Chapter XVII.

Otago Witness, Issue 1155, 17 January 1874, Page 19

Chapter XVII.

I'ART NOW, PART WELL, PART WIDE APART.

While Sylvia was in the churchyard, Mr. and Mrs. Carford, alias CaTew, were coming to an amicable settlement in the schoolhouse parlour.

" Now, my good soul," said the schoolmaster, as his wife sat opposite him, with downcast eyes, " I think you must see by this time exactly how matters stand, and that your evil genius could hardly have inspired you with a worse idea- than that of coming to seek help from me. It would have been inhuman to turn you out of doors last night, so I gave you your daughter's bedroom. But, as your good sense must show you, it wouldn't do for you to occupy it a second night. You don't want to confess your relationship to Sylvia. I appreciate the delicacy of a reserve which is only natural under the circumstances. When you left your child seventeen years ago you forfeited the right to call her daughter. Uaeless now to say, 'I am your mother,' She would answer in those awful words of the Gospel, ' I never knew 1 19

you. "True," cried the wanderer, with a convulsive sob.

" Such being the case, the sooner you leave this house and this neighbourhood the better. Out of my poverty— my entire income is less than a pound a week — I will give you a sovereign, enough to take you back and repay your landlady's loan. You will, at any rate, be no worse off than when you undertook this foolish journey."

"And no better. Oh, James," cried Mrs. Carford, piteously, "can you do nothing more for me ? Let me stop here and be your servant, your drudge without ■wages. I can sleep in a scullery. I shall cost you so little, and no one shall ever hear my lips betray the link between us."

"My good soul," said Mr. Carew, "bo reasonable ! I could as well afford to keep an elephant as a servant ; and to sot up a housekeeper would be to set every tongue in Hedingham wagging. People know that I have just enough to feed myself and my daughter. Aucl as to being my drudge, and sleeping in my scullery, surely there is somebody in all the vast world of London who would take you as a drudge without wages. You needn't have come all the way to Hedingham in search of such a situation as that."

"lam not strong, James. I have been out charing, but people complained that I didn't do work enough, and that I set about it awkwardly. They found out that I was a broken down lady, and that went against me." "Very sad," exclaimed Mr. Carew, with a sigh, half pity, half impatience. " I see only one resource open to you."

"And what is that?" asked his wife, eagerly. "An appeal to Mr. Mowbray. Let him give you some small pension, enough to keep you from starving." " No, James," she answered, with dignity. " I shall never do that. Lot the worst conic 1 can starve. It is only six or seven days' pain and a paragraph in the newspapers." She tonic up the sovereign which her husband had laid upon the table. "I'm sorry to rob you James. But you wouldn't like me to be seen wandering about here. This will take me back toiiondon — the great gulf which swallows up so many sorrows !" "She had brought her bonnet and shawl down stairs with her, knowing that her departure was near. She put them on wiih her feeble, faltering hands, and ready to begin her journey. "Goodbye, James," she said, stretching out her hand. He took it reluctantly, and there was no heartiness in his grasp.

"Say that you forgive me, James. We are both much nearer the grave than when I wronged you." "It's easy to say forgive. Well, we were both sinners. I liavu no right to be hard. What was it tempted you to leave me 1"

"His love," she answered. "He loved me as you had never done. If you could know how he b ire with me in thoso sorrowful years, till my remorse wore out even his patience. I think he would have been true to the very end, even though he had grown weary. But I thank God for giving me strength to leave him — to tread the stony way of penitence. It has been made very hard to me ; but I have never regretted that I chose it while life still seemed to smile. "

"A false smile," said Mr. Carew. " Well, you were but a foolish child when I married you ; and I might have been a better guardian. We have marred our lives, both of us. Good bye." Thus they parted, husband and wife, who had met again after seventeen years ©f severance. Like the memory of a dream

seemed the past to both. So dim, so strange, so irrecoverable. At the garden-gate Mrs. Carford met Sylvia. " Are you going away ?" asked the girl, looking at her curiously. "Yes." " For good." The woman smiled at the mockery in the words.

" For ever," she answered. " There is no hole or corner for me in your father's housu. I only asked for food and shelter, but he cannot give me even those." " We are so, poor ' said Sylvia, " You'd hardly believe' how poor ; for we try to put a decent face upon things, and not seem such beggars as we are. lam sorry Papa cannot do anything to help you." " I am sorry too, my dear," replied the woman with a tender look, " I should like to live near you, if it were in the nearest workhouse."

That touch of tenderness embarrassed Sylvia. ' ' lam very sorry for yon, " she repeated, " And if ever I am well off, which I don't suppose I ever shall be, I might be able to help you. Can yoxi give me any address where I could write to you if ever I had a a little money to send you." " How good you are," cried Mrs. Carford. " Yes, there is my landlady, she is a kind soul, and would keep a letter for me, even if I were not with her, for heaven knows how long she may be able to give me the shelter of a room which I can seldom pay for two weeks running. See, dear young lady, here is the address." She gave Sylvia an old envelope, oil which was written f ' Mrs. Oarford, care of Mrs. Wood, 8011-alley, Fetter-kno." "It isn't so much the chance of your helping me that I think of," she said, deeply moved, "as the kindness that put such a thing into your head. Good bye, my dear. Lam goiug out into the world which is very cruel to the poor and weak. Let me kiss you before I go." Sylvia submitted to that kiss, returned it evon ; and with a blessing, spoken amidst sobs, her mother left hei .