[All Rights Reserved.] A Modern St. Elizabeth

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXX, Issue XVII, 25 April 1903, Page 1127

[All Rights Reserved.] A Modern St. Elizabeth

By

NETTA SYRETT.

CHAPTER I. The Church elock at the end of the street was striking five as Christopher Power reached the doorstep of No. 5 Mulberry Row. Mulberry Row is one of the fast vanishing old-world streets to be found in London. Sandwiched between rows of stucco houses and brand new stores, it yet preserves for a little its ancient dignity. The rooks still build in the gardens behind its decorous eighteenth century houses, and in leafy June, when the horror of plate-glass windows and cheap red bricks is .obscured by great elms, it is still possible to sit in a green garden, and dream that the world is two hundred years younger than its present age. Into one of these pleasant old-fash-ioned gardens Christopher Power pre sently followed the maid who admitted him.

The way led through a narrow panelled hall on to a Hight of steps whose balustrades were hung with wistaria, down to a smooth shaven lawn, where in the midst of a deferential group of people stood Miss Golightly. Miss Golightly was giving a gardeparty, and her guests were trying to appear as though they were enjoying it. Power suppressed a smile as he walked across the grass towards bis hostess and put out his hand. “You are late, Christopher!” was hei greeting.

The crowd dropped back a few paces and watched proceedings with bated breath. Relief that attention was for the time withdrawn from them, and that for the moment at least they were safe, was visible on most faces. And yet it was a very little lady who, somewhat in the tone of a schoolmaster addressing a truant pupil, had uttered this entirely disconcerting remark. She was very small in reality, and yet there were people to whose mental vision Miss Golightly appeared as a sort of female grenadier. Her step was firm and decided, her head always aggressively thrown back, her dresses were rich, and rustled with a thoroughly dogmatic and self-assertive sweep. When she entered a room one felt impelled to rise and make obeisance.

A curtsey was the mental attitude of most people towards Miss Golightly. It was a trying moment for the young man. The remark so brief, so trenchant, so embarrassing, required an answer. To Miss Golightly. the offence of arriving late at a garden party was as fl:', grant as that of not being in time for Chureh. He paused a moment and then did the best possible thing by replying in a few words of serious explanation. Miss Golightly seemed a little mollified. “I am glad to find that you do not prevaricate, Christopher,” she said, “but another time please to remember that when I say four o’clock I mean four o’clock.” Then “Wait a moment,” she added still in a perfectly audible tone: “Elizabeth. make haste when you hear me calling, my dear,” she exclaimed imperi ously as a young girl came across the lawn towards her. “I want to introduc ■ Mr Power to you.” They both Lowed, but Miss Golightly was not satisfied. "Nonsense.” she said, “shake hands.’

The young man smiled, and the girl glancing up at him from under hei shady hat held out her hand with a shy movement and smiled too. "I have already met your mother. Mr Power,” she observed.

"Now go and talk,” said their hostess as though dismissing two toddling babes with the command to go and play.

“Give him some tea. Elizabeth.” she railed, “not strong, mind; 1 don’t ap prove of strong tea for young people. In spite of a pretence at desultory conversation the bystanders had listened to the whole conversation with breathless interest; and as Power and his companion walked away they drew once

more together, to address wavering remarks to their hostess, always uncertain as to whether they would be received in embarrassing silence or with a no less embarrassing snub.

Once out of ear-shot Power relieved his feelings by an involuntary laugh. T hen he checked himself and looked at his companion, who was walking demurely by his side. “I am afraid I am very rude,” he began gravely, “but the strain has been great.”

The girl smiled, but faintly. and Christopher felt he had been tlippant. They had reached the table where tea and coffee was served.

“Will you have sugar?” she said, handing him a eup of tea after obediently tempering it with hot water. Power looked at her as she raised her eyes. Till that moment he had not noticed she was pretty. Her figure was very slight. Her face was pale, with a clear, transparent paleness. It was a finely cut face with delicate features. Her dark brown hair grew low on the forehead in waves crisped to the roots, and spread out in a rippling mass undet her broad-brimme.’ hat. Under the dark cloudiness of her hair, her eyes looked singularly large and clear and innocent. There was a sort of gentleness about them, a certain appealing expression which Power thought very charming. As she lowered them when she passed him the cup he noticed that her eyelashes were long, upeurled at the tips like a baby’s, and very dark against the paleness of her skin. She was simply dressed in white. There were white frills at her sleeves, and she wore a fichu crossed in front and tied in a loose knot behind at her waist. The severity of the dress suited her.

Looking at her face again Power thought it anything but an easy one to read. There was a certain inscrutableness about its very quiet: an air of rather pronounced ealm which interested him.

He drank his tea hurriedly, feeling that there was an implied reproach for his tardy arrival in the girl’s grave silence.

"Nou are staying in the house, I think?” he asked as they moved away from the table. “Yes, I am acting as Miss Golightly’s secretary.” "Secretary!” exclaimed Power. "Why, what is the latest—l mean why does Miss Golightly need a secretary? Is she writing a book?” he asked, smiling. "Oh, no,” she returned, seriously, "that is not useful, and Miss Golightly says it is a sign of weakness and stupidity to rush into print.” She paused a moment. "Haven’t you really heard about the Scheme?” she inquired in a tone of surprise. "No. What Scheme?” "The Scheme—MissGolightly’s Scheme for the rescue of the undeserving poor, you know: the submerged—” "Oh. but surely that is rather an ancient idea?” suggested Power, smiling. "I seem to remember that Booth—” "Oh. but Miss Golightly never believed in Booth’s plan, you see. She says a

work like that can only be undertaken by a woman. Women are better organizers, you know, at least she is. for her Scheme is on a much smaller scale than General Booth’s, and she is going to ask

for three times as much money. She will manage it all herself, of course, but it is to be associated with the Church. The clergy will work under her direction. . . . . but Miss Golightly is talking about it to some of them now. Wouldn’t you like to go and listen? If you walk quietly you can joint the circle without disturbing her.”

Power looked at the girl attentively, but there was not the faintest trace of sarcasm in her face. She spoke quite simply as though what she sa-- 1 was so obvious as to ensure immediate concurrence on the part of her hearer.

"Shall we sit down here?” he asked, rather bewildered. They had been walking slowly up a shady path, at the end of which was a garden seat under a lime tree.

They sat down and for a moment there was silence. Elizabeth’s white hands were folded on her lap: she leant

back aud looked up into the delicate green canopy overnead. Light shadows dickered on her upturned face. Power glanced at her wiin a puzzled expression. There was quite a long silence. Aliy other gill would have fidget ed or loosed emuarrasseu. n.- reneeteu. this girl <iiu none of the..- tumgs. site seemed to nave torgoiteu lus existence, while she sat perfectly still, tier eyes fixed on the sun-lit green leaves. At last Power made a halt impatient movement. "1 don't understand —” he began in a voice in which there was the slightest touch of exasperation. She turned towards him at once, and looked at him quietly, as he continued. "Surely you don’t believe all that?” "Believe what?” she asked. "Why, what you said about, about—well about women being better organizers—and all that kind of thing—” He stopped abruptly. It was veiy annoy ing, but it was difficult to tain to this girl without putting everything very lamely. He felt the more irritated, in that he had usually no difficulty in saying what he wanted to say, in a clear and sufficiently rational manner. Elizabeth continued to look at him fot a moment, then she dropped her eyes and began playing with tne frills on hei fichu, a little nervously. ”I—didn’t say 1 thought so,” she answered softly. ”1 said, or I meant tc sav—Miss Golightly thought so.” Power felt relieved. Strangely too, the constraint he had experienced a moment before in the face of her calm inscrutability seemed to be evaporating. He spoke in a light tone now. "I am glad. Do you know 1 was afraid you were going to turn out etrong-minded after all!” he said gaily, Elizabeth glanced at him shyly. “I’m afraid I never shall be,” she eonfesseil despondingly. “Miss Golightly must be very disappointed in me, and I’m so sorry. But what is the use of people who are not clever being strong minded? Miss Golightly is clever enough for it. you see.—but I—” she finished the sentence with another deprecatory glance at her companion. She was more charming than ever in her prettv humilit v.

“Clever!” he exclaimed —“Who wants women to be clever? I don’t knowmuch about it. Miss Trevor.—l mean I have not studied the Woman question, but from a man’s point of view, and after all—”

“That is the most imp irtant—” murmured Elizabeth, with a glance over her shoulder as if to make sure that the admission was not overheard. “Well —since you put it so —” laughed

Power. “From a man’s point of view you know, as long as a woman is charm ing and sweet, and—and companionable that is all that is necessarv.”

For what?” enquired the girl gently.

Power looked a trifle confused. “Well, for a man to like her and approve of her, 1 suppose,” he said. “Yes,” she answered. “I always thought so.” They had been quite undisturbed in their quiet corner so far, but now there was a murmur of voices, and between the trees on the lawn they saw people pass and stop to exchange greetings. “The conference is over I suppose.” said Elizabeth. “I had better go and see if Miss Golightly wants me.” She half rose as she spoke, turning in a hesitating way to Power, who also got up.

There was in her manner since the little explanation about her own views or want of views on the “Woman question,” a suggestion of timidity and diffidence far from unpleasing to the young man’s vanity.

“Don’t tire yourself,” he 'said. “It is a great deal too hot for you to be running about.”

Then, as she made no reply, he added: “This is not exclusively a frivolous garden party I see?” “Miss Golightly thought it would be a good opportunity to bring a great many people together, chiefly clergymen of course, to talk over the Scheme,” she replied. “Ah! there she is calling me. I must not keep her a minute. You will excuse me I know?” she added hurriedly.

She walked quickly away, but the smi'e with which she left him tempered Power’s annoyance. He watched her a great deal all the rest of the afternoon. He was introduced and bidden to talk to a great many people, and he bowed and talked, and was politely bored, except when he caught sight of the flutter of a white dress amongst the trees, as

Elizabeth flitted from one group of people to another. Only once more during the afternoon did he get an opportunity of speaking to her.

“I believe you have had no tea yourself,” he said as she passed him. “I thought not. Sit there till I come back,” and he left her seated under one of the gnarled hawthorn trees. To his annoyance, on his return he found the chair next her occupied. A stout lady, curiously arrayed in a somewhat brief skirt which afforded a glimpse of very large elastic-sided boots, was talking to her. and after giving her the cup of tea he was obliged to turn away.

As he leant against a tree, at a little distance, he overheard some of the conversation.

“You have been staying in Wales, Miss Golightly tells me,” remarked the stout lady in a voice which was somewhat suggestive of melted butter. “Oh! then you must have met a great many Dissenters, poor things?”

“Dissent is very bad there of course, and I’m afraid it’s spreading,” she continued. It sounded a little like measles, but Elizabeth’s face was as gently composed as ever. Power noticed.

“Not that we are the least intolerant of course,” pursued the lady; “and I have met some really very nice Welsh people. You remember the people next door to us at Barmouth last year, dear?” This to a little daughter who had joined them.

“The dissenting people you wouldn’t call on, do you mean, Mamma?” “Nonsense, Alice!” answered her mother hastily. “You know how broad-mind-ed dear papa is! Why he used often to talk to them, and I think he was right, don’t you. Miss Trevor? One nev-

er knows what good a word in season may do. Of course you are a Churehwoman?” she added delicately. Elizabeth hesitated almost imperceptibly for a second. “My sympathies are rather with the Dissenters,” she said, raising her soft grave eyes for a moment. “Oh!” remarked the lady blankly. "Well, of course, there are excellent people even amongst the Dissenters. Alice, dear, it is time for us to say goodbye to Miss Golightly,” and she rose abruptly. Power also bethought himself that it was time to go; but it was sometime before the deferential crowd around his hostess had thinned sufficiently for him to approach her without running the risk of any embarrassing publicity of farewell.

“Ah!” she exclaimed when he at last eame forward, “I’ve had no opportunity of conversation with you, Christopher, and there are many things I want to know. But you are to come again. I wish you to play lawn tennis with Elizabeth. I intend Elizabeth to take more physical exercise. Of course you play at lawn tennis?”

Power admitted that this was the case. “Now what day has she free?” observed Miss Golightly, rummaging in the capacious pocket of her rustling gown and producing a note book and pencil. “Thursday, the 20th. Where is you pocket book. jslte inquired severelv.

Power was weak enough to make a feint of searching in his waistcoat pocket.

"I am afraid ” he began—“but 1 need only make a mental note of what will be a great pleasure. Miss Golight Iv.” he added, in his best manner.

“Nonsense!” she returned, sharply. “Nothing can excuse the carelessness of being without a notebook of any kind. Put it down on this leaf, please.” she commanded, peremptorily, tearing a piece of paper from her own notebook. "Now—tennis—s. Mulberry Row. Thursday. 20th. 4 p.m.” Power gravely did as he was bid.

"Good-bye,” said his hostess, giving him her hand in a stately fashion. “Don’t stand about any longer, for it’s getting late. And be punctual on Thursday, for Elizabeth is due at a meeting at 5.30.” CHAPTER 11. Christopher Power, by profession a church evehitect, was judged one of the cleverest of the younger men in his profession, and there were those who also thought very highly of his work as a painter. On the death of his father, which happened soon after he left Oxford, he had settled with his mother at Chelsea in one of the small houses near the river. They shared a modest income, to which in spite of hard work and increasing reputation Power was able to add but slowly and by degrees. His mother, who adored him. was. however, more than satisfied with the promise of coming fame for her son. On the afternoon of the garden party to which, in response to her half playful pleading. Christopher, a grumbling martyr, had betaken himself, Mrs Pow er sat propped up with cushions in her chair writing to a friend of her girlhood. Her son was the theme of the letter “Poor boy. he has just started, with a resigned expression, for one of Miss Golightly’s terrible garden parties,” she wrote. “You. too. suffered from Miss

Golightly when we were both girls in the old days at Carehester. She is even more awe-inspiring now that she is an old lady. The parish trembles at her nod, I believe, and bishops, vicars, and curates bow the knee. And yet she isn't a bad old thing! I’nfc really rather fond of her. You see she approves of Kit. He has admirable manners, you must know, and even strong-minded old ladies are not insensible to consideration from a rather good-looking young man.

“Now, I’m going to confess to you why 1 have prevailed upon Kit to go to Miss Golightly’s ecclesiastical garden party this afternoon, and you may put me down as a shameless schemer if you please. There is a girl in the ease—a girl 1 want Christopher to meet. And It was Miss Golightly who brought her to see me, and Miss Golightly who in her own mind has already arranged the marriage!

“Strange as it may seem, I should not be displeased, though from the worldly point of view I am acting as foolishly —well, as I always have acted you know. The girl, who, poor little soul, is at present Miss Golightly’s secretary, is penniless. Her father, who is long since dead, was once a friend of Miss Golightly’s. (Isn't it strange to imagine a time when Miss Golightly did not look upon a man as her natural enemy?) Miss Trevor it seems has been brought up by two of her father's sisters, and, I am afraid, has had anything but a happy life. Miss Golightly brought her to call some time ago, and since then, for she seems to have taken a fancy to me, I have seen a good deal r>f her. Kit has been away nearly two months, working in that Suffolk church, of which I told you, so he and Miss Trevor meet this afternoon for the first time. Now lam waiting for him to come back, and wondering what he will say about her. I need not tell you that, in the character of the scheming mother. I have not even mentioned her name to him!

"But do you know-, Mary, I believe she is the right wife for him, and I want to see Kit married before I go. You see I haven’t long to live, though the poor boy doesn’t guess this. He thinks I am better. We have been so much to each other—but I needn't tell you that. Only if I eould see him happily married I think I eould depart in peace. I may be wrong, it is a matter upon which one is generally wrong I own, but I feel that he will be attracted as I am by Elizabeth Trevor. She is pretty, gentle, refined—and no fool, if lam any judge of character. Kit is fastidious, oh, horribly fastidious. He has much to learn about women. I fancy this girl, for all her demureness, might teach him ” The pen dropped from her hand and the smile crept rftund her lips at the sound of a step on the stairs outside. A moment later the door opened and Power came in.

“What! another new cap, oh, vainest of women!” ht. exclaimed.

His mother laughed. “Do you like it?” she said, turning her head like a girl to look at herself approvingly in the glass. “I made it this afternoon and put it on for a surprise, to reward you for going to the garden party like a dear boy.”

Power sank into an armchair opposite with a groan. “It will take several caps to make up to me for this afternoon’s torture,” he declared. “Poor boy! So bad as that!” returned Mrs Power, nestling against her cushions with an air of great amusement. “Do begin now and tell me all about it. What did she say?”

“What didn’t she say, rather.” observed Christopher, savagely. “Look here, mother! It’s all very well for you to nit there comfortably with that wicked twinkle in your eyes—you have escaped. What I’ve been asking myself all the way home is why in the name of all that’s peaceful did you ever know the woman, nnd why, having once made such a fatal mistake, didn't you drop her like a red hot coal directly you found out how she—burnt—in fact!”

“Drop Miss Golightly!” echoed his mother. “Now, Kit,” she broke off, her eyes dancing—“confess! She asked you where your pocket book was, and you instantly began to search for it, and to try nnd look astonished that it wasn’t there!

Her son laughed and looked a trifle confused. *

“How did you know? Y'ou inhuman woman!”

“It's hereditary, my child! I’ve done it myself often and often! Drop Miss Golightly, indeed! I ask you, Kit, is she a person that any human being would care to drop?*

“Did I ever tell you how I first came to know her? It was very awful! We lived in the same town, you know. We, my mother that is, didn’t know her people at all. but everyone knew and laughed at "the eccentric Miss Golightly.’ One day* she called. She asked to see me. I came, I saw, I trembled.“Shc said, ‘Good afternoon,’ ‘sit down’ (in my own house, you know), but it seemed quite natural, and I sank feebly into the nearest chair. Then she went on, you know her voice—?” Christopher uttered another faint yrroan. “ ‘I hear you are rather a clever, intelligent woman.’ I murmured faintly that I hardly considered myself a woman. I was only eighteen. “‘Eighteen!’ she exclaimed in a seathing tone. ‘lf at eighteen you are not enough of a woman to help forward the great cause of womanhood you never will be!’ “I felt like a crushed worm. I bad never known before that woman had a cause, so to speak, but I didn’t say so; I was afraid. Then she went on: “ *1 am organising a Woman’s Society for Physical, Mental and Moral Improvement, and I want you to join. Here is a list of books to Ire read. This is where you sign your name as a member.' Then she gave me a pen.”

•‘And you signed?” asked her son, throwing back his head and laughing. “Poor little mother!”

“My child, I was paralysed!” cried Mrs Power, her eyes shining with merriment, the pretty colour in her cheeks coining and going with the excitement of talking. “Well, that wasn’t half of it. She next brought out a paper already half filled with signatures, so I wasn’t the only coward, as I tried to comfort myself by reflecting afterwards. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘of course, being an intelligent human being, you will at once sign this declaration of refusal to marry, until that iniquitous clause in the marriage service which compels you to swear to love, honour and obey a man, is swept away for ever!”

"Here she again put the pen into my hand —” Power was onee more overcome.

“I was engaged to your father, my child—but I signed, and' I dared not tell her anything about the engagement! ’ gasped Mrs Power. “Afterwards, of course, I suffered agonies, and your father wouldn’t understand how it was—he said he couldn’t think how I could have been so foolish! But vou can. Kit, can’t you —you know Miss Golightly!” “It is onlv too true,” Power observed.

“Oh, but’ really,” urged his mother, “she is at heart a very good old thing, she has been kind to me very often since I was married. I should not like to offend her by refusing any of her invitations —that is what I can accept by proxy,” she added mischievously. “But you haven’t told me anything about it yet,”' as Christopher made a ferocious gesture. “What was it like? and who was there?”

Christopher was looking out at the fading sky. “There was a girl,” he began slowly—“a Miss Trevor.” Mrs Power’s hand shook a little. “Only one?” she inquired gently, disguising her nervousness. “My poor boy.” He smiled in answer to her tone. “Oh, there were some more, I think; I did not notice much.” "Did this maiden so completely eclipse the rest then?” "Eclipse isn't the right word. There was nothing brilliant about her. By the way, mother, she said she had met you?” “Miss Trevor?” repeated Mrs Power mendaciously. “Oh. yes, I believe Miss Golightly brought her here to call. I thought her a charming girl,” she added lightly. “Isn’t she Miss Golighty’s secretary, poor little soul?”

“Yes, but I don’t think she realises that she is to be pitied. She has a deep reverence for Miss Golightly’s mental and moral qualities. I liked her,” he went on, still looking out of the window as he spoke, “she is different from other girls—and much nicer.” His mothgr loked at him a mooicut

before she smiled. “Poor girls,” she exclaimed teasingly, “to come under the rod of my lord’s displeasure.” Christopher flushed a little. “I suppose it sounds priggish, but it is true, I don’t like many of the girls one meets; either they talk slang and are vulgar, or they are so horribly clever —” “My dear Kit,” interrupted his mother, gently. “You are very young, there is time for yon to modify your ideas about women. We don’t live in the age of chivalry any longer, you know. 1 mean that the virtues which were supposed to be womanly virtues then, are out of fashion now- —” “The more is the pity,” interrupted Power, “but,” with a change. of tone, “I dare say you are right. Women do not interest me much any way,’’ he added indifferently. His mother disguised a smile as he turned to her.

“What a lovely sky—look.” he said. “No more of this kind of thing for me yet a while, dear lady, 1 have not done a stroke of work to-day. Shall I ring for your supper tray? I envy Miss Golightly her garden.” lie went on, with his hand on the bell, “it is perfect. I want to make a sketch. Perhaps I shall get an opportunity on the 20th.” “The 20th'?”

“I am going to play tennis then with Miss Trevor —the secretary.” “Ah, it was on the occasion of your being commanded to play tennis with Miss Trevor, that you hunted for your pocket-book then?” Power laughed. “I should like to make a sketch of the girl too,” he said presently, leaning against the low mantelpiece, and looking down at his mother, “She has just the face for my Saint Elizabeth.” “St Elizabeth playing tennis? Well, it is an age of progress.” The servant came in with the limp, and Power stooped to pick up a shawl which had slipped from the -ouch. He put it round his mother’s shoulders with a touch as gentle as a woman’s and arranged her cushions and settled her comfortably on the lounge before he left her. ’ ®. Late that night Power was still sitting at the open window upstairs, smoking while ho looked out over the swiftly flowing river. Every now and then the moon sailing free for a moment of the scudding clouds, threw a faint tremulous gleam over the dark water. The air was elose and oppressive as though a storm was gathering. Some books lay on the window-sill in the mellow light of the lamp. Presently he took up one of them, a volume of Browning, and began to turn the leaves as if in search of something. Then he held the page to the light. His mother would have smiled eould she have read the lines over his shoulder. If one could have that little head of hers Painted upon a background of pale gold. Such as the Tuscan’s early art prefers: Xo shade encroaching on the matchless movld Of those two lips, which should be opening soft 1 * In the pure profile: not as when she laughs, For that sitoils all. “There you are wrong, iny dear fellow.” thought Power, smiling as he put down the book and turned from the window, “though from the standpoint of Saint Elizabeth perhaps—Still she has a very pretty laugh. I wonder if I eould get her to sit to me? If there was any probability of that, 1 eould take an afternoon off to go to the tennis party with a dear conscience.”

CHAPTER 111. Warned by previous experience, Power took care to be in time for his tennis appointment on the 20th of the month. He was rewarded by a gracious smile from his hostess, who rose front her bureau in one corner of the shady drawingroom. pen in hand. “We are only waiting for Jane Brown.” she observed, “who is invariably unpunctual and slovenly in her habits. And now, my dear Christopher, I want to speak to you about your mother. You must impress upon her that it is her duty to exert her will power, and to make an effort. An invalid, you say? nonsense. Why need she be an invalid? It is nothing but lack of determination. Look at me. Five years ago the doctors, who are a pack of noodle., told me I hadn’t six months to live. Suppose I had believed them, whore should I have been by this time? In my grave, of .course. But 1 refused to

believe them!” She rose and brought her plump clenched fist down upon the mantelpiece with vigour. “And here I am to-day, strong and well, the originator of a great scheme, the—now why are Elizabeth and Mr Frazer coming in. 1 should like to know? I gave them instructions to stay iu the garden till you and Jane Brown arrived.” She strode across the room, her full skirts rustling and billowing, and called to the delinquents from the open window. “Elizabeth, my dear. I thought I told you to wait in the garden? No,” as Elizabeth paused on the first step of the staircase leading to the drawingroom, “do not come upstairs. I am still engaged with Mr Power.”

Elizabeth turned away like an obedient child, followed by the man who accompanied her, and Power suppressed a smile.

This man. who was a stranger to him. was of the conventional handsome type of Englishman; tall, broad, and fair in spite of a bronzed face. He wore a long, drooping moustache, bleached by the sun, and there was something indolent, though not unvraceful. about his walk. Power watched him for a moment as he strolled across the grass with Elizabeth. He was evidently not talking, but from the occasional 'side-long glance which he la-stowed upon the girl, it was plain that ho was listening to her. and watching her with interested amusement.

"I don't think I have met Air Frazer,' he deferentially remarked. “Probably not,” returned Miss Go lightly with a sniff. “He is a new ac

quaintasice, with more money than brains. I am trying to put a little sense into his head and take a little money out of his pockets, on behalf of my Scheme.”

She glanced at the clock. "VVo must begin without Jane Brown," she said, “or the afternoon’s work will be disorganised.” Flinging open the glass door, she descended the narrow flight of steps, her skirts held high with both hands, while Christopher followed with a face of exemplary gravity. “We are partners, I hope?” he heard the enviably rich Mr Frazer saying to Elizabeth. "I don't know. I expect Miss Golight ly will arrange,” returned Elizabeth. looking at the points of her shoes. Her companion smiled slightly, and pulled his fair moustache as the girl went demurely forward to shake hands with Power. “Now. my dears,” called Miss Golightly, “why are you hanging about and wasting time like this? You could have begun. Mr Frazer —Mr Power. Now take your racquets.” “Jeanie Brown has not yet come. Miss Golightly,” said Elizabeth gently. “What is that you say. Elizabeth? My dear child, speak out! Now I insist upon your repeating that remark in a clear distinct voice. Say after me, Jane Brown, not Jeanie please; no woman should descend to the triviality of a pet name. Jane Brown hasn’t come.” Elizabeth quietly repeated the remark with the required alteration in the Christian name, while the two men turned away and began to examine their racquets simultaneously, and with great care. “And why hasn’t Jane Brown come, may I ask?” she enquired, when the significance of the proposition apart from its value as a lesson in elocution had occurred to her. “Ah, here she is, I see. Jane Brown, you are exactly seven minutes late.” was her severe greeting to tile trembling and blushing girl, who had been running all the way for fear of this very catastrophe. “I am so sorry. Miss Golightly,” she panted, “our clocks ” “Don’t trouble to invent excuses, my dear. Now play. Christopher, you will take Miss Brown; Elizabeth, go on Mr Frazer's side. Now you have exactly an hour and a half before you.” They had a severe game, for Mis’ Golightly walked the gravel path by the side of the lawn as though it were a quarter deck, from which she from time to time issued abrupt commands or comments. “Carelessness, Elizabeth!” ns she missed a ball. “Pure carelessness!” “Ah! that's better. Apply your will tn it. my child. Mr Frazer, pick up that, bill, please. There! close to your feet. Move a little more quickly! Jane Brown, arc you asleep?” Poor Jane

half imagined she was, and that this ■Was a terrible nightmare.

Elizabeth alone was perfectly composed. Power looked at her admiringly as he handed her a couple oi balls over the net. She glanced at him with a faint smile, and his thoughts recurred to his picture of Saint Elizabeth. "If she suffers martyrdom like this often,” he thought, “she has an excellent training as a model!”

At last the final stroke was made, and the players dropped their racquets simultaneously. Miss Golightly took out her watch. “That will do,” she said. “Elizabeth, we have just half an hour more before we must start; go and talk to Air Power. Mr Frazer, 1 can give you a few moments now, to discuss the matter you mentioned. You must go, Jane Brown? Now, my child, why must you go? Boes your mother want you? No? Then what is your reason?” Poor Jane, confused and flushed, was racking her brains for an intelligent reply, when Elizabeth quietly came to the rescue.

“Miss Brown is working for a» examination,” she said gently. “I think she feels she cannot spare any mere time.”

The girl looked at her with a gratitude that was almost pathetic. “Then why couldn’t you have said so before, my dear?” enquired Miss Golightly. “By all means go, n tmii is tire case. Elizabeth, give Jane Brown some tea. It's in the drawing-room. Christopher, go in too. Now, Mr Frazer!” and she turned away with the latter.

Power watched Elizabeth as she calmed the fluttering and unhappy Jane with a gentleness and tact which he noted approvingly. When the girl at last took her departure he turned Io Elizabeth. “Shall we go out again, and sit under the trees?” he asked.

She assented. There was something about the dove grey ribbons she wore that reminded him of the conversation he had overheard at the garden party. “I wonder if she is a Quakeress?” he thought. “I hope not. She might object to sit for the picture of a saint. But she’d make a sweet Quaker ss,” he concluded, looking at her again critically. They were sitting under the big hawthorn tree now, aud every minute or two Miss Golightly and her companion, who were pacing up and down the path on the opposite side of the lawn, passed opposite to them. “A new friend of Miss Golightly’s,” Power began tentatively, looking at the newcomer’s erect figure with an expression of rather active dislike. His mother had often laughed at him for what she called his “violent antipathies,’’ and indeed he had not been strongly drawn to the indolent looking young man, who was now sauntering beside Miss Golightly. The little lady, with her erect, portly figure, made a ridiculous contrast to her companion. To Power’s eyes, as he watched them, he seemed to be paying an exaggerated attention to what she was so emphatically explaining. There was something of the burlesque about his air of supernatural gravity as he listened to her eloquence.

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, “he seems very interested in the Scheme. Miss Golightly is explaining it to him now, and I have been trying to tell him a little about it this afternoon before you came. But I can’t explain things properly,” she confessed with a desponding glance at him. “Miss Golightly talks so well ’ “And so much,” was Power's unuttered comment. “He is very rich,” Elizabeth continue 1, “and he has lived all his life abroad,'* he says. “You seem to have had a great deal of conversation with him,” obserxed Power, frowning. Elizabeth looked at him a moment with a wondering expression. She was ▼cry charming when she looked like that. There was an almost childlike air about the utter absence of coquetry. Another girl, Power reflected, would have striven to improve the occasion by a flippant rejoinder. “Yes,” she answered, simply. “I have been talking to him a long time. Miss Golightly wished it. He is very rich, and it is so nice that he is interested in the Scheme.

Power smiled. “That sounds a little Jesuitical,” ho declared, looking amaz•d.

"Oh, I hope not,” she protested. “I didn’t mean to bo anything so horrible

as that.” Her expression was so sweetly serious that Power wondered whether he might venture at once upon a request that she would sit to him for his Saint Elizabeth, but finally decided to temporise by asking when she was coming to call upon his mother.

Elizabeth was afraid there would be no time until after the following week. “Perhaps then, if Miss Golightly could spare her one afternoon.” Power grasped eagerly at the suggestion. “Anything,” he was beginning to think,

“If only I can get that little head of hers Painted upon a background of pale gold.”

The lines were running in his head all the time he was talking to her, and he started with annoyance when Miss Golightly came bustling towards them. “Elizabeth, my dear,” she observed, “say good-bye at once, we haven’t a moment to lose.”

The girl rose and held out her hand to Mr Frazer.

“Good-bye,” he said, in the low, lazy voice that Power already hated. “Miss Golightly has kindly asked me to eoine and play tennis some other day. I hope we may be as successful as we have been this afternoon, Miss Trevor.” His eyes rested on her a moment as he shook hands, and in his glance Christopher thought there was approval, carried to the verge of insolence. Certainly this was developing into one of the “violent antipathies.” CHAPTER IV. It was late in the afternoon of a brilliant day in mid July before the doctors left. Hastily summoned in the morning, they had been with Miss Golightly all day. Before leaving they had sent for Elizabeth. “Nothing can be done,” said one of them in response to Elizabeth’s frightened questions. “It is a matter of time, a few Lours, perhaps; possibly even a day or two. In the meantime she asks to see you, Miss Trevor.” The girl opened the door of the darkened room and entered softly, with a kind of awe. it was so strange to think of this little, indefatigable woman lying there helpless and still, never to bustle or work, or frighten anyone again. And yet never before had Elizabeth approached her with a beating heart. For the first time since they had met, she was afraid. How xvould she look? How would she take her sentence? The curtain was drawn on the side of the bed nearest the door. It seemed quite a journey to cross the room and stand on the other side of the bed.

“Sit down, my dear, sit down. No, not on that chair, take the higher one. Move the other out of the way first! My dear Elizabeth, you must learn to have a little more common sense.”

The -relief was so great that the girl could almost have smiled. It was the same peremptory voice, a little weak, perhaps, but otherwise unaltered. Surely the doctors were wrong, she could not be so ill as . Then she looked at her face, and the thought vanished . In reality she was very little "hanged, yet the unmistakable, indescribable look of death was there.

Involuntarily the girl put out her hand with a quick rush of pity and sympathy for the lonely dying woman, and Miss Golightly took it, looked at her fixedly a moment, and Elizabeth saw that her eyes grew dim. “I am glad I knew you, my dear, before—l sent for you to give you this, Elizabeth,” she continue ’ with a relapse into a more ordinary tone, as she fumbled with cne hand under the bolster.

“Let me get it,” said Elizabeth, helping her to take a letter from under the pile of pillows. “It is for you to read when I am gone,” said Miss Golightly, her mouth twitching into a sort of grim smile as she added. “Life is full of surprises, Elizabeth, it will seem strange to you to read my love story, won’t it?” “Dear Miss Golightly!” murmured Elizabeth. “I would not leave it to anyone, but you. my dear,” whispered the old woman weakly, “and you will burn it directly you have read it?” Elizabeth nodded her head. She could not speak for tears.

“You will find that I have left my money to you, my child,” she went on. “The letter will explain one of my reasons for doing so, but I may say now,

my dear girl, that I leave it with pleasure. You are a good child,” she added in a voice that Elizabeth had never heard from her before. “In spite of the fact that you are perhaps deficient in will poxver. Money has always seemed to me a poor sort of thing, yet as *t is the only gift I have, I leave it to you willingly and gladly.” Elizabeth broke into a little cry. “Miss Golightly, don’t,” she gasped. “You are mistaken in me, I—will you let me tell you?” She had risen from her seat—her face was white, and her lips trembled.

“Sit down, my dear,” commanded Miss Golightly. “You must learn not to interrupt in that way, nor—nor to contradict.” Her voice trailed off into an incoherent murmur. Suddenly she closed her eyes, and Elizabeth saw a change pass over her face. She ran to the bell, and then back again to the bedside. Miss Golightly lay still. On the face of the little, imperious lady was stamped the meekness of death.

A few hours later Elizabeth, standing in her own room, with trembling hands broke the seal of the dead woman’s letter. “My dear Elizabeth,” she read.

In a few days, no doubt, the lawyers will tell you that you are practically a rich woman. I feel, hoxvever, that some explanation of my will is due to you. I am dying, the doctors say, and this time I believe them. The moment has come, therefore, to tell you my love story. It is something of a comfort to me to think that you are not likely to be amused by it. You are not flippant and vulgar like most of the modern girls. It is thirty years ago since I had, or thought I had, a lover. His name was Charles Trevor—your father. He was some years my junior, and everyone xvas much amused, I believe, for I was known even then as ‘the eccentric Miss Golightly,’ and the ‘blue stocking.’ It is a long time to look back, and, of course, it doesn’t matter, but I would give much noxv to know that he never laughed. Women, even strong-minded "women, are fools, my dear, and I ought to have guessed at first that it xvas my money, not me, he xvanted. I did discover it in time, fortunately, and a year after I broke my engagement he married an actress—your mother. By this step, as you knoxv, he alienated his family, who were much opposed to the marriage. Of course, I ought to have forgotten him. But I did not. The bitterest day of my life was the day of his death, and for

years I have been half determined to leave my money to Charles Trevor’s child. I found that he had left you penniless, and that after your mother’s death his two eldest sisters had taken you to their home and brought you up. For years I had been longing to see you, but I dreaded—but never mind xvha't I dreaded, it is enough to say that I did send for you at last, with the determination that if you pleased me you should be my heiress. Everyone I knoxv expects that I shall leave my money in trust for the furtherance of the Scheme. Everyone will be disappointed then. For you have pleased me, my dear, you are a good, gentle, truthful girl, though you are your father’s daughter, and I leave my worldly goods to Charles Trevor’s child with more pleasure than I had hoped to experience again in this life. There remains one other point to be explained. You will find to all intents and purposes my money goes to you ana you only at the expiration of eighteen months. When that time has elapsed my half-brother, Valentine Golightly, xvill have been twenty years away from home. He was a boy of fifteen when he went to sea, and from that day to this he has gone out of my life. I haven’t forgotten him though. You will admit that my memory is excellent. I had an odd sort of affection for the boy, and blood is thicker than water after all, so that for fear of doing him an injustice I have insisted upon this clause to my will. Practically, hoxvever, the money is yours. My lawyers have advertised and done all that is possible a score of times during the past ten years, and they look upon this stipulation of mine as a piece of eccentricity. It may be —but I prefer to give the boy a full txventy years’ chance, though no doubt he has long been in his grave. “Good-bye, my dear girl, you have done much to sweeten the end of an old woman’s life. May you have greater happiness than she has knoxvn! “Yours, with much affection, “Martha Golightly.” (To be continued.)