CHAPTER XXII.

Taranaki Herald, Volume XLV, Issue 10656, 3 July 1896, Page 4

CHAPTER XXII.

immense interest. "She be a great one to have her way, and make no fuss about itAnd Tim was right; it was the old lady's work that at' last introduced Di to the master of " Moonstone Cliffs," and brought about the understanding that as she, (Mrs Tompkins) was growing old and infirm, she could no longer perform the duties of housekeeper, and needed an assistant. And who better than Di? Di, who could assist in keeping the rooms in order, and play seamstress too?

So, by degrees, this happy result was brought about, and Di emerged from the housekeeper's apartments, and began to make her sweet influence felt in Sir Roger Penryth's gloomy old manor by the sea,

And on this stormy January morning we find her quite at home in the oldfashioned broakfast-rooni; in her pretty, becoming wrapper, her face sweet, and fresh, and pleasant, as she stands at the seaward window, watching the white gulls circling around the cliffs below, while she waits for the old baronet to comed own.

The weather is wild and wintry down ihero amid the Land's End cliff 3, but within the quaint old breakfast parlor, the brightest comfort reigne. A gieat fire roars in the chimney, a goldfinch sings in a swinging cage, and on the white, neat breakfast-table, beside the barouet's plate, is a tiny vase of blossoms, hardy winter blooms, that L>i has found somewhere It is the private opinion of Mrs Tompkins that the young person known in Sir Roger's household as Mrs Mott, possesses a sort uf witchery in regard to flowers. Have them she will, but how and where she gets them, is a mystery; unless they are a spontaneous outcropping of her ewn sweet and sunny nature.

TO LE CONTINUED.

LITXLK " PEN. "

When Di Dermot regained her consciousness after the agony and bitterness of that stormy afternoon, spent beneath the shelter of the old ludge-house, she felt herself being borne gently along through tho open air. At first, so teirible had been the deadly swoon into which she had fallen, as her glimmering reason reasserted its power, the poor girl still fancied that she was dead, and that this dim awakening was a foreshadowing of that mysterious life beyond the shores of time. But the splash of rain-irops falling from the branches overhead on her hot face, and tho familiar sound of Tim's Toice brought her to full consciousness, and convinced her that she was still a living woman and not, as she at first be-

lieved, a disembodied ghost.

" Niver mind, Tim, my led," spoko a r * motherly voice, " whether she ba miss or tnadame — it makes no difference to us.

You did right, my lad, to fetch the poor

creature here; and now we'll do the best ' , we can to make hor comfortable. Yon ■ know what the Bible say 9, Tim, about doing* a kindness to the least of God's little ones? An' it isn't for us to set our-

- ' self to jmlgo atweeu the good and the

bad, but just do our duty."

The old lady told Tim to lend a hand itaw^ which he did, with a woman's gentleness, aud Di was borne into a small room in the western wing of" Moonstone Cliffs" and deposited very tenderly on a low bed. Sho was perfectly conscious, heard every sound, but so great was her weak, ness sho could not move so much as an eyelash, '• Now, my poor dear, 1 ' said the old lady, patting and tucking about the pillows, '• if yon could only swallow a drop of something to wet your dry lips, it would help yon, dearie." Di could feel the soft, old face, as it bent over hers, but she was blind and dumb — hor parched tongno could not ; utter the faintest whisper. / Two hours passed, and when sight and speech came to the poor sufferer, a little pnk face rested beside her on the bed. ; Poor Di at first stared in wonder at the * v ' infant, than clasped it close, and covered the little face with passionata kisses. II Oh, my baby, my baby! Clifford's little baby ! ' she cried. Then the momeniary strength failed Inr, hor arms fell, her cheeks whitened, and sue dropped back upon her'pillows In a second fainting fit. For six months, Di had been an inmate of " Moonstone Cliffs." At first, she lived in Mrß Tompkin's apartments, which consisted of a pair of rooms in the western wing of the rambling old house, only waiting for her own strength, and baby's strength, to become sufficient to i warrant her venturing out into the world. 11 1 must go to-morrow, Mrs Tomp. J kins," she would say, when they drew up their chairs at evening, as Tim heaped the lire-placo with faggot 3. The baby lay asleep .in the old-fashioned crib that had been resurrected from some dusty corner in the old manor, for his own use. " It won't do to stay here, when I am of no use. I must go." And Mrs Tompkins would laugh, and shake her fat sidos, and say: " Wait till to-raorrov? comes, my pretty deurie." And it always turned out, when to- . morrow came, that hi did not go. It was too cold, or too damp, or baby was a bit ailing: or there was some sewing that Mrd Tompkias wanted dono; and somehow, Di did not get off. " Ail the old lady's work," remarked 1 Tim who watched this little by-play with