LOVE AND A SHOP GARL.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXII, Issue 144359, 25 March 1914, Page 5

LOVE AND A SHOP GARL.

ATTRACTIVE LOVE STORY OF DOMESTIC INTEREST.

BY M. C. K. BAKER, Author of “Tho Sin of Carine,” “One Guilty Deed,” ‘‘The Wooing of Wendy,” “The Power of Lovo,” “Sir Geoffrey Dacre,” etc. etc.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

A MOTHER’S REMORSE. “Hoity-toity, young man—what’s the matter with you this morning? Your fingers aro all thumbs, I do declare. Seated in her high-backed chair near the hay-window from which she commanded a vista of park and woodland that stretched as far as the eye could reach, tho baroness surveyed Cyril Strangways with amused astonishment as he groped for tho stethoscope that had just dropped from his hands.

Having recovered the little trumpet and restored it rather shamefacedly to his pocket, the doctor apologised for his clumsiness and resumed his professional inquiries.

But even a loss shrewd car than that of his illustrious patient could not have, failed to detect the note of nervousness and absent-mindedness in his voice. Strangways, you havo a*kecl me three times whether 1 iccl any shortness of breath. If you ask me again vou will take it away altogether J IVhat‘makes you so absent-minded? Aro yon going’ to get married?” The gently chaffing tones pulled Cvril up sharp. . ’•'Lady Kilmington—forgive me —1 have just had rattier a surprise. M ould vou think it extremely impertinent of me if 1 asked you a somewhat personal question ? Mho is tiie original of that beautiful portrait downstairs the one of the young girl?” , ~ Tho words were barely out ot his mouth before he bitterly repented having uttered them, for a look of untold sorrow spread itself over the old lady s face. , . „

Her slight fragile little figure seemed to become suddenly wizened, her evelids quivered and drooped,, and sbo pressed a withered, blue-veined hand to tier wrinkled brow. “M'hat makes you ask me that question now, doctor." Yon have seen the picture often enough before, have you not?” Her voice was painful in its bravo struggle to conceal its grid. “It hurls you —I am extremely sorry. Lady Kilmington—l didn't know!” lii tho silence that ensued, Cyril anathematised himself for a blundering ass. He would have been only too delighted to kick himself hard. “You are right—it is still a painful subject to mo. after all those years. But —you haven't answered me—what makes you ask this question—what has tho picture to do with the surprise you mentioned?”

“I, am surprised because quite recently, I have myself seen its original!” Lady Kilpiington sighed deeply. ‘‘l fear that is impossible, doctor. -The picture was painted more than twenty years ago. It is my only child —Erica—at the age of nineteen'” “Erica!” The name burst with startling force on Cyril’s ears. What a strange coincidence —or, if not a coincidence, what then? “She died, did she not?” he asked in a low voice aud his question sent a shudder through the delicate figure in tlic high-backed chair. “It is strange —very strange that you should be asking mo this question today of all days—the fortieth anniversary of her birth. She may be dead —she may be alive—alas, I do not know!” Cyril Strangways rose hurriedly to his feet. “Lady Kilmingtnn! I hardly know what to say—how to excuse myself. This trespa&s of mino is unpardonable! Hut you will believe that ,1 had no idea !” “Sit down, doctor!” The withered hand was abruptly withdrawn from tho wrinkled brow. A gleam as of some sudden determination shono from tho tender old eyes beneath the delicate. aristocratically arched brows. “Tell me about this girl you have seen. I am interested. Who is she?” The change in her manner caused Cyril to resume his seat in awkward bewilderment. . “Sho is a young shop-girl —Erica Templeton by name. She is employed by a London draper called Stile in the Tottenham Court Road I” he stammered, perplexedly. “Erica? Erica Templeton! Tho name fell softly, wonderingly from the old lady’s lips. “Don’t you know anything more about her? Vi here did you meet her?” i; There was a motor accident not far from my house tho other night. She had sprained her wrist and I attended to her!” “She has parents? A home? Tell me!” The command was brusque, imperiously curt. “I cannot say—she only gave mo her name and the address of tho shop!” ~ , “How old would you say she was? “About nineteen or twenty 1 should imagine!” . , , , . “It might be—it might bel Tho name! I wonder —I wonder!” The baroness was speaking to herself now. Sho had turned her head to gaze through the window with far awav eves. Sho scorned to take no notice whatever of tho doctor. The. lines of grief had vanished from her still beautiful old face, leaving something of eager, straining desire in their place. The tenderness of her eyes seemed to speak of mother-love that had slumbered long and was now awakened to new life, new intensity. "1 must see her—question her —the doctor must bring her_ to rue!” she went on. with rising excitement. Tho words seemed to restore her to consciousness of the doctor’s presence, for she turned her face sharply from the window and confronted him.

“1 am about to trust you with a secret that I have kept to myself for twenty years, doctor!” Lady Kilminglon said, after a few moments of indecision. “To not a soul throughout all that time have I confided one word of my sorrow and grief. To you, for the first time now. I am about to unburden myself, because you have aroused a strange new desire within me. I told you just now that I do not know whether my daughter—tho Honourable Erica Densiqn—our family name, you know —is alive or dead. I will explain myself!” The baroness paused and pondered a moment. Then with a sigh she continued :

“At the age of twenty—shortly after her father’s death —Erica ran off with a commoner. The only representative left to carry on the great Kilmingtou line, she flouted my authority, and dis-

appeared into the unknown with this man she had chosen. Judge of my despair, my anger, doctor—l who' had never borno my husband a son and looked to Erica to find a husband worthy of her ancient lineage, and a splendid inheritance. One evening there were words between ns—sho refused to reveal tho identity of her lover. I spoke harshly to her, and she answered harshly. She left me, and X went to bod. The next morning I awoke to learn that she had run away to this man during the night., Sho left a short note behind her. At first I was too angry, too proud, to show my bitter sorrow. Later a telegram came—just three words ‘Married good-bye Erica.”* From that dav I have heard or scon nothing of my daughter!” There was another impressive pause. Cyril kept his eyes fixed on the carnet. He was wondering to himself with a great wonder. “Months went by and lengthened into years. Still 1 heard nothing of my wilful girl!” the old mellow voice went on. “To all questions I gave the same answer —‘sho has gone abroad —flunks not strong.' I was proud of the Kilmington name and all it meant to me. But there came a time when I no longer give this answer to people who, remembering tho girl’s beauty and attractions, wondered why I did not bring her homo and present her at Court. I was forced to subterfuge—to lie. For tho sake of tho Kiimingtons and their unsullied escutcheon,! lied. 'She is ill'.’ I said, and wont abroad myself. From there I wrote to some of those who had asked mo about her so often, and I said. 'Sho is dead!’” Cvril Strangways started impulsively. "You do not know tho name ot the man she ran off with?” “Sol” “But —von are thinking, as I am Blinking.'too. that this Erica Templeton I have fold you of. may be —her daughter —your grandchild Lady Kilmington inclined her head slowly to the breathless question. “V’on have been struck with her idleness to the picture downstairs—you ran jring her hero? I must question her! Cyril was about to assent eagerly, hut tlie words were cheeked on his lips. .Vow that she had toid all her intitiil store of mother-love flouted and east <.sid'o by a self-willed, impetuous daughter, the old baroness could no longer restrain her emotions. (Listening tears rolled down her wasted chocks. She wept with the silent grief of a broken, penitent heart. “1 have done wrong.'” she murmured, “and God has rewarded me accordingly. I should have received my daughter’s lover, even though he had boon hut a plough-hoy. 1 should have thought of her happiness, and, in so thinking, should have kept her love. Bill 1 was proud, and hiy pride turned to bitter ashes in mv mouth. I said site was dead. 1 dared not try to find her aftcr tiuit, although 1 ached for her with all my heart and soul. And—sho never, never came back to me agaui—my Erica —my beautiful baby girl!” Gently, respectfully, Cyril laid a hand on the heaving shoulder. “1 will help you, Lady Kilmington. If the suspicion that you and 1 now share turns out to ho. correct, you will have no cause to grieve. \on will be aide to make full amends, even if yon have not already done so by your long years of remorse and repentance and by your life of charity and good works amongst us down here. I will sock this girl out and bring her to you, as you ask. You can rely on my discretion and prudence!” Tho old lady dried her eyes and looked up at tho handsome, strong taco hem over her. Sho held out her hand in gratitude. ; “Yes 1 can make amends!” she cried eagerly. “Give me proof that site is Erica’s daughter and I shall take her to my heart, even though sho bo uneducated, uncouth —a shop girl! I will teach her to love me so that 1 may at least dio happy!” . . Cyril took her hand, and held it m silent sympathy for a few moments. “This girl—Erica Templeton—is wellbred—a perfect lady!” he replied, with quiet emphasis. “Her beauty is striking, her manner reserved, her speech free of any suspicion of solecism. You shall see her and learu her story from her own lips!” And then, with a tact for -which the baroness was grateful to him. he resumed his professional manner, completed his questions about the slight, giddiness upon which sho had been consulting him and took his departure. JIo whistled cheerfully to himself ns the little motor-brougham buzzed him back to his house.

“Come to mo when Sir Clive is married!” tho whirring engine seemed to say. “And. by Jove!” thought Cyril to’ himself, “if Erica Templeton turns out to bo tho old dame’s grand-daugh-ter and heiress to nil this estate, it won’t be long before 1 am knocking at May’s front door again, cither. The next thing to be done is to got hold of Erica Templeton!”

Exactly the same thought had this moment occurred to someone else besides Cyril Strangways! “Daddy” Doyle, with Sir Clive’s proposal to Erica in his pocket, had made fils eager way up the creaking stairs at tho back of Stile’s shop and had knocked at tho door.of the sick room.

Tho door was flung open and Aiiss Binning appeared. Tho stretcher was empty, and by its side lay a half-pack-ed, battered old leather trunk.

“I would be speaking wid Afiss Templeton a moment!” announced the sergeant in reply to the woman’s demand to know his business. “You can’t then!” came the decisive answer. “She’s gone!” “Gone? Gone where?”

“Gone away where she’ll get well quickly I hope!” “But —where?” persisted tho soldier. “That’s no business of yours, Sergeant Doyle!” And the door was flammed violently in his perplexed face. (To bo continued.)