Did He Love Me? A TALE IN TWO CHAPTERS.

Otago Witness, Issue 1449, 30 August 1879, Page 22

Did He Love Me?

A TALE IN TWO CHAPTERS.

CHAPTER I. Did he love me? A.h ! who can tell? Dead lips and closed eyes reveal not. I was a seamstress, and mother and I lived in a tmy cottage on' the cliff. From our window we saw every day, and all day, the billows of the mighty Northern Ocean dashing on the shore,' ov in gentler moments the white wavelets dancing on the bosom of the blue deep. The summer sun lit it up with a golden glory, and the icy snow of winter melted into it and left no sign ; the yray sea-gulls floated on it, ay, and so did the bodies of the dead sometimes. We were I very poor ; and when mother was ill, I could not leave her to go out and work, nor even to seek employment that T could lako home and do beside her ; so whon this happened, you can think they were hard times with us?. Bread became scarce, and had ifc not been for the dried fish, sometimes v/o should have had a sorry dinner. One ( f the houses to which I used to go, when we were little known, belonged to the captain of the coast-guaul ; aud I really enjoyed the days I spent helping Mrs Leigh to oat down and alter the dresses and jackets of the young ladies. They were such dear, bright girls j it was like a ray of sunshine

bursting into the room when -they-owne and ' turned over the things in my basket " to see Welly 'a love-letters." What merry laughs they had, arid what a tangle tbey made of all my cottons and tapes 1" They all knew the story that had been the: cause i of our r going to live on the cliff, and they thought none the worse of us because ( father had got into trouble before he' died. ' .' They knew we could not help that ; that mother had sold the little home I .was born in, and given up everything sh'a possessed^' ■to niftke^p the deficit in his accounts and hide' his name from shame as much as possible* When he died, mother moved to this out-of-the-way fishing village to try and forgot and be forgotten. There waa no money now ; nothing to keep a roof over our heads but what she and I could earn j so she taught a few of the fisher v children to read and write, and I went out to the houses of the few • gentlefolks who lived near, to sew. How different they were, these employers ! There wag the farmer's wife, Mrs £.bdy,'as proud and conceited as the finest* lady in ttie land, with her silks and satins ; too grand by far to look into her dairy, or lend a hand in the cheese-room. The flounoinga and plai tings,* the braidings and trimmings, of all kinds, that I put on her gowns; and yet I never could heap on enough to please 1 her ! She would come into the 'spare bedroom and read put bits from all the" fashion' paper's; and, oh, dear! how tired I was' when, eight o'clook came and I went home to mother again ! ■ < Very different were my busy .days at the Leighs'. I worked in the snug sitting-room, while Miss Leigh played, Carrie drew, and the mother knitted socks ' for the oaptain. Ah ! there was no pride about them ; only good, kind hearts and bright looks ; and often did Mrs Leigh make some, soup or a ' pudding which she gave to me, saying ; "I am sure your mother would like it, ; Nelly ; so just run home with it, my dear j you can stay longer to-morrow* " And off I used to run along the toad, up the steep chalk-cliff, and in at the cottage . door, disturbing all the little ones at their reading and writing. Mother looked, up j • and how her dear face, brightened when she saw the cause of the commotion in' the black hat and tar ban shawl standing in the doorway ! Thfcn ,1 sat down, and how fast' the lessons wont ! Even that stupid Joe Hawkins did finally master "twice, two are four." The eight-day clock in the corner struck ; little legs and feet scrambled about for hata and caps, and out they all ran, leav- ' ing the cottage at last to mother and me. The joy of those early; home-coming* !' I was there to get the tea ready, and mother's eyes followed me all round the room to the oupboard where the oups lived, babk. to the table, then away again for the teapot. O i dear old days of long' ago 1 , r , i I wonder would you care to hear what our oottage was like ? Nothing pretty of romantic, not a bit of it. Juct a little long, low ' cottage, with two windows on one aide of the door and one; on the other, and 'the sloping tiled roof; the walls were tarred black. *' Very ugly/y ou are t saying; perhaps b», only I didn't think it when I usad jto,Bee the 1 curl of the smoke from the chimney,; the dark red tiles of the roof, the black walls, |;he bright glass of the windows, the leave* and flowers of the few poor plants; and, th« nicker of the fire looking 1 at me' as, tired from my day's work, my eyes] lighted" on it its I came up the cliff. - ."Dingy, ugly place." Yea, I, dare say ; but it was ray home, and I j.oved it. , . ' When the spring came there was a good deal to do at Sea "View ; Carrie was going _ jiway on a visit to her- aunt, the captain's cister, who had no children of her own, and who. might, perhaps, "one of these days', add her h^lp to Carrie's wedding portion. None 'of the Leighs had ever suggested 'this thought "to me, but; they often said- how rich. Aunt • | Mary was, and as she had no children of her own, I built up a little romance in my imagina« tion, in which she was to adopt Carrie and give 'her all her money, so that she might marry a penniless Jack Lambert I had heard of, |and — live happy ever afterward. . I worked Jwith a real delight to turn Carrie out as well aa possible, and between us we coaxed the captain <mk of a five-pound note, had. a great :envelope of patterns from • Framthorpe, and.lv iaier a big brown paper parcel containing the prettiest dre33 material you. 'ever saw. ■I even wont to Mrs Abdy's and borrowed ;the very last fashion-book, " for myself ;" of course I would not say it. .was for the cap. •tain's daughter. We made, the dress, and it ■looked lovely, and Carrie prettier than ever, •if 'possible, in it. I Just in the middle of all ihia business, .when we were working hard all day, a letter iarrived saying that Ned, the captain's son, was coming back. He had been at sea when, mother and I arrived at the cottage, so I had I .'never seen him, and had a g-eat curiosity to I : behold this "sailor boy" of whom I had / , heard so much. The letter was sent off from Malta, so he might soon be expected home. What preparations they made for his return ! He was the only son, and you can well imagine how fond and how proud, both the captain and his wife were of him. The " bunk " (for so the capbain has christened the room Ned was to have) wa3 freshly ; papered ; loving hands worked all kinds of •pretty things, from slippers upward {they were made, and placed ready for use when he should arrive) ; Carrie painted a big oard. : board flag to look like a Union Jack, and in gold letters wrote a huge " Welcome " on' it, i whidi she hung up in the little hall ; and i the whole family lived in a constant expectation of Ned's home-coming. How the wild waves beat against the cliffs ; how the wind sighed and moaned as . wo pat there in the cheerful sitting-room at Sea View ! Carrie was going to-morrow, and thc-re wai still a lot to do ; so I had asked mother to let mo stay there until Guy Weeks, the old fisherman, should pass the c ir>tain'ti on his way home late that night j and he was to call for me and' see me safe to the cottago door. My needle was flying along, as if spurning the snowy muslin under it, and Norah was makiug tho buttonholeß on Carrie's new bodies, when the bell rang. Out they flocked into the tiny hall j glad loving voices were lifted in greeting ; and a few moments later they all came back into the sitting-room, bringing with them Ned— curly-headed, brown-haired, enn-burnt Ned. How handsome he looked as he gtpod tbera

his pilot-jacket buttonel over his chast, and . the little cap perched a wee bit on one side of his bonnie head ! "Nelly,'thisisour-Ned." ' ' Isn't .fib' a- 'darling ?" "There, Nelly, that's something like a young salt." "My dear old Ned, how glad I am to get you home again !" How many more loving words and looks and greetings,'. , And as he stood there, with one hand on' the captain's shoulder and the other roun&'his mother's waist, who could doubt: him ? He looked so well worthy of all their loving worship. "Oome f and see your room, Ned," cried Oarrie. " Did you see the big flag, my boy ?" inquired Mrs Leigh. " (Dome along, Ned ; come along !" And Carrie put her arm through his, and dragged him, half-unwillingly, up-staiva. ' Then they had a private hugging and kissing outside the door again ; 1 heard them ; and then np went Ned, two stairs at a timo, and Carrie after him. ".What do you think, of him, NeUy ?" I ss.id aomethingstupid, I suppose. How -I was I I absolutely felt left out in coldj with all this welcoming and loving going on around me. Norah; evidently thought my praiae constrained and cold, .for she laughed and said, "Oh ! Nelly,! am sure you are jealous at not having him for a brother youreolf." Presently Carrie and Ned came down ; he, glorious in the" new slippers I had helped to make.. Yes, Thitd helped, though that was a secret' between Carrie and me ; for she had got tke-woolsall wrong, and I helped her to unpick the' pattern and set it right, again. • ' So he;sat ; there and told them of all he had done, of where he had been, of the queer sights and sounds of the far off lands ; and when old • Guy' Weeks called for me, Ned and the captain had begun singing a lot of old sea-songa ; and as I closed the door the last thing i heard was. something about " little Billy 1" And I went with the old fisherman out 'into the dark tempestuous night, with the refrain of "little Billy" ringing in my ears. Mother was anxious enough when I reached the cottagt), and took many a good look at me to assure 'herself .there was none of mo blown^awaj by the winds, or washed away by the rain.^ - " Come in a minute, Guy, won't you ?" "No,il thank you, missis'; it be main tempting, but I,'U just go on home." " Well> .., thank you. for bringing Nelly j good-night?" f ' . >• i ■ ■".. >. " Good^night,' neighbour." • •We heard the pla9h, .plash .of the old man's boots as he tramped on in the wet mud.. Mother r took iofE .my. hat and oloak and gave me, a cup of .tea; then ahe sat down on. the', other Bide 1 of the fire to hear he newp.; •_•■:' ' ' ' ■ . '•la the. captain's son come, Nelly ?',' Mother had- asked this question -ievery night, for a week-past-. . . , , ■ " Yes, mother, he oame this evening." "What is hi like, dear?" "Oh, big -and .brown, and, curly- haired, and sun-burnV."; . ! * ' . • • Thai's, a qu'eej 'description, Nell! " « • Well, ' mother,' it's true." V Weren't, they glad to see ,him ? I can just imagine it." ! " " They- kiaßed him and hugged him enough, anyway.''" t ~ '!"',, "Oho would think you had no one to hug and kiss you, Nell, from the way* in which you talk.'*- ;,;:/', Dear , me,'/ what;', a cros3-grairied, crabbed girl' I was, to be sure I - What could it signify to me' if they had all gone on kissing Ned from now till next Sunday night ? ' : " What did he talk about, child ?" •"He told them a lot of stories about whalcte' and sharks, and black people, and palm' trees with dates on them — ever such a lot of stories-; only I wa3 busy working, you know, 1 and they took no notice of me. Then he and the baptain began to sing, and they were still in the midst of it all when old Guy came for me." (To he concluded in our next.)