Chapter XV.

Otago Witness, Issue 1548, 9 July 1881, Page 24

Chapter XV.

MR. AND MRS. PELFE AT HOME. Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all its chords with might, Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight. —LockslcyJlall. How shall I live and work To match thy goodness? my life will be too short, And every measure fail me. —Lear. They were married at once; and then Mr Pelfe took his wife to the sea-side for a week or two —a change she greatly needed; and which sent her back wonderfully improved. That marriage had excited a good deal of surprise, and some disgust in Golden Terrace. John Pelfe's former courtship had been carried on openly—and no one had been defrauded of their right of private comment ; what business had he to forget Mary Goldie so soon, and take a wife before anyone was aware that he had recovered from that disappoinment. His choice, too, a poor, unknown, helpless girl, was universally disapproved. But Golden Terrace, recollecting at length that this was none of its business, was recovering itself, and beginning to call upon the bride by degrees^ moved thereto by curiosity to see what a blind lady might be like. Opinions varied, but everybody agreed in expressing surprise at one thing—her cheerfulness, ' I remember Beeing her several times groping in and out of St. Olave's,' said Miss Ohatterton, after her first visit, and a melanch. 1/ little thing I thought her ; and so dov. dy ! She is quite a different creature now.'

And so she was. Her marriage had opened a new world to the blind girl ; new thoughts, and hopes, and aspirations filled her heart, and exercised her imagination ; and she was no longer solitary. He? grandfather, loving her though he did, liftti }w\ neither time wv heart to

manifest that love in the numberless little ways that he might have done, had not all his feeble energies been concentrated on the effort to keep her from starvation ; and he had always been a man of few words.

It seemed to Frances that she was only now beginning to realise how he had loved her, and she felt half guilty to think how happy she was, so soon after his death. For she was happy ; she could not help it. Mr Pelfe's genial nature acted upon her like a charm, and was fast dispelling the sadness and melancholy so unsuited to her years. If that very cheerfulness was to John himself sometimes an effort, he made no sign. He had accepted the care of the blind girl as a duty, and it was one he strove most conscientiously to fulfil, ignorant at the time how much good that effort was doing him. Another thing helped Frances — the complete change in her life. She was no longer compelled to sit from morning to night over her sewing or fancy work, toiling with feverish haste to complete orders within the given time. True her fingers were still ever busy, but now the work was pure pleasure ; for John had decreed that her earnings should be her own, to do just what she pleased with, and ' she might set up a stocking bank forthwith ! ' A thing Frances had not the slightest intention of doing ; the delight of being able to give was too sweet and new for that.

Then the house ! who so pleased as the blind girl when she could find b&r way into every nook and corner of it And her music ! no longer was that delight restricted to Sundays, and the church organ, for there, in her parlour, stood a beautiful little harmonium — John's wedding gift. Many an hour Frances spent over it, letting her fingers draw soft sweet melody from the keys.

And always there was her husband to think of, and his home-coming to look forward to. For the evenings were best of all. The happy meal, over which they lingered in pleasant talk ; then the Times to be read, and its contents commented on — said comments often enough giving rise to an argument ; which John enjoyed, Frances would grow so earnest, and become quite eloquent. After the paper there was a book or review to be discussed ; or there was the harmonium.

Mr Pelfe was excessively fond of music ; and the blind girl prized her one accomplishment doubly, on that account. And thus the day ended — as it had begun— with family prayer. Yea ! Frances was happy ; yet there was a cross in her lot too ; but she bore it bravely, resolutely refusing to brood over it, trusting that, as the years went on, it would grow less and less, and at last cease to be. Still she could not quite forget, and often fancied that, even when in her presence, her husband's heart was far away ; and, in consequence, a very shy little bride was Frances, never venturing spontaneously upon caresses or endearments.

John, just returned from the warehouse, was seated in "slippered ease" by his open parlour window, she standing near, her hand resting on the back of his chair, while Susan moved about the room, setting the tea-table. Old Mrs Jones, grown " somewhat stiff and crazy in her joints," by reason of old age and rheumatism, had gone into honourable retirement, and Susan reigned in her stead. She bustled in now with the urn, and having filled the teapot and set the chairs, said, ( Now Miss Frances, my dear, tea is ready ; ' and departed. Mr Pelfe rose; and passing an arm round his wife's shoulder, guided her to a seat. The usual order of things was reversed here, for John poured out the tea, and appeared to rather like the task. ' If Susan is alive when you are a grandmother, you will still be Miss Frances to her,' he remarked, laying a slice of bread and butter on his wife's plate.

She laughed and blushed, and the blush became her wonderfully.

' I have had visitors this afternoon — John ; ' she said presently, stumbling a little over the yet unfamiliar name.

' And how did you get on ? I wish I had been at homo to relieve your shyness.'

' Oh, I managed very well,' was the bright reply. 'Susan introduced them, and I was too anxious to do you credit to remember my shyness ; and they were very kind.' { Who were they 1 ' ' Mrs Dene came first. ' { 1 Oh, and her influenza *•€ Frances laughed merrily. ' But the poor woman really was suffering to-day,' she said compunctiously. ' I could hardly hear her speak. '

' My dear, that is her ordinary voice.'

' It is an exceedingly dismal one then^; sho gave me two infallible recipes for influenza, and a solemn warning against opening windows.' ' Which I hope you will not take,' said Mr Pelfe. ' That woman's house is like an oven ; how she can exist in such an atmosphere is a mystery to me ; her constitution must be made of iron. Well, who were the next.'

' Mrs Goldie, and her young marriod daughter, Mra Cope.' John was silent ; the blind wife, unconscious of the Budden change in his face, went on unsuspiciously, — 1 I like them both so much, especially Mrs Cope ; I think her well worthy of her husband.'

For Arthur, having heard the particulars of his friend's marriage, and partly understanding how it had. come about, had Made time oae evening lately, to e&U

upon them, and show John how rejoiced he was; and that after making Mrs Pelfe's acquaintance, he was able to do most heartily ; while she, for her part, had been as much pleased with him. ' But I shall not see very much of her, I'm afraid,' continued Frances, who often, unoonsciously spoke of seeing; 'because of the distance, and the amount of parish work she has. I asked after her sister, for Mrs Dene had been telling me, just before, about the "twins of Golden Terraoe." They [have not heard from Mrs Stevens yet, 'of course, and seem very anxious. You never spoke of them, John ; are they really so much alike— in disposition, I mean, as features ? which did you like best?' ' They are both pleasant girls. Will you have another cup of tea, Frances? Finished 1 ? then suppose we have some music ' And the blind girl was too pleased with the request, to notice that her question had been left unanswered. But the next day Miss Chatterton called ; she would have oome days before, but had been away on a short visit to one of her aristocratic relations. Harry Goldie was wont to call Miss Chatterton the "shower-bath,' in allusion to her copious flow of language ; and the sobriquet was not inappropriate. On the present oocasion Frances found herself borne down and carried away by a peridot flood of small-talk. Miss Ohatterton's ideas were apt to out-strip her powers of speech ; and she was in the habit of beginning a sentence, and running it into another on an entirely different subject j so that even her most intimate friends rarely left her with any clear idea of what she had been talking about. To a stranger, not possessed of the clue to her allusions, the attempt to follow her was simply bewildering —as Frances soon found. ' My dear Mrs Pelfe,' said she, for the third or fourth time, ' I should not have known you really ; you are so altered, so — if you will permit me— improved.' And indeed, Mrs Pelfe, in her wellfitting black dress, with its white ruffling at throat and wrists, a dainty little matronly cap* crowning the pretty brown hair, and with the delicate rose-tint of health and happiness lighting up her fair complexion, was a very different person from Frances Temple, the pale, solitary little organist, with her timid manner, and ill-assorted attire. More than once since his marriage John had marvelled at himself for ever having thought her a "fright." • I am so delighted to make your acquaintance,' meandered Miss Chatterton, 'you will be quite an acquisition to Golden Terrace ; especially the music ; though how you can do it, being blind, I can not imagine. It was wonderfully liked at church, and everyone is so sorry — though, for my part I can't tell one tune from another, and shouldn't have known it was a stranger last Sunday. I suppose being married, and want of time, and all that you know. And perhaps Mr Pelfe does not approve of playing in public, as one may say. Some think their wives only fit to be put in a glass case.

But I should have thought — but men are all alike — there is my cousin, the member of Parliament, his wife dead only yesterday, and he married to a widow with three. Ah ! ' And Miss Chatterton paused to take a long breath. Frances, with a sensation of giddiness, took the opportunity to remark that they had thought it best for her to resign her 'position as organist. She did not think it necessary to explain further. The truth was, she and John had discovered someone in pressing need of such a post, and she had resigned in his behalf, thereby depriving herself of what had always been a pure delight. { Talking of the church,' resumed Miss Chatterton ; 'itia a great blessing to have a settled pastor once more ; Mr Slowe is quite orthodox. Don't you think so 1 Mr Goldie is delighted with him. But dear

Mra Pelfe, do let me hear you play.' A request with which Frances, hoping to escape the cataract, willingly complied. But she reckoned without her gnest. The charms of music may avail to " soothe the savage breast," but they are impotent to silence a determined talker. Miss Chatterton sat still for two minutes, fidgeted for other two, and then broke in with,— . ' Beautiful, beautiful ; Ido not mow

how you can do it. But talking of the *}Goldies— you have heard of them, I supw pose 1 ' With some curiosity to know what she had heard. Mrs Goldie and Mrs Cope called on me yesterday,' said Frances, still letting her fingers stray lovingly over the keys. ' Indeed ! ah, well, I suppose they think it best to be friendly.' • Why should they not be friendly ? ' demanded the blind girl, instinctively turning round, a3 if to look at her visitor. 'Of course, why not certainly,' said Miss Chatterton hurriedly, fearing she had said too much, and losing her presence of mind at the thought. *Of course Mr Pelfe is far too sensible to bear malice ; and she is hundreds of miles away. I don't know exactly how far off India is, do you 1 my geography is rather misty, I confess. They say it is a beautiful place ; quite a city of palaces and all that, you know.' And thinking she had turned the subject with marvellous dexterity, Miss Chatterton prudently took her departure, lest that unlucky tongue of hers should get her into trouble. Mr Pelfe's honest frankness saved his wife many a heartaohe. This gossip had revealed nothing new, except the lady's name. ' And that he would have told me for tht asking/ thought Frances, 'M«y

Goldie— a pretty name ; 1 wonder whether she ia as nice as her sister. I have alwayß thought of km 1 us a very disagreeable person — but of course, in that case, John would never have cared for her. And he has not forgotten her yet, I feel sure ; but how good he is to me ! If I could only make it up to him ; I will try, oh, I will try !»