CHAPTER V.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XIII, Issue 2, 1 May 1885, Page 5

CHAPTER V.

Mrs. Finiston was in receipt of a small pension, and possessed also a trifling annuity of her own. But all this little income would vanish when she died. No wonder, then, that she prayed to be spared ; that she stinted and saved with the hope of being enabled to give her son a profession. She had determined against making him a soldier ; as such he would be always poor ; and in poverty, there was that danger of the longing for the riches of the misers of Tobereevil. She would hedge around his future from that r.sk.

Her high sitting-room window was bowed out towards the river, and the narrow panes between its ancient pilasters afforded a view over the bridge into the sunshine. The dome of the Four Courts shone finely in the distance above the masts, through the soft amber haze of a summer's day. She had resolved that, under its shelter, her Paul should yet win fame and gold — honorable fame, which he would prefer to wealth: gold, honestly earned, which he would generously share and spend. There were many great men even in her own little day who nad grown up out of smaller beginnings. The mother on the sofa recalled a dozen such.

With a view to all this she had deprived herself of comfort that he might be taught by the best tutors in Dublin. He was now seventeen, a student of Trinity, and had taken a fair share of honours for his time. He was not a genius, nor over-fond of books ; but he loved his mother, and appreciated the sacrifices she was making for his sake. And, though he smiled a little at her anxiety about the curse, his horror ot it was even greater than her own.

Thus Paul Finiston, sitting among his books in the rude old window, would often also raise his eyes and hopes to that dome of promise against the clouds. He would stifle in his heart certain yearnings for an open-air life; for travel, for change, for the ownership of country acres, and the power of mastership in a dominion of his own. He would determine within him to let no weakness of purpose throw him in the way of temptation. He. would become a learned, hard-handed man of business, who should found a new house to redeem the honour of his name, and, above all, should have no leisure for bad dreams'.

" Paul," said hie mother one evening, as he came in and settled down to his books. " I have had a letter from the West."

" From the West? " echoed Paul, startled, thinking of the miser.

•' From dear old Martha Mourne. She is coming to Dublin on business with her lawyer ; and she says ; • I will bring poor Timothy's child to see you,' "

" Who is poor Timothy's child ? " asked Paul. " Her niece ? I hope she is not grown up." For he was very shy of women, having been accustomed to speak to none but his mother. " She is a child of about twelve years old, if I remember. And yon must be kind to her, Paul. You must meet them at the coach, and bring them here."

Paul pulled a face over his book, a sign of dhmay which he wonld not have shown his mother for the world. He tried to be glad that she should see a friend ; bat, for himself, be had a dread of old women and children. Still be would be kind to them, and civil to them, if he conld. He would meet them at the coach office, of course, and carry all their band-boxes if need be. He would pour out the tea as he was accustomed to do, and help little ' Missy and old madame to cake. But after all these things were resolved upon, it could surely never hurt any one that he should kick his old boots about his own little room, and wish the good people safely back where they came from.

At four o'clock next day the coach came in. It was a long, rosecoloured evening towards the spring full of soft promises of sweet months yet to. come : bars of red fell across the bridge, and spikes of burnished gold tipped the clustering spars, while masses of light and shade rolled up and down the shifting shrouds, gambolling like living things.

(.To be continued.)