Our Novelettes.

Western Star, Issue 983, 19 September 1885, Page 1 (Supplement)

Our Novelettes.

IN ANOTHER SPHERE, The next day found Eleanor getting into the routine of household work. The rising at five she found easy enough in the warm mornings; the breakfast was easily managed too; and then she had the day before her. Mr Austen bore out his character for “ busine s.” Ho was as regular as clockwork in his hours, and the little he said to Eleanor was said with perfect courtesy. Altogether, she found that the position had none of th“ inconveniences she had feared. And, oh, with what pleasure she wrote home, describing her arrival and speedy settlement in a situation ! If she described her employer ns a little more elderly than he was, it was only for the satisfaction of the dear anxious mother who was longing for a letter at home. The projected cleaning was carried out with the old woman’s assistance. For three days chaos reigned, and the lawful owner of the domicile camped where ho could, and likened himself to a passenger on a ship when the dock wai always being washed. Bat when he came home on the fourth day, and found a clean hous«, and a pleasant atmosphere, and flowers in the rooms, and books in orderly array, ho magnanimously overlooked the preceding trials, and concluded that he had found a treasure. Eleanor came little into contact with the outside world, save when she did her marketing. It was strange, this quiet life so near the wild, noisy city—strange, too, to think that the sea lay between her and her old homo—strange to think that there was no one to whom she conld speak freely and yet she made herself content. Only, as time went on, and work grew into a habit, she bad hard fights to keep home-sickness from undermining her strength, and wished often for the reading that in the old days had kept her in thought-material. For want of something else, she began to study Mr Austen—and the study was very interesting. His life at home seemed to be quiet and repressed. He was seldom out in the evening, very rarely had a visitor, and sit reading, or looking over papers, or thinking, all the time he was at home. His manner to to her was uniformly courteous. She pleased him, she could see, by her order and punctuality, and by the exact way in which she kept her account-books. It gratified her —though it sometimes rather piqued her—to think that her disguise was so well-kept; but it was not so perfect as she thought it, for Mr Austen, who studied her in his tarn, began to see that her manner and accent and quiet grace were much above her position. He was not so sure as she was about her want of pettiness. He liked to look at the trim figure, whose dress was still of studied plainness ; and,, besides, exercise had brightened her complexion, and her face was more animated than ever before. His views were confirmed, too, when he saw how eagerly she availed herself of his permiss’on to use any of his books; and he was not surprised to find that his favourite authors were elms n, althjugh their subjects were sometimes out of the ordinary range. •' She is certainly above her position,” he thought. “ And yet, if it is so, how well she performs her duties! There is plainly some mystery about her coming here, where she seems to have no friends. I should like to know her reasons.’ ’ So he determined to find out the cause of her emigration j and accordingly he remarked one day, as the weekly accounts were being settled — “ Ellen, I am sure you have never been in service before.” “ May I ask what makes you think bo, air ?” she asked, quietly. “ Your manner,” he replied, “ and the way you do you work.” “ I had hoped,” she observed, demurely, " that I gave you satisfaction.” “So you do,” he said, warmly—" more than satissaction. I have found what comfort means. The house is in capital order; everything is done punctually ; and all this at half the expense that carelessness and discomfort cost me formerly. You do so well that I am convinced that it was from a mistress’s point of view—not a servant'sthat you looked on service before. Was it not, Ellen P” “ It was, sir,” Eleanor answered, very low, with much inwaad trembling. "Then what led you to take this step? Wait a moment. If you have any reason for not wishing to answer me, don’t do it. Only I wish you to believe that I ask, not from idle curiosity, but from friendly interest.” “ I have no reason for concealment,” she said, with some pride, her spirit rising. “ I will tell you if you wish to know; but it will take suine time." “ I am in no hurry,” he returned, placing a chair as he spoke. “ But will you sit down?”

“ Thank you, sir, I prefer standing. After all, my story is not so very long. I came here on account of reverses of fortune. My father was a surgeon. lam the eldest of the family, and my aunt, a wealthy widow, adopted me when I was a little child. My mother, after my poor father’s death, had a very small income to live on. It was understood that I was to be my aunt’s heiress j but, when she died, six month’s ago, there was no will left, save an old one made at a time when she was displeased at my father’s marriage, and her money all went to her late husband’s relatives.” Mere she paused. “That was hard," said Mr Austen, sympathetically. “ Yes, it was hard. I have put it in a mercenery way because I had to state the hard facts. But I don t blame my aunt—she dii not mean to leave her atfaiis so. It arose from indecision and she was so good to mej" and toe tears shone in Eleanor’s eyes as she thought of the time wheu she had been so loved anJ shielded. She checked them, however, and went on—“ In this way I was thrown on my own resources. I could have gone home, but my mother's i.-oaroe was smaller than ever, and I could not be a burden on her and the children. And I suppose I was proud. Yet, although I had trends who would have been kind to, me 1 believe, I prized their kindness so much—l had so much of it in the old days when I stood on an equal footing—lh.it i could not bear to put them to the test of trying whether they would be us kind to me when 1 really needed it.”

“ But were there not other ways of gain'ng a living—teaching, for instance—which would have been more congenial?" “ What could 1 teach? I have been well educated—l know my own language and three others ; but I have no faculty lor teaching, And, beside, I should not make a first-class governess, for J am not sufficiently accomplished. 1 can draw a little, and play and sing a little, but not so as to teach, i don’t mind the loss of the money half so much as 1 do the fact that I have had no special training. There are young governesses, of course —too many them. My younger sister Anne is one. I couldn’t stand that, knowing what it is, I would rather be a maid-of all-work,”

“ And so you chose to come here instead “ Yes, I thought of New Zealand, or some far-awny place where workers are scarce aud

well paid, where I could do any kind of domestic work and disgrace nobrdy- You see I have bro'hors who will be in professions some day, and they would not like to have it known that their sister was a servant. Then I saw an advertisement in the Times for araie one to take charge of a young lady who was recommended a voyage to San Francisco for her health. I cob the appointment, which paid my expenses out; and then, immediately after my charge had left, I saw your advertisement —and so I am hero.” “It was a bold step,” Mr Austen said, pacing up and down the room as ho spoke. “ I cannot hut honour you for your independent spirit. I hope you have not found your situation here more disagreeable than you ex pected ?” “ Very much less so,” Eleamr answered. "I have my work to do, and I am well paid for it; I cm do it easily, and it keeps mo from thinking. I have much to thank you for, sir,” she continued, rather norvo s'y. “I have experienced move kindness and consideration than I ever anticipated when mating my choice of work ” Mr Austen looked pleased, and said “I am glal to think you are satisfied. Anything that I can do to add to your comfort will be gladly clone. But it must be a strange life for you, Do you not feel lonely ? Do you not keep thinking of the past ?” “I don’t feel lonely,” Eleanor replied—“at least very slightly. There seems such a gulf between the past and the present that my mind seldom bridges it, and I am content to ‘ let the dead past bury its dead.’ ” ‘‘You speak,” Mr Austen returned, “as if that was the easiest possible act of interment. Why, I have been trying to bury my dead past out of my sight these ton years, and it haunts me still!” Eleanor looked at him, for he spoke with a strange energy, and there was an expression of pain on his face. “It may have been a sorrowful one, sir,” she said, “but, when the past has been happy, it seems to me but too easy to let it pass out of one’s mind. I think constantly of all my people at home ; but the old life is gone, and I cannot keep my thoughts in it and my deeds in the new life at the same time. It is better, I suppose; work is a great panacea.” “Yes,” he added, “work is the great panacea.” When she had retired, Mr Austen sat still and meditated over the last words. Work had done so much for him; it was,’the only thing he had had to live for for years past—ann only he knew how dreary those years had been. Work! It had kept him from evil, veiled the bitter past, and furnished occupation for the craving, empty mind. There seemed to stand before his eyes a sentence which he tad lately come across —“ Man has a trinity of wants —a faith, an oeupation, and a home; the last means something to love.” Thank Heaven, the first two he possessed; But the last ? Alas!

Then he thought of Eleanor. It was very brave of her to enter into such a different sphere for the sake of independence. “ She is proud, I can see, and I like that pride,” he mused aloud. “It was well she came to me. Sue is as safe here as if she was under her mother’s roof; but I tremble to think of the hands she might have fallen into in this lawless place.’’ Eleanor went to rest with rather an anxious mind. Would her story affect her position ? Had she done right to tell it ? But then it was such a relief to get a chance of speaking, and he was so kind. “ Hot from idle curiosity, but from friendly interest.” Oh, she hoped he would keep np a friendly feeling still! She wondered what he reierred to when he spoke of the past. Nothing derogatory to him, she was sure. Ho seemed to her “ sans peur et sans reproolie .” Eor some days after that conversation occurred nothing worthy of note happened s and then one evening Mr Austen said, when the removal of the tea-tray brought Eleanor into the room — •< 1 have thought much of what you have (old me, Ellen. I wonder still at the spirit which has brought you into such a different position. You must have startled your friends at home by the step.” Eleanor smiled as she recalled the very pronounced sentiments of some of herfriends. She answered, simply—- “ Yes, sir j some of them thought me mad, especially as I did not convene a great family council, and take every one’s opinion all round. My mother understood my motive, and did not disapprove.” « You have, i suppose, retained your own name P” ho interrogated. Eleanor coloured a little j and then she said, quietly—- “ Yes, sir, I had no reason for conceal meat 5 but my full name is Eleanor Wynd« ham Lloyd—a name too long for my present position.” «it is a pretty name,” he remarked, “ and genuinely English) and you will not always be in your present position. Are you not ambitious of rising higher P” There was no lack of ambition in the eyes that met his.

“ Yea, she said, slowly; “lam ambitious —or rather I would be, had I opportunity. Bub it is difficult for a woman to rise.” “ This is a country," he returned, “ where woman’s work is more varied than in the old one. There is more roam for women here, and less jealousy of them.” “ I know that, sir,” Eleanor put in. “ I wish,” he said, testily, “ that yon would not call me ‘ sir ’ so persistently. This is a free country, remember, and you are not an interior.” «• I prefer to do it,” Eleanor replied. “It marks my position j" and, so saying, she retired.

But as time went on, the relative positions of master and servant gro ir less defined. The talk in the evening, as Eleanor execued her duties, became an institution. Books that they loved in comm m, social aspects, differences between the old coumry and the new, became topics of con vers .tion. and the intimacy gew apaee. Mr Austen found himself loosing forward all day to the little talk in the evening, began to find his heart leap up when he saw Eleanor on his return, aud finally began to find her face coming between him and his work by any, aud between him and his sleep by night j and then, knowing too well how wrong, how terribly useless, all these feelings were, he determined, after struggling with temptation through a sleepless night, to try to put that tempiatiou out of his reach. Aud this is how he did it. Before he went to business one day, he called her, and said, looking at her with a pale, anxious face and weary eyes—- “ Ellen, I have been thinking of a plan for y OUr —promotion shall I call it ? I know how much you are above your position here j aud it is a pily your mind and energies should be wasted on what is, after all, menial work. I know you are a good arithmetician j but do you know anything of book keeping ?” “ Tes, I have learnt it," she answered j “my brother has taught me. He knew it very well, and I thought I might find it useful.’’

“That is well, and more than I expected. This is what I am thinking of. My friend Mr Fawcett, of the firm of Fawcett and Tilman, has a large wholesale store and wants a confidential clerk. The duties consist pfiacipally of letter-writing, with some book-

keeping ns well; and you would find your proficiency in languages very 7 useful. I spoke lo him yesterday about you. With your ability, and a little technical knowledge of business, which you can so m pick up, you could fill the post. Indeed a lady would be preferred, as it is a difficult matter to get steady young men for a confidential position. The salary is three hundred pounds a year. It would give you more independence, and a position more like what you are entitled to. I can offer you tho situation if you will accept it.”

For a few moments the room seemed to be going round with Eleanor; and then she said, a'ter a struggle for words — “ I low kind—how good of you to take this trouble for mo ! It is a splendid offer —if I could perform the duties.” 11 1 have no doubt you can undertake the duties Will you accept the position?” ‘‘ If you think lam capable. I can hardly realise it, I can’t thauk you enough for arranging all this and taking so much trouble.”

“The trouble is nothing; but I will not de ly that there is a good deal of self-sacrifice involved in the matter. I hardly believed myself capable of so much.” “ I don’t understand,” Eleanor said, seeing that ho seemed to expect a reply. “ Do you not know how much I shall miss you? 1 never in my life know comfort until you came; I have little chance of knowing it again. It you knew the housekeepers I have had—people who wanted to rob me, who wanted to marry mo —to do anything, in short, but their work! I feel that I deprive myself of all future comfort when I give you this chance of a better position. It is all for your interest, and because I wish to see you in a sphere nearer your own, that I do this.” •• Thank you very much,” Eleanor said, in a somewhat trembling voice. “You have been so kind all along. I hope the picture you draw of the future may be an unfaithful one. I should not like to think it true.”

“It will be true enough,” he observed; “ for, after your presence and care, matters will be far worse than before. Bub it is of no use to grumble, and my time is up. Can you meet mo at Mr Fawcett’s office at one o’clock? I will introduce you, and settle matters.” “ Yes,” she replied, “ I can do so easily.” “Good-bye then, Eleanor,” said Mr Austen, giving her her rightful name for the first time. “We will be friends—surely we we may be friends, though not under the same roof?” “ I shall be proud of your friendship, Mr Austen,” she answered, earnestly} “and please believe that I am more grateful than I can tell you.” When he had gone away, with feminine inconsistency she sat down on the floor and cried — “If he cares—if he will miss me—why does he want to send me away ?” She would have spared her tears, perhaps, had she been able to look into the house two days later, and see what was being done there, for Edwin Austen was wandering up and down through the empty roems, seeking traces of the presence that had gone for ever, in all likelihood } and, when he came upon a iknot of ribbon that had fallen in a corner, he took it and kissed it passionately, whispering to himself his only consolation done what is right—l have done what is rght!” # # # # # “ You will see, dear mother, that I am writing from a new address. I have such news to tell you I I am not a servant any longer, but a confidential clerk writing letters, checking accounts, sending out invoices for Messrs. Fawcett and Tilman. This is a very unexpeoed and pleasant change. Mr Austen got me the situation. He thought of ic for me, and recommended me, and'is also security for what they call my intromissions. This is only the crowning act of kindness from one who has been most kind to me all along. “1 like my new duties very well—only writing and arithmetic after all, and keeping one’s faculties sharpened up. Now for the beat news of ail I I get a salary of three hundred a year j and I can easily spare a hundred for you. I am so glad of this. It would be more j ouly living here is much more expensive than at home. The little help I could send before was so very little that I was ashamed to send it, “ I don’t for a moment regret my emigration. It is lonely, I don’t deny; but I think of you always and of the children. 1 think sometimes, mother mine, that people must have a continent and an ocean between them and home before they know how much they Jove it. But I began this letter with the intention of not being sentimental, and I must keep to it, “ I did not find household work bad at all, though I had little fights with pride sometimes} and my present situation could not hurt anybody’s pride. The place agrees with me admirably. The climate is rather capricious aud hot, but heat suits me 5 and 1 have got so stout and strong that you would hardly know me 5 and I sometimes really think I am better-looking.

“la my new vocation I see more of the life of this part of the world. It consists of a hurry to get rich, and an equal hurry to spend the riches gotten. I saw little of the outer world when I was with Mr Austen; and he seemed totally different from the rest of jtbe people, though a very active and successful business man. He is not at all Californian—hardly American—in his tastes and habits j and, with reference to your nquiries, 1 have much pleasure in informing you that he neither guesses, * calklates/ nor expectorates.

“ X have very nice rooms. Mr Austen recommended thorn, as he knows the landlady, and has her son in his office. She is very respectable and trustworthy) but she knows how to talk—i have never heard any one like lier. Mr Austen onoe lodged with her, and she speaks very highly of him—only i think she resents the fact that she knows very little about him. She is coming upstairs now, apparently to ask about dinner, but in reality to seize an opportunity for pouring a fresh flood of gossip into my ears, i shall Jay aside my writing and submit.”

Eleanor laid aside her letter, Saying, as she did so, “i have put in too many ‘Mr Austen’s.’ Mamma will be building castles in the air— putting two and two together, as she would pnrase it, but only making fives.”

And then Mrs. Pike came in, with a flood of eloquence delivered in a high-pitched Voice and with a grating nasal accent. It pleased her to discourse about Mr Austen j and Eleanor heard, for the fiist time, how many good deeds he hid in a quiet, unobtrusive way. ISbe heard of the St. Stephen’s minister, whom he bad sent, when his health seemed failing, to the Springs, witn nig board bil 1 and expenses paid, ‘" and who had oome back” as Mrs Pike put it, “as spry as a grasshopper.” She heard of the family who had been burned out iu one of those periodical fires which seem a part of American life, and whom he had sheltered and provided tor, and “and set up on their feat again.” Listly, she heard of Mrs Pike s boy Jim, w ho had been inclined to turn out wild, and how Mr Austen had dealt with him. (Zb h continued,}