[All Rights Reserved.] The Woman Within.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXI, Issue XVII, 24 October 1903, Page 5

[All Rights Reserved.] The Woman Within.

By

ATHOL FORBES.

Author of “ Cassock and Comedy,” “ A Son of Rimmon,” Etc.

CH APTER XXiv. Hush! my child!” Mr Langthornx id. and he tried to obtain possession the bottle. Father! you are mad!” his daughter ied; and her ’terror seemed to give 'her anon strength.

"Listen, Edith.” She looked up inito Ms fa.ee, still c.hntdhing tlhe phiail. ■ Leave me and go to bed. Believe me, »ihu!t 'I am doing is for tfhe best. I 'have fought this out to-night. Death is 'the solution to a position wlhich is unbearable, wihidh is driving one imad. So, Child, kiss me and go. Lt is the only solution and I am not afraid of it.” “But, faitiher, are you afraid of life? Are you afraid to live? Do not tell me that.' Do not let me go through life, knowing my father is a coward.” ‘ “I am no coward- —you .cannot know

—and I dare not tell you or anyone.” “Farther, if you alre afraid to Kve, you are a coward.”

Dhe girl had gone to the very root of rtilie matter.

“My God! She is right. lam giving up life because I aim a coward.” “No, no,” she sobbed. “Oh, father, what has come 'to us? Yesterday 'there was no cloud to cast a shadow over our happiness. Yet in a few hours everything is changed.” Then as the full horror of it all came upon her, she became hysterical and sobs shook her whole frame.

He put his arms about her. “Farther, —do you not love me?” she moaned.

“Ah! Edith, if you only knew! I cannot live to fa.ee disgrace.” “I know. I have felt all day that something was wrong; You cannot have done anything very dreadful father. The heavy work has wrought upon your brain; you Sure not yourself. It is something, I feel sure, that we dan fight <torether. We have always been friends. You have called me your little comrade for years* —let me prove that I am one!”

No one could have resisted that sweet, eading face and tlhe moving agony of

lose blue eyes 'tlhait had never yeit inked upon sorrow. She knelt down at is feet, and he placed the bottle on the i.ble by his chair.

“Let your little comrade help you,” 'e urged.

He sat for a moment with rigid monless face. His position he realised was rse now that his daughter had wit-

ssed what dhe had 'that night. For a nnemt he was inclined to tell her all;

en the temptation Ito end it all dame on him. If ihe could but get her away bed; in a few seconds

She seemed to read his thoughts. “Farther, I shall not leave you,” she id, firmly. “If I cannot share this cat trouble, at least I can be by your ie in sympathy and love. And I can

art-ch over you.” An idea <to get rid of her came into s head. "Edith lam ill. I should like to see

>ur mother. Go upstairs and ask her come down.”

But 'the girl held on to hiiim doggedly. No, father; northing will induce me to ■ive you.”

Her long hair lhad fallen loosely over r shoulders; her lovely face was baith- ! in tears. It was a picture that the d Masters would have loved to have ainted and lingered over as a subject

"r sorrow, for prayer, or for courage. 11 were summed up in the face, in the 'moojißdiouß pathos of ifihalt kneeling fig-

ller father's purpose relaxed. She it gradually fade from his face, and ■* ie knew that she had won. He heart o'er her and laid his hand upon her

head in a kind of benediction. She had saved him, and he knew 'tllunt she was right. He would live send fight his difficulties. “Father —this —this shall remain our secret,” she said. “Yes,” he replied, huskily, “it must be our secret, little comrade.” She put her arms about his neck and kissed him passionately; then, like the woman she was, she broke down. Her emotions, like a torrent, burst through the barriers of repression, and she was a mere helpless dhild. He lifted her up, as one might lift a baby, and carried her upstairs to her room. The light was beginning to show in the eastern sky when she came to herself again She noticed it quickly. “See, father,” she said, “the dawn! It is a good omen! Pray God, the darkness is past!” CHAPTER XXV. When Barking left Iris master’s house he deliberated as to whehter he would go to see how his mother was faring with her paying guest or get back to nis own rooms. He was very angry with the man he had just left. “Why the devil couldn’t he have asked me to join the company?” he grumbled aloud. A girl who was passing giggled and remarked that it was a fine night. “It would be finer if there weren’t so many ugly faces like yours about.” Do not imagine that Barking was in any way shocked at being so addressed by a stranger. At that particular moment another vision filled his mind. He was thinking of a fair form that had liitted across his field of vision in the hall of his employer’s house. His brain was castle-building, and the bold address of the girl irritated him. “You miserable little pauper,” she quickly rejoined. “Why, you cannot buy yourself a decent coat,” and she laughed contemptuously. He resolved that he would have a new suit of clothes without delay. To be jeered at he never eould stand, and somehow he was conscious of his shortcomings in the way of clothes. “I was a fool to go there to-night to be seen by her like this.” He cursed himself in unmeasured tones. A favourable impression is everything where a young girl is in question. He entered West Kensington Station and took a first-class ticket for Charing Cross. The night was still young, and lhe wanted to wear off some of his illhumour. As he jumped into the Circle train he found himself side by side with Cunningham. “Evenin’,” he yawned, dropping out his “g.” The custom was just coming nto fashion then, and Barking liked to be correct. “I thought you were going out to din ner ?’ “So I have been,” answered tlhe other somewhat coldly. Two men were talking in the opposite corner. “I have just been spending the evening with the governor.” he remarked, casually. The two men in the opposite corner looked up and smiled at his lordly air. “He must have got tired of you very soon,” laughed Cunningham. An angry light shot into Barking’s eyes: “He wanted me to remain, but the fact was I found the business too slow. There was another fellow there.” “Captain Chetwynd?” put in his friend. “Exactly; so I slung my hook. Can’t stand that fellow Chetwynd. Edith was

rather sick with me. Here! what the deuce are yon doin’?” and he rubbed his shins, which Cunningham had kicked.

“Hold your tongue, you ass,” and he nodded in the direction of the two men. who had exchanged significant glances. That glass of beer you had in the kitchen has been too much for you.” This remark was certainly too much for Barking. He was on the point ol letting free a torrent of abuse when his tormentor whispered in his ear: “One of those men is a partner in the firm of Bevan and Co., and he knows your governor very well. Don’t be a fool.”

Barking suppressed his indignation, resolving to be quits with his tormentor on some future occasion. He accepted his advice for the present. “What are you doin’ travelling firstclass?” he asked aloud. “Thought you always went third?” “So I do, but I cannot afford to when lam dressed,” he said simply. “It is a false economy to take a dirty thirdclass when you have good clothes to spoil-” Barking then noticed that his friend was in evening dress. And again he was conscious of his disadvantage in the eyes of his master’s daughter. “Come with me to the ‘Empire.’ The new ballet there is a clinker.” “No, thanks.” “I’ll pay,” he added. “Don’t you worry about that.” “’That is very kind of you. but 1 have had a stall for the ‘Lyceum’ given me, and 1 am on my way now.” “Well, I want a pal, so I’ll come with you. What’s on there?” Cunningham hesitated a moment. “Have you booked your seat?” “No. I can get one.” “That will be all right, but I was thinking you won't be able to get near me —but come by all means.” “Yes, I will. Irvin’ is a man who ought to be encouraged. Look what he has done for the stage!” “I see a poor wretch of a woman has been found murdered,” remarked one of the men at the other end of the compartment. He passed the “Globe” over, and the other read the part indicated. Barking was all attention: “Beg your pardon, sir. Would you let me look at that paragraph?” he asked“Certainly,” and the paper was handed to him. Barking chuckled. “What a stroke of lu«k,” he thought as he read of an elderly woman found murdered m one of the low streets of the city. “Won’t this make old Langthorne sit up?” Then he fell into a very happy turn of thought until Gunningham shouted: “Charing Cross. Are you coming?” “The two other men had got out, so he put the “Globe” carefully away in his pocket, and followed his friend. CHAPTER XXVI. “Here, hold on,” he said, as they got outside Charing Cross. We’ll have a hansom.” Cunningham demurred: “Why it’s only a few yards.”

"Never mind,' and he haiied a vehicle "Here, jump in.” "Can’t you gel me a seat near you?” he said, as they drove along the Strand. Barking was feeling ratner jubilant. Lhat paragraph in the evening paper was a very lucay coincidence, and would give him a chance on the morrow to play bis trump card. "1 don't mind paying for a couple of seats,” he threw in as an extra inducement to his friend. The fact was he courted company; someone to talk to, someone to brag to. “We can set each other between the acts,” he replied. “And have a drink?” "By all means,” said Cunningham. The Lyceum was fairly crowded, and Barking had to be content with a back seat in the stalls. It was a revival of “Hamlet,” and Barking’s tastes were distinctly in the direction of the music hall. The result was that he spent the greater part of his time in another part of the building, where the more commonplace needs are provided in the way of something to drinkCunningham, having got clear of his friend at the ticket office, did not trouble himself further about him, and he remained indifferent to the frantic signals that he should come out and have something. These attentions grew so pronounced that the gentleman in charge of the house had to remonstrate with Barking, offering to convey anv message he might wish to have communicated to his friend, which he truthfully did, but Cunningham sat unmoved, though not quite comfortable at the attention that was drawn upon him by the extraordinary behaviour of bin friend. Lt was the final interval before the last act. Barking, during the preceding scene, had entered into conversation with a dark-eyed young woman who served behind the bar, and as was his wont he grew confidential. The girl was amused. There was no demand for her elsewhere, and she listened to his nonsense, but when the curtain came down there was the rush of business, and many calls for drinks. "Here,” said our friend, "you attend to me.” A thirsty youth, who had ordered a whisky and seltzer, remonstrated: “You have gone one drink in front of you, sir: let someone else have a enhance.” Immediately there was an interchange of hot words. The barmaid served someone, and then came over and requested Barking *» be civil. The gentleman whom she had served reminded her that she had omitted to give him his change. She was impressing upon him the value of patience as a factor in the making of peace and harmony, when a diversion was caused by Barking drinking out of the wrong glass. An elderly, quietlooking gentleman began to explain how easily mistakes were made, and Barking moved backwards out of his way to give him a hearing, in executing which manoeuvre he upset the said gentleman’s brandy and soda, and trod on the toeis of the man whose whisky he had

drunk. In an extraordinarily short space of time, the mixed argument was being punctuated by blows. Someone hit Barking, and he struck out wildly. Then there was a row in which the quiet-looking gentleman took more than his fair share. The attendants were called in, and in less than a minute Barking and two more men, who had taken a prominent part, found themselves in the street. “You hit me when my back was turned to you,” exclaimed the more irate of the two strangers; and Barking, whose head was confused with drink, sat down on the pavement, and tried to collect the threads of the argument. "This man was the cause of the row, replied the other. The spectacle of him sitting on the ground caused the men to forget their dispute in a peal of laughter. They hailed a passing hansom, into which they slleposited the unlucky and now helpless Barking, and giving the driver a fictitious address to Philbeach Gardens, told him to take the drunken fare there. Then, delighted with their joke, they adjourned to the nearest bar to celebrate it and a newly-formed friendship. Directly the hansom started, the passenger fell asleep. When he awoke he was being roughly shaken by the driver: “Now then, sir. Wake up.” Barking opened his eyes sleepily and remonstrated. “This is No. 5, Philbeaeh Gardens.’ bawled the man. His sleepy fare grunted ineohr rent ly and showed no inclination to alight. After further attempts the angry Jehu rang the bell of No. 5 Philbeach Gardens. The reception he met with there from a powdered footman was not calculated to improve any man’s temper. His requests that the flunkey should “come out and look at the gent” were' met by a proposal to call a policeman. Then the cabby indulged in some very strong language. He went baek to his charge and shook him. but the man was

in a drunken sleep and incapable of giving any information as to who he was or where he wanted to go. A police man came up to inquire, and be tried to get the desired information. "Now. wot am I to do’” demanded the infuriated man, who began to have fears for his hire. “Let me see whether he has any letters about him.” and the representative of the law felt in his pockets. " ’Ere’s something,” he remarked quiet ly. “Ah. 'ere we are again,” he said, pulling out another letter. “You want to Ise at the other side of London. You have made a mistake about the address.” he added, passing the envelope to the driver to read. "Wot the—who the—” the cabby was beginning, when he was cut short by the offieer. “None o’ that. You have made a mistake. Anyone could see he was not a gentleman as would be likely to live in the West End. You are a muggins. ’Pon my word!” “Two gents in evenin’ dress put ’im in. S’help me they did.” The policeman smiled. “Well, you had better go and ’ear wot they’ve got to say,” said the officer, “but take this man ’ome first.” With a prolonged curse, the discomfited driver mounted his perch and drove off “Twenty yeans, an’ n-ver bin ’ad like this afore,” he said, sadly. CHAPTER XXVII. When Barking awoke next morning •the sun was streaming full into his window, end his watch gave the hour of half-past nine. His first act, as quick as the thought, was to jump out of bed and feel in his pockets. The result of the search was to make him whistle as loudly as the parched state of nis mouth would admit of. His head was aching, and as heavy as lead. His first explanation of the difference between what he expected to have, and what he found

in his pockets, was robbery. He opened his bedroom door and shouted loudly for his landlady. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. scrambling back into bed. “Yes,” said that person, folding her arms, and facing him. “That is what I was coming to arsk you. A nice character you are givin’ my house. You was brought ’ere in a ’ansom, and I ’ad to get out o’ my bed at half-past one this mornin’. An’ that’s not all. You was unable to walk upstairs, an’ me an’ the cabman ’ad to fetch you up.” The events of the preceding night l>egan to take definite form and shape. “Did some gentlemen come here with me?” “Gentlemen, indeed!” sniffed the woman. “You was brought ’ome by a reg’lar blackguard, who demanded half a soverin for so doin’.” “Half a sovereign?” repeated the confused Barking. “Yes, he said as ’ow he ’ad been drivin' you all over London. That you tried to pass yourself off as a regular toff, and wanted to get into a ’ouse where a great friend of the Prince of Wales lived.” Barking's heart began to thump violently. He wondered whether in his drunken state he had gone to his master’s house. The question now was a graver one than the loss of the money. “What house was it?” he asked. “1 dunno’, but the man said it was almost a lock-up job.” Parking groaned aloud. “You ’ad no ’at on. We searched for it all over, and the cabman used a whole box of matches lookin’ ” “Ob., bother the matches and the hat, too” burst out the angry youth. “There was nothing for it but searching your pockets. I mean for the money of course; fortunately I found plenty, and paid him his charge, and there are two five-pound notes between the mattress and the bed. I put ’em there for safety.” Before she had finished the sentence.

Barking had his hands feeling beneath the bedding, and he pulled out his p<> c . keV book. “That’s all right so far as it go< - • lie said._ somewhat mollified. “Yon haven’t got his number?” he asked. “The cabman's number? Good ens no, I did not think you would want to employ ’im again with his extravagant charges.” “1 wanted to know where I was last night.” “Well, .ir. I should advise you to keep sober. lam older than you are and I don’t want to preach.” “Then don’t try to.” put in Bark's,. “I don’t like amateur preachers, me some tea. Have you any ready?" “I can soon get some, but of com e that is not part of our agreement. V a only took the rooms.” “I can pay for it, I suppose, and tha; , all that concerns you,” he snarled. “Yes; I know that. I ’ope you ca <■ by those Rank of England notes ’on, ly?” “Go out of this room.” shouted the asperated youth, “before I thro-.- sou thing at your head.” In a few minutes she was back ag. , with some tea and a few pieces of toa “I ’ope you have counted the mono. ~ see whether it was right.” “There’s some of it missing, and. I ; u going to see the police about it.” This was an experiment on his pa He watched her face to see whether flincihed, hut she met his gaze calmly. “Them as is dishonest themselves ways suspects others. lam poor, bui I am honest. I was left a widder twel. •ears ago. I have knowed what it m s to be ’ungry many a time, hut I never took a penny that was not mine.” “That is your account of yourself.” 1 said, as he gulped the fragrant tea. I don’t believe it.” “That’s true, as true a wot I says. I don’t want you to believe it, and what's more, I don’t want vour patronage, and you can leave my lodgings as soon as you like. I always suspects men like you

when they have five pound Bank of England notes. They may be Bank of England, or they may not. They give a clerk on thirty shillings a week a very bad character, so there, now you know my mind.” "You take a week’s notice from me,” said Barking, restraining himself with an effort. "Thank you for the compliment, which I return,” and with tlhis parting shot she left the room, and did not.forget to bang the door. "Here,” he shouted after her. “bring me some more tea.” But to this, and another order that she should bring him some hot water, there was no response. Then he dressed. “Ten o’clock,” he muttered. “I wonder what happened last night. A nice mess i have made of it. If only I knew the number of that cabman. The game is up if I went to tlhe governor’s.” Catching sight of the “Globe” sticking out of his pocket, it brought to his memory the episode of the underground railway and Cunningham. “Here,” and he read the paragraph again, “I hold the whole game in my hands. This bit of news will knock Langthorne clean over, if I haven't already spoilt matters by niy own foolery. I wonder how he feels this morning?” “I think I have him on toast. If I went there drunk the old cock would have had me thrown out before I could get very far wrong. No; it’s all right.” He sluiced his hot fevered head with void water, and felt much better. “Now 1 wonder what to-day will bring forth?” he said.

(To be continued.)