LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 4342, 24 March 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

FAB BTBANGER THAN FICTION.

{London Society.)

Chaptkb V. BlißN'a PKBPIBXITY.

Before Mrs Calcey arrived at Dapplemead, a change for the better had taken place in lier child's condition, and althongh the doctor could not pronounce him out of danger, yet he spoke more hopefully about the boy, aud tsid that possibly he might be able to save jiim. For days and nights the mother sat beside the bed, feeling with Jacob, "If 1 am bereaved of my children, lam bereaved." But at the end of a week all cause for anxiety was over ; and the little fellow, weak tut convalescent, was smiling in bis mother's face, and playing with her dress. At Dapplemead, however, as in London, Mrs Calcey waß subject to those fits of abstraction which so puzzled her fellow-ser-Tants. . When her child lay asleep she would sit for «n hour at a stretch doing nothing, looking at nothing, but seemingly lost in a reverie. If at such times any one addressed her she would Bt;;rt and look confused, as though suddenl y aroused from a dream. She said she waß*h»ppy in her situation, and had no words sufficient »o express her affection for Mrs Montrello and all the family j and jet aba seemed unsettled and unhappy, alternating betwee;i feverish activity and idle depression. Mrs Briarfc had not bean slow to notics this change, which she first attributed to anxiety concerning the child; but she could not avoid seeing that, so far from growing more cheerful when the first pressing dread was over, her daughter seemed to sink into a state of greater despondency. She waited for a short time, thinking that perhaps confidence might be given unaßked.forneverbeforehad she known M)rn keep a secret from her ; but, observing no Bjmptom of frankness, she determined on? evening to broach the subject. It was Sunday evening; the children were in bed ; the 'fire had burnt low and bright ; the.kitchen where they sat was mug and warm ; there was • onp in a little saucepan on the trivet, getting lot for their suppers by-and-bye ; the Pilgrim's Progress lay open on the round table, and the place whore B~ne had been reading was marked by Mrs Briart's spectacles. (The light given by one candle seemed rather to increase the gloom than to dispel it. Leaning back in an old arm-chair, Mrs Calcey ■watched the glowing embers, but spoke never a word.

" Yon have got something on your mind, girl," said Mrs Briart, breaking the silence with an abruptness which made her daughter start.

" And if I bave, mother?" asked the younger woman. " Why, you had better tell me all about it, was the answer.

" Perhaps if I did you would say you would jrather 1 bad held my tongue." " Try ma," advised Mrs Briart. Then, as the other relapsed into her accustomed silence, the repeated the words once again. *' Try me," she said : and she stretched out her hand, and stroked her daughter's hair with a touch that seemed to carry comfort in its quiet tendorness. " Mother, I am very unhappy," began Mrs Calcey. "I see you are, Nell." " I do not know what to think or to do." .

"Suppose we take counsel together, then, dear, Two heads are better than one, it is said."

"But I do not want to make you uncomfortable."

"I cannot be comfortable seeing jou troubled »8 ynu are." "I think, mother, yon will never believe * -what I am going to tell von." " I will believe anything, Sell, unless you tell me you are going to marry again ; and I should be very Borry to have to believe that." The younger widow shook her head. "I do not think I shall ever come to you with that story, mother." " Well, then, what is the story ?" asked the elder woman impatiently. " You have not robbed or murdered anybody. I suppose ?" "No ; I have not robbed anyone."

" Who has, then, in the name of patience ?" cried Mrs Briart. " For gracious' sake, Nell, speak out, and let as have done with it. All my life long I could never a-bear secrets and mysteries." "I am sure Ido not like them either ; and if I could only make up my mind what was right-" " I should think no one need ever think twice about what is right; that must be always clear enough," interrupted her mother. " Come, child, let us hear all about it."

" You know I have told you what a nice young lady Mis 3 Molly is," began Mrs Caloey. " Yes ; sure, but it is nothing about her, I hope." "And what- a pleasant, affable, generous gentleman she has get for a lover." Mrs Briart nodded. " But I have not told you his name." Her mother looked up interested, but spoke not a word. " It is Mason ; he is that ' Hal' Mr Harleaden Mason talked about on hi* deathbed, and he is the owner now of Martinly Hall." " Then he will be a good match for your Mlis Molly." "Ho; they are so poor that they can't marry at present. It seems that Mr Harlesdon made some settlement on Miss Emily, which gives her £3600 a-year for life ; and as long as she lives this gentleman has nothing Irat tie old Hall and a small quantity of land. These could not be willed away or Battled; but master might have left the £3000 a-year to bia wife if he had liked, and then she could have given it to anyone she chose. That waß what Mrs Wilkins wanted him to do, I believe, on his deathbed, bat he would not. The way things are now is, that while Mrs Mason lives he is, in a manner of. speaking, a beggar. There is some, mortgage on the Hall; and there are expenßes connected with keeping up the place. It has been let till lately ; but the gentleman who rented it has lost all his money and been obliged to go abroad ; bo that really, as far as I can understand, tho present Mr Mason ia worse off than if he had no property at all."

"Still property is property." remarked Mrs Briart eapiently ; "and when Mrs Mason dies lie will have a vast sum of money ; though to be sure she is as likely to outlive him as he is to outlast her."

Her daughter did not answer. She only leant her head on her hand and looked into the fire.

"Why need you trouble yourself about it, Hell ?" asked her mother, after a pause. "After all a wife is a wife, and Mr Mason had a right to do what he liked with his own." " I never heard anybody say he had not," replied Mrs Calcey; "bub it is not that which worries me."

"Well, what is it, then?" " You see if Mm Mason were dead, this young gentleman would be rich enough." " Of conrse he would, but he does not want to kill her, does he?"

"No; but I believe she 1* dead." The elder woman drew back a little, and asked, in evident surprise, "When did she die?" "That I do not know." " What do you mean, girl ? Do you think there has been any foul play ?" 11 1 am afraid so, and lam afraid it is still going on. I feel as sure as lam sitting here that Mr Harlesdon Mason's widow is dead, and tha l ; the lady I saw at Parling is no more Mrs WiJHn's daughter than I am." " I do not understand you." " Why, mother, surely I have spoken plain enough. If Miss Ejaily i? dead, that money ought to go to this present grntleman." Mrs Briart sat silent for a moment; then the asked,

N Who knows of this besides yoursolf ?" " I do not think anybody has pieced it all together but me."

" Then the best thing you can do is to unpieee it — a pack of nonsense, child !" "It is not nonsense, mother: I only wish it was."

" Woll, whatever it mat b;», it is no buriSjiobs of yours; it is rot a natter for 70a to mako or to mell in. Let the gentlefolks look after their own affairs for themselves. If they aro being cheated they will find that out fast enough I warrant." "But you eaid, mother, one need never think twice about what is right." " And I say so again. If you keep straight .yourself you'll have quite enough to do, -without putting your finpers into other folks' pies." " Tut, mother, just listen to me." " I don't want to hear nothing more about

it," said Mrs Briart tersely, if ungrammatically. "Lot of rubbish, Well. You have been reading Borne of those. Billy novels that are enough to turn a stronger head than yours." illen Cahey sighed. The experiment of taking another person into her confidence had cot, she felt, proved so far signally. successful.

(To be continued.)