TWO NEW ZEALAND DAYS

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1684, 8 June 1904, Page 8

TWO NEW ZEALAND DAYS

(By M. S. Reeves, in “Temple Bar.”) ~

CHAPTER 11. (Continued).

Mrs Thorne stood watching till busi-ness-like tapping of balls succeeded noisy argument. “Did you like Miss Grieve ?” she said, looking curiously at Mary. “I was afraid of her ait first,” Mary admitted, “but I liked her very much. I believe I could have talked to her for hours; there seemed to be so many tilings to say.” “H’m! most people do not find her so easy,” said Mrs Thorne, shortly. “No doubt she was talking down to me.” suggested Maiqy, “but she did. it beautifully, and' I liked it/’ “Still, I d ! on’t understand—” said, Mrs Thorne, almost to- herself. “Why she should take the trouble?” put in Mary in perfect good faith. “No it is funny, isn’t it?” Mrs Thome looked sharply at her, and then, taking her arm lead her over and introduced her to a small-middle-aged woman who was talking to- the teatable in a most animated voice. As they shook hands the girl felt herself summed tup in one quick look, from her to her hair.

“How do you ,do? so glad to know yon. We were talking about some neighbours of yours. You know the Eustace Wrights, I am sure.” “Oh'yes. of course I do,” said Mary, eagerly. “They are .quite our nearest, neighbours.” “Well, that’s capital! Now we shall get ait the whole story.. I don’t believe a word of it, you know,” she declared,* looking round the circle; “at least, it is sure to be dreadfully exaggerated. One hears sueh odd things; it i's best to make a rule never to believe anything—without absolute proof, that is.” “Blit what is the story ?” asked Katie Taylor. “Olh, my dear, a queer sort of tale. I don't like repeating such things. In fact, I stop people when they want to tell me stories. Believe mo, it is best. 1 dare say Miss Brown knows all about it.”

“I believe I do,” said Mary. “It is a most exciting adventure, if you mean about Mrs Wright and 'the prisoner/’ “That’s it,” said tlie lady; “you tell it,”

“Well, Mr Wright was away mustering with the men far a week and Mrs Wright was all alone in the house. He didn’t want her to be, but she is brave.

a,nd wouldn’t hear of getting anyone' up. Most fortunately, Mr Raglan, that young Englishman who had been staying with them so long, came back, quite unexpectedly, to see Mr Wright about some business. Of course, she made him stay on to meet her husband, and it was a great mercy she did. because the escaped prisoner turned up in the middle of the night and demanded food a.n ( d clothes He was armed', and had counted on finding all the men away and doling what he liked by frightening the women. I can’t believe Mr Raglan was of much ii.se. but he was company, and Mrs wright declared that the fact of his being a. man was a great help. They managed to luire the wretched runaway into the store-house and lock him up. He fired shots at them through the door, but no one was liulrt. and tlie police came up next day and carried him off. I think .Mrs Wright must have behaved splendidly,” said Mary warmly, “for Mr Raglan is not a bit strong, lie is inclined to be consumptive, you know, and a terribly nervops man. But she says he was a great moral support.” “Dear me!” 'said Mrs Spencer, Mary’s, new acquaintance; “and they don’t keep a servant. V ’ “Non He and Mrs Wright did the whole thing between them.” “Why, Mrs Wright seeons to be quite a heroine,” said Katie Taylor. “H’ml” said! Mrs Spencer. “I don’t know. I am very sormr 'to hear that Mir Raglan was there. I have clone so much to try and hush the story up, don’t you know—that is my way—[until things are absolutely proved. So> those two were all alone in the house. What did INK* Wright say when he cam© home? Of course, one hears rumours that he was not at all pleased. But you never know.” “No,” said Mary, cordially, “do you? And in this case that iprnour is quite untrue, though the one about Mrs Wright’s courage is correct. I was there when Mr Wright came home, and hie was delighted. I. was rather sorry for poor Mr. Raglan because he was so ter. ribly teased. You know he is engaged to Nellie, Mr Wright’s sister, and they think they, can chaff him as much as

they like, so they declared that he spent the night looking at his Nellie’s photograph anjd writing letters to her, with Mr Wright’s old muzzle-loader, that won’t go off, across his knees. Of course, lie denied it, and said he madio hot tea after he had helped Mrs Wright to dispose of tlie unusual visitor, befeausei, when once the danger was over, she was quite upset. Mis Wright didl nothing but laugh and say he’ had been most usefpl, and she must tell Nellie tlialfc she didn’t know what she should have done without him. They we're all in such high spirits, and of. course Mr Wright was as» proud as possible of his wife,” Mary finished, looking lot Mrs Spencer for sympathy. “Well, I’m very glad to hear it, I’m sure,” Mrs Spencer was beginning, when Katie Taylor broke in. .

“Oh, but do tell us more about the prisoner. What did he do, and how did they feel, and who woke first?” Mary, nothing loath, began, a detailed account which was closely listened to by all but Mr's Spencer, who fidgeted and ait last moved away to look alt the Oroquet players, ancl who was rewarded by noticing Hugh holding Miss Grieve’s hand, while both gazed down, ait it together. Mrs Spencer was so much interested that, she put up her glasses, land when they bpth shouted to tlie othdr two players—“lt’s going again 1” she treasured up the incident. This was more attractive than that commonplace story about the Eustace Wrightte. She was thinking what a tame tulm a country girl could give to a conversation, when she was joined b(y Mis Thorne, who had stayed to hear the end of Mary's story. _ , ‘(Well, dear, I suppose I must congratulate you,” began Mrd Spencer; ‘the is a fine-looking girl; I don’t care for big women myself, but I know men admire them. I like something morewell— .piquant© in every way. But, as I say, men admire those big, dull women.” _ ' “We don’t find her so dull as you seem to,” said Mrs Thorne coldly, with intent. The Eustace Wrights were friends of hers, and she had been sincerely glad to hear Mary's unconscious defence. -■* ' *

“Well, at any Tato, I. more’. than sus- '' peot that yoii-onco thought’ rather highly of Mr Hrigh's preßeaMh company/’ across to suiting over a hoop, /;• ;: .//, J&iri'- Thorne drew herself up. Imsfufferablo woman! How: Unspeakably vulgai* she made everything she touohed upon.!'., .“Haigh i 3 very happy,” she said shortly. “Do come arid see/the cowslips. They are a perfect sheet of yellow,” V •- Running into her room to change for dinner, Mary; found some of her purchases of the moiniug lying on heir bed. With wuiadulterated jdy she arrayed herself in a cool, laoey dress, which, ‘ though not, low, defined . the prett(y lines of her shoulders and left ba/re her young throat. She came dovynstaiils full of confidence, to find Hugh again, waiting for her in the hall. This time ■ she smiled atTiim, but did not speak. “Oh, I say!” cried Hugh. “Isn’t it nice?” Mary asked with - pride. / , ‘Who chose it?” ■ -7 ■ “I did myself.- I did indeed. -The others, were trying on hats, nad I made . up' iny mind on my own account. It was the most expensive,; hut I am so glad I got it, and it hardly needed any - alterations.” ' , 7 . ; ! “It just suits you, and. you are a clever thing!’’.said Hugh, delight- . edly. : / * •/ . -5 “Oh, Hugh! Am I really? How I hope, you will like ‘the cither when y ou see it. Are there any people staying to dinner? I hope there are—lot®.” “Yes, two —Miss Grieve and Harry Ford. You really are quite stunning, Mary. Come into the drawLng-rocfnt quick. I shall behave badly if we are left alone another miniuite.” “Weli, father, you would have liked to hear Mary snubbing Mils Spencer this afternoon,” began the irrepressible Edith at dinner. “Eh, what? Mrs Spencer, did you ■ say!” asked Mr Thorne,' delighted. “Edith, haw can you? .1 didn’t.” “Yes, she did. She took the; words out of Mrs Spencer s moia/th and ‘turned - her horrid story inside out, and explained how that nice little. .Mrs Eastaoo Wright had behaved beautifully, and what is more, she did it without spoiling the story in the least,” said Edith, turning to her father. ‘'There was no story except mine,” said Miaiy. , “Mrs Spencer never told one at all, and she asked me abeam it. Of course she Wt I Would know, and she said she always believed the beist of people." . • • ■ " • “ “Until she had managed to prove the 7 worst. Didn’t she. Mary?” asked Hugh. ■ “Weil, perhaps she did—at least some--7 tiling like that. How foolish of ine!” she said, laughing and flushing. “I took her quite literally, and certainly she was trying to tell her story all the time.” “I am afraid there i's no doubt you are not clever,” said Hugh with a pretended sigh. Mary turned to Mrs Thorne. “I didn’t say any tiling silly, did I?” sue asked anxiously. - “No, my deaa*, you did not,” replied Mrs Thome, with such emphasis that Mai-y crimsoned from sheer pleasure. In the drawing-room things were not. quite so easy. Edith played. When she had. finished, like a bolt from the blue came a demand from-Mrs Thome that Mary should follow. . v •' “But I can’t. You know I saicfcso last night,” replied the astonished girl. “Come along, wo insist,” cried Edith, who loved to tease. “I really can’t. Please don’t ask me. I would 'rather not,” implored Many. ' “Would rather not! Then you can. Oome and play this moment 1” “T have always taught my girls to do as they are asked at once,” said Mrs Th«rne, coldly. V . Mary rose instantly, and walked over to the piano. ; • V; “I can’t think why you wish to hear itne, itnLess iit is to know how badly I play,” she said with a directness which 7-,.' : .Mii9-’Th<wiM» found; a little disconcerting. 7 Her performance was short and bald, arid at the end of it she went back to her chair without a word. - Mrs Thorne tried to say—‘Thank you that is a pretty thing.” . Miss Grieve came over to her arid said—“ What a pity.: you nevw leaarriifc l You have a good tojucb.” ■.’ “I wish you would play now,” said Ma?y smiling gratefully at her, “arid 1 wrpd out the memory of my attempt/’ - Mi'ss Grieve was next called upon, ririd Mrs Thome looked to see what effect her really fine playing had on the musio-loving Hugh* To her vexation he took no notice of it, but sat by Mary rind talked earnestly to her. " “He is infatuated!” tbchght his mother “A housemaid could not have done’ wwse i What can. he be saying to , her?” > ' 7 : ;7'- 77- : '. • . • Hugh was saying—‘That was very brave you, dear. .Why did you dp *bP” • 1 . " , • / i; - ;< flferift'.yori'-se©?” 7/./■•■;.i/-/ “Ijfotb exactly.” ; “I want to please your mother. ' Hugh looked puzzled. # • . * “That pleased her. My . playing badly and Miss ~ Grieve playing well, I mean. 7"t Besides, * you ■ all 'knew I could net play before, so 7 it only shows that I try to _. bo obliging.*' . ■ ’ ;. He turned and; looked a/t her* “How "artful you are ■ getting/' ‘ • ‘ 7/77 .

. Mary blushed and laughed. “Yes, I khow. I. mean to make her like me, Hugh,* by'fair means or foul.” . After a game of cards/ the evening broke up. When Mr and Mrs Thorne /were alone together they looked at one another. “Well, my dear,” he asked, “how is yowr nefarious scheme working?” “If yen would all try .and help a little I might .have a chance/’ she said, hotly. “The fact is you are leaving me to do* everything, and of course the girl feels supported; and Hugh is so unreasonable.”

1 “She i's our guest,” he replied gravely. “Oh! I can see quite well that- you and. the girls "are more than half on her side already. You none of you think of Hugh except me.” “So you think she holds he)?, town against the other?” he wont on, with a queer little smile. “Richard! If you mean Miss Grieve you can see for yourself that she is as ridiculous as Hugh about this tiresome girl.” “I believe we shall be beaten, Margaret,” he said patting her arm, “and onir consolation will have to be that we have been nice from the first.” “Oh, of course, if you are going th give in !’\ cried his wife, leaving the room.

That night, Mary stood in front of her looking-glass and nodded. “I am getting on. She liked me a little at dinner. I don’t know wky r but she did. Oh, Mary Brown, you lucky girl!” and she knelt down to get closer to the mirror. 1 “1 am just as unlearned as ever, but I am beginning to (understand them a little bit'—l da believe I am!” After a inoment’s pause she fell to examining her appearance. “I am glad T never tried to frizz my hair,” she thought as she patted the- thick, smooth coils. “I do wish I had a smaller mouth and a batter nose 1 ; if I hold a hit of paper .just to hide them, my face is quite nice,” and she admired herself thoroughly, with a small sheet of note-paper ooveriug the whole of the middle of her face; after which she felt suddenly ashamed, pulled down her hair, brushed it in a great hurry, and plaited it in a long tail ready far hod-

She felt as though she had hardly slept a minute when she woke up. thinking she was at home and that her small brother wais violently shaking her bed. “Oh, don’t, Torn !” she exclaimed, but the shaking grew worse. A picture fell off the wall, and the room creaked and groaned like a ship straining in a sea. “Earthquake!’-’ cried Mary, bounding out of bed and* snatching her • drasteinggown, which had been over her feet. She had almost stepped into her slippers, so they were on in a flash, and she flew to the door. Of course it stuck, as door always dio if they don’t burst open, and she ran along the passage—past Mrs Thoimels room, which was empty. A shelf of medicine bottles fell as she went by. Every bell in the hou'se was jangling, making a continuous treble accompaniment to staccato crashes, as bits of china .fell in various rooms. In the hall she fo*und everybody standing under doorways, while Mr Thorne in loud tones was explaining that it was a wooden house, and quite safe if they would only'stand still. “Where are the servants?” said Hugh, through the uproar. A loud scream from the direction of the kitchen was followed hy the roar of falling bricks. “The kitchen-chimney 1”, cried both the men, and 1 made off in that direction.

“Hugh! /Richard! don’t move till it has stopped 1” shrieked Mrs Thorne, but 'they were gone. She, her calm once hr6ken, sobbed aloud.

“They have gone to help the maids,” said Mary. “It has stopped. It is all over.”

“But as she spoke the bells rang and the beams creaked and the pictures hung out from the walls in a new sickening convulsion. “Don’t be frightened! We are quite safe. It is a wooden house,” she gasped, with heir arms round the shivering woman. The movements ceased once more.

“Where are the girls, Mary ? Oh, where can they be ” Mary looked round. They were gone. “I will find them; but first you must put on something. Here is a coat off the hat rack ” -

- /"After wrapping Mrs Thorne up, Mary noticed that the hall door was open, and running out she found the two girls standing rigidly in the verandah. ' “It’s all over,” they all said together. “Gome in and see your mother. She is frightened about you,” Mary added. “Why, you’ve got nothing over your nightgowns! There are coats inside. Quick, you will be frozen!” “Oh, Mary!” said Edith, finding her tongue as she struggled into one of Hugh’s coats, “how can you not be frightened!” • t 1 “But I am frightened, said Alary, “terrified! and I don’t know where Mr Thorne and Hugh are. and the kitchen chimney has gone—didn’t you hear?” “I suppose that was what made us run outside,” said Maud, who was by this time wrapped in a railway rjug. A slight tremor made them all call out but it was over as they spoke. “X think Mrs Thorne had better lie down on the drawing-room Sofa/’ suggester Mary. , “I would rather stay here under the doorway,” said Mrs Thome weakly.

However the giirls wheeled the sofa into tho hall, stumbling over broken china in the dark. “We must have a light,” said Maud, as they bundled their mother on. to the couch.

“The piano candled,” suggested Edith, and they heard her bumping about in search foe matches. - She emerged triumphant, with both candles held aloft. “Such a mess vou never saw 1” she said, placing the lights on the hall table. “Bmt where is Mary, now?” cried poor Mrs Thorne, almost hysterically. Noises of bricks tumbling about, and the voices of Hugh and her husband, could be heard in the kitchen. Edith ran along the passage to the kitchen door. There seemed to be nothing in tho room but bricks, which Mary, Hugh and Mr Thorne were vigorously picking up and passing from one to the other out of the open back door. A kitchen candle flared among the wreckage on the dresser. Many, as the middle man, was gravely passing filthy black bricks from Hugh to Mr Thorne. “I think we can push the rest bade now,” said Hugh. Edith joined in the task when she realised what had happened. A great pile had fallen against the door of the servants’ bedroom, which opened outwards into the kitchen. The door had been broken thropgli in the bottom panel's. andJ groans con Id be heard from inside. In a few moments the floor was clear enough to open the door. Snatching tho light Hugh peered in. One maid was lying on the floor groaning, and the other was stooping over her, trying to drag her .from under the bricks whioh had fallen through the door and struck the poor girl’s feet as she was trying to get out. Short work wa!a made of the remainder, and the suf-

fereir was lifted on to lxer bed. No on® seemed' quite to know what- to do next. The light- flickered violently and lit up four sweep-like faces. The roof, sagging in places, and in placets broken through, creaked ominously.

“My word ! You can see the sky," oried one of the maids suddenly. “Wo‘mu'st get them out of this, ft may all be down at any moment,” declared Mr Tkorno. “Father/’ oried Maud from the kitchen, “some at once! Mother’s gone off into one of her faints.” Mr Thome and Edith flew to her a/id. Mary caught Hugh by the arm. “The doctor I go at once, wo will look after her.” Hugh nodded and disappeared.

Mary never knew afterwards how sw* managed it, but Ellen, the injured maid, always declared it was she who got her out of the wrecked bedroom on to the schoolroom sofa. To herself she seemed t-o be doing housework in a black luLs-ter which had once been her pretty dressinggown. Certain it is that Edith coming in for help found 'the schoolroom fire lit and water boiling. “Mother’s not a hit better,” she said excitedly. “Bo see if you oan do anything.” Mary’s mind was a blank on the subject, but she came, moved the invalid on to mattresses-, surrounded her with hotwater bottles, drenched her with brandy, and was genuinely surprised when Mrs Thorne at last revived and Edith said. “We should never have known what todo without Mary.” Finding the others determined to praise her, Mary turned the subject to tea, and a scratch meal was got to-' gether. The birds were Binging as they drank their tea, and they noticed for the first time that it: was delight. Even, the invalid sipped a little from a bmp

held to her lips and declared that she felt better.

; Mary caught sight of herself suddenly hi the chimney mi'iror and burst out laughing. “Do look at youirtselves ’/’ she cried, “and oh! poor Mrs Thome!” With shame tliey realised that they had come straight, from handling sooty bricks to attend a sick-bed.' Mr Th-ome looked at his hands, and then at his wife'b temples, where he had rubbed whiskey hr, and the relief andreaction made them lose all self-control. Mis Thorne inquired j peevishly why they laughed so, and discovered that,they were shockingly dirty and aught to go and wash; Her own unconscious ap.

pearance igave such point to the joke

that she was almost reduced to tears by their mirth. -Mary dragged the girls off to oliange t heir cloth ns, while Mr

Thorne sat by his wife and tried. clumsily enough, to conceal the occurrences of the last hour. The doctor and Hugli arrived, and it

was soon clear that Ellen must lie by

for at least a week, while for Mrs Thorne absolute change oi seene/was necessary.

Mary went about tidying up, sweeping and even dusting in her efforts to . reduce the disorder. Presently she joined Mr Thorne, while he was talking to the doctor, and asked him to come

•and see the odd places in the chimneys (upstairs whero smoke was creeping into the rooms. Both men, accompanied her instantly. “Cracks!” said Mr Thorne, looking at the little whiffs of smoke dolefully. “These chimneys must be pulled down, that is quite evident.” “Yon.will have to leave the house at once/’ urged the doctor; “another tremble and they may all he . down about your e&rs.”

It was settled there and then that Ellen- could be taken to- the hospital, which had hardly suffered at all, and Sarah could go homo. “I can send the girls to their cousins, I expect/ 5 said Mr Thorne, “if, as you, say, that end of the. town is fairly free from damage; but what had I better do with my wife ?” * . Mary had listened in silence, and now looked as though she would speak, but checked herself. “Well, you had better-send her as far off as' you can/' said the doctor; “out into the country, where she will be away from surrounding buildings, for choice/’ Mr Thome said he must think about it, and Mary followed the doctor down-, stains, where she managed to get him by himself; ' • ••• '. i- . “Would it; do/’-she asked eagerly, “if Mrs Thome “could .come home with me? We liypiri the-.CCuntiry' beyond Ashbumham. Wo are sure to be all right; earthquakes never damage ns. We have no chimneys to speak of, and no upstair’s, and it is beautiful air. if only she could stand the train and the drive at 'the end.” “Anything to get her away,” was the reply; “you could put up at Asliburnham for the night, and" take the drive next day v couldn?t. you?” . _ “Will it hurt iier to talk about it now?’' asked Mary anxiously. . ' “Not if you can make her wish to go, but you had better speak to Mr Thorne first.” “Hugh/’- said Mary, hunting him up jh the kitchen, where lie was gazing at tile scene of desolation, “collie ancl listen to my plan. Everybody lias to go away. The house is unsafe. We have just found.that the chimneys are all cracked. Ootuld we persuade our mother to come home with me l ? I have been thinking it over, and it would bo'the very best thing we could do from our point of view.”' • - • ‘ ' - “What a soli enter you are, Mary!” he said once-more.' “But I don’t think we can work it; ;"T : doubt if she would consent to go'so far.” ' '“Oh! do bo nice and help!” she cried; “don’t yoi'.i see it is the one tiling to do?” „ - 1 . - '

‘‘But I don’t, think anything would make -her go” lie said gently. “You are trying to do ifc too quickly, don’t you think?”

Mary shook her head. “It is the earthquake which has hurried me up; lam not to blame. If I can persuade Mrs Thorne to come homo with me without agitating her, will- yo.u undertake to 'approve ?” “Why, it would*be grand/’ he said 1 .- “But you* are going too fast, dear; I wish I didn’t know how prejudiced my

mother is. Hadn’t you better speak tb my father first?” .„*• “I am going to,” said Mary, shortly. Hugh looked after her aud shooolc his 4iead ag&R Meantime 'cne persevering girl pursued Mr Thorne into the back verandah, whctre ho was examining the supports of the water-tanks, and suggested her plan

to' hira. -- ■ "> • Mr Thome wheeled round and looked : at her. “It; is very land of you,” he said doubtfully, “but I am afraid it wonild be toe. far for my wife to travel.” • i “I have asked the doctor,” said Mary, armed at all points, “buit I know the real difficulty, Mr Thorne. If l ean persuade Mrs Thome to come,” she continued in a timid voioe, h,ut looking him directly in the . face “will you agree to the plan?” ' -• “L-hardly think you will, mxs dear,” he answe’-ed, looking awajy from her un;cchffortably,and that was all she could get .from him. - . _“A\t any ’mte, I am going to try, and will please remember

that you _ have not forbidden, it,” she said, hastily disappearing. Many went straight to the diningroom, where she found unsuspicious Mirs Thome sitting up and looking much stronger, hut plying the girls with question, which they had been told'to answer reassuringly and untruthfully. Maud was dumb and awkward, while Edith was replying with a wealth of faltee detail, which did not impose upon her mother in the least.

“Here, Mary, you tell mother all about it,” cried Edith, glad to escape, and she dragged Maud with her oiut of the room.

Mrs Thorne looked sharply at Mary, who was silent for a moment. “Well?” she asked.

“I have come to ask vou something,” said Mary slowly/ “But first I must tell you that cue house is a good deal injured,- and we must all leave it. You Won’t he frightened, will you, because there is no actual danger ?” “I wish you wo-Uld all tell me exactly what is wrong,” said Mrs Thorne angrily; “I am not a baby. I can’t bear to be treated like this.”

Mary quietly explained the exact state of affairs, and was relieved to see that the elder woman believed her and was soothed.

“You are the only sensible person m the lionise,” declared Mrs Thorne; “and now wliare are we all going?” Mary explained as well as she cculd what the plains were. “Yes, that would do for the girls,” said Mrs Theme; “and where do we go —my husband and I?”

“I think he talks of staying at the drub or somewhere in town, in order to be on the spot and look after the re-pai-rh.” mid Mary, nervously. “Oh! and lias he any plans for me?” inquired the other. “Mr Thorne doesn't know yet,” said Mary truthfully, “but I know wheTe I want you to go! Will you come home with me ? Don’t say hi o’ for a minute. I want to tell you first that I understand your reasons. I know you don’t like me; you can’t bear Hugh to marry me; lam so ignorant and stupid. But I want you to know me. You would like, me if you knew me better—l do believe you would.” “My dear,” said Mrs Thorne, gravely, “I do like you, but I can’t go with you. I do not know Mrs Btrown, you must remember. and I coukl not give her so much trouble. Besides, it. is too far. I should not be strong enough.” - Mary looked ah her with all her soul in her eyes. “Let us speak the exact truth. We know it is none of those reasons, both of ns. You do not mean to let me marry Hugli. You think I am beneath him. And I don’t wunder,” she said, sadly. “But he does not think it matters that I have no education, and! have been accustomed to work like a servant, and I know that I can make it not mat tea-. So far as we two are concerned we know our own minds. " We trust ourselves and ono another; but you don't trust, either .yourself or Hugh. You think he will oliange. Oh, do give in!” she said imploringly.

Mrs Thorne laid hen.- head on the back of a chair. “You ought not to speak like this,” • she declared, “I am not strong. I shall be ill.” “Yes, I am a brute,” Mary said in a firm, low voice. “I know it is wrong and mean and taking an unfair advantage, and I promised them I would not. and I am' breaking my word on purpose. But I tell you you won’t-faint. You will not bo ill. Y r ou have only to give yourself up to it —to believe what I tell you and it will,all he easy.” “What do you want ” said Mrs Thorne weakly. “I want you to come and know my people. They are worth it. You think they are low or common and uneducated, and you must see them as they are at home. You would love my mother and respect my father, and I tell you. you shad come.” Mary*s fierce words were jittered in the most tender voice. “I do not like the engagement,” burst out Mrs Thorne, quite omitting to look ill.. “I did think Hugh might change his mi-iid if I had you down here, and compared you with "other girls who have had more advantages. I don’t know how it -is that you have become so strong and domineering. Why do you tell me what T am to do and make me feel I am doing wrong?” “Because,” said Mary, twisting her hands together, “I understand you. Yohi are weak, really. You love Hugh and want to do the best for him, but ycu don’t know. You don’t understand me. lam slow and stupid and all that, but I am strong. You can’t guess how strong I am. I know lam right, and you aro not a bit sure whether yoiu are right or wrong, 'now 'are you ” with a sudden change of voice to great- gentleness.

“No, I am not,” said Mrs Thorne, beginning to cry. “Oh, don’t do that! Don’t crv. Let me tell you about father. I always felt you ought to know. :Even Hugh is not aware of it, because father is soi proud, and never talks if he can Help it. But do you know ho looks down on all of you quite as much as you do on him? I had to conquer his prejudice before he would let me come to town, and now I am here I have to conquer yours. You see, father understands managing a s-heep-rmn, and he reads a certain number of books. He respects the people who have sheep-runs—if they are euo*

cessful —and the people who work on them, and lie respects the people who write books. But he cant s;ee any use for the people who live in towns and yet never write anything, and —you won’t be offended, will yofu? he calls all lawyers sharks. So* when I wanted to marry the sen of a shark I had such difficulty with father! Hugh never knew- Father would not talk to him about it. It was a question between himself and me, and I won; but yon don't knoiv how hard it \vas. That was his prejudice.”

“Well?” “And now I am worrying you orut of yours.” “How can you say that? I am not prejudiced.;' “Ob yes, you are! You think that no ono who lias not been brought up exactly as you have, is fit to many your son.”

“How yof.i harp on that! Do you think my objections are only to your education ?” “I did think that/’

“You silly girl! Do you never think of means? You know Hugh has his way to make; and. how is he to do it tampered bv an uneducated wife without a penny?” “O-o-h!” said Mary, “of course,” very thoughtfully. “Is this the first time you ever thought of that?” asked Mrs Thorne triumphantly. But Mary was nob listening. “You mean to say you could get over the want of education, or the want of money—hut not both?” sli© asked. “Well! I don’t 'say that. Of course it would always be difficult forr Hugh to marry a very poor girl, but—” “Oh, then it is only the money!” cried Mary, springing to heir feet. “Hasn’t Hugh told you Doesn’t lie. know ?” •, “Know what?” irritably. . . / Mary dropped down again, her* face beaming. “I’ll be the best wife in the world to him. After all it is me he loves.- You want him to be happy—-let him be happy. Yon have only got to say yes—-such a little word. Do say it!” “His father,” began Mrs Thorne, weakly. ‘ “He has given in. I saw it in his face, only he was afraid of you. Don’t hold out any longer. You want to sayyes. Oh, do let yourself god” Many's joyous tone of confidence, ringing through . her affectionate coaxing, was the last thing Mrs Thorne could stand.

“Yciix are more than a match for me,” she said, laying her head back on the chair. “I give in. You seem so sure. I daresay it will be all right. I dont know how you aro going to live.” “Never mind that.” said 1 Mary,, but say. that you like me—say that you are glad:.”' ' “I can’t be exactly glad yet. but I do

like you, you headstrong girl/’ holding her face to Maiy- to be kissed. They embraced one another warmly, if a little awkwardly/ and then Mary demanded —“Are you getting glad yet ?” “Perhaps, a little bit. And so I am to come home With you?” replied the elder woman, smiling. “Please, if you will/’ returned Mary humbly.

“Well, well; don’t yo>u think you had better tell the others what the jflans are ?”

Off darted Mary. “Oh, Hugh, she’s coming!” she cited, catching bold of him in the hall.

“Mary-—you witch! Has she really made up her mind—completely ?” “Absolutely. Go and kiss her. It was all for you.” , Mary went to the back, where she came a across Mr T'home, still poking his ruined kitchen. “I have come to say,” she began, demurely, “that M : « Thome is- very pleased with the idea, and will start with me for Mason’s Flabby the four o’clock train- this afternoon.” Mr Thorne burst out “Upon my word!” he exclaimed: then turning kindly towards the girl—“l liked you from the hist, my dear; I am very glad, I suppose you and Hugh have settled iit ail. You will have to wait- a bit, you know. You realise that “I have something I want to tell you. Will you come ? Hugh is with ■; "borne.” and Mary led’ the way to the dining-room. “Well, mother!” said Mr Thorne, “so this is youir fine resistance, is it?” Mrs Thorne was holding Hugh’s liand and smiling, looking quite herself. “I am glad to see you have come round, Richard. Y r o>u must acknowledge now that I did all for the best-.” . “Oh, I have come roundsaid her ; husband, astounded. “How about you?”-

“Then we are all agreed," announced Mrs Thame, blandly ignoring his question. “These two dear children are going to wait till they can, afford to marry; Hugh and I have just been settling it.” “Bub you none of you seem to junderstand,” cried Mary, very red. “It’s tloo silly, but father- is Very well offrich ! He never, talks about his affairs, turning to Hugh, didn’t you knowhow well he is doing ?” Hugh stared at lier. She looked round at his father and mother. They wore this is dreadful! And father told me -that town people thought of nothing but money!’’ “Veity unbusinesslike or me not to have inquired,” murmured Mr Thome, rubbing his chin in a shamefaced way. “Mr Brown thinks all • lawyers are sharks, Richard,” announced his wife, with a tremulous laugh. “Better than being fools,” retorted her hu'sband.- “So your father is rich, eh?” to Mary.- -

“Yes, if you please, very,” replied slie dropping a curtsey, “Upon ,my word!”- was all he could Bay. ‘ , , “Why don’t you say liow glad ycni are?” cried the poor girl, completely puzzled by their way of taking it. “Because we are ashamed to, my dear/’ said .the old man with a smile. She turned to Hugh. “Surely you are glad?” and tears stood in her eyes. Hugh came over to her. t understand,” he said gently. “Yqu always knew that there would be difficulties that we should have to wait and all that. Why did you never tell me? Yon knew i umuguv we siiould have to he very poor.” “1 don’t believe anybody ever understands anybody!” cried Mary. “Didn’t you see that I thought all the objections would he to me —personally to mv want of education and homely ways? And when you talked of being poor so often, it meant nothing to me.' “The fact is, dear, wo are both far too humble. Let, u» go into the garden and begin understanding one another all over again. We’ll manage it this time. And they went. A few days later Mary had the pleasure of hearing Mrs Thome describe the earthquake to her mother. “And she was sfiich a comfort to us, dear Mrs Brown. I can’t think how we should even have done without her.” Mary looked ait Hugh—and they smiled.

[The End.]