CHAPTER II—Continued.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LIV, Issue 13432, 25 March 1907, Page 6

CHAPTER ll— Continued.

A common and a most tragic experi- I ence with most young girls. One thing, however, Mabin was able to do. In the shy look with which she returned Mrs. Dale'B kind gaze of inquiry, she took in a picture of a lovely woman which remained impressed on her mind ineffaceably. Mrs. Dale was a lovely woman, lovelier than Mabin had -thought when she only got glimpses of the lady's profile from her seat in church, or peeps at her through a thick black veil. Mrs. Dale wore a black veil to-day, but in the open carriage, in the full glare of the sun, her beauty was evident enough. A little woman, plump, pink, childlike in face and figure, with wavy fair hair, infantine blue eyes, and a redlipped mouth which was all the .more lovable, more attractive, for not being on the strict lines of beauty. Mrs. Dale had, so Mabin felt, exactly the right features and the right expression for the sweet voice she had just heard. And through the beauty, and through the voice, the girlf inspired perhaps by the niourning dress, thought she detected a sadness which seemed to. her the most pathetic thing in the world. In two moments the interview was over; Mrs. Dale had smiled upon her sweetly, bidden her farewell merely with a bend of her head, and driven away, leaving Mabin to scold herself for her idiocy in throwing away an opportunity which she might never have again. She did not try to overtake the carriage ; she watched it down the open road, until the shining coil of silky hair under the black crape bonnet grew dim in the distance. And then, with a shrug of her shoulders, and a murmur that " it was just like her,/* Mabin turned defiantly into the road which led past the vicarage. However* nobody was around to throw stones at the bicycle on this occasion ; and it was not until she had reached Seagate, changed her father's books at the library, and matched a skein of, cable silk for Emily, that she Was reminded afresh of the existence of the Bonningtons by the sight of Rudolph, in his knickerbockers and gaiters, standing by his bicycle while he lit a cigarette. Unconsciously Mabin frowned a little. And unluckily Rudolph saw the frown. She meant to pass him without appearing to/notice him, but he foresaw the intention, and was nettled by it. For Rudolph, with his black eyes and curly black hair, and his sun-browned face, was the handsomest fellow in the neighbourhood when ke was on shore, and wasr accustomed to a great deal of kindness and civility from Mabin' s sex. Her rudeness, which arose more from shyness than from the lofty contempt he supposed, puzzled the young fellow, and made him angry. He remembered their ancient comradeship, which she seemed to have forgotten} and, most unwisely, he let a spirit of " devilment" get the better of him, and addressed her as if they had been still on the old terms. '

;' Good morning, Mabin," said* he.

She gave him a bend of the head, without looking at him, and was passing on to the place where her hicycle stood outside the door of a shop. Bub he would not let her escape so. "Mayn't I offer you a cigarette?" To do him justice, Rudolph had not noticed that a small boy with a basket stood near enough to hear. The boy burst into shrill laughter, and Mabin turned fiercely. For once she did not stoop. "I'm afraid you have forgotten a great deal since you went to sea," she said, in a voice she could not keep steady. The young man was surprised, and rather shocked at the way in which he had been received. He had been anxious to heal the breach between her and himself, and' he had thought that a dash into their old familiarity might avail where more carefully studied attempts had failed. Before he could do more than begin to apologise, to appeal to their old friendship, Mabin had got on her bicycle and ridden away. The sun was beating down fiercely by this time upon the white, chalky roads; but Mabin rode on recklessly, at a higher speed than usual. She was wjell on her way back to Stone, when, turning her head to look along the road she had come by, she perceived that Rudolph was not far behind. She had forgiven his indiscretion by this time, and rather hoped he was following quickly on purpose to " make it up." So she went on her way through a group of straggling cottages at a rather slower pace. There was a sharp bend in the road at this point, and just as she sounded her bell in turning the corner, she saw Rudolph, who was now close behind, dismount and pick up something from the road. The next moment something struck the front wheel of her bicycle, and she anjl her machine were flung with violence down in the road. , She had time to utter a cry, no more, before the crash came. Then she remembered, knew nothing, until she he&rd somebody sobbing closo to her ears; and opening her eyes, she

>..n tl:<- <wA Imf oi Mvb. \)a\c, witl) tin.* binck veil Ihi'o'vn biirk, and with lours in Imm- blue eyvs, bonding over her tenderly. Mrs. Dale uttered a cr.v bf joy, and another voice, which Mabiii lecognised as Rudolph's, said: "Thank God! she isn't dead, at any rate. l 'Are you better, dear?' Are you in any pain?" asked Mrs. Dale, with so much solicitude that answering tears ofi sympathetic emotion started into the girl's own l eyes. " I am quite well, quite well," said Mabin. " Only— only— l think my foot hurts." ltudolph and Mrs. Dale exchanged glances. "I thought so," said he. " She's broken her ankle." Mrs. Dale' 8 pretty eyes began to fill again." " AYe must lift her into the carriage," said she. " And you will go and prepare her mother, and see that a doctor is sent for at once." And, in spite of , the protests she feebly made, Mabin was gently raised from the ground by Rudolph's strb'ng arms, and helped into the victoria/W here Mrs. Dale took - her seat, and, telling the coachman to drive slowly, insisted on making her own. plums little shouldei the pillow for the girl's head. But Mabin, having recovered he] spirits, if not her walking powers wanted to talk to the new friend sh< had so unexpectedly made. "You are very good to me," sh< said. " I have never had so much kind ness from anyone since my. mother died It was so strange; when I woke vi just now I felt what I thought was ny mother's touch again: And yet I hac forgotten all about that. For she hai been dead fifteen years." "Poor child!" said Mrs. Dale. "! am glad of that, dear, that I remindec you of her," she gently whispered. »" Of course I don't m«&n that," wen on Mabin quickly, trying to sit up. "'. don't mean that you could be a mothe; to me now, as I s am. That does soum ridiculous ! You fcouidriMi be my mothe: when you are the same &g«f as myself.' As a matter of fact, 'Mabin lookec older than her .companion. But wher the conversation thus turned to herself Mrs. Dale's pink face 'grew suddenlj pale,- and Mabin looked at her shyly : and flushed, feeling that she had said something wrong. 'But almost before she was consciotilltbat she had touched some sensitive spot, Mrs. Dale said softly : "Go on talking, dear, about your mother, or — or anything. lam lonely, you know; very lonely. And it is a great treat to hear you talk." The girl flushed again^ this time with surprise. "You like to hear me talk! Ah, then, you musl be-lonely Indeed. For they say at hoia&*l neVW talk without saying the vter'« 'last" thing I ought to say." """ J I ' (To be continued.)