THE LION’S DEN.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 47, 21 November 1891, Page 616

THE LION’S DEN.

BY

MRS E. H. HOUGH.

THINK it is just too bad for that boy ■ to be I,lo P e< l up in that room all by ill himself—and he looks so pale and jggvgSjgM II lonely. I’ve a great mind to defy all the proprieties in a bunch, and invade gWrm that place and make his acquaintance, and try to cheer him up a bit.’ » V’ z Jjy May Fielding looks up from her fancy work with a gasp at the auda--ypefyip, cious speech. fit ! tiff/' l» * Merc y on us, Nell ! Go in there ? / 7 A// ijW T Why, I would as soon put my head in 3 ,J 11, lii'/wM, ‘ a lion’s den.’ I m/i Nell throws back her head with a hearty laugh. ‘You poor, dear, darling little coward, I don’t doubt it. But lam madeof sterner stull, you know. I admit that our grim and aristocratic neighbour does look something like a lion, but I don’t believe he would eat us, for all that—notwithstanding his name is Lyon. I think it’s a perfect sin and shame for him to keep that poor boy cooped up there, and I’ll tell him so some day—see if I don’t.’ ‘ It’s no more than one might expect, I suppose, from such a harum scarum madcap as you,’ says May, with a sigh of mild despair. ‘ But, Nell, have some little regard for your family, if you haven’t for yourself, and don’t disgrace us, I conjure you.’ _ • Conjure is good,’ retorts irreverent Nell. ‘ And I cannot make that promise, either, I am sorry to say, as it involves altogether too much responsibility, and I wouldn’t undertake to say what act of mine you might or you might not consider a disgrace. One thing I can assure you —l’m going to find a way ere long to put some colour and animation into the face of that poor boy up yonder.’ She turns her bright face back to the window to look again at the tall, stately house opposite, separated from their own modest little dwelling simply by the width of its ample grounds on that side—a house which had been an object of interest to her ever since she came with her mother and sister to Rose Cottage, and which for the last six months had been invested with the additional element of mystery. Looking out one morning, she had seen several of the windows open, and other signs of occupancy pervading the place, and then it had settled down again into its former quiet and even neglected aspect, and save for the pale boyish face that appeared at times at an upper window, and the sight of Mr Lyon’s commanding figure as he passed by ■on the road on some rare occasion that took him away from the house, it might as well have been untenanted. Nell gives one more glance of sympathetic interest at the pale face at the window, throws it an audacious bow of friendship and good will, and then repairs to the garden to tend her flowers.

A week of sultry weather that ripens the fruit splendidly, but causes perspiring humanity to groan rebelliously, is followed by a rainy day, Nell’s pet aversion, and which invariably brings on one of her ‘ moods,’ at which times May looks apprehensively for some exceptionally outrageous freak on her part. In the middle of the soaking rain, Nell, from her window, sees Mr Lyon plod by, encased in rubber garments, and when involuntarily gazing up at the windows of the big house, she sees the pale, wistful face on guard, looking more wistful and lonely than ever, the limit of her patience and endurance is reached. • Here goes !’ she exclaims recklessly. And, donning waterproof garments, she procures a basket and goes into the garden, picks some of the ripest, most luscious berries and a great nosegay of nodding roses ; then returning to the house, arranges the fruit in the most tempting way, covers it carefully in the basket, and walks deliberately over to the * lion’s den.’ • Mr Lyon at home ?’ she asks of the servant who answers her ring. • No, ma’am,’ he answers, regarding her in mild amazement, for a visitor is an unknown factor in that establishment. • It’s all right ; I have something for your young master, and I’ll take it right up to him,’ says intrepid Nell. ‘ His is the third loom to the left, isn’t it?’ *Y es, ma’am,’ and as much to his own amazement as to hers, the porter falls back, and Nell mounts the stairs in triumph. Reaching the room, she knocks at the door, and, in response to a somehat weary, ‘ Who is it ?’ answers cheerily : ‘ It’s only me, Nell Fielding, your neighbour. I have some lovely fruit for you. May I come in ?’ ‘ Certainly,’ comes the answer, in quite an altered tone, and Nells enters with her treasuies. But the next instant she utters a little cry of mingled surprise and embarrassment, for the occupant of the room, rising from his low chair, stands before her, not the boy she had been pitying, but a full-grown man, and a very handsome and graceful man, too, despite his pale, beardless face—apparently about three-and-twenty years of age. ‘ Don’t drop it, please !’ he says with a quick step forward, and a Hash of merriment in his dark eye, as he rescues the basket of berries just in time. ‘ I wouldn’t miss that treat for anything ; they look simply delicious ! and I thank you so much 1’ ‘ Yes, sir—l don’t know—that is I thought—l must go, stammers Nell, red with confusion and resentment at her own stupid blunder and the dilemma in which it has involved her. • < th, please don’t go ’ —the wistful look comes again into his eyes as they rest longingly upon her bright, piquant face. ‘ If you only knew how tedious the hours are, and how I long for company. I have been ill, and can hardly walk across the room now ; but the sight of a new face and the sound of your voice seems to put fresh life into me. I will ring for Mrs Ransome, the housekeeper to play propriety, it you will only stay a little while.’ ‘ Very well !’ and Nell sinks somewhat helplessly into the

ottered chair. * But you must let me do something. Shall I read to you?’—catching sight of a book lying face downward on a small table.

* I should like it above all things,’ is the grateful response ; and a moment later Mrs Ransome is in the room, and has been introduced to ‘ our neighbour, Miss Fielding,’ and Nell is reading, her fresh young voice falling upon the ear of the invalid with a satisfaction and pleasure that lights up every feature of his pale, handsome face. Not until she pleads fatigue, the real secret of which is her fear of Mr Lyon’s return, will he let her go, and then he holds her hands fast in his for a moment as he thanks her for the good that impromptu visit has done him. Nell slips quietly down the stairs, and is almost at the bottom, when a key rattles ominously in the lock of the outer door, and her frantic endeavour to gain the hall and hide—anything—causes her to turn her ankle, and sends her in an ignominious heap at the very feet of the master of the mansion.

‘Well, madam, wbat are you doing here?’ demands Mr Lyon, assisting her to rise with stately dignity. ‘ I came to see your boy—’ The word slips from her unconsciously ; then, overwhelmed with confusion, she beats a precipitous retreat, never stopping until she is safely housed in Rose Cottage. ‘ Well, I’ve done it now,’ she exclaims, with a hysterical tendency to laugh and cry at once. ‘ But I got out alive ; and I don’t believe he’ll arrest me. And I did cheer him up a little. He’s mighty nice, and good-looking too, on a nearer view, even if he isn’t a boy—poor fellow.’ ‘ Where on earth have you been, Nell ?’ says May, breaking in upon her guilty musings. ‘ Over to the lion’s den,’ says Nell courageously. ‘ And, oh, —May—my “boy” is a man.’ ‘Well, I declare!’ exclaims May pettishly. ‘We are poor certainly, but I do think we might at least be respectable.’ And she stalks off in high dudgeon, while Nell falls to rocking dreamily to and fro, with the vision of a pale, handsome face flitting tantalizingly before memory’s mirror. About noon the next day, Rose Cottage is electrified by the advent of the porter of the great house with a note for Miss Nell Fielding from Mr Lyon, requesting her, as a favour, to make his nephew another visit. ‘ Will wonders never cease 1’ exclaims May, as Nell calmly reaches for her hat, and follows the waiting porter. She is ushered into a stately room on the ground floor, and, after a few moments of palpitating suspense, Mr Lyon stands before her.

‘ You have worked a miracle, my child,’ he says, taking her hands in a fatherly clasp. ‘My boy looks like another person ; and I would like to know what terms I can make to engage you to come and read to him daily for an hour or so. 1 foolishly tried to shut myself up here from a great sorrow ; but I realise my mistake, and as soon as my boy recovers I shall take him back to the world again. But will you help me to make him well?’ There is something in the old man’s tone inexpressibly touching, and Nell’s eyes fill as she answers earnestly : ‘ I don’t care anything about the money, sir, but I will help you with all my heart.’ And she does, indeed, throw her heart into the work, flitting in and out of the old place like a sunbeam, until, as Mr Lyon gratefully tells her, she has metamorphosed it, and from the ‘ lion’s den ’—for Nell has confided to him their name for the place—she has made it a veritable garden of delight. ‘ I told you so,’ says May oracularly when Nell comes back one day with the announcement that the physician considers young Mr Lyon quite recovered, and her sister at the same moment catches the gleam of a magnificent diamond on her finger. ‘ You would venture into the “ lion’s den,” and now you are done for.’ Nell’s only answer is a happy smile, for in that place, metamorphosed by her bright, helpful spirit-, she, too, has found her garden of delight, where she will walk henceforth with the chosen of her heart.