CHAPTER II.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7808, 12 September 1903, Page 2

CHAPTER 11.

Thirteen years bad passed since the Misses Mayne had come to Alington Street and found "little Rosemary, as they called her, asleep under the lilac bushes of the back garden ; she kept her birthday on that date in May on whicli her adoption had begun, and this afternoon she sat in the garden of No. 8, pondering the past, and putting two and two together out of her confused qhildish recolleafcions. > " I remember a funny old man like a sailor who used to put his head round the door in the wall, and say ' Hullo, missy !' and give me oranges, and a tall, thin gentleman, who made mo say, ' thank God for my good dinner, Amen.' Only sometimes there wasn't any dinner at all ! And a girl called Sophia who used to pull my hair! Oh, what a jumble it all is 1 oniy if I ask Auntie Aggie aboufc it- she shuts me up at once, and even Harold gets quite red and uncomfortable. Its rather awkward to be so uncertain aboufc oneself! .1 used to suppose I was a relation of the aunties, because, of' course, my name is Rosemary Mayne, but — why, what was that?" A round, red face wi|h a grey fringe of hair poked itself round the corner ot the door in the wall. "Do you want your garden done up, Missy?" Rosemary was struggling with ai strange, half-grasped recollection. " Oh, who is ifc? Do I know you? Haven't I seen you before?" " I ou'y asked to do up the garden a bit —I'm an' old sailor, I am, an' obliged to earn ai honest penny where I can. I ain't been round this way ai long time," but he stared afc fche girl in an oddly fascinated manner.. ' "Are you Mr Bowes?" Rosemary demanded. " I don't know what you h^ve* to do with me, hut I'm sure you're someone I used to know." The picturo of a shabby, sea-faring figure was forming itself in her memory. "It ain't never little Missy?" There is no saying what would have come next, but at that moment Harold Drysdale came through the house into the garden, with ids, terrier at his heels ; he was a tall, handsome lad of twenty, a good specimen of what Winchester and Oxford can, make oufc of good material to start with — but for the first time in bis life Rtosemary found him de trop. With an imperceptible movement tiie door in fche wall had closed noiselessly, and the mysterious opening into fche past had closed with ifc. "What, was that? I fancied you were talking to somebody," Harold said. "An old man wanted to do up the garden;" __ "As if your garden ev%_, wanted doing up ! Bufc does Aunt Agatha hate that- gate always open? I don'fc think it's very safe. I remember my father saying that long ago, before your aunts came to this house_ some awfully suspicious characters carried on all sorts of queer games here because they could get away at the back without being suspected. I believe they were coiners and had to bolt '*. , SuddecolyV Harold turned scarlet and

stopped short. Evidently memory wa; awake and busy tbis afternoon ; and it wai with some confusion he hurriedly turned tc the subject of the 'Varsity match, foi which all important arrangements had to be made in advance. But all the afternoon something lurked uneasily in Rosemary's mind, and when she knelt to say her prayers thafc night, it cam. floating back: "Please God, bless deal dadda and Mr Bowes." Who were they, these shadowy people of the past? Could ifc be possible that they had anything to do with the "suspicious characters" Harold had mentioned? A happier, more successful marriage than ■that of Katie Mayne ahd Dr Drysdale oould not be imagined, bufc in all Mrs Drysdale's nursery, full of dear and pretty childiren, there jhsLs nofc one more beloved than Rosemary, the nameless child of ber kind heart's adoption. •The dootor had, for his wife's sake, long ago laid aside his prejudice against the " swindler's child," in face, bad forgotten it altogether, while att far Harold, no girl ho bad ever seen could compare with Rosemary, either for looks or " chumminess." The younger Drysdale children adored ker ; to see her surrounded by the little ones at Elvaston Plaoe was a very pretty sight, thought tbe doctor, as he dropped into tiie sohoolroom tor a cup of tea which his wife was dispensing to the whole party, in celebration of a, birthday ; Harold was inciting his young step-sisters to various audacious acts of independence at the end of the table, and Rosemary was vainly trying to keep order. ".Katie, what .makes you anxious?" Dr Drysdale asked his wife, under cover of the children's laughter. Mrs Drysdale's motherly eyes had caught a little bit of by-play, and tlie slight had given her a slight shock: Harold, to propitiate Rosemary's pretended anger over Some piece of lawlessness, had stooped his curly, brown head and kissed the wrist of the girl's dimpled hand. Rosemary had laughed and whisked ber hand away, but thero was a little additional pink in her cheeks as she slipped ber hand under the table. "Katie, what made you stext," the doctor insisted. . > " Only an idea that crossed my mind. You know, Arthur, your boy and my little girl are nofc brother and sister, and, perhaps, ought not to see so much of each other." " Do you mean there is anything between them? Why, it scarcely seems more than a year or two since you found the poor liitle ■ ba"by thing, and I took you and Agatha to task for adopting her." "Hush, bush! you know we never talk of it, I don't think there is any harm done so far, but should you dislike, ifc so much if there were? Hasn't' education and Godfearing training stamped out that old hereditary taint that you fear, and your f prejudice, too?" " I don't know ;" the doctor and his wife had risen froni the tea-table, and were standing together, a little apart, in the bow-window, " I am strong on the' subject of heredity, and T would rather my: son never put'my feelings. to the test, by asking my sanction to his marrying tlie child of a criminal. lam as fond of Rosemary as I well can be, and I recognise how successful your and Agatha's training has been —a sweeter, truer, dearer little girl could not bel And yeb, I should be glad if Harold would set his a&ecfc-ons elsewhere." ""do ybu think the man, Rosemary's 'dadda,* is still alive?" Mrs Drysdale asked, suddenly. v "It is highly probable — penal servitude is very healthy— we have never inquired, on fche principle of letting sleeping doglie ! I believe the fellow got fourteen years, it must 'be nearly through^" mused the doctor. " You don't think he would venture back to Alington Street? I often wonder if I ought tP say any thing, to the child about her parentage," said Katie, anxiously. "Harold's questions are sometimes difficult to parry— -of course, be knows there is some mystery." " Don't let him find.o ut then. At bis sentimental age such a spark of pity would set all his hearfc in. a tjlaze!-- Where are you off to, Miss ?" as Rosemary appeared in e'er 5-jjt and 'jacket. ."*"•'••" "I am going home; I dont want to be late to-night. Auntie Aggie was not very well at lunch time, I thought, and I want to get back to her." "I am going to see Rosemary home," announced Harold, but his father pushed him aside. ..'■.. "The victoria Is at the door waiting-for me," the doctor said, "and can take "Rosemary to Alington Street first. I want to speak to you,, Harold, about your Norway fishing trip. If you can settle the dkte, I can wire to the man at once." v Harold's "All right, father!" had rather a di-appoihted 1 note in it t his stepmother fancied, Rosemary was glad all her life that she had gone home early that evening. Miss Agatha Mayne was not always so approachable as she showed! herself that night, and she kissed the girl twice over 'when she bade her good-night. "We get on very well together, little girl,'-" she said, "you were sent me just at i the right moment. wi^n Katie left me. You were "Treasure- trove ' to both of us, for without you, I believe Katie would never have taken her happiness, and left me alone! After God, I have to thank you /or all the pleasure of my later life!" She fondled the girl's hand with, thin fingers, as dif loth to let her go. " Wake up, Miss Rosemary, I want you tb fetch the doctor. The mistress is not quite herself!" cried Margaret's voice in her ear. Margaret was still dressed, and ifc was only half-past eleven, but- there was no one to send for the doctor but Rosemary, for the little assistant maid slept out of the house. Miss Mayne was complaining of ' faintness and Margaret could not leave her, but Dr Gosby, the nearest medical man, only lived a few doors down the next street. Rosemary was dressed in a few minutes and slipped gently out of the front; door. "Why, Missy, what are you doing here?" said a man lounging out of the -shadow in her very path. It was the old, red-faced sailor, whom Rosemary vaguely called "Mr Bowes " ; a glance" showed that he was neither tipsy ,nor impertinent, bub genuinely interested, ' " Can't Ido anything, Mis3y? it's too late for you to be out alone, and I'm at your service," he said eagerly. "My ounfc is suddenly taken ill. Could you fetch Dr' Gosby — the big bouse ab the oorner of Overton jtreet— liere is some money, bring the doctor back in a cab, please. I may trusb you, mayn't I, to help a sick woman?" "0' course you may, to help you anyway® I can. You go back to the poor lady that's been good to you all these years and I'll have the doctor here in no time." " Your names is Bowes, isn't at?" "Yes, I'm old Bowes — I thorfc you'd remember me if I give yer time enough. Now don't you bother, nor grieve — remember I'm afc your service, now and always " But neither Dr Gosby, who came immediately, nor Dr Drysdale, who followed, was able to help Agatha Mayne this time. "I have known this was likely to happen for a long while," said the former, when all waa ever,, "Muss Mayne wished me to tell you that she was quite ready and happy to go, and that she was grateful to be spared 1 a long illness." And Dr Drysdale added, "You musfc not grieve fo«r he^ Rosemary dear, that would have hurb ber most of all." " But I never loved her half enough, and I wanted to ask her so many, many things!" sobbed poor Rosemary. By and bye, as the Drysdales walked back to Elvaston Place an old man at the corner of "the street straightened himself, and 1 touched his hat t " I'm afraid the pooi lady's gone off sudden?" he said with rough sympathy. "Missy 'U feel it after all her years o' -dad-teas— ■ how is she bearing up, ma'am*?''- _

s Mrs Drysd«le answered him kindly. 8 " One of dear Agatha's proteges — how th< ) poor people will jmi!.s her !'■ r "I wish Harold hnd been safe away ir ) Norway beforo this happened^' said th< doctor. I Perhaps Harold Drysdale had meant tc ) keep his feelings to himself till a moro con- . venient season, but- when he saw Rosemarj : alono in her black 'iress, he threw old pru- , dence to the winds and took the girl I straightway into his protecting young arms. > "Look here, darling, you belong to m« I' now, and you must nofc grieve, or feel olonc in the wor.d. I hadn't- meant to tell you jusb yet, but you knew I loved you. I'm . my own master, and can marry whom 1 ( please !" But after Harold haa gone (foi , he was on the point' of starting for Norway, and his father was curiously insistent \ that he should keep this engagement) Ro.se- [ mary still blushing and trembling from his kisses and his whispered love-words, began to wonder why, through all his wooinu there had run a noto of defiance, as il 1 there would possibly be opposition to theii \ engagement. Could the Drysdale's ob--1 ject, to her as Harold's bride? Did they ; look higher for their son? She was sitting at Aunt Agatha's escritoire, turning over the papers of which the lawyer had told her she was sole legatee ; her thoughts were oddly concerned with • the past and the future. Perhaps among all these papers she would find some clue to her own identity ! She guessed that some mystery enveloped her childhood, yet there was jio packet " to . be opened after my death 'Mo enlighten her. Stay, what was this? a faded newspaper with the date July, 18—. just fourteen years ago. She remembered Aunt Agatha's observation, "it does not seom fourteen years since you came to us.". Perhaps this newspaper — she unfolded and rend the heading of the column that was turned outwara£>- — And as she read she understood. "We learn." concluded the report, ." that the convict Rose has left a little girl, who has been' kindly adopted by some benevolent ladies, and it is to be hoped she will never leain her connection with the notorious criminal •" ..- So this was the secret of her childhood ! How long she sat endeavouring to .realise all that ifc meant she never knew, but at lasfc the struggle was ov«t, and a&e dropped upon her knees beside the open desk, nraying as she had never prayed before. She, the convict's child, was no wife for Harold Drysdale, with his unsullied past and his bright future. She must go away and never bring this shame upon the friends who had loaded her with kindness for fourteen yearsAnd even as she thought thus, someone entered the room, and stood looking at her. "Don't you remember your. daddy?" he asked. "I'said I'd come back to you, and here I am." and the tall, thin stranger bent own and kissed her. It was Rose z the convict, her father ! Some few weeks after, Rosemary was crossing the Place Verte at Antwerp, her bands full of marketing parcels, when Harold suddenly stood in front of her. . " Rosemary, you bad little girl, what have you — — My darling, bow DI you look. *Thank God, Tve found you!" He swept her on to a bench, with his arm round her. Now give an account of yourself, and why you ran away." . "Oh, Harold, I thought you were in Norway," Rosemary began — she thought her, resolution was strong enough now to bear any strain, but suddenly she began to weep, softly and silently, aB she had not wept since the night she left Alington Street. "I think I know all about it," Harold said, '"I haven't been thinking about yoo all my life not to v understand you. now I This so-called father of yours stole in upon you, when you w«Te alone, and weak, and unhappy, and made good his story, I suppose. He persuaded you to come off with him, and you were going from Antwerp to America, I understand, eh, Rosemary? Love is very sharp, and the Norway trip didn't break down for nothing!' I know your precious father is lying ill at the Cygne — if you can walk back with me to your hotel we shall perhaps thrash this matter out better there !" '-* There was someone talking to the sick man as Harold and Rosemary halted outside bis bedroom door, in a tiny 'ante-room of the old-fashioned hotel. "Come, be a man, sir, and tell her the trewth ; maybe if you do it'll be easier : for you where you're goin' — anyway you won't meet thafc dear lady o' yourn with a lie on yonr tongue ! ' I fcell you straight, sir, if you don't tell that dear child the trewth, I'll tell her myself ,' but I give you .the chansfc to wipe a dirty deed off ybur ?spul before you ro to meet your Maker!" Harold pushed the door wide open and disclosed Mr Bowes sitting at the foot of Rose's bed. "Tell her the real story of her birth, Mr Rose, and see if she won't forgive you, any pray God to foreive you. too," urged old Bowes. "Man. Fve helped you through many a shabby pi*ce of work, but you make it straight with little Mary to-day, and maybe she'll know how to speak fpr a pair, of sinners before tht* Throne." "I'm not your father. Mary," whispered the ex-convict. '*Your father was a gentleman, and ifc was a black day for your mother and you when she married me ! It was finding out what I was that broke hei hearfc, but I tried to keep you as she'd , have had you — you remember your little prayers and things I taughfc you? Deai Mary, it's God's truth, when I came to you the oth. r nj<rht it wasn't only for th« moneys help. I knew, you were lpvina and patient like your mother, and would ; help, me to be an honest man aeain. Ii . I'd known that you cared for young Drysdale. I'd never* have shown .my face, 1 i swear " "Here, stop! And Bowes, you help me '■ to get Mis-s Mayne into the next room— , she's fainted," said Harold. When Harold Drysdale calls his wife by her pet name of "Treasure-Trove." hisstepmbther lifts up her heart in gratitude to God thafc no stain of ignominy lurks under the tender title !