Camiola: A GIRL WITH A FORTUNE. THE NOVELIST.

Otago Witness, Issue 1754, 4 July 1885, Page 24

Camiola: A GIRL WITH A FORTUNE.

THE NOVELIST.

By WSTIN MCCARTHY,

ATJTHOfc OF " Miss Nisanthrope," " Mfljd of Athens," &c.

CHAPTEtt XIV (Continued). HILE he was thus perturbed, f longing' fqr something to do | and not well knowing what'to do, be received a telegram from Mrs Pollen. It merely

asked him to come back to town and see her at oncej It fcold him nothing. It was a relief to him to be asked to do anything at once. He made a lrarried explanation to his mother; indeed it was not much of an explanation, tor he could only tell her that he had to go to London ; he did not himself know why— and he went off by the next train. The telegF&ro had been dated from Fitzurse House, and he assumed, therefore, that it was at Fitzuroc Housq he was expected. He found Mrs Pollen slow© in her music-room, playing to herself on the organ, " So kind of yon to come at once/ she said, "But I knew you would come when I asked you." " Oh, of course I would come." " I have been thinking of something said by Jean Paul Riehter about mutf/«— I wonder if any one even in Germany reads Jean Paul now ? He says that music alono of all the arts can only express what is good. Do you think that it "is »«? Can music not express hate and passion and wild anger?" " I have not- thought the matter over, Romont said, with entire gravity. "But I will turn my .attention to, it'tf you wish." He understood Sirs Pollen's ways, and he never thought of pushing her on to an explanation of her reason for asking him to comp-to Lopdon. He could wait. She would tell him when she felt inclined. " I wish you would tWnk it over ; lam much interested in it ; and I can't but think that Kiehter was wrong. Surely one can express the passion of hate.as woli'as the passion of love in music ?" " Perhaps what Eichter meant was that one cannot express in music anything that is ignoble and mean. Envy, for instance. How could one get the idea of envy out of the sound of an organ ?" " Well, it is something worth thinking over. I didn't send for you to London to talk about that alone." " No ; I suppose not." " Camiola Sabine was^ here last night. She came alone." "Yes," he answered, with almost perfect; .composure. Mrs Pollen rose from her, seat at Ihe organ. " Give me your hand ; I want to feel your pul«e. He complied. She held his wrist. •* Camiola came to tell me something. She came to tell me that she has promised to marry Georgie Lisle. That will do—it is just as I supposed. Your face is firm enough, my dear boy, but your pulse tells its tale." She let his hand drop. "There, you need not explain or protest ; I knewit before." He did not explain or protest. •" Well, Mrs Pollen, if my pulse told you that I was surprised at this, my pulse told you an untrue story. I was not surprised; I was expecting it ; I knew it would come. I thought it was something of the kind you had to tell me." She knew it, then; Mrs Pollen knew his secret ; it was no secret ; 'he had betrayed himself in some way; he could not even have -the poor satisfaction of thinking that he had dragged his corpse ©wt, *» be.had hoped to do.

" Will you do nothing for her ? Nothing, nothing ?" " What can T do? What could Ido for her? Does she want my help ? Would she have it? 1 ' " Look here, Bertie Romont ; and come to the point. Do you love this girl or not ■* Are you really in love with her?"' "As if you didn't know !" he said passionately. " I am in love with her ; I would do anything for her ; I would give my life to plenso her; I hate the, thought of her marrying hint; I should hate it even if I knew she loved him, and that it would make her happy. See what selfish creatures we are! Ask me if I love her !" " And yet you will do nothing ! You will see her sacrifice herself to that hysterical boy, and you look on with your arms folded and will do nothing ! If I were a man I would rather kill him than see this hideous sacrifice." •' But, great heaven !" Romont exclaimed, "what is the good of my being in love with her? What right should I have to kill her lover, if these were days for killing off one's rivals ? She doesn't care about ma." " You of little faith,'' Mrs Pollen said, scornfully. " Have you asked her ?" " No ; not likely. Why should I ask her ? Hasn't she engaged herself to him ? Why, don't you remember ; didn't we see her kiss him that nigh I ? Didn't that tell us her story ?" "It didn't tell me her story ; I learnt it afterwards." Then Mrs Pollen .stopped and pulled herself up. She was on the point of letting out Camiola's secret, but she bethought herself in time. Mrs Pollen was above all things a good "pal," and although she had not any great affection for women in general, yet she had a strong feeling of her sex, and she would not tell even Romont what she had found out about Camiola. " Let him find that out for himself," she thought ; "he is not worthy of that girl, or of any girl, if he can't do that much." Her manner became instantly more quiet. " Well," she said, " I have my doubts about the whole thing. I can't bring myself to believe j that such a girl really is in love with such a man. She might as well dress him in her apparel and make him her waiting gentlewoman, as Beatrice says " " Oh, I think he's a plucky little fellow, so far as that goes." " I daresay he is. Most schoolboys are ; but a plucky little fellow isn't quite enough for a girl like Camiola Sabine. Well, the point is this : Are, you, Mr Romout, disposed to study the matter for yourself, to satisfy your own mind as to whether she is in love with him or not ? You will have to lose no time." " But how can I find out ? She is engaged to him. I can't go and ask a girl, 'Do you really" want to marry the man you have promised to marry ?' It would be an insult." " Is there no other way ?" " I don't know of any." " Can't you think of any ?" He shook his head. " Well," she said, impatiently, " I wouldn't for any consideration on earth be as resourceless as a man in a difficulty. Why was not I made a man and a lover ? Only I suppose I should be as dull as the rest of you, in that case — and you, Bertie Romont, who could put yourself into all sorts of disguises and go through all sorts of clangers for some unfortunate creatures you never knew anything about before, can't think of anything to do to save the girl you love from a fate which, to me, an unconcerned lookeron, seems twenty times worse than death by fever or any other sort of death." " Do tell me," he said, perplexedly, " what you mean ; what you think I ought to do, what I could do. lam dull ; lam stupid ; I can't think of anything ; I can't even guess what you have in your mind. Pray haye pity on my Stupidity, and tell me." " Will you put yourself in my hands ?" " I will," he answered, doggedly, and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. " Absolutely and unconditionally ?" *. " Absolutely and unconditionally. I know I can trust to anything you say." " You are right in that, my clear boy. Just let me think for a moment. Don't you find that to strike a few chords on the organ greatly helps one in a thing out — at least that it gives inspiration sometimes ? 1 do." She went back to the organ, sat down, and touched the keys. Romont leaned with his back against the chimney-piecs and looked at her. He was intensely greatful to her even while much puzzled by her. " Good heaven, how kind she is !" he thought in a sort of ecstaey of gratefulness fqr the interest she took in him. "After my mother," he sajd t,o himself, " she is the dearest and best friend 1 have on earth." But he did not say this aloud. Even in the fervour of his gratitude he had a tolerably clear idea that it would not absolutely delight Mrs Pollen to be classified with his mother. Truly a sincere woman of forty may well take a motherly interest in a young man, and may so; but it would not be well for him to tell her that he regards her ii? the light of a mother. Mrs Pqiltfn Jcept on playing for a few moments ; tWi she suddenly looked round anl, with her hand still on the keys, she said to him : "You have heard me talk of my Albanian servant Joseph, have you not ; the man who was with me, first, in Greece, ■ and afterwards in Syria?" "Ygs ; I remember your telling me something about him." " His real name is not Joseph ; only the Albanian equivalent for it. I turned it into English because I don't speak Albanian. He is coming to England." " Oh, indeed ?" Romont did not find himself deeply interested in the movements of Joseph, but he assumed that Mrs Pollen was merely talking about anything to give herself time to think. " Yes ; I want to get him a place with someone who is travelling, as I don't propose just now to travel myself. He would rather stay with me, but I think he would only stagnate in London. I have a great regard for him, and I want him to do well. I suppose you don't particularly want an Albanian servant ?" " Wall, no, Mrs Pollen. You see my man has been with me a long time, and we get on very well together, and Ije knows all my ways; and " " Yes, yes, I quite understand ; I never, of course, meant to suggest that you should send him away, but I thought that if you were'inclined to have another seryant " " I am afraid 1 am not rjeh enough for such a luxury," " Well, perhaps you could help me to find a place for my Joseph. The worst of it is he can't speak one word of English or understand half a word. He speaks "Only somo dreadfully bad Italian and some almost unintelligible French, or lingo that he calls French. I can do with him because' I am used to his jargon. Anyhow he is coming, to London ; I expect him to-morrow, and he<will stay here until I get him a place, or unless. I get him a place. He is devoted to me, and lam devoted to him. That reminds me that I must send someone to meet

him, for he has never been in London before, and lie never could find his way or make a cab111111 uiulevstand him. Would you kindly ring the bell, Mi- Romont ?" He did so, wondering what had become of his love affair and her plans on his behalf. A servant made his appearance. " Would you be good enough to ask Mr Tilgrim kindly to come here for a moment ? " She said nothing to Ilonioufc. Kamont remained silent as a statue. '' Best to lot li.iihave her way," he thought. Christian Pilgrim made his appearance. " Oh, Mr Pilgrim, I want you to-morrow evening to go and meet the train from Dover, and look out for an Albanian servant of mine who is coming here. I think I told you of him once or twice." " Yes, madam." " Well, he is coining here from Corfu, and he can't speak a word of English. Ho talks a little bad French. You can speak French, Mr Pilgrim, can't you ? " " In a sort of way, madam." " That will do well enough. Just take a hold of him and bring him here. You will have to speak distinctly and slowly ; but really it will be almost enough to mention my name. Just say ' Madame Pollen,' and he will come with you. I may see you to-morrow ; but if I shouldn't be 'here until late you will remember, won't you ? " " Certainly, madam." " Look here," Romont said, " can't I do this for you ? lam afraid Pilgrim's French is a little too good — too literary, too much studied ' out of books — to be intelligible to our Levantine." " But you have positively to. leave town tomorrow early," Mrs Pollen said. " How could you manage to do this ? " Romont had not said a word about leaving town early next day. But he took caVe not to contradict her. " I am sure I shall not find any difficulty," Pilgrim said. "My French will be quite as bad as his." "Oh, yes, it will bs all right," Mrs Pollen said. " Thank you very much, Mr Pilgrim." Mr Pilgrim bowed and left the room. " Now," said Mrs Pollen, turning sharply round to Romont, " you begin to see, don't you ? " " I give you my word," Mrs Pollen," he replied, with the utmost gravity, " that the blind fish in the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky couldn't be more absolutely m the dark than I am. What on earth ha-; this worthy Albanian personage got to do with me and my difficulties ? Is he a magician ? Is there such a person at all, and why does he, come in to interrupt our councils just at this moment ? " Mrs Pollen laughsd a laugh of gratified good humour. " I am always delighted," she said, " when I puzzle clever men, ami make them look stupid. You look so stupid just now." " I don't believe I look half as stupid as I am." " Well, I must take pity on your stupidity, as you put it yourself a moment or two ago. I must explain tb you." She gave him some explanation — not much. He listened with interest and sometimes with surprise, occasionally looking curiously into her face, as if not quite > certain whether she was altogether in earnest. " That is enough," she said at last, " for you to know for the present. Further instructions will come hereafter, according as they are wanted. I don't mean to pay out too much cable all at once. You will do this ?" " Oh, yes," he said, " certainly ; lam pledged to you. Ido not quite see as yet " "Of course you don't. Who ever supposed you would ? But you will see in time, always supposing that you open your eyes and do as I tell you ; and, for heaven's sake, don't ask too many questions." t "Just one question at least. Does your Albanian friend dress like one of Byron's Albanians ? Does he go kirtled to the knee ? " " Oh, no, he dresses like a sailor — like the sailor of an English yacht. He was a sailor, and he used to wear the uniform of my husband's yacht when we had one, but lately he has worn the dress of an ordinary sailor." "All right," Romont said, after a moment's pause, " I'll take charge of him. I am glad to be doing anything. 1 couldn't endure idleness in my present mood.' You are a dear friend, Mrs Pollen, and whether this hits or misses I shall thank you all the same. I am afraid you are mistaken, but in any case I can't be worse than I am, and I owe you a good turn." " Mind you throw your whole soul into this," she said. '• As if I wouldn't throw my whole soul into anything which 'gave me the remotest chance of a glimp.se of light in that direction." " Come, that's right." A servant announced a visitor. l " And you leave town to-morrow ! " Mrs Pollen said in a loud voice. " Yes ; I leave town to-morrow. Qood evening."

Chapter Xv\ " My daughter — Oh, my daughter 1 " The stern political economist would hardly, we fear, have approved of all that Mrs Pollen was doing. Unquestionably the restoration of Fitzurse House and grounds was in great measure undertaken wiiih the object of giving employment to the people of Fitzurseham — those who worked and those who sold ; and Mrs Pollen never troubled herself about the laws of supply and demand. Nor< could a very liberalminded cosmopolitan philanthropist have smiled his cordial approval upon a beneficence narrowed almost exclusively to Fitzurseham. Mrs Pollen seldom subscribed to any charity which did not belong to the region she patronised. She might be said to have been only a benefactress to Fitzurseham. Her reason for this limitation of her bounty had something to be said for it : " I can't do everything. lam pretty well off in the way of money, but even my money wouldn't run to that. So as I happen to be east down here on the soil of Fitzurseham, I don't see that I can do any better than help the people who are near hie. I know something about them ; I can see with my own eyes and judge for myself. And then you know I am a selfish, egotistic sort of woman ; I like being a little queen of society, and 1 couldn't be that anywhere but in a poor, out-of-the-way sort of place like Fitzurseham. Gratitude, ? Oh, well, I don't cave about gratitude ; and 1 dare say the people here are just as grateful as people anywhere els.c." So Mrs Pollen went her own way ; and was probably \n her own way, for the time at least, very happy, Something has boen said about Mrs Pollen's increasing correspondence. It was Indeed increasing and multiplying in a manner which threatened to become overwhelming, Far romote in condition and sentiment as Fitzurseham was from London society, yet oven from out of Fitzurseham itself some rumours managed to make their way into London society about a

lady of stately presence, boundless wealth, un.parallelod liberality and charity, and somewhat eccentric ways, who was at one.! constructing a palace for hemolf in a swampy suburb and looking after the housing of all the poor for miles around. Paragraphs began to get into the society papers about her ; the Li.sles whenever they went to town were pestered by all their acquaintances for home news of her. Of course the reports immensely exaggerated all Mrs Pollen \s doings. fc>ho was in leed very active about, the poor of Fitzursehnm ; if the readers of these pages do not receive full reports of all that .sho and the Lisles and Romout and Pilgrim had been doing or trying to in that way, it is only because this narrative is a story merely, and not anything in the nature of the report of a Royal Commission. But if Mrs Pollen had been Croesus, Howard the philanthropist, and the whole building firm off Oubitt rolled into one, she could not have accomplished the prodigies of charitable reconstruction which rumour assigned to her. Of course society sought her out, and of course she steadily declined to be found by society. She did not keep a London house. She still occupied the same rooms in a small private hotel in Dover street, Piccadilly; she* made use of a hired carriage; and her retinue of servants consisted of a man and maid— for we do not yet reckon among her domestics her Albanian retainer, Joseph. Great ladies called on her and left cards ; Mrs Pollen returned the civility by leaving her card at their doors — and there the matter ended. Enterprising and curious persons went so far out of their way as to visit Fitzurseham, and take a look at the house Mrs Pollen was reconstructing there, and perhaps even had the good fortune to see her on the lawn . Meanwhile she. was becoming the personal a<; juaintance of every man, woman, and child in Fitzurseham. Two classes of the population she left almost unheeded : those who were reasonably well off, and those who were hopelessly irreclaimable, her beneficence took little account of. The one class she thought did not want her, and for the other she could do nothing. " I can't do more than give a helping hand," she would say, " and a helping hand is for those who want help and can take it." But as to the correspondence ! It came in from all parts of Englaud, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. It was, already beginning to pour in with increasing volume from the United States. Beneficent institutions without number requested Mrs Pollen's subscriptions and patronage, and proposed to her the taking of shares in unending speculations for the improvement of the condition of the poor. All this, however, was a nothing when compared with the letters from individual men and women. The appeals of associations and corporate bodies of any kind could bo answered by subscription or by formal letter, circular fashion, declining and setting forth the reason, or setting no reason forth. But the men and women who wrote put forward a separate and individual case, which must either be answered separately or left altogether unanswered. Many, of course, were obviously the appeals of begging-letter impostors and professional mendicants and swindlers. All such were dropped at once into a waste-paper basket. But there were great numbers of lettsrs which were evidently, or at least to all appearance, genuine, and from the very heart of the writer, and these Mrs Pollen would answer. Many of these were letters from women, simply asking for the advice of a woman. Ingenuous girls confided the whole story of their quarrels with their lovers, and besought Mrs Pollen to tell them how they ought to go about to make their quarrels up. Wives implored her to tell them what they ought to do with regard to dissipated, or faithless, or drunken husbands ; mothers appealed to her for counsel about their daughters. Legion' was the name of the number of girls whom she was implored to reclaim, and earnestly tried to reclaim, from lives of folly leading down to clai-kness and death. We need not say much about the eccentric letters — the letters setting forth the value of some wonderful invention which she was -besought to encourage; the letters admonishing her as to the state of her soul ; the letters from men offering hcv .their hand in marriage ; the letters from downright maniacs; the letters which asked for nothing more than an autograph, or perhaps an autograph with accompanying photograph, and also the letters from photographers inviting her to have her likeness taken in cabinet or panel form, to be expanded afterwards into life-size drawings in red chalk. Many of those letters, it will be seen, had to do exclusively with the concerns of women, their poverty, their efforts to earn a living, their shifts and struggles, their loves, and quarrels, and sorrows. Mrs Pollen found that she really could not manage all this correspondence .herself, and she would not put it into the hands of any secretary 'but a woman. Perhaps a great deal of it did not call for answer at all, or might just as well have been answered by a man as by a woman ; perhaps Mrs Pollen only wanted to find an excuse for giving employment to Vinnie ' Lammas. But at all events she made up her mind that she must have a girl of intelligence and some education to assist her in her correspondence, and that Vinnie Lammas might, if she liked, be that girl. We know the deep designs Mrs Pollen had long had in her mind concerning poor little Vinnie. Mrs Pollen was a somewhat self-con-tradictory person in many ways. 1 She was constantly saying scornful and cynical things about matrimony, ' and yet she had: in' her heart a weakness fpr match-making. To hear her talk sometimes one would have thought that she regarded married life as the., most insufferable and absurd condition into which men and women could get ; and yet she was now bent on bringing about a marriage between Camiola aiid Romont, and she had almost made up her mind that' the best thing she could do for Pilgrim and Vinnie Lammas alike, was to turn them into husband and wife as soon as possible. In truth,' with all her strength of mind and scorn "of weakness, her courage, her unconventionality, and her humour, Mrs Pollen was a very womanly woman. She communicated her purpose concerning Vinnie Lammas to Mr Pilgrim, and watched him keenly the while. He cordially approved, as indeed he would have approved of; anything Mrs Pollen suggested ; and he was delighted on Vinnie's account. But the sort of emotion winch Mrs Pollen expected was not in him. He wtos noi in love with Vinnie Lammas clearly —not as yet. Was there someone else ? Very likely. Mrs Pollen was not blind to the halfdistracted manner which poor Pilgrim fell into for a while after his unfortunate outburst of love to Camiola ; she knew thit something had happened which was a load upon his miiul — a distress and a shame to him. " What do you think of my Albanian, Mr Pilgrim?" " Think of him, madam ? " " Yes, Mr Pilgrim ; 'twas my word." " I don't know what to say, madam." "Very well. Don't say anything, then. I quite understand you. I dare say you have a theory about my Albanian "

Pilgrim smiled/" "'. '"' " "Yes, no doubt. You .would come to know, of course, in time. Only let it be a theory for the present, and take it for granted that there is an honest and reasonable purpose in everything my Albanian and I may do. "As if I could possibly doubt that, madam !" If Mrs Pollen had told him that she had a particular desire that he should fling himself into the. Thames, Christian Pilgrim would have assumed without any question that she had an honest and reasonable purpose in telling him so. "My Albanian and I are much concerned just now about the happiness of two young people, Mr Pilgrim." This was a sentence spoken with a double purpose. " I—lI — I thought as much, madam." He had great difficulty in saying these few words. He gasped and stammered, and kept his eyes away from hers— looked down, looked round, looked anywhere but in the direction of her eyes. She remained purposely silejit, and kept her look fixed on him, and she saw his uneasiness. \ Rhe knew all now. "Poor, absurd fellow! "'she said to herself. " Poor, heavy old moth — would nothing serve it but to singe its wings at the flame of that brilliant candle ! " A certain amount of contempt was mingled in her pity for him. " Oh ! another thing I wanted to talk to you about, Mr Pilgrim. You once lived in Sheffield, did you not ? " " Yes, madam." This was a painful subject ; it brought back the memory of his unhappy married life. " Now let me ask you another question or two. Don't think I mean to put you to any needless pain ; but you will soon see what my reason is, and you -will not find fault with it." Pilgrim bent his head and remained silent. " I want to ask you two questions. Was your wife's maiden name Eccles, and had she an elder sister ? " " Her name was Eccles, madam, and she had an elder sister whom I never saw." " Do you know whether that elder sister ever had a daughter ? " , • " I never, madam, asked or was , told anything about her. There was notlnng Very pleasant to be learned, I fear." " "- " Well, I believe that she had a .daughter, and that daughter is the girl about whom poor old Jethro Merridew went lialf mad. I believe she is Jethro Merridew's daughter, and that she is still alive somewhere, and I want you to help me in finding her, if we can. 1 " t don't ask you to do this because she is your niece— and I fully believe she is, and I will tell you presently why I believe it — but because there is a chance of your being able to do some good, and because I think by doing so you will brighten and make bearable some of the sadder memories of your own life, and dismiss into the darkness some of those phantoms and shadows that haunt you now — somo of them bright phantoms perhaps, ' as well as dark and grey, but phantoms all the ' same, and misleading and distracting." ', Pilgrim shook his head in melahctioly assent. "Conic, I am your friend, 'and you lrn,ow'it. I will tell you how I found but all this; and how I found out something that concerns myself, too. I begin to be' pretty sure that I have a relative living — relative "by marriage, that is 1 "to say, as well as you, about Whom J^kne'w nothing a few months ago. Hope he is likely , to ; do me some credit, but I am not by any means certain ori that point." ' Vf * .v r , Then Mrs Pollen explained fully 'tar Pijgrjßi what she had found out'or believed 'Taersfelf to have found gut, and how she had' got at it. 1 V' " I have given him something to thinkTbVer,'' she said, in her own.ihind —^soni^tbjnjrelse." Always dealing with Merridew and. .talking with him as if he were a thoroughly sane 'and sensible man, Mrs Pollen had \ron him into a confidence and a quietude which 1 allowed him the full use of such sanity as he possessed. She soon became convinced that he was indeed sound and shrewd enough on every p'oirit but the strange disappearance of his daughter and her certain return, glorified into a fine ikdy! It was quite clear to Mrs Pollen that poor Jethro once had a daughter, and that' 6n . some one eventful occasion she had leff'nim, and had afterwards written to him and told him she would return one day a lady.*. In all this" there was nothing surprising. The girl might well have been enticed aWay by some admirer who promised that ho would marry .her and bring her back in honour and splendour to 'her father's house. It was unfortunately only too probable that such a promise would 'not have 'been kept, and so the girl would not come back to her home. Little by little Mrs Pollen "got at the whole reality of 'Merridew's story. He had been married ; his wife was a Sheffield woman, her maiden .name was Eccles ; she had left him — had run away, from him, leaving their one little daughter behind. For this a one little daughter Merridew , lived, worked; 'pinched, starved. He would never brhig her into Fitzurseham, whither he had 'migrated lor' drifted after his wife left him. He 'had kept; the; girl at a good school, where' she w^'tauglit<l?rench and music and other such laay-like* accomplishments. The whole soul of the""popr iniui'was set on making a lady of 'his child: 'While 'die was still at the school' she ran 'away, he did not know whether alono or in companionship^only that she had gone. " ' '"' l~l ~ ' '' ' Merridew's mental condition, resembled the physical condition of, one who is suddenly struck blind or deaf by some shoek n . ,'Up to/aj certain day, hour, and minute .he is in'fufl.^ possession of all his senses' and faculties"; from that instant forth he is robbed of some of .them for' ever. This was mentally Merridew's .case.. ' _Up\'to the time when his daughter left him allwasr.clear ; with her disappearance his .confusion begssp. Now that he had become confidential .^itSriffirs / Pollen he could tell her the whole story' of,h> life, ' with its every incident up to the moment when he got the letter from his daughter telling ,him of Tier flight ; from that moment he could tejll nothing clearly — nothing, that is to ; say, that ' had to do with his daughter's story. On c.very other subject he was shrewcV and, sharp. o>n that subject all was confusion. He" could pot ! tell of any steps he had 'taken, po find thegirjl; he could not remember whether he had, taken , any steps. He could not give any reason for his belief that she would certainly come baok ; he only grow angry and- looked puzzled if any question of the kind were pressed upon him, His conviction was, to Mrs Pollen's thinking, simply a part of his mental disorder, to be be traced back to the shock qf his'daugh.ter/s disappearance. He loved to tell hi?' story overand over again, enriohed with many quotations from tho poets, .to his benefaotress, " the -lady of the land," as he now called Mrs Pollen, She listened again and again, always hoping for some hint or word which might supply, a missing link in the narrative, and put her in the way, of making some quest for the lipst daughter. ' The girl had written him a letter, in which she avowed, apparently with all the wild sin*

cerity of passionate affection and grief, that she Would come back to him a lady. There, it seemed to Mrs Pollen, was the point at which his mind became shaken. He took his daughter's promise as something like the word of a prophet. Life had nothing in which he believed with so profound a conviction as the certainty of her glorified return. He was educating himself for this ; he was giving himself airs in advance on the strength of the position he was called to occupy; he became the butt of the neighbours for his crazy vanity. Mrs Pollen was easily able to verify much of the story. An application to the school settled part of it ; poor Merridew brought her his daughter's letter and gave it to her to read. None but he had ever read it before. But Mrs Pollen could not succeed in finding any further trace of the girl. Several years had passed, and Merridew's daughter, if she were living, would not be particularly young any longer. It may have been perhaps only the most ordinary version of a commonplace old story. A giddy girl, the daughter of a very giddy mother, disappeared below the surface of society and did not reappear. There would be nothing very amazing in that. Mrs Pollen, however, did not put that view of the matter to Merridew. On the contrary, she felt convinced that the best tie he had on life— the only thing that made life endurable to him— was this happy delusion about the sure return of his daughter. Mrs Pollen tried her best to believe it herself.

Chapter XVI. All to Ourselves. "And we shall have a happy day, all to ourselves—mind, all to ourselves." T\ese were the words in which Camiola accepted with sparkling eyes the invitation of Mrs Pollen to come over to Fitzurse House and spend a whole day there lopking at the progress of the work, giving ideas about the decorations of the rooms, and the arrangement of the grounds, and so forth. Camiola made this her condition : that they were to have a happy day to themselves. It is not for this that a young lady with a devoted lover usually makes a bargain. She does not as a rule suggest a stipulation which implies that the lover is not to be allowed to come near her for a whole day. But Mrs Pollen quite understood the girl, and was anxious that she should have her wish. It would be a, relief to Camiola to have a day altogether free from the occupations, and emotions, and the attentions of the Rectory now. There were times when Camiola dreaded even the kindly eyes of Lady Letitia. They looked doubtingly, suspiciously, at her sometimes, those kindly eyes. Lady Letitia, evidently had an uneasy doubt even still about Camiola's willingness to marry Georgie. She dreaded lest the girl should be making a mere sacrifice to friendship which* she would one day regret. This troubled Lady Letitia all the more because she could not at the bottom of her heart feel quite satisfied as to her own conduct. Camiola saw all this, and was glad to be away for a few free hours even, alone with Mrs Pollen. Lady Letitia for her part was glad that Camiola was to be out of the way for Isome hours. She had determined to have a full explanation with Janette concerning Walter Fitzurse, and 'she thought she could manage better with Janette if they, too, were alone, for it was as likely as not that Camiola might side with Janette out of some somantic sympathy with young love and all that sort of thing, and janette would perhaps feel strengthened up to the'point of actual defiance. Poor Lady Letitia did Hot by any means like the prospect of what she feared would be a conflict. Janette was, in her way, as headstrong as Georgie, and strength of will is a 'very different thing indeed from strength of intellect. Meanwhile Camiola found a* welcome reception at Fitzurse House. She Lad made use of her key and let herself into the music-room without ring of bell or summons 'of servant. She did not see Mr Pilgrim anywhere, and was delighted ; she did not know that Mrs Pollen had purposely found an occasion foV sending him out of the way. ( " Come, let me look at you," Mrs Pplleu said. " Come over here — in the full sunlight ; I- want to see exactly what you are looking like now. Yes, I thought so ; you are getting paler and paler every day. What is the matter with t you, child ? " . " Nothing, Mrs Pollen — nothing, indeed." -* That ' nothing ' appears to be a very active influence for harm with some people, I find." "It doesn't do me any harm. lam perfectly well. Wait until luncheon, and you will see." " Is Georgie going back to Egypt ? " "Qh yes. Certainly." '1 Before you are married ? " '* Yes. I think he qught to go ; I think he pught to see the campaign gut. lam not fond of soldiering, Mrs Pollen ; I believe lam unlike most girls in that. J don't like any wars but wars of defence, J don't like wars of policy, as they are called, I believe ; and I don't think, if J were a man, I could be got to bear a hand in anything of the kind. Still I know that these are not Geo.rgie'3 ideas, nor the ideas qf his father and mother; and as he has gone in for soldiering, J don't ihink he ought to draw oiit until thj.s oa.u)paijjn is qver. lam afraid I couldn't much admire a n\m who djd that." ■ HDidhe wish to doit?" ♦f Qh no, not at all. He has plenty of spirit courage — in tha^i ■vpay. He is very anxious to get well and get baqk, huj; he wanted s me to marry him first. He wanted to have a Mrs George St. Qeorge Lisle as the girl he left behind him." . ' » And the, girl wouldn't ? " "No, I wouldn't. YjTien he comes back it wjll be time enough!" Some people, if t'fyey h.ad heard Camiola talk; ing in this cool firm way, might have supposed that she w an .* ecl heart, or wanted delicacy of feeling. Mrs Pollen, qf course, did not suppose anything of the kind. She could see quite plearly the e.ffqrj; it cost Oamjolq. to speak qf ti»e matter at all ; sh,e could understand tjhe modest a.nd wqajanly resolve that if Camiqla had to oonfide anything about b.er own po^iijiqn and her own feelings to another woman, she must leave no doubt as to that positiqn and those feelings. Mrs Pollen admired the girl greatly, even when she was angry with her. She could not but admire the sacrifice Camiola was making, even though she • was angry with her for making such a sacrifice. She suddenly turned to another subject. Speaking as if quite casually, but with a very distinct purpose in her mind, she said : " He has a theory against war, too." She fixed her eyes steadfastly on Camiola's face. Camiola coloured slightly, and looked down. Would she look up with real or assumed ignorance, and ask — " Who has a theory ? " No ; she only said in a very low voice : "Yes, I know." (To he continued.)