QUEER MISS CONSTANTIA.

Otago Witness, Issue 2528, 27 August 1902, Page 74

QUEER MISS CONSTANTIA.

By L. C. Wood.

I. There was a group of sailors on the deck of a great Atlantic liner ; a woman with her face hiddenfi convulsed with weeping ; the captain, with his head bared, standing beside a "something"' covered by a flag, and the sighing* of the wind amid the shrouds overhead.

Sorrow and silence, and then : "I am the resurrection and the life" — just the words, solemn, stately, beautiful, of our glorious Burial Service, until at a given signal the sailors raised the end of the burden under the flag, and all that was mortal of a human being rushed — sewn up in its canvas covering — into the great deep, and the captain's rich, sonorous tones rang out solemnly :

"We therefore commit his body to the deep, to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body (when the sea shall give up her dead), and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ."'

He raised his eyes from his book as a light stir among the crowd arrested his attention, and his sunburnt face showed signs of deep emotion. It was only the widow, after all, of a steerage passenger ; but the broken cry of her sorrow pieiced to the very heart of the man. "My husband ! Oh, God in heaven, help me!"

There was a collection among the first cabin passengers that evening for the widow and her two children, a boy and a girl. Their case was desperate ; she had only her passage-money and her children's fares paid to Queenstown. Her sole hope and support — her husband — died of rapid consumption when he had been scarce four days on board.

"It is a most lamentable case,'' the doctor said to the purser, who went with tears in his eyes to the captain ; and he, being a good man and a father, with little loving children of his own, set at once a subscription afloat. It spread and prospered. The second cabin passengers heard of its existence, and sent in their help ; the first cabin redoubled theirs. The ladies on board found marvellous things amongst their luggage, and succeeded m getting a black gown for tlie widow, and a bonnet

The children remained in their rough bine serge, with their sweet, delicate faces looking paler than ever, and with big rings from sorrow round their dark, blue

eyes. "Beautiful children, so refined, so aris-tocratic-looking!" remarked a wealthy American citizen's wife, who had been in England several times, and prided herself in knowing a well-bred English child when she saw one. And then she made her way down to where the steerage passengers were sitting in the bows of the vessel, and sat down beside the widow.

"Have you no ambition to rouse yourself, Mrs Synge? Why, now, I reckon 'twould do you good, for when Josiah P. Higgins died I just pulled myself together and fixed myself up nicely, and was as spry as possible in no time."

The small, sad face, which was turned to her with a weary, hopeless smile, grew •vearier still. Ireland, where she was going, was an unknown land to her. It was all very well leaving her New England home for her husband's country with him at her side ; and if prospects were dark his face was always bright, and he had said he would go back to his father and tell him all, confess his marriage, and when the obdurate grandparent saw her two children she had felt so sure that love would overcome anger and pity gain the- ascendancy. "What part of Ireland are you going to? You said your husband was Irish. Where do his i eople live?"

"I do not know," was the sad, low answer. »

"You do not know? That's queer. I reckon a husband should tell his wife where his people live."

"There were reasons — family reasons," the low, refined accents went on despairingly, '"and Robert's reasons were always good." A glow smile went over Mrs Josiah P. Higgins' s face. She had, not looked upon the late Josiah in the light of an oracle — far from it. She had had her hand upon the helm of hi 9 daily life ; she guided and steered their matrimonial bark. Her intellect and her reason were self-sufficient ; in fact, Mr Josiah P. Higgins was nowhere beside His wife — she was the superior being, the supreme head of affairs. He was simply the husband of Mrs Josiah P. Higgins, and if he were not that he would have been nothing.

"I was the making of Josioh. I took him and woke him up," she said to her friends. And those who knew him were bound to agree with her.

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed, on hearing the little widow's sadly -murmured eulogy. "I shouldn't like to lose sight of you now," she went on kindly. - "I kind o' take an interest in you. You see, I have no children of my own, and these youngsters of yours have taken my fancy. Now, my dear child, you must let me help you when we get on shore. I know the American consul in Queenstown, and a few people in Cork, so I'll help — I'll reckon to see you along." She was a woman of energy. When the vessel came alongside at Queenstown she was ready with purse and hand to guide the trembling footsteps of the new-made widow, and such was her energy that in an incredibly short while Mrs Synge was situated as housekeeper to an elderly gentleman, with a salary of £20 a year, and her two children, were placed upon the Protestant Orphan Society (an excellent institution in theory, but rather trying to the benefited in practice.)

"Mother, mother!" The cry — the sobbing, wailing cry rang through her ears as she saw them off at the station, Bobby clinging to Lois, and Lois clinging to Bobby, and both with their arms frantically clutching their mother. It was only now they realised the true sense of orphanhood. Bereft of father, mother remained. And now it was "Good-bye, good-bye, mother — mother !"

The clergyman of the parish had come for the terrified pair. He was a bachelor and a studious sort of person. Of course, children must cry when parted from their parents ; but it never entered into his very obtuse mind that it was rather a trying thing on the whole. He was not prepared for it ; and when two tear-dvenehed, bedraggled mortals were handed out at the station nearest to the village of Donoughmore, in the diocese of Cork, his heart rather misgave him. They evidently belonged to a very superior class to that which usually entered the lists of the Protestant Orphan Society. Taking them each by the hand, he marched them to their destination — the cottage of the village sexton and his wife, which stood at the further end of the village next to the church gates.

11. Now it happened that, as the rector of Donoughmore strode through the village street, a- pair of grave hazel eyes watched him over the wire-netting blind of a very tjdy house at the left-hand side going up the street.

The eyes belonged to Miss Constantia de Brazier. She was a woman of independent intellect and independent action, and one who took a keen interest in parish affairs and ignored the rector altogether. She was a devout Christian, going to church regularly twice every Sunday, to the prayer meeting on Thursdays, and to whatever other parochial function she approved of; but well Mr Wells knew that while Miss Constantia sat so primly in her pew directly facing the pulpit, appaiently most reverently listening to his sermon, all the while the maiden lady was coolly and quietly taking in all he said with reservation, and mentally comparing it with chapter and verse in her Bible.

•She was a keen theologian, but one who had been taught in Heaven's school, and '•lie w;ts a ''character." Donouglimore said, "Queer Miss Constantia."

'What's he doing now?" she said to herself, laying her knitting down on the horse-hair-covered chair in her parlour window, and craning her neck round the corner of the blind, greatly endangering her cap and the arrangement of her black hair.

"Mr Wells is going to Mulready "with the Protestant orphan children he promised them."

"Dear me !" said Susan, hastily Griping her hands on her apron, putting on a clean one, and tottering down to the front door, where she surveyed the rector's retreating figure and the shadowy-looking, crying children with an interest born of generations of gossip.

"If Mulready can't feed himself and his wife, ma'am, I don't see how the children are to thrive."

"I must go up and look after them,"' re^ marked Miss Constantia, keeping her eye on the road. And when the rector appeared again she tapped noisily on the window pane. He had learned to dread that quick rat-a-tap-tap, but knew better than not to obey her summons. "Well, Miss de Brazier?" . "Well, Mr Wells?" "I was only going up with the orphans to the Mulreadys," he remarked, shifting on his chair uneasily. "Yes. And on what are they to be fed?" "Upon wßat the society allow." "A large- sum, truly." Miss ac Braier's hagel eyes were fixed sternly on the representative of her Church. He shifted under the gaze uneasily. "There can be no objection, I presume, to me having the children here occasionally? I should like' to teach them, and give them tea at least twice -a week." "I do not know of any. I car appeal to the society." Miss de Brazier eyed her victim scornfully. She could not understand a redtapeism which his want of decision and independence took refuge under. Prompt measures, decided action, was her motto. "Well, I will consider your permission sufficient.'

And then the conversation stopped ; Miss de Brazier Mas. weary of her rector's society.

"One of those upstarts/ she said to herself. "His father was a tfutcher!"' But again her Christianity asserted itself when }>he recalled to her mind that, after all, the Apostles were for the most part labouring men. It is very hard to get a-way from prejudices of caste", and Constantia could never forget that her family bore a proud Norman name, and had come over to Ireland with the Conqueror. "We are not Huguenots," she always explained, with a little pardonable pride in one who had seen, as she had done, better days ; but she never mentioned her connections — that she considered beneath her, though various letters bearing monograms beneath a blazoned coronet were handed in by the postman, Johnny Kavanagh, who always retailed to the admiring assembly round the forge door, halfway down the village street, that Miss Constantia was- a "verry high-up wan intirely," and that she belonged to the "raal ould stock" — and there is no better judge of such matters than your thoroughbred Irish peasant. That evening Miss Constantia finished her tea, and, putting on her bonnet and cloak, made her way round rather early to the sexton. It happened to be a Thursday evening, the usual evening for the prayer meeting; but on that occasion the rector had elected to hold a Gleaners' Union, an action of which Miss de Brazier highly disapproved, on certain well-grounded opinions of her own.

"A pack of females holding forth, my dear, upon matters of which they can positively know nothing, and the rector sitting mumchance." So she took an extreme pleasure in stalking past the schoolroom and going into Mulready's house, in the face of all the gleaners, glorying in her independence. "Well, Mulready, so you have the orpLans?" "Yes, ma'am. Begging your pardon, Miss de Brazier, miss, they are upstairs voavin' and crying." "May I see them?" "Indafle I'd be glad, mis.s," remarked Mi- Mulready. "I'm heart scalded with them this minute."

Up the crazy stair she went to an upper room overhead. It contained a table, a hanging press, a pile of old boxes, and two little beds. And on (he one nearest tie window the two orphans sat locked in each ether's arms, weeping, sobbing, wailing.

"My poor lambs!" How soft the stern, fcard-featured ■ face grew ; how motherly, how tender the touch of the gentle fingers, one chiid on her knee, her arm round the other. Soon the children had theirs about her neck, and were smothering her with kisses, their lovely, refined faces drenched with tears.

"You are to com© up to-morrow, both of you, and have tea with me, you poor sciaps." '"Poor scraps !" laughed Lois, ending in a burst of bitter crying. "Father always called us that when' he was dying." Miss Constantia did not answer ; she had her hand under Lois's pearly chin, and was scrutinising the dainty beauty of the childish face.

"You are like some one — some one I knew and loved, little girlie," she said, with a low, long sigh.

111. "These children are well-born," Miss Constantia remarked to the sexton, arriving down the rickety stair. "What did you say their surname was?" "Synge, ma'am — begging yer pardon, miss, I mane yer honor." "Synge!" Miss Constantia's face assumed ac. air of premeditation. "Synge," she said to herself as she reached her home, and "Synge" she said out quite loud and shrill when the sat down on the sofa in the little parlour. Her canary, hearing her speak, commenced singing at a great rate, and Susan came up from the kitchen. ''Susan, I have an idea." ''Indeed now, ma'am," remarked Susan, to whom Miss Constantia appeared as a person who had no lack of inspiration. "And I mean to follow it up."

Down caaie Miss Constantia's foot upon the ground, an"3 she looked at Su«an a little

"Indeed now, ma'am," 'said Susan a litfte awed and interested. . "Get me a cup of strong coffee, a slint cake, and a boiled egg. I Lave an immensity of work before me."

She got out her box of papers, and re« mained sorting and settling and arranging and making sundry references upon a sheet of paper — foolscap paper. Supper came in then, and the cat, and Susan, and Misa Constantia still wore the air of a- barrister investigating a case. ''To-morrow evening, Susan, make a larg«i cake with currants in it, a gooseberry tart, and boil sufficient eggs for three." "Certainly, ma'am," answered the faitliful Susan ; "and thj children would- like some whipped cream." Miss Constantia did not hear her; she! , was deep in some flight of i nought, a night which made her sit gazing out of the window, quite neglecting the -coffee/ the slim cake, and the boiled egg. ' • Next "evening Lois and Bobby, with their^ faces washed and their hair brushed till ita shone again by Mrs Mulready, appeared at Miss de Brazier's door. She opened iti herself, her face smiling over a lace^collac and a,~piok bow,- kept in its place by.a* brcoch set round > with' pearls, y ' Loii's eyest^ were fixed upon the, ornament, "and -sKe" shyly laid her small forefinger" on it; when 'Miss Constantia sat down between them- oaf the'sofa. > - > . • "Mummy has one just like that ; and she? gave me this to wear" — holding out a small locket tied round her neck by a! narrow .blue v ribbon. Miss Constantia started, arid took the trinket in her hand. •It was a crystal with a broad band of gold round it, and inside was a coat-of-arms. Upstairs wenb Miss Constantia, and returned with a dupli- " cate locket, and the two lay on the wrinkled palm of her hand. 'They are the same — the very same; I . f,nid Lois. "Look, Bobby, the locket father gave mummy to give me." J "Dears, will you let me keep this locket for one week, then I will return it to you." The evidence was all dovetailing and fitting in most beautifully, and Miss Constantia again assumed an almost legal manner. She dispensed the currant cake and ' goose* berry tart with an air of command; she treated the children to saucers of whipped cream with a preoccupied air; she saw. them home to the sexton's door in silence, and inquired loftily if Mis 3 tnd Master; Synge were properly looked after. The | Mulresdys stared aghast, and Miss Conftantia went smiling down the street. Next day she was up and off by an early train on a' mysterious journey, 'having visited .the telegraph office beforehand, and * the following morning, after she had talsea~ h«r breakfast* she. donnsd her bonnet, and, going , out, went straight to the rectory*; | having a small box with the* two lockets, '»•" the roll of foolscap paper, and a sealed , note with a coronet on the flap <j£ the envelope. . - • "I wish to. take the little Synges from the Mulreadys," she said, staring straight at Mr Wells. "My dear Miss de Brazier, this is mosfi informal. ! \ For reply, she handed him the note she' carried, the roll of paper, and' the. lockets.. The rector was crimson to the forehead. "Ahem — ah — my doar Miss de Brazier, your cousin, the Earl of Shandon, claims the orphans, Lois and Robert Synge, as his grandchildren." "Precisely; I have come to demand them." "Oh — ah — in that case I have no objection. The Earl is /one of our patrons, and a large subscriber to the funds — ahem — • ahem " Miss de Brazier smiled. Even a rural dean is not a being free from Enobbisnr. The coronet did its work— the children were handed over to Miss de Brazier. After due notice had been given, their mother was communicated with, and Donoughmore worked itself up into a ferment of excite- ( ment, which only increased when a sad-f I faced, pretty woman in widow's^ weeds, accompanied" by- a person with a strong American accent,, appeared upon the scene. Miss de Brazier's moment of triumph v had come. She stood with, averted .face- as t6e • children rushed to theiv mother's arms,, laughing" and crying. "Mummy, I am Lady Lois Synge-Biud-say and Bobby is Lord Killetra." .Mrs Synge's tearful eyes were lifted in. amaze to Miss Constantia ; she turned with . smiles and tears and seized her by the hand.

"It is perfectly true, dear lady," she said quietly. "Your husband Robert was my cousin, Lord Shandon's third son and my godson. At his christening his mother gave me this locket which you see, and placed the other round the child's neck. He was my idol — my dearest treasure. He 'always spent some of his holidays with, me ; ' and then when at .Sandhurst something! went wrong — he got into trouble, and wenc to America. There we lost sight "of him, and as he never wrote, we concluded he was dead. And meanwhile his eldeK brothers died. Then your children cam^/' here. I traced' the most extraordinary resemblance to Robert Synge-Lindsay in little Lois, and then inadvertently made the dis* covery of the locket. The thing was done." It lay in a nutshell; and it only remained for me to gather up the evidence and communicate with the Earl and with you' ycur&slf. Allow me, therefore, to con* gratulate you on the blessing which God in his mercy has seen fit to bestow."

"I declare to goodness!" said Mrs Josiali P. Higgins, "didn't I always calculate and guess that the children were real English lords?"'

Mrs S3 r nge was in tears. STie was thinking of Robert the unfortunate, the downtrodden, the man whom Fortune seemed to have fated to be a failure ! But Miss Con* ■siantia divined her thoughts.

'He is at rsEt," she said, her eyes beam* ing through unshed tears, "and his children are provided for, dear heart. And I think God mubt have let him know. He has them safe."

You see, Donoughmore was right. Miss