A Complete Story.

Rodney and Otamatea Times, Waitemata and Kaipara Gazette, 12 June 1912, Page 6

A Complete Story.

(All Rights Reserved.)

ROUND THE CORNER.

BY ELLEN LEYS

Author of "Mr. Feathersone's Flirtation," "Her Guilty Secret," '"Twixt Friend and Foe," ".The Queen's Necklace," &c.

"I : beg your pardon!" "And I yours. Indeed, it was my fault."

This is such an awkward corner. I hope you are not hurt "

For the encounter had been a sharp one as JohnEnderby turned the corner of the short private road he lived in, and was run into by a giri coming at fuM speed in the opposite direction. ■ "Nat in the least. But I Wist apologise for the mischief I have done."

She looked ruefully ah the silk hat he stopped to pick up out of the mwd.

He smiled gravely as he passed his hand over the ruffled nap^ before putting on tihe hat.

"It's not worth distressing yourself about \"

"I was hurrying to keep an appointment, and now I fear I have made you miss your train." as the whistle of an engine screamed along the air.

"There will soon be another."

The girl smiled and bowed. The man lifted the damaged hat, and they passed upon ' their- separate ways.

The day was changed for John Enderby. In and out of tiresome folios, up and down, sheets of dreary correspondence, - that face pursued him, not to be driven away as an annoying intruder, but to receive

unconscious welcome. Eyes brown and soft, yet with a twinkle of humor in their hazel light, lips full and red, making a mouth of tempting sweetness, the lawyer saw, yet did not see. The color of the eyes, the shape of the mouth, or any dainty feature of that charming face, he could not have told with certainty. Yet the little incident of the morning remained a present memory all the day, and made his attention wander continually from the case his partner had' asked him to take in hand, interesting though it was. Strange that any face should dwell now in his remembrance even

for a day, he thought, when he^ at

last caugh^ himself in the act of t thinking of his meeting-with the girl. Ten years—ten decades, it seemed to him—of dead-alive existence since one woman, madly loved. Ijad filled for a few brief wSeks of passionate delusion his heart, and soul, and mind. Me had been carried off his feet, and forgotten prudence, common sense, and every bit of work-a-day, restraining wisdom in the bewilderment of that woman's

beauty, and then, when he had made

her his own, he found that dust and ashes were the portion she had brought him. Cold, selfish, mercenery/ treacherous, the wife of one

year had proved herself. He could

not tell what he had felt when he learnt ( that she , had died at her

child's birth, for it seemed to him

that long before that he had ceased to feel anything. The years had

passed in peace and quiet; the baby, kindly cared for in his home by his widowed sister, had grown into a winsome girl, and he made a pet of her in a strange, tentative way, looking with dread now and then lest he should find in her any trace of the woman who was her mother.

His work at Lincoln's Inn absorbed his energies and filled his time. For hVch'ild's sake he lived in the

semi-rural surroundings of a suburb, coming^home late and starting early. . Fram"> society in the general sense he. held aloof; for that of women *He had a real distaste. Whatever - heart he had he gave to Mignonne,

as the child insisted-on his calling her; and to the future as to the past, he gave as lititle thought as he could. That love of woman should ever again take possession of his heart he would have declared im-

possible, and yet—He rose impatiently, as he caught himself dwelling with pleasure on the morning's incident. How charming and simple and girlish she was with her blushes of embarrasmenti, "her gracious little apologies! If he were older he could wish, that the girl were his daughter—she would be a oo>mpanion intelligent and bright. Heyivondered who she was.

The senior partner came in, miore for the relaxation of a chat than to talk business seriously. Nevertheless it was of business that he spoke, naturally.

"Well,_what do you make of it?" he said, pointing1 to the papers strewing the table. Then, without waiting for a reply, he went on. "You see, there's nothing easier if the-mah has made up his mind to be lost. He goes to anew country, changes his name, never writes home—and tihere you are.''

"I don't think he. did that —went out of the country, I mean. For one thing, he hadn't the money, and, for another, he got married,"

"Married! Well, that would be knock-down blow to Messrs William and Thomas Vernon,- eh? Let me see." The senior partner settled his spectacles on his nose and sat down to study the document which Mr. Enderby handed to him.

"Madeline Steyne—Chelsea. H'm —yes this seems quite in order. Anything<more? What's this? Baptism —daughter —another Madeline! Well, this looks bad for the cousins, eh?"

"And this." The junior partner had yet another paper for him to examine.

"Certificate of death — Geoffrey Vernon—so he kept his good old name to the last. Why on earth, when he had a child, didn't he make peace with his father? Is that all?"

"That's as far as we have got. It remains to find the heir-in-law, if she still exists. There can hardly be any more children, as he die<J when this one was but a few weeks old."

"Poor fellow! Married one November—dead th~e next. He was as fine a young fellow, Enderby, as you could wish to see on a summer's day. I remember him well. Handsome and well set up, and full of spirits, you'd have thought he had the world at his feet." -- « "What was the quarrel about?" Soime girl. Probably this one— I never heard her name. Father and son alike had violent tempers. But I can't understand old Vernon dying intestate—he was so proud of his inheritance." ' ' Probably he hoped to the last that the prodigal would return." "Prodigal he couldn't be, in the usual sense of he word, for he had no money to squander. • I wonder how he did live!" M.r. Sylvester rose, and shoved his spectacles high up on his forehead. /

"I call this eminently satisfactory, Enderby. I suppose you will advertise for th<* heir?"

"I'd rather avoid that if I can. We shall be flooded with fictitious heirs. But I daresay we shall come to that."

"No Help for it, I fear." And the senior partner went back to his

room

■"I like you awfully—awfully, Miss May!" cried Mignonne, throwing her arms round the neck of her governess. "I couldn't bear Miss Davis, she was so proper. If I said 'didn't' she at once said' Did you not,' And she matta me use tttie blackboard and learn whole columns of spelling."

"But, darling, you must really try to be steadier at your lessons. You know you are a fidget! We shall be great friends, you and I, Mignonne, and I don't want to be strict, but lit is really bad for you, dear, to be so restless."

"I'll, try, just to please you. Must you go?" "Yes I have to catch a train,

you know."

Mignonne gave her governess a last hug and went downstairs, with her. In the hall a lady in widow's dress met them, and having received a good report of Mignonne, took the little girl into the dining-room.

The young governess went quickly down the drive and out of the gate of the house at the end of Richmondroad, and walked rapidly along, Jost in thought^; Her day's work was done, but her evening task lay before her,, and she was busy arranging in her mind the details of a scene in a story for children which sh© was writing1.; *

'fljae^your pardon!" _ She-|f^< reached the awkward conife^ knowing, and she ran again into a hurrying pedestrian. To her she found it was the same st^^ii^er she had encountered in the morning. The merciful darkness hid the painful blushes which covered her cheeks, but .the words of apology, 0 tremulously spoken, sufficiently expressed, her corifusion, for it truly was her fault. The man had been coming along quite steadily, thinking, oddly enough, of the morning's collision, and ..again wondering who the girl, might be"';, and here she • was, hastening, no doubt, to catch, the up train.

He, gave -a low, pleasant laugh. He could nob say he was sorry, for some mysterious reason, he was glad-^-glad to meet her again under any circumstances

"I hope you a*e not hurt?"

He remembered now that he had said that in the morning.

"No, thank you. But I am very, very sorry. I cannot think how I could be so heedless!" "

"Please don't think it was more your fault than mine • indeed, knowing the road we'll, SI ought not to have taken the corner so sharply. The road beyond/ is very dark. Can I foe of any use ?"

"Oh, no, thank you. I know 5Ke way, and—and there are no more corners.'' > :

She laughed lightly, and they parted with an exchange '' Goodnighti:" : , - .

He, looking back, saw that she had gone :in the direction of the station, and wished she had not to travel alone on that dark night. He reached his home, and as the latch of the gate clicked the front door was flung open, and a fairy figure in white stood there eager to greet him.

"Daddy! Daddy! I have such a dear new governess. I wish you could see her."

"The latest favorite, Mignonne?" said John Enderby, catching the litttle damsel in his arms and kissing her fair face. "But whatl a funny thing for you to make a pet of your governess!"

''It's only the first day, John," said his sister, coming out of the drawing-room. "We shall hear what Mignonne says in a week's time.

"Mignonne will say the same and a lot more," cried tihe ahild.

"What is her name?"

"Miss Wilson." said the widow

"I call her Miss May," cried ft Mignonne. "I asked her what her mother calls her, and she said, 'May/ so I said I should call her that. It just suits her."

The little girl ratified on, amusing her father with her chatter of Miss May's perfections, and when at last her maid came to carry her off to bed, she went without a grumble, because to-morrow would come all the sooner, bringing her new friend. .

"Where did you get this treasure from?" asked Mr, Enderby, as he and his sister sat down to dinner..

- "I advertised in the "Morning Post. One gets.a good class that way. I really think we are fortunate, John, for not only does Mignonne take to her, as you see, but Miss Wilson is a ladylike and accomplished girl, who will teach our darling all she requires to learn for many years to come."

"So.long as she makes her happy and good, I don't care a straw for the accomplishments," rejoined her brother.

/ in.

Next morning as he was shaving, a thought came into John Enderby's head. He wondered whether there was any chance of meeting that girl again; she had' a business-like air, and her hurry pointed to her having engagements to keep. He remembered having heard that his neighbor, Mrs. Goring, the invalid novelist, had lately engaged a secretary. Probably this was the girl. What a pity such a charming. creature should have to spend Her days in that close room with such a very exacting and irritable person! Any way, if there was the possibility of cannoning against her again he must take heed Jto his steps, so, to the surprise of Mignonne, wh"o always watched him out of sight, Mr. Enderby crossed the road on leaving his house and walked a.iong on the opposite side. He smiled a little to himself, wondering whether he had taken this precaution in vain, and then began tto Wonder whether if she did come round the corner and see him on the opposite side she would tiake it as any reflection on herself. The idea made him quite uncomfortable. He began to think he would go back to his .accustomed side, when, at the end of the road, crossing it tto avoid the corner, he saw the girl, making as he had done, for the opposite side of the street.

The humor- of the situation made him laugh out) loud. The girl looked up, and, catching his eye, she, too began to laugh, her face growing pink as she tried to keep back her merriment.^ A few paces separated them now, and Mr. Enderby, lifting his hat, would have paused as they met, but the young lady, bowing stiffly, passed on quickly, not allowing any change of a word of apology or explanation.

For some days after this the awkward meetings were avoided, for the girl fell on the expedient of going to the next station down the line and walking back, so that she entered Richmond-road five minutes after Mr. Enderby had issued from it.

It was not until a fortnight later that John Enderby discovered that the girl was his little daughter's new governess. One day he stayed at home for the sake of taking Mignonne to a matinee for a birthday treat, and nothing would please the spoilt child but that she must drag her father to the school room and introduce her to "Miss May." The surprise was great, for, with unaccountable dulness, it had never occurred to Mr. Enderby that the lady had any possible connection: with his own household. .

Miss May was busy ruling lines for Mignonne's correspondence (her numerous presents requiring,speedy acknowledgement), when the door was flung open and the child came dancing in, pulling her father after her.

"Oh! Mignonne dear, when will you learn to be gentle?"' and the girl looked up, h^r white hands busy with ruler and pencil. Then, seeing the child's^companion, sfie started and colored brightly.

Mr. Enderby was equally surprised, but^ recovered his self-pos-session quickly.

"We seem fated to have strange encounters,' 'he laughed^ ' ■ This one is quite as unexpected as the others.' and he held out his hand.

"And are you-4-i" she began, her confusion increasing.

"He is my own daddy," broke in the child, dancing about and clapping her hands. "I couldn't shew her what you were like, daddy, because you will never have your picture donefor me. But now you can both see what you are both like."

The elders began to laugh, and Mr. Enderby said :"It's odd it never struck me that you were bound for my house. I 'ye thought of every possible reason for your coming this way so punctually."

The girl laughed again. "It's curious how one often does not see the most obvious things," she said. "I never imagined you were Mignonne's father."

Mignonne, whose attention had been distracted by the sight of a parcel addcrssed to her, now came skippng up to throw her arms round Miss May's; neck.

"Thank, you—thank you^—thank you!" she cried. "Look, father, at that sweet little picture. Miss May painted it for me her own self."

"" I fear you are helping in the spoiling of this1- child, Miss- May." said Mr., Enderby, taking up the picture. "This.is "far'too good for her. You are, I see, a clever artist."

"I love sketching," said the girl, simply, and/ putting Mignonne down, she returned to her work of ruling lines on notlepaper. "I hope you will join our party this afternoon," said John Enderby "We are" going to give Mignonne her. firsti"taste of the play." "Thank you . It would also be mine," answered the girl, with a bright smile—"if you really won't find me in the way." "Really? And now I won't hinder the business of the morning any longer. Let the notes be as short as passible, please, and come" and play croquet. until liinch."

The game of croquet, the afternoon at the theatre, and the daily greeting henceforth in the street, witlh many a cunningly sought occasion for seeing- Miss" May as often as possible, completed the change in John Enderby's life that the first chance encounter had begun.

He was in love again, and the love that filled his heart now was of a more satisfying, a far happier kind than tfhe mad passion that had been the ruin of his earlier life.

But for a while he kept his secret close. It was too much to hope for that this young girl could learn to care for him all at once. He must woo her gentjly, not surprise and frighten her by a sudden declaration, and he must be careful, too, that his sister got no inkling of his state of mind lest she should mar his happiness by ill-advised interference. ' *• '

So he made love to "Miss May" in a hundred litttte ways, without her seeing anything but unusual kindness in her employer, happiness she found in her dally toil came from other causes than mere pleasure in 7 her work. She did not realise what the morning greetings meant to Ser, nor how much quicker her heart beat ati the sound* of a voice deeper and' stronger than Mignonne's, and it was only when business detained her employer, and she missed seeing him to say ; goodnight, that she knew how full a part he played' in her life.

At lasti John Enderby could hold his peace no longer. One evening he had turned back tfo see "Miss May" into her train, and as she lookecl from her carriage window to bid him good-bye she saw his secret in his eyes. The color leaped to her cheeks, the words of farewell faltered on her lips. He pressed the hand that lay in his and cried, "Tomorrow!" in a voice and with a look that were new to her, and that made her tremble as she felt their meaning. He went homewards rejoicing. To-morrow should bring him the fulness of happiness. IV. He came back early next day, "and went straight up to the'schoolroom. Mignonne was repeating her French verbs to her governess, and her father sat quietly down at the table, listening to the voice that corrected the child's mistakes. That voice was music to. him now; he hoped it would be the music of his l£fe. Pretending not to be attending to what was going oh he took. '.. up a large book that lay on the table, a beautifully bound volume of old English ballads. "Who gave the child this handsome book?" he said, half aloud, turning to the fly leaf. "Hullo!" He^started as if a pistol shot had been fired in his ear. "Madeline Steyne! Where in the name of Fortune did this come from?" he cried' aloud. V •■ x -' .- "• ' ■■'. ■*■: - . '■■ ■■ • - . ■ ~.:

, Miss Wilson rose with flaming cheeks. "It is mine," she said, coming forward and putting out her hand for the book. "I brought it that I might read 'Chevy Chase' to Mignonne."

"Yours? But this is not your name?"' '

'No. But the book is mine."

"Did you get it second hand."

Oh, no!" . "Pardon me. I'm not asking from mere curiosity! For months I have been trying to find Madeline Steyne. Is she a relative of yours?" Miss Wilson looked distressed. "I am very sorry," she faltered. "I cannot answer your question. It is not—not my secret!" "Then there is a secret! Well, Miss Wilson, will you do me a favour? Please tell the person whose secret you keep so faithfully that it is of importance to her to come forward. If Madeline Steyne, oir, as she was after marriage, Mrs. Vernon, is alive, a great fortune awaits her."

'' A—great—fortune!" The girl said the words in trembling accents, and put her hand on the table to steady herself. "Do you really mean that, Mr. Enderby?"

"Indeed I do. My firm has been trying for months to find this lady. Her daughter is heir to a considerable property. I fear I have upset you dreadfully, Miss May?"

" Oh, no!" cried the governess; "but A should be glad to go home if I might." "Must you?" John Enderby's tone was that of a much disappointed man. "I came back early to take you both for a walk.''

, "Oh/ how splendid! I'll run and get ready," cried the child, scampering away.

Miss Wilson stood hesitating, and Mr. Enderby, seeing her distress, said gently, "I won't press you to stay. Toumorrow you must make it up to me," and, taking her hands in his, he Kent and kissed them.

Next morning Miss Wilson once again met her employer at the street corner. A shy smile and heightened colour spoke of the embarrassment which the parting of yesterday gave to their meeting.

"I have a message for you," she said, speaking hurriedly to cover her self-consciousnes. . "My mother would like to see you. She can tell you about Madeline Steyne."

."I will call to-day. And you will wait .until I come back, to make up for yesterday?" He spoke, eagerly, his eyes seeking hers.

She could not meefc his look, but answered softly, "Yes, if you wish it."

"I want to tell you my secret," he said —"my secret, dear Miss May."

"His secret!" Her heart leape.d for joy. She knew what it would be, and now, now, how gladly she would listen ! How bright the world wasv'to-day!

She stayed to tea with Mignonnc that afternoon. Mrs. Arrowsmith was out, Mignonne's aunt, and had asked her to keep the child company. Mr. Enderby was late. The two girls stood listening, as the minutes passed, for the click of the gate that would announce his return.

"Here he is!" Up jumped Mignonne, flying to the door.

"Daddy, daddy! You're late!"

Mr. Enderby came in slowly. A change had passed over him since the morning. The gladness had gone out of his eyes; his manner was ceremonious as he shook hands with Mignonne's governess.

1 "Yes, lam late. I have had ♦ a long talk with Mrs. with your mother. I have had /$. great surprise."

"Yes?" The girl's voice trembled

"I think the end of her cares and yours has come." he said, quietly. "We shall have to find a new governess for Mignonne."

"Daddy!" The child sprang away from her father and threw her arms round her governess. Miss May looked' at him, wondering.

"I don't understand," she said, pitifully, and her eyes filled.

You are a great heiress, that is all," Mr. Endenby said, buti not at all as if he were conveying glad tidings. "We have been trying to find you for many months past. It is odd you should have been under my roof all the time, and that I that we "

"It canmake no,difference,'.' cried the girl; "even if I am what you say—-if we have come to some good fortune at last. Surely it can make no difference?" she repeated, a world of feeling in her voice.

"It puts us poles apart," he said, and the stiffness came back into his look and manner. • / .

"Oh!—oh! —Mignonne dear, you will care for me always, whatever happens?" The girl bent and kissed the child passionately, her face hidden in the curly hair.

"Your father," said John Enderby, seating himself at one end of the table, and speaking very slowly, "was the only son of a very wealthy man, who died intestate. It was only a few weeks ago that we discovered he had left a child. Two cousins of your father, believing themselves his next of kin, claimed the estate. And now we have found you—it! is the beginning of great things for you^ As for me and Mignonne, I suppose we shall not see

■you again." .' : He put put his hand to draw, the child to him/but she held back. ,

"Daddy daddy! I don't like you Jtoday.' You are very naughty— you have made Miss May cryj"

"I think I will go?' said Miss May, quietdy disengaging herself from the child's clasp. "Good-bye, dear; good-night, Mr. Enderby." She held but her hand, and John Enderby rose.

"Good-night!" he said, "you arc right; yes, you had better go now.* 9

"Daddy, daddy! You shan't look and speak to each other like that!" cried Mignonne. "Miss May, you don't know how fond he is of you really! He told me so himself. He said——" -

"Hush, child!" Her father laid a hand on her lips, but she twisted herself away, arid her eyes and cheeks were bright with anger as she cried at the top of"her voice: "He told me he loved you—there! He said he vnould ask you to be my mamma! Daddy, tell her so yourself!" , ■:

"No, no; no, no! That was yesterday, and this is—to-day," her father said. "Go to your mother," he wenfc on, looking at Miss May. "And—and—try to put yourself in my place. Try to understand."

The girl made no reply. She moved quietly away, took her sailor hat from its peg in the hall, and" went out, while Mignonne threw herself on the floor and buried her face in the hearthrug.

Six months had gone by since Madeline Vernon had come into possession of the old home of her fathers, but her access to fortune, far from elating her, had cast a shadow on her life. To her litUe charge, too, the change had been disastrous. Deprived of the gentle hand that had controlled" her rebellious spirit, Mignonne became wayward and disobedient. Her health suffered also, and at length Mrs. Arrowsmith, discovering that the child was pining for her governess, persuaded , her brother to write and ask Miss Vernon to receive Mignonne on a visit.

His letter was answered by "Miss May's" mother, who also had made a discovery concerning her daughter's affections, ana hoped Mr. Enderby's visit might have happy results. Madeline was beseia by suitors' of birth and standing, but to all she turned a deaf ear. Lately a chance word had made the watchful mother give a shrewd guess as to the state of her daughter's heart, and she wrote, begging Mr. Enderby^ to bring Mignonne himself to Derbyshire.

On the eve of his departure from Vernon Hall, Mr. Enderby stood on the terrace beside its mistress, and as they looked upon the beautiful demesne, the lawyer told himself that he had done rightly. No man of honor could have continued his suit of a woman raised suddenly from being a dependant in his house iio a position so much higher than his own. His peep into that volume had opened a chasm between himself and her that no act of his could ever bridge. He sighed and looked at her, and found her eyes turned on, him in earnest scrutiny.

'"You are a very proud man," she said, gently.

"Am I? Not more so than most, I fancy."

"Yet once you would have stoop-

Ed!"

"When was that?" "That day—before you opened the book. Do you remember?"

'"I remember everything connected with that day—the day of broken hopes for me."

"Wh«n you knew me poor and friendless, you would"—the girl's voice shook, and in the moonlight John Enderby saw the tears glisten on her long lashes —"you would have held out your hand to raise me,"

' 'To raise you—to raise you! You were always on a pinnacle in my sight!"

"And now? Am I fallen so low?"

"May —May—do not tempt me? You little guess what, you are to me." .. ■ , •'

"And are you nothing to me? If you had said what you meant to say that day, what answer would you have wished me fco give?"

" "I hoped to win your love."

"And you think I can change so quickly?.,''

Her voice, with its piteous break, subdued his pride. His arms went out to her—her head was on hi? breast, her lips to his.

"You make me forget myself, my darling—my duty, my honor, my self-respect!"

"Leave them in my keeping," she whispered. .

"You are too good to me, dear." And just then, from the window above, a white figure peeped forth, and Mignonne was guilty of her first act of disobedience since she had been under Miss May's roof.

"Daddy, daddy, will she be my very own mamma?" she cried.

"Yes, my pet

I will bring her to

you."

Together they passed round the house and came to the sharp angle where- the terrace ended.

"We are going round the corner together this time," he said, laughing softly. "Yes, we will go round all the corners together now," she answered. (the End.)

Superiority, like merit, shines most when it speaks for itself.

A tyrant never tasteth of true friendship nor of perfect liberty.