Chapter XXXI.

Otago Witness, Issue 1764, 12 September 1885, Page 24

Chapter XXXI.

A Refugee. HAT s&rae night while Camiola was still looking across the scene and the skies she heard a patter of feet outside her door, and pre- . gently a hurried tapping and "Please may I come in, Camiola?" i* She opened her door to admit ' little Alice. The child was in lier night-gown and looked very •--^- pale. ■" I stole down to speak to you, Camiola," she said when Camiola had closed the door again. **,I know something is going to happen soon; you are going to marry Georgia and to go away ; •or else you won't marry him and you will go away from vs — M " My dear Ifttie Alice, what has put all these things into your head? You are a foolish little girl." "I know it all the same*' Aiica said, with an air of great wisdom ; "and I want tp tell you that I love you better than Georgie does, and that I think ii is very wicked of Georgie to want to marry you */3.d take you away. But I shall love you always ; A»d lam sure you would love , 'me better only for" -Gsovgie— and— and— listen, Camiola, do you thinJrjwpa and mamma will We me better after you bare gone ? ** They couldn't love you better than tnay do ■now, you silly child." <" Oh yes, they could ; they are always loving some one else — Georgie, or Janette, ;or you, or Somebody; and what I wanted to ask you is do J^ou think they will love me better after you have gone? I don't want you to go^ Camiola ; fcut do y6u think they will care more for me When there's no one here to care for but me?"

The Kttle thing was perfectly serious, and •Camiola felt -the deepest compassion for her. The morbid sensitiveness which was strong in txeorgie and in Janeti-e had reached its acutest 'stage in her. Mere egotism in Georgie had ifewiehted it into sdfishness; generosity and affection in Janette had softened and purified it into tenderness and devotion-; who should e«y what it might come to-be with Alie-e'as the ,^ears grew on her ? Not merely did she yearn to be loved, to be loved by every one, but she yearned *o be Joyed by every one more' than any one else was loved. Her 'child-soul was for a monopoly in love. Camiola now **bb beginning to understand her ; Mrs Pollen Umml divined her from the first. Who should say "What sort of life she was preparing for herself? Could any love and any constancy satisfy that 'inordinate longing to be loved and loved iiie most'P "Would the love of even the most de•voted husband be enough? Are there many who could always and without stint ■and measure give back equal love for that love ? Oamiola soothed and pacified the child as well •as she might, and got her quietly to bed again ; 'brit she found herself made sleepless by the thought of Alice and her .thirst for the utt.errmost of everyone's Jove, factor Hfctle was 'knowji

of all this to Lady Letitia ! Camiola was cut to the heart by the child's simple selfishness, outspoken" almost directly in the wish that Camiola might be gone, might be out of the way, because her sick fancy made her believe that while Camiola was there she would be cut off from her due. share of her parents' love. " Yes, I must go ; it is time," Camiola said. Mrs Pollen was seated one evening at her organ. She was playing for her own enjoy- 1 " ment. She was alone. The music gradually swept her senses away into distant years and places. Her early days, her later life, floated before her in a sort of spiritual review. Shesaw herself a dreamy impassioned child in an Indian kingdom; no province then, governed by an English civil functionary, but the realm of an independent sovereign; she saw her married days ; the life of worthless wealth, of hateful ostentation, of vulgar companionship; she saw her growing impatience and wilfulness; her fits of wild eccentric humour; she saw the white sunny streets of Athens again, and she thought of friends she had known and loved there, and of the influence they had had upon her; and then- her mind was stricken anew with the blow of her husband's sudden death, she not by his side; and the bitter repentance came, and the long, sad season when the remorseful heart sought repentance and peace in stern Jerusalem; and then came in its turn the quickening resolve to go back to England to be a living woman among living men and women, and try to do good for some one.

She rose suddenly from the organ. " Am I doing good to anyone — for anyone ?" she asked, impatiently and aloud. "Am I not doing harm ? Who is any the better for me?"

She would very likely have sat down and sobbed, but that she heard the outer door of the music room open, and in a moment Camiola came in. From the look on the girl's face Mrs Pollen knew that something had happened.

" I present myself as a sort of feminine Coriolanus, Mrs Pollen ! You must be my feminine Tullus Aufidius ; only that we don't happen to be enemies, and never were !" Camiola was trying to be sprightly ; but her smile was wan and painful ; about as like the smile of gladness as the sun's rays in an east wind are like the sun's rays when the wind is from the west. " You have left the Rectory," Mrs Pollen exclaimed, doming at once to the point of Camiola's poor little effort at playfulness, her allusion to Coriolanus and Tullus Aufidius.

" Yes ; I have come to you ; this extremity hath brought me to thy hearth, dear Tullus Aufidius, or Tulla Aufidia, if that would be better. At least I want to stay here — in town with you, I mean — just for a little, if you don't mind— if you will have me ?" " I was so lonely," Mrs Pollen said, " I was in such miserable spirits, that I verily believe I was just going to sit down and cry ! You have come like an angel to my relief, only I must feel some compassion for those you have just left. My sweet Camiola, sit here by me and tell me all about it."

Camiola made it as short a story as possible, and she bore up bravely, and would not give way to her feelings until the story was all told. Well, Lady Letitia knew everything, and Lady Letitia had insisted on Georgie giving up the engagement and setting Camiola free, and Georgie was very wild, and he was going back to, Egypt at once, and though Lady Letitia said she did not blame Camiola, yet Camiola knew what she must feel. "It was useless, Mrs Pollen; I couldn't stay there any more. Oh, how fond I was of them all ! And how fond they were of me — until this dreadful thing hap ■■ pened. I loved Lady Letitia and Janette; I would have given my life for them — oh ! I would, I would — and this is what it all comes to ; and Lady Letitia ylames me in her heart, I know, and she will not love me any more." With these words, her story being told, Camiola fairly broke down, and for a time the rest was silence.

Mrs Pollen indulged her to the full. She let the grief of the girl's affectionate heart have its way. " You are welcome to me, my dear," she said at last, in a low, deep tone, " to my hearth and to my heart, for I love you, Camiola."

" Stop," Mrs Pollen said suddenly, rising, "Mr Romont !" She had seen Romont pass the window ; his key was already in the door. She expected that Camiola would hurry out of the room; but to her surprise Camiola did not make any movement except to try jbo dry her eyes with her kerchief. For, in truth, much as Camiola dreaded meeting Romont just then, she dreaded still more leaving him and Mrs Pollen together. She knew that Mrs Pollen's friendship would see in all this but a new chance for Romont, and would prompt her to tell him so.

Romont came in, and Mrs Pollen talked with him a little about things in general, and then she went out of the room. " Better leave them to themselves," she thought. Of course, Romont must have seen that something had happened.

" I am going to stay with Mrs Pollen for a while in town," Camiola said, trembling as she tried to seem quite at her ease. " They are in trouble at the Rectory ; Georgie is going back to Egypt at once."

" Oh ! Then you won't care much for visitors just now." He was about to go.

" You have been always very kind and considerate to me," she said in rather oblique answer to his words and his movement. " I shall not forget it."

" Why should I worry you. You have trouble enough just now, I daresay. I would rather relieve you of worry than put more on you ; I can wait." He spoke the last words significantly. ,

" I can t promise," she said ; " I don't see my way. You must not wait with any idea of that kind. It can't be — ever."

" All the same, I can wait and ,1 do wait. You shall do as you think right. It will come out all right in the end. You shall do with me what you will." "I wish I could do one thing with you," she said.

if -Vytat is it ? You can do anything with me ; you know, that." " I wish I could make you happy." " You can." " Ah, but not in that way. I can't do that." Her complexion was heightened as she spoke. "J. can wait," he said .again, with a bright smile. " Don't torment yourself thinking over all this thing; let it be as it will. Don't think about me-^-I am all right ; lam perfectly happy, so far as lam concerned myself. It is a different thing about you" ."I feel so guilty." "Guilty of what?" " I >thiuk he will be killed — I know he will ; and I am the cause. His mother will never f grgive me ; she will hate me ; I don't wonder ; I couldn't blame her." " But he w#ujd have had to go back to his duty even if you hsoi promised to ,marry him. You would never have married a man who wouldn't fight for his .flag.'' '

"Still he would have gone away more contented and his mother wpuld have been satisfied with me ; I should h,ave dqne all -that is in' me

to make them happy. Oh ! lam very unhappy ; and if anything should happen to him I shall never get over it." " Let us hope that nothing will happen; every fellow is not killed who goes into a battle ; and these are not very big battles that our young friend is going into." "You speak lightly " "Do I ? Well, I don't feel lightly ; I understand your feeling and I couldn't think lightly about anything that concerns you. I should bo only too glad to go in his place, if that would do you any good or bring you any ease of mind." She looked at him reproachfully. " You ought not to say that," she said. " Why not— if it would take this load of care and responsibility off your mind ?" " And put such fresh care and responsibility on it ? As if I didn't care for " she was going to say " for you ;" but she stopped. "It is no use talking in this way." " No ; and I don't want to put you out in anything. When you want me — if ever you do want me — send for me — I shall be at your command — for ever and ever — Camiola." On the lawn he met Mrs Pollen. . " Well ?" she asked impatiently. " I am going for a run into the country — I think I ought to go and see my mother, dear old lady ; she will be looking out for me about this time!"

" Delightful to see how fond you young men get of your mothers when there is any occasion to make their existence an excuse for getting out of the way of something one is anxious to avoid."

" That isn't exactly my case," Romont said. " But anyhow I am awfully fond of my mother, Mrs Pollen. I call her a dear old lady, but she really isn't any older than I, you know ; and she is a good deal better looking, I can tell you." " I like her immensely, although I never saw her ; I always feel that I owe her a deep debt of gratitude for spoiling you. Look how well brought up these Lisles were ! There are not two better people in the world than their father and mother ; and I am sure they were brought up on the noblest and strictest principles of highclass moral family education ; and now see how some of them are turning out ! Georgie is a selfish little beast ; Alice, the child, is eaten up with morbid self-consciousness and a craving to be adored by everybody. Janette is by far the best, and she, I am told, was always considered the spoilt child. When am Ito know your mother ; or am I to know her ?"

" Whenever you like ; she would be delighted." "Well, would she now? Don't you be too sure of that, young man ; don't you go rashly answering for your mother. You see lam all very well in my way, but I am not much in the way that women like. You may have perhaps observed that women in general don't exactly take to me, don't quite tumble to me, if I may put it so. Well, you' are going to see your mother, but you don't seem to me to be quite in the high spirits of a youth who was rushing off fired by affection to clasp a loved parent to his filial breast. -• Why do you look so gloomy over.it ? "

"Of course going out of London just now isn't a very pleasant thing for me " " No ; then why do you do it ?" " I think I had better be away from this place for a while."

" I see. Yes, I think you had. That didn't occur to me at first. It might be troublesome for her."

'' That is what 1 was thinking of."'

" You are quite right. Until something definite happens it would be better for her that you kept out of the way. It is trying for you, of course "

" I don't care about that. At least Ido care, but it shan't make any difference. What does it matter about me ?"

" That comes of being spoiled," Mrs Pollen said with a smile. " Give my tender regards to your mother. Good-bye. You are a good fellow, Bertie, and you may rest sure of one thing, that your cause shall not suffer in your absence. The dreadful old saving about the absent being always in the wrong shan't prevail against you." " What I like about him," Mrs Pollen said to Pilgrim afterwards, "is that there isn't one bit of the hero and the self-sacrificing martyr about him. He can do a manly thing without giving himself airs."