LEAVES OF DESTINY

New Zealand Times, Volume LIII, Issue 12393, 12 March 1926, Page 4

LEAVES OF DESTINY

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

DOROTHEA CORBOULD.

Author of “A Fatal Friend.hip." “Hi. Fair Enemy.” "Held la Bondage,” Etc., Etc,

COPYR I G H T.

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTER. CHAPTER I. —Barbara Denning gazes at her last shilling. A well-bred, wellnurtured girl, she has lost both her parents, and is now on the brink of starvation. Her sympathies are divided between her own necessities and the sufferings of a little boy in the some lodginghouse whose mother is a drunkard. She goes out singing in the streets that night, and with the money earned she gets a supper for both the child and herself. The next evening two men speak to her, praising her voice, and she decides to sing in the afternoon for the future. One afternoon she is again addressed by one of the men who spoke toi her on a previous night. He gives her* his card, advising her to go to a Mr Simpkins, the manager of the Diadem Theatre. Barbara Denning visits the theatre and is interviewed by Mr Simpkins.

CHAPTER ll.—Barbara Denning's interview with Mr Simpkins is almost terminated at the' commencement, but he calls her hack. She sings and he is satisfied. ' He decides she will do for tho Birds' Chorus, and introduces her to a Mr Beal, the musical director. He thinks she could understudy the Nightingale, Miss MacArthur's speciality, as that lady is often absent through illness. The salary is JH 3 per week, and «£5 when she takes the Nightingale. The following morning Barbara attends a rehearsal. Returning to her lodgings, 6he finds some excited women chattering. Mrs Brown, tlie drunken mother of the little boy, Reggie, in whom she is so interested, has been run over and taken to the hospital. A hospital nurse has.called to see about the child, as the patient was so anxious about him. Mrs Bloggs, the landlady, has five of her own, and cannot undertake Reggie. Barbara promises to be responsible for the child, goes to him, and takes him to her own quarters. Two days later Barbara is told by Mrs Bloggs that someone has called from the hospital. Reggie's mother has not long to live. She has . asked to see Miss Denning. She wants to talk about the child. CHAPTER HI. Barbara found Mrs Brown in the accident ward, with the ominous screen drawn round her, and it was with difficulty that the girl suppressed an exclamation of horrified dismay at the change in the woman whom she had only seen in a drunken fit cd rage, crimson with fury, and looking well able to wreak the vengeance she had often threatened upon herself and anyone who dared to interfere with her. Mrs Brown was ghftstly pale, and her great hollow eyes gazed at her visitor almost with fear—but it was the face of one who might under ordinary circumstances have been,. Barbara told herself, a good-looking woman

“I’m sorry to find you no better/' the girl said, taking in hers the hand whose fingers had been restlessly plucking at the coverlet of her Bed. “Is there anything I can do for you P” “The child —Reggie——” gasped the weman. ' ■ > “Reggie is well and happy. f I have taken him up tb iriy room, and will look after him till you are well enough to come home again—he sent his love to his Mummy ”

Tears in the woman’s eyes, and rolled down her pale cheeks—“l some’ow hoped, as you’d look after him,” she said, in a weak, gasping voice. “Even after I’d slanged yer as I did—but itttwould ha’ broke ray heart to thipk of him bein’ sent to the Union—an’ old Mother Bloggs don’t bear me the best of good will, she don’t. Ye see, doctor tells me aa I ain’t to get any better. My chest's I can’t breathe proper—-so Reggie won’t have anyone when gone—leastways unless—- —*’ A spasm of pain crossed the dying woman’s face, and for a moment she was unable to speak—presently she went on

“Just beforo Reggie was bora, my husband was called up an* had to join his regiment for foreign service he thought as I was goin’ straight to my old home after he left—but not me. My folks was all teetotallers an* that strict—an’ I knew when I hadn’t Don —my husband, I’d never be able to keep away from tb© drink —an* I Was afraid they’d send me to one of them homes for inebriates I’d heard of when Don’s back was turned. So after Reggie was bora, I had to give Up my lodgings, and not havin’ any money I appeared with the boy—an’ a precious hard time of it we’ve had. All my allowance went in drink, an’ I had to bo" in the streets or we’d have starved. As it was I done pretty well with that—Reggie was pretty an’ folks pitied him an’ give me money. Then 1 see my husband's name in the paper as ‘missin,’ reported killed/ an’ I think I went mad. I dursn’t write to his people—’coo thev never knew as he was married. You see, Don was a gentleman born—his father was a big toff up in the north somewhere. 1 never knew the address proper; or p’raps they’d have done something for me, only I’d have been ashamed to let ’em see Don’s wife as I am now. I was only the blacksmith’s daughter in the village where he come sketchin’—he painted beautiful — huh I was very pretty an’ fell in love with me-. —we were married here in London, an* nobody knew anything about it, specially hie people, ’ooe he was dependent on his father as give him a good allowance. We should ha’ been luippy, him an’ me —an’ I could have got to be a lady in tim^—’for T was quick at ketchin* up things, an’ learnin’ his ways .and—-but he went ■ ■ ” a sob caught her voice—“and then IN© got worse an* worse. What I wanted you to do for me was to try an’ find his people after I’m gone, an’ get ’em to have Recgie an’ bring him up like his father’s son should be-

If Don over comes back, I’d like M» to know as I’ve never been a bad woman—except for the drink—and if he’s alive, for. him to have this little packet. I’ve never parted with what’s inside it, not even when I warn most in want. If you come acreßl him tell him as Lizzie Brown—that’s my maiden name, begeed his forgiveness with her last Dreath—an’—an’— vou’l3 nor. lei cm to him as I beat Reggie when I was the worse for drink?”

Airs Brown’s speech had been made with little gasping sentenoes—now she stopped, thoroughly exhausted. “Don’t worry about that,” Barbara said soothingly. “Of course I shouldn’t tell him or anyone—and I will be sure to give him your message and this” — she took the packet from the woman’s hand —“but you must tell me his name, and where to look for his people.” “Yes, but I don’t know nothing about ’em, ye see. My married name is—is ” The sentence was never finished — with a gasping cry the woman tried to raise herself, oattWng for breath, and before Barbara could summon assistance, fell back dead.

“Poor tiling! We were afraid she would go off like that,” said the nurse, who had hurriedly made her appearance at Barbara’s call. “It was a good thing you could come to-day, she was so anxious to see you on account of her child. And you were only just in time——”

“Yes, but unfortunately she could not give me any particulars of herself,” Barbara replied. “I suppose she never mentioned her husband’s name. I know it was not Brown—she told me that much.”

“No—she kept on calling for ’Don’ asking him to forgive her and look after the child. She was evidently very poor, having only a few pence in her pocket—but she clutched all the time at a little packet she had, and refused to give it up.” “I have it safely,” Barbara said, ‘ and if there is anything else belonging to h«r, I had better take it. There might possibly be some clue to her real name ' •

“There was nothing but the loom coppers. I thought you mignt be a relative from her anxiety to see you ” “No! I lodge in the same house, and have taken charge of her child tv save him from' being sent to the workhouse. I wilj. go back and tell the landlady what has happened, and her husband will no doubt see to all arrangements for poor Mrs Brown’s burial.” “We shall have to send the body to the mortuary at once, of course- 1 must see the hpuse surgeon.— and wlvn a curt “good afternoon” the nurse hurried away, Barbara following, and making the best of her way borne. There was only a pauper’s funeral for poor Lizzie Brown—Barbara could find no cine to her real name, or 10 her birthplace. “Of course I ought to have got her to tell me that,” the girl said to herself. “It would have simplified matters considerably.” ■

As it is, there is nothing to go upon.” The little packet contained a wedding ring and a gold locket with a pretty device in small pearls; while inside there was a lock pf dark hair —and “from D. to L.” with the dates—some seven years back. Could anything have been more unfestimate than the woman’s death before she had spoken the name which might havs affected l : tt!e Reggie’s whole future! -

Barbara said aething abovft his mother’s death and tho child never mentioned . her., He seemed quite content in his new surroundings, and as time went on. had apparently forgotten his former life and the misery it brought him. The first night of the Revue came at last, and the Diadem Theatre waa packed from floor to ceiling by an enthusiastic crowd of first nighters eager for something new. “The Forest Queen” was a great and unqualified success—the Bird Chorus being specially applauded and accorded a “par” all to itself in the daily press. Mr Simpkins was radiant with delight and told Captain Mordaunt. who always patronised first nights, that Miss Denning had proved quite a mascot, taking the lead with the sopranos end keening them up to the mark. ' Mordannt had himself congratulated Barbara as she stood at the wings, on having obtained thfe engagement at the Diadem, and she in turn thanked him in a' few grateful words for having introduced her. It was the first time they had met since he had given her the card, and it was a relief to the girl to find that the young man 'had evidently no intention of thrusting his acquaintance any further upon her merely because he had been able to do her a service.

There was to lie a supper on the stage nfter the performance, but Barbara had declined the invitation and hurried home. She always felt out of place among the other members of the company, and beyond a civil exchange of greeting and a few com-mon-place remarks had advanced no further in intimaev with her companions in the Bird Chorus. Miss MacArtliur had studiously avoided any notice of her. and evidently, deeply resented her lieing out forward as the leading soprano after herself. “That girl dislikes me. though I cannot imagine why, for I haven’t exchanged a single word with her!” she said to herself. “Unless she fears I shall understudy her. and nerhaps tn her nart, which T sincerely trust win not happen—at any rate, yet awhile.”"

(To be continued.)