ELSIE'S STEPMOTHER.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5180, 9 December 1884, Page 3

ELSIE'S STEPMOTHER.

a new zealand stoet. [By Mrs Meandee/} (Concluded.) Chapter V. Next day Mr Dulciinore was on his way to "Wellington, and Elsie, scarce knowing ■what to fear —for he had told her nothing more — went through her daily duties mechanically, and forgot to answer the children's loving prattle. That night little May was ill. She laid her feverish cheek on Elsie's and cried bitterly. " I wish mother would love me," she said. So Elsie going to Mrs Dulcimore's dressing-room begged her to come to the child. " Nonsense! Miss Grant," she exclaimed; "you begin to spoil my little girl. I have no time to spare to fuss over cry-babies. lam late already for the bail. Just fix these flowers on my gown for me and tell me if the colour is becoming." Obeying her wish, Elsie tried again for the sake of the child. " May seems very ill," she said, " could you not spare just one moment to see her ?" "Do not worry ac about trifles," snapped Mrs Dulcimore angrily, " give her some Gregory and put her to bed, she'll be all right to-morrow. I shall stay with the Mountjoy's to-night after the ball, and probably remain for dinner to-morrow, so do not expect nic early ;" and gatheringher gay apparel lightly round her, she stepped gaily into the cab, and was driven away. As the night wore on, poor little May tossed wearily from side to side; her breathing came thick and fast, and from the feverish lips came the constant wail, " Daddie! Daddie !" At last EJsie, unable to bear the anxiety longer, sent Meg at midnight for the doctor. One glance at the child's flushed face and swollen throat, then turning to Elsie he said, " Where is her mother ?" "At Mrs Mountjoy's ball!" Elsie 1 replied. " Then send for her at once," he ordeiv 1 curtly. "The child has virulent diphtheria." So Meg was hurried away again to enrry the melancholy tidings to the fashionable mother. " What is it Meg ?" s<oid that gay lady appearing in her ball dress in the grry morning light, for the dancing was still going on with spirit. "Deed nicui," said Meg, "ye'dbetter come hanie. We Maisic'a awfu' bad, the doctor says its the diphtheric." " Diphtheria!" shrieked the mother. "O! how dreadful! It's so fearfully infections! 1 daren't come home ! What shall Ido ? Meg, tell Miss Grant to take great care of poor little May, and I will pay her well, but I cannot go near any infectious disease ; I should be quite sure to catch it, I am so fearfully nervous. I'm sure, Meg, you ar.il • Miss Grant can manage everything." At this moment a somewhat festivelooking youth appeared. "Our waltz, 1 think, Mrs Puichnorr," !■:•• drawled, sticking out his olbow ton\i:.!: her. She laid her hand on hi- arm. l'O-W-. I and smiled to Meg, and was scon wliiriinij round among the dancers. ( For days little Maisie hnncr between life I and death, but her unnatural mother came

not; near. At last the child was pronounced out of danger, and Elaie, tired out with the strain, would have broken down utterly but foe the watchful care of Meg, who insisted on feeding her with strong l>eef tea and other sustaining diet. " For," said the good soul, " ye've been Letter nor a mither to the puir bairn, Miss Graunt." After a few days, hearing that her husband would soon return, Mrs Dulcimore decided to come home. " You will see me on Wednesday morning, my little May," she wrote, and the child, rejoicing over the letter, made in her own little way great preparations to receive ier. All the little toys and picture-books collected during her illness were spread around, and Eo3ie was for the first time allowed to be with her. But Wednesday morning arrived, and the mother came not. A merry impromptu picnic had at the last moment been arranged, and of course the g^,y Mr 3 Dulcimore must not miss it ; and forgetting the expectant little one at home, and quieting her conscience by saying, " A day more or less won't make much difference, and Mr Dulcimore can't be home till to-morrow," she merrily took her seat in the drag which contained her importunate friends, and set off for a day's enjoyment, while her little child, just rescued from the jaws of death, watched and waited for the mother who came not, and whose face she would see in thi3 world never more. Tiie day clouded over, and the shadows fell early on the returning picnic party. The driver of the drag was merry with wine, tr c occupants gay, the horses well fed and fresh. Before three miles of the homeward journey had been made, the ■whole of that jovial company were lying bruised and bleeding at the bottom of a steep cliff over which their charioteer had carelessly driven. The drag was dashed in pieces, and the torses maimed ; there were broken limbs, dislocated shoulders, and disfigured faces ; there were moans and shrieks and cries in the darkness. But one form alone was still ; and only when the morning sun appeared the shattered and ghastiy remains were seen. There the gay and beautiful Mrs Dulcimore lay dead.