you this pest, could you come and stay with me'before you sail?” “Certainly. With pleasure.” “And do you think yout young ladj 7 would come, too —that is, of course, if Mrs Darrell invites her?” “Would she? Yes. X am sure she would—if —if I get the post.” “If all is satisfactory, as I trust and believe it will be. you will have £IOOO a year to begin with —” “One thousand a year!” John Dawson was amazed. “Yes, and the work will lead to more. But, mind, everything depends upon these references.” “I have no fear about them,” said young Dawson, with great cheerfulness. CHAPTER 111. Miriam Grant was blessed w r ith an exceedingly good temper; moreover, she was accustomed to the onerous position of being governess to the spoilt children of somewhat overbeaung patents, and, having not a litt-lo tact, sue got on pretty well on the whole. One day, however,( whejn her heart was heavy about the rather abrupt parting with her lover, everything seemed to go wrong. The children were, naughty, their mother took their side and" 3 blamed Miriam for unreasonableness, she was silent, which caused her to be accused of sulkiness, and being, at last, driven into a corner—as even a worm will turn —slie lost control of ner mucli-tried temper and, facing lier oppressor, gave her notice that she would not stay another quarter of a year. This unexpected retort brought down upon the poor girl a most angry and insulting rejoinder, culminating in the declaration that she should not stay another night beneath that roof. Poor Miriam ! The bitterness of having no home entered into her soul, and when the angry matron had withdrawn, taking with her all her children, like an enraged hen drawing her entire brood out of danger, she broke down and wept as if her heart would break. Why, oh, why had she refused John Daw'son, when he offered her an escape from such a house as this? It happened fortunately for Miriam that the scene had taken place in the diningroom of the house, which was only separated by folding doors from the drawingroom, into which a rather stout and wholly pleasant-looking lady had been ushered by the young housemaid, who then forgot to announce her coming, by reason of her own interest in the “goings on” with the governess, as discovered through.the key-hole. Mrs Darrell, therefore, who happened to be the visitor, heard everything that passed ; and now ithe sound of weeping appealed to her kind, motherly heart so that it was impossible for her to 1 sit still where she was.

Opening the drawingroom door into the hall she routed the erring housemaid with a look which was long remembered, and then, entering the other room, hurried over to the weeping girl. “My dear child, don't cry!” she exclaimed, almost crying herself as she took her hand in both hers. “Don’t cry! You are not without friends. I am your friend.” “You?” Miriam looked at her in amazement. “Why, I never saw you before,” said she. “Nevertlieless I am your friend. I have come ail the way from London to see you.” “To see me?” ‘Wes. And, if you are willing, to take you hack with me.” “But —hut how do you know anything about me?” faltered Miriam. “j[ J know more about you than you

think. I and my husband, Mr Darroll, have a good friend of yours staying with us now, who does nothing, whenever ho can bt> alone with me, but praise you and talk of you from morning until night ” “Who is it?” Yet even as she asked the question Miriam knew. There was only one person in all the world who was likely to do such a thing. “Mr John Dawson. Mr Darroll is very fond of him. He is going to* send him out to Australia to superintend a gold mine •” “Going to send John, my John, to Australia?” cried Miriam. “Oh, no! No ! ITe must not do that! Don’t let him do that!” “My dear, it is a splendid opportunity for young Dawson. PI is fortune is as good as made.” . _ .. “But what about me?” cried Miriam. “What about me? He is my best friend; tho only real friend I have in the world.” “He said that you had refused him “Refused him? Yes, so I did. I thought it wrong to marry into poverty —for his sake as well as my own. But now ” “Yes, now?” said the other, tentatively. • “My employer is turning me out this very day. It will be difficult for me to get another situation “Oh, my dear, that fact must not enter into your I came to invite you to visit me. You must return with me to-morrow. To-night we will both stay at the nearest hotel. By the bye, I have brought you a letter,” and Mrs Darroll produced one, at ’the sight of which Miriam’s face Lighted up. “Read.it, my dear, read it at once, while I look at the pictures, which are poor, decidedly poor.” She arose and began to study the paintings on the wails. Miriam read: — “The Old Hall, Teddington, S.W. “My Own Darling,—Mr Darroll is giving me work out in Australia, upon one of his mines, with a salary of £IOOO a year. Moreover, he says the place is civilised, and that it would be quite possible for a man to live out there with lhs wife. I have talked it over with Mrs Darroll —who is every bit as good and kind as Mr Darroll but there are other parts of the arrangement which can only be discussed with you, -therefore good Mrs Darroll is going all the way to Wales to fetch you. I hope you will throw np your situation, and return with her. Darling, you will do this for me, and then, oh! then, we shall be happy ever after. — Your own loving, John Dawson.” “I will come,” said Miriam, looking up into the kind face of her new friend. “I will come —and I can never thank you enough.” There was no time to say more, as the mistress of the house entered in high dudgeon, because she had only just heard that the governess was entertaining a visitor in the drawingroom. Great was her wrath, too, when she found that the girl was going away with the stranger immediately; for although she

had bidden her to go that very day, like many other inconsequent women, she resented the girl’s taking her at her word. But Miriam was far too happy to heed lier late employer’s anger. As quickly as possible she packed up her clothes, said good-bye to the children, who, as inconsistent as their mother, cried passionately because their ill-used teacher was about to leave them, and departed with Mrs Darroll in the latter’s cab. The next day there was a joyful meeting of the reunited lovers, who talked matters over so satisfactorily that before the day ended they had arranged to be married in three weeks and two days, after which they would set sail for Australia. The Darroll’s, m the plenitude of their kindness and generosity, looked after the correct fulfilment of the programme, winning for themselves, as they did so, the life-loing gratitude and love of their young friends.