The Mills of God.

Southern Cross, Volume 7, Issue 9, 11 June 1898, Page 13

The Mills of God.

CHAPTER IX

OOPTRIGHT

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTERS I. & ll—The story opens in a London hospital, where Nellie Nugent a yeung Irish girl, is entering upon her novitiate as a hospital nurse. Her first patient was a young man suffering from enteric fever, whom Nellie, under the superintendence of Nurse Gray—an enthusiast in her profession, who had taken a strong liking to the girl—nurses to recovery. He is a gentleman by education, a journalist b profession, but unsuccessful in life, homelesy and friendless. Nellie is very anxioueas tos what will become of Hick Barrymore when he leaves the hospital, but nurse Gray tells her that troubling herself about the future of discharged patients is a habit she must at once get rid of.

CHAPTER 111. & IV.—ln a month Dick Barrymore is convalescent and pronounced fit to leave the hospital. Through the interest of his young nurse, whose brother is subeditor of an Irish newspaper, he is going to Dublin, to fill a vacancy on the reporting etaff. The day before his departure, however, a wealthy uncle from Colorardo turns up unexpectedly, who is much touched by the emaciated appearance and distressful circumstances of his nephew, and filled with remorse for having broken the promise made to tho lad’s mother, to look after him. To atone for past neglect, he proposes to adopt Dick as his heir, and leaving a* handsome cheque for the benefit of the boepitul funds, likes him away, intending to try what foreign travel will do for the restoration of hie health. Before going Dick asks Nellie for permission to write to her.

CHAPTERS V. & Yl.—Nine months’ ■experience as a probationer in the hospital ward suffices to convince the medical staff that Nellie Nugent is not physically equal to the work. Besides she is troubled with “ nerves - ’ —faints in the operating room, &c. They therefore, while fully recognising her willing devotion and the success which has attended her labours, advise her to seek some less exacting occupation. She has had one letter from Dick, in which he writes, “ I owe my life to you, and the debt will rest heavy upon me until I repay it in some degree. I will do anything in the world to serve you.” She has not answered this letter, nor applied to the millionaire uncle, Mr Geoffrey Masterman, which Nurse Gray thinks very foolish. On leaving the hospital Nellie is surprised at the number of parting gifts and other evidences of her popularity with the staff. Among the presents is a leather-bound notebook with lock and key, from Nurse Gray.

CHAPTERS YII & Vll.—The scene now changes to Bantry Bay, where Nell and her friend, Nurse Gray, are spending a fortnight’s holiday at Glen gar iff, the latter from the hospital, and the former from lodgings in Dublin, where she has been living with her brother. Having secured rooms and refreshed themselves at the hotel, they stroll out, and are seated by the bay, admiring the fairy islands bathed in moonlight, when they hear an approaching footstep and Dick Barrymore comes suddenly upon them. He and his uncle are “ doing ” Ireland, and have stopped to spend a few days at Glengariff. Dick, who has much improved in health and general appearance, obtains ihe girls’ consent to a boating excursion on the morrow among the islands. Seated at breakfast next morning, .Nell observes a couple enter and take their places at a small table—the man tall, dark and handsome, the lady fair and fragilelooking Upon drawing Deborah Gray’s attention to them, that young woman’s face, usually so hard and impressive, undergoes a sudden change—a momentary contraction of the features then resumes its normal -appearance. After breakfast we find her locked in her bedroom, moaning : “ So it was for her I was thrown over —for her and her ■money.”

The ‘ parlour Badminton,’ which was only a form of battledore and shuttlecock, was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a waiter, who brought in a card for ‘ Miss Nugent,’ and informed her that a gentleman was waiting to see her in the drawingroom. Nell looked at it, and laid down her bat. ‘ I must go/ she said to the pretty boy. ‘ We’ll finish our game some other time.’ ‘ Oh, of course, I know what that »eans,’ he made answer. ‘ I’ve got sisters, you know.’

(Published by Special Arrangement.)

By “ 3R.:Lt£»,. M Author of “ Kitty the Rag,” “ A Woman in It,” “A Husband of Ko Importance,” “Joan and Mrs Carr,” “ Sheba,” &c., <fec. &c.

Kell did not express any great surprise at the announcement. ‘ Where is the drawing-room ?’ she asked. 4 1 haven’t been there.’

4 Oh, I’ll show you,’ he said, and vaulted over the table in a fashion that would have horrified the head waiter. Having disposed in this fashion of a little superfluous energy, he conducted her to the apartment in question, and took notes of the looks and height and appearance generally of the visitor.

‘ Spooney on her, I suppose,’ he thought. ‘ Such a nice girl, too. I hoped she had none of that nonsense about her.’

He put his hands in the pockets of his knicker-bockers and whistled softly as he moved over to a table and began turning over the various books that littered it. He had a holiday task to do, and this opportunity was as good as one might reasonably expect. The drawing-room was free to everyone.

Meanwhile, Dick Barrymore was explaining to Nell what he had already communicated to Deborah Gray. Nell glanced sharply at the window.

‘Do you mean to say Debbie has gone our, in this rain !’ she exclaimed. ‘ I met her on the way to the village,’ said Dick, genially, unconscious of any deviation from the path of truth. ‘ She didn’t seem to mind the rain at all.’

She’s not like me, then,’ said Nell, with which he secretly agreed. ‘ I hate rain like a cat,’ she continued. ‘ Oh, why couldn’t the weather keep like yesterday. Wiieu one has only a little time tor a holiday it seems so hard to have to waste even an hour indoors. And poor Debbie ; in two weeks she has to return to work. I did so hope she wouldn’t have a sight of ’Erin’s weeping skies ’ during the time.’

‘ It is hard,’ said Dick sympathisingly. ‘ And will you spend the two weeks here, entirely ? Surely you will run over to Killarney before you return ?’ Nell looked doubtful. We are not fond of rushing about,’ she said. ‘ We want a thorough good ‘ idle,’ if you can understand.’

‘ I think I can,’ he said. He thought she looked even more fragile in the morning light than on the previous evening.

‘ Rest and quiet,’ she went on, ‘ are more desirable things to us than any sight-seeing. Debbie has had a a very hard time of it this last year. I think she does too much, but she is so strong and resolute it is no use speaking to her.’ ‘ She looks it,’ he agreed. ‘ But she is a dear thing,’ continued Nell, eagerly, ‘ And so clever and so good.’ ‘She is fortunate in having a friend who believes in her,’ he said, with a quiet smile. ‘ Don’t you think everyone would believe in her p There is something so straight and true about her. None of the shifty, mean little ways of ordinary women.’ He laughed. ‘ I hope,’ he said, ‘ that you do not call yourself an ordinary woman ?’ * Indeed I do,’ said Nell. ‘And have you shifty little ways ?’ It was her turn to laugh. ‘ I daresay I have,’ she said. ‘ 1 have not considered yet, she said seriously, But when I do I have no doubt I shall find that I am not at all as nice as I would like to suppose.’ He looked at her with eyes that

plainly said he at least, was one of the people who believed her ‘ nice.’ ‘ And when do you purpose beginning the task P’ be asked, presently. ‘Of considering myself ? I hardly know. I am thinking of doing an autobiography —only there’s so little to put in as yet. You are a literary person, are you not P Would you advise me to write it, or shall I wait a little longer and see if life has any nice little tragic woes for me ? I think people like to read about the woes of their fellows, dont they ? It, makes them more patient with their own in that state of life, as the catechism has it.’

‘ I hope,’ he said, ‘ you will never have any tragic woes. They may be all very well to read about, but as actual experiences they are not pleasant.’

She looked at him quickly. ‘ Ah,’ she said, £ I forgot chat you ’

‘ That I have had some actual experience,’ he said. £ Yes, but I wish you had forgotten it altogether.’ £ But now,’ she said, £ all that is over. Did it ever strike you that there was something dramatic about the way in which your uncle turned up. It has been the romance of the Hospital, you know.’

‘ I did not know,’ he said, and the colour came into his face. ‘ But it certainly was opportune, as well as dramatic. He has been very good to me. It is the heaven of an author’s ambition to be able to write freely and fearlessly of what he feels is right, without respect of publishers’ opinions, or critics banal twaddle, and without the cur necessity for ever snapping at bis heels.’ ‘ And have you written anything this last year r” she asked. ‘ Yes, a book which is not published yet It h'*s been written leisurely and carefully. It was long before it pleased me, I do not expect it to achieve popularity. The writers who are popular are rarely the thinkers and scholars of literature, but they are the money makers, which is perhaps better for them. The world likes to be amused, or shocked. It doesn’t want to think. The most popular book of last season was one that dealt with the most sacred of human subjects, and dealt with it as a schoolgirl writes an essay. The daring of the idea, and the feebleness of the treatment, aroused a storm of universal indignation. Then, everyone wanted to read the book and judge it for themselves, and the author smiled complacently over a royalty account, and agreed with Carlyle as to the millions, mostly fools, who make up the sum of popularity.’ ‘ I am ashamed to say I have read very little modern literature,’ said Nell, ‘You see, we are badly off for libraries in Ireland. Smith and Mudie know us not, and pocketmoney does not often stretch even to cheap editions.’ ‘ I will lend you as many books as you please,’ said Dick. ‘ I have cases of them stored away. Even in my extremity, they were of such an unsaleable class that lodging-house harpies let them be.’

‘But I don’t like dry boobs,’ exclaimed Is ell. ‘ I am not a bit clever, or that sore of thing. Debbie is, but she says she has no time for reading.’ ‘ I suppose not,’ he said, vaguely. ‘ And that reminds me. You—you have given up the nursing life altogether, have you not ?’ ‘ It has given up me,’ said Nell. ‘ For a time. But I hope to take it up again. Not hospital work. I am afraid that is a little too hard, but I should like a little private nursing. Do you know,’ she added, blushing a little, ‘ I had quite made up my mind to write to your uncle and ask if he could help me to anything ? He must have so many friends. I thought he might know some nice old lady or gentleman who wanted to be taken care of, embrocated and flannelled, and given hot water bottles, and nice nourishing things to eat and drink, and have cheerful companionship. Do you think I should be equal to cheerful companionship ? Debbie says I would.’ He smiled rather Badly, £ I am

quite sure of it,’ he said. ‘ And mj uncle would be only too willing to help you, if you really mean it.’ ‘Oh, I do mean it. I am quite serious,' said Nell, ‘ I don’t believe in idleness for women. Men, of coarse, are different. They can achieve great things in the way of cigarette smoking and whiskies and sodas, not to speak of tennis and racing and betting. But a woman isn’t capable of killing time so harmlessly. She generally gets into mischief. Dr. Watts understood all about that .vhen he wrote of Satan and idle hands. I don’t approve of idle hands so I want to find a use for them be* fore they get into mischief.’ It was very bard to look at the tempting face, the laughing lips, the long lashes that swept those delicate, creamy cheeks, in sadden, demure coquetry, and not say what his heart burned and longed to say —not tell her that use for the idle hands, for herself—was there at her side to take or leave as she chose, for it. hurt him to" think of this fragile little creature battling with the world, and its sins and shams and temptations, while a man’s strong arms could shield her, and a man’s heart lay at her feet.

She chattered on, unconscions of what was passing in his mind, giving him little sketches of her life and surroundings, telling of her childhood, her school life. ‘lt is all so far away now,’ she concluded, ‘ and yet. it all came back as if it were but yesterday when I saw that boy and played battledore with him. So much has happened ’

She stopped and a flood of crimson rose to her face and dyed her very temples.

He saw that betraying flush, and his heart grew heavy. A girl does not blush and tremble at memory —for nothing. So much had happened, she had said. Among all the ‘ happenings ’ was there one special and supreme event ? One thing to which memory returned with lingering fondness ? He had no right to ask, but he lonsred to do so. The pretty boy suddenly banged his book down on the table and sauntered out of the room whistling. He thought this was very slow sort of talk, and wished that the fellow with the moustache would take himself off, and leave that jolly girl free to talk to him. Dick glanced at the window. The rain had ceased falling, the sky looked brighter and the clouds were less heavy. ‘ I believe,’ he said, ‘ it is going to clear after all, and we can have our drive. You don’t object to outside cars, I suppose.’ ‘I ? Hood gracious, no! They are second nature to me. It is very kind of your uncle to ask us,’ she continued. “Are you sure we won’t be in the way? I mean that perhaps he is only doing this because— ’ She stopped, floundering hopelessly among the sea of words, Nell bad a knack of saying inopportune things, and she was on the brink of disgracing herself at the present moment.

‘ I am sure that my uncle will be very pleased to renew acquaintance with you,’ said Dick, coming to the rescue; ‘ and you won’t be in our way at all. Far from it. You will confer a favour on us by your presence. As for myself, you know I am your debtor for life. I told you so ; and I mean it.’ ‘ You overrate my services, indeed,* said Nell. ‘ After all, it was the doctor who saved you life—not I,’ ‘ I prefer,’ he said, ‘ to think it was you. Itneeded something morethana particular dose of medicine or form of diet to pull me up again. I have many memories of that time, in which no doctor finds a place, only the patience and care and continuous watchfulness of my little nurse.’

There was such tenderness in bis eyes and voice that Ifell felt alarmed. She had kept men at a distance so long that she disliked any attempt on their part to bridge her indifference. For sake of one she distrusted all. She had no heart-hunger now, no desire to be loved, no craving for the renewal of joys that once had seemed

sacred and eternal. Love had kissed her oat of the sleep of ignorance, and there was no possible return. It had cheated her of her happy innocent beliefs, bat alse it had left her with a grip on the realities of life, and a supreme disdain for its romance. Dick saw her face grow cold and almost hard. She turned abruptly away and went over to the window and threw it open. ‘ I believe it is going to clear up after all,’ she said. ‘ I can see the tops of the mountains quite distinctly.’ He followed her and looked out also. - At the same moment the mist was swept aside as by an unseen hand —woods were smitten with sunshine, the rain-drops sparkled like jewels on the moist boughs and the smooth sward. Lovely tints of purple and gold melted and parted on the heights as the clouds rolled further and further away. The sea burst suddenly into view, with the clear deep brilliance of a sapphire, and the rocky islets basked in warmth and sunshine once again. Nell clapped her hands with a child’s delight, and sprang through the low open window on to the gravel drive. ‘ It was worth all the rain to see this follow it,’ she cried. ‘ All the watching and waiting of this long, miserable morning !’ Which again may have been one of her unfortunate speeches, but was centainly not complimentary to the young man who had spent the greater part of the ‘ long, miserable morning ’ in her company. But evidently he was not sensitive or thin-skinned, for he only smiled at her delight, and suggested she should put on her hat and walk a little way towards the village, to meet her friend. Nell had not the slightest objection, and ran up to her room for thicker shoes and her sailor hat. In a few minutes she came down.

‘We have to pass ray hotel/ he said, ‘ to get to the village. Perhaps you will see my uncle.’ Nell did not particularly care about such a rencontre. Her own remembrance of Geoffrey Masterman ■was not a specially agreeable one. She had thought him rough and unpolished, and fall of his own importance. Still, he had been very good to his nephew, and he might improve on acquaintance. Dick opened the gate at the end of the leafy avenue, and they came out on to the main road, and went on past the Bell Yue which stood on a knoll between two prinripal hotels, its gardens gay with flowers and foliage, and its windows commanding the wide seascape locked by the Iniskisk and Esk and Sheehy ranges that ran from Kerry to Bantry. Warned by his late alarm, Dick kept the conversation on purely impersonal topics, and Nell, enchanted by the change of weather, was in wild spirits, and drank in great gulps of the radiant exhilarating air as she almost danced along the road. She looked so young and fresh and childlike that he was lost in admiration, but he kept his tongue within bounds. He did not wish to offend her. It was happiness enough to be within sight and touch of her again. He blessed the Fate that had led him to this spot, and wondered if he could possibly persuade to remain as long as Nell remained. What an odd, tantalising little thing she was ! A combination of ■child, girl, woman —a creature to be taken seriously or not as her mood was, but fascinating to him beyond all others of her sex. Why it should be so he could not say, for men are olever enough at arguing and explaining, until just the one woman comes along whodefies either to be explained or argued about. No wiser, no better, no prettier, no more angelic than scores of other women, yet she alone possesses the power to make a man think her all of these. She alone has the glamour he cannot withstand, the power to hurt or bless, to wound or delight, to reach some deeper spring in his nature than has yet been touched : to lift his soul or abase it, just as he is the worthier or the worse for his love. And Dick Barrymore, walking

along that white, shady road, and watching the glint of the sunshine on Nell’s chestnut hair, knew in his heart of hearts that the glamour and the spell were upon him at last; that this girl bad quickened a pulse of his being none other of her sex had ever stirred. She was no visionary nursling of his fancy ; she was not the ideal of his youthful dreams ; she was but a girl, with a girl’s little faults, and failings, and weakness, but to him The Girl, in all the world of girls ; the loving, lovable, wilful, tender little creature, on whom his gaze had fallen in wondering gratitude, when the fever mist of sickness had cleared off from his brain, and he had known that life claimed him once more as its own.

CHAPTER X

When Nell returned to the hotel the luncheon bell was ringing. She had not met Deborah Gray anywhere in the village, which was small enough to render avoidance almost impossible. Dick Barrymore had accompanied her, and they had gone as far as the Catholic Chapel, and even given a look in at its dilapidated and peculiarly ugly interior, in case Deborah might be there. On their way back past Escles, they had met Geoffrey Masterman, and he had been most genial and pleasant to his nephew’s pretty companion. The drive to the Bantry Lodge bad been quite decided on, and in order to atone for the wet morning, they were to start directly after luncheon.

Nell went back to Roche’s in a state of wonderment as to Deborah’s desertion, and ran up to their room to look for her. She was there changing her dress and shoes, and in answer to Nell’s exclamation merely said she bad gone out to see the waterfall. She was her old, composed, self now. There was no trace of the terrible emotion of the morning, except in the dark circles round her ; eyes, and an unwonted feverish flush in the usually sallow cheeks. Nell chattered gaily of her meeting with ‘ Uncle Geoffrey,’ as she persisted in calling him, and of the proposed drive, while Deborah Gray made her hurried toilet. Then they went down for luncheon. They had the same table again, but Deborah changed her place, and sat now with her back to that one they had remarked in the morning. The delicate lady and the handsome man were already in their places, and Nell between intervals of replenished plates, noted them with renewed interest. The lady scarcely touched anything. Her husband, on the contrary, ate and drank with keen enjoyment of the good fare, assisted by an equally excellent digestion. Nell found herself once more compassionating the feeble anasraic-looking creature whom melancholy and suffering seemed to have marked for their own. The rude health and hearty appetite of the man annoyed her, though she felt such annoyance was illogical and uncalled for. Before luncheon was over, he left his place, and went out of the room, as if he had forgotten something. The lady leaned back in her chair, and her eyes turned languidly to the adjoining table. They met Nell’s compassionate gaze and seemed attracted by it. Suddenly she leaned towards her. ‘ Would you be so kind,’ she said faintly, ‘as to give me a glass of water F There is none on our table.’ ‘ Oh, with pleasure/ said the girl, quickly. She took up their own water bottle and went across with it. The lady had turned deadly white. She half-reclined in the chair, and her hand pressed her side as if to still some attacking pain. ‘ I am afraid yon are suffering/ said Nell, her professional instincts aroused by evidence of illness. The lady signed her to pour out some water, and drank it thirstily. A small tumbler of uutasced claret stood by her plate, but she pushed it aside.

‘ Yes,’ she said huskily. ‘ 1 suffer terribly, but this will pass. It is only a spasm. My husband has gone to get me my medicine. I shall be all right in a moment.’ Nell still lingered, her face betraying grave concern. Deborah Dray turned, glanced at the grey pallor of the sick woman’s face, then once more devoted herself to the duties of the table. But the colour left her own face, too, and the contents of her plate were untasted. In another moment the lady seemed to recover. She sat upright, and declared the pain had gone, and her eyes lost their dull, blank look. She held out a feeble hand to Nell. ‘ Thank you, so much,’ she “aid, gratefully, ‘but please return to your luncheon. I am all right again, really. I often get these attacks They pass off. It is only a spasm.’ ‘ You ought to see a doctor,’ said Nell, bluntly. ‘A mere spasm would not affect you so seriously.’ The lady smiled. There was something proud and yet tender in the smile that made it infinitely pathetic on such pale lips. ‘ My husband is a doctor,’ she said, ‘I have every confidence in him.’ ‘ Oh, I beg pardon,’ said Nell, colouring hotly. 4 1 did not know, and I made the suggestion because I have had a great deal to do with sick people. 1 have been a hospital nurse, and so I know real illness when I see it.’

‘ A nurse —you !’ exclaimed the invalid. ‘ Why, I thought you were a mere school girl.’ In her heart she had really put Hell down as such, and given her Deborah Gray as a governess. Hell began to feel that her youthful appearance was spoiling her success in life. If thinking or wishing would have added a cubit to her stature, or a wrinkle or two to her smooth brow, she would have added a good five years on to her actual age. It was hard to be ambitious of dignity, and find that desire thwarted by want of inches, and the childish innocence of two soft blue eyes ! ‘ Ob, no ! ’ she answered gravely, as that complimentary insult reached her ears. ‘ltis a good eight years since I said farewell to the schoolroom ; but I see your husband coming,’ she added, hastily, ‘so I will leave you.’ They exchanged bows, and Hell returned to her own table, explaining, in a low tone to Deborah Gray, the incident that had occurred. Deborah made but brief comment on it. She seemed, in fact so cold and indifferent that Hell felt rather aggrieved. In a few moments they bad finished their luncheon, and then they left the room, Debrah Gray with her back rigorously turned to that neighbouring table, Hell, with a shy, interested glance at the now-recovered invalid. Once out of the room her tongue waxed communicative. ‘ Her husband’s a doctor. Only fancy, Debbie ! Such a handsome man. I should feel awfnlly jealous of his female patients, if I were his wife. I wonder what his name is. I thought be was a foreigner, didn’t you ? She is English, T fancy.’ They made their way up the broad staircase to prepare for the drive, Deborah grim and monosyllabic,Hell overflowing with chetter and speculations as she twisted up her coils of hair and adjusted the straw ‘ sailor,’ ‘ The gods are going to be good to us, I think,’ she said, laughingly. ‘ A male escort, and a rich escort, are by no means undesirable things ! And our purses are none too well equipped for a holiday jaunt, eh, Debbie ? I am going to speak seriously to Uncle Geoffrey to-day about getting me a situation. That is the right word isn’t it P The woman who works is always on a par to the lady who keeps registry offices going! I have still hopes of the nice old dowager who will want he foot warmers and her knitting put right, and to be cheerfully accompanied down the vale of years. I wonder if Uncle Geoffrey knows her F’ ‘ Your tongue will slip into calling him that to his face,’ said Deborah

Gray. 4 And then there will be complications.’ 4 Not a bit of it,’ said Nell. 4 He thinks I am a gay and giddy child. He would put such a slip down to youthful spirits.’ 4 And the nephew P asked Deborah Gray. 4 Oh, he doesn’t count for much,’ said Nell, coldly. 4 Perhaps he is studying me as a type for one of his books. Fancy knowing a real live author, Debbie ! Yon ought to be so proud. Do you know ’ she broke off suddenly, turning from the glass as she spoke and holding the hat pin out dramatically. 4 Do you know, Debbie, ray dear, life is beerinning to get positively interesting. There is an odour of the domestic drama about it with all these unexpected meetings, and the turning up of rich uncles and the fame of literary nephews ! Not to mention a handsome doctor who looks like a hero of romance, and an invalid wife who is already attached to me by ties of gratitude.’ 4 Pat on your hat, and don’t talk so much nonsense,’ said Deborah Gray, sharply. ‘ Americans are proverbially punctual, and I hear wheels.’ 4 Gracious, are they here already ?’ exclaimed Nell, stabbing the hat on to a coil of bright hair with the long pin. 4 But don’t call uncle Geoffrey an American, Debbie. He isn’t anything of the sort. He’s a native of Great Britain, and has all the national virtues. Oh, I wish he would make me his heires.s. . . How lovely it must be to be rich, regular rich. Never to have to bother about anything. To go where you like, live as you like, and money rolling in like a golden stream every day of the year ! Debbie, find my gloves for me like an angel ; and do look out and see if they are really there !’ 4 They really are !’ said Deborah Gray. ‘Uncle Geoffrey is sitting on the car, and the nephew is pacing to and fro before the porch. Come along, child. Here are your gloves.’ [To be continued.]