FRANCES.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XIX, Issue 27, 3 April 1891, Page 23

FRANC E S.

(By MAGDALEN' Rock, in the New Yoik Fneman.') The Fame s ions (.'ale that was sweeping over the fi Ids of clover and blowiiig tb-j •white blooms fnrn the hiw thorn Ledges was cau-irg due di«may to the c, j tarn and crew of the steamer Karl of Ulster on her journey from Fleelwool to Belfast. The storm had rngul aM night, and now at t nee o'e cck in the morning the eood ship Earl of Ulster, with her p:oj.c""r broken, was drifting straight on the coa^t of Down. Few i -avengers were aboard, and of thise but two were on deck. The c mmon peril, or pc-haps the fact that each carried t<n infant closely |>ios c (] to her breast, had drawn thes-i two women together, and now they sat shivering in the gray dawn of 111 1 May morning. One. t he elder apparently of the two, alternately prayed and wept, while the other sat quie* >r a>i more composed. "God's will be done," she siid resignedly, ;i; i answer to some remark of the other. "So you can say," ihe elder woman cried wildly. " You have all you care for in your arms, while I — oh God ! what would I not give to Bee my boy I" The younger woman bent to kiss her baby, " My little France", if we are to di , thank Goi we die together." " Frances I Is that your cbila's name, too ?" "Yes, an uncommon name to m. But wben she was born but three days after my husband's death, Father Cirr baptised her by that name becaus; she was born, he toll me, on the feast of St. Francis. 1 wab too ill to choice her came myself. ' " And your husband is dead V " Yes," the younger woman answered Sodly, " three months ago. He was killed at Wellington Colliery in Durham, and I was never able to return home till now. Somo of the men gave the cbild a little purse, and they insisted 1 should tnke a cab'n passage. God bless them all." There wad bilence for tome time, and then the woman who had last spoken asked

" Is that child your own! " " No," the other answered shortly. "My boy is with my own people in Ireland. How I wish I'd never left him !" Meanwhile the steamer had been drifting right before the wird, and now there, not two miles off, was the bleak coast of the Copelands. " She'll go to pieces there, sir," said a a old sailor to the captain. " Aye I Belter get up the passengers. It ia well there aie ao few." " Yes, sir. No women but those two there," indicating the spot where the women were crouched. " None. Look out there I" he cried, as a wave struck the vessel fiercely. For a few minutes all was confusion. The engines were got to work again, and wben the ship answered her helm the course was slightly changed for Belfast. No one noticed the two women for a little, and wh§n one of the sailors hastened towards them, she who bad spoken of her husband lay motionless on the deck. " Poor soul 1 ehe has got a nasty cut, :> he eaid, raising her head, " Hadn't she a child ?" he asked the other woman, who was clutching the infant in her arms tightly to her breast. " Where is it ?" The woman was white and trembling, and made no effort to answer, but nodded towards the sea. " Swept overboard ! Did she lose her hold of it in falling ?" " Yes — no — I did not see rightly. I saw her fall, and then the water rushed over us." Two or three of the crew had by this time»gathered around them. " It'll be some time till ehe opens her eyes again," eaid one of them. " Look at this cut, Bill." I Can you do nothing to stop the bleeding ?" the womnu asked. " We'll try, ma'am. I wonder who she is," "A Mrp. Nolan, from Consett. Her husband was killed in a colliery accident, and his mates scut her and her baby home." " Well for it, maybe, poor little thirjg, it wa9 drowned," said the stewardess, who bad come on deck. " Let us take the child from yoa," she continued, turning to the woman who had stood near all the time. "Ob 1 no, no, thank you. I shall change her clothing now," she answeri d, and hastened down to her berth. In a few hours the disabled vessel reached Belfast. Tbe poor wumin, ilrs Nulan, had noc recovered consciou&nees, and the captain decided to send her to the Royal Hospital. " Terbaps her friends will make inquiries about her," said the cptuin. " She hasn't any friends," eaid the stewardess. "So she told me last night." ' Well, that's all we can do for her. 'lhat woman, Mrs. Harper left this for her use," holding out five sovereigns. " Who or what is she? " But the stewardess shook her head. " I don't know. She wasn't very communicative." " No matter, she seems to be a kind-hearted woman." " Not a bit of it. You men never see farther than the outside.'' "Maybe co," laughed the captain, "and sometimes it is far (.nough." * * Twenty years almcst had ccme and gone since that May mornirig when the Karl of U eter escaped wreck, and in a pleasant drawingroom, lookiEg out on a wide expanse of lawn, two women had been speaking of it. ' And \ou have been so good to mo, grannie dear, eaid a tall girl, " that I have never known ihe want of father or mother." " You have time enough foi that, dear," saui her grandmother, " but whit would my life have been without you ? " Tbe girl seated herself at her feet, caressing the thin, delicate hand that was placed oa her shoulder. " Poor grannie ! It was a great tri.il." " Great, yes ; but one at last grows resigned." " So I suppose," said the girl. II Yep," said the grandmother, as though speaking more to herself ttnn her listener. " First I heard of my Bon-ic-law's death by a fall from bis horse, and only a day later of Ada's death and your birth ; and I was helples9 at the time — almost a cripple — not fit even to go for you. " | " The girl stroked her hand softly and said : " But, Mrs. Harper | — that was her name, wasn't it I—you1 — you say brought me to you safely, though we were nearly shipwrecked. I often wonder why she did not remain." ' " Well, you see her son was growing up, and she wished, not uni naturally, to have charge of him." ; •' Yes, but it seems strange you never hear of her now." "Oh 1 Brentwood is a long way from Donaghbeg. She i always very attentive and careful, but somehow your mother did not , like her."

"Am I like mamma, grannie ? " tha girl asked in that hushed tone iv which we t-peak of those who bad been near and dear to us. 11 No," answered her grandmother thoughtfully, looking at ber, " though you are fair too, Ada had golden hair and blue eyes, whilu your eyes are grey and your hair is brown. You are taller, too, and naore upright than she." " Then I resemble papa ? " " No, Frances, I can't say you do, though your eyes aie a little like when one looks at them closely." " Pocr mamma," the girl said softly, " her's was but a short life." " Bnt not an unhappy one," her grandmother answered, while her kindly blue eyes weru tet with tears. " Henry and she were very happy — there is consolation in that thought." " Were papa's friends not pleased with bis marriage 1 " "So I heard then. It seemed his uncle wished him to marry a ward of his, and I believe they never Bpoke to each other again." " That was Roland's father ? " "Yes, Mr. Hugh Brentwood, a bitter, bad man, I fear. He didn't even attend poor Hugh's funeral." " And he and Roland would have inherited Brentwood but for me? " " Yeß. Your father had no will made. A poor little mite you were to bs Buch a great heiress." "And uncle Hugh and you were appointed my guardians. Somehow I never cared much for uncle Hugh. Roland isn't a bit like him." " Not much. Still since his father's death Roland hr-3 grown more like him." " Oh I not a bit, grannie." " Well, perhaps not. Isn't Roland coming to-morrow ?" " Yes, this is our last quiet evening. Mr. and Mrs. Parr and Annie are coming to-morrow, too." " Of course I shall be glad to see them, bnt for all that I am beginning to regret our quiet life at Roeemount — though that is selfish." " Yon selfish 1 Why, you wouldn't know how. But come out to the terrace, and I will fix you famously," Frances assisted her grandmother to her feet. She was still a youthful-looking woman for her years. Those delicate, sensitive women, with fair hair and blue eyes, have a charm all their own in their old age. All ber trials she was wont to say came together. A year or two previous to her daughter's marriage her husband died, then came her daughter's death, caused, the doctors said, by the shock of Mr. Brentwood's death. At that time she herself was ill with some spinal complaint that had left its marks behind. It was to this woman iv her quiet country home thai Mrs. Harper brought her daughter's child. Mrs. Harper bad lived with Mrs. Acland for some yeais, and bad been sent to attend tbat lady's daughter before Mr. Brentwood's diath, but when sne brought the baby Lome after tbat terrible night ie the Earl of [filter, not all Mrs. Acland' s persuasions, backed by the effer of a generous salary, could induce her to remain. She was ill, she said, and besides her boy needed a mothei's care ; so she left Bosemount. From a village named Donaghbeg Mrs. Acland had hesrd from her at long intervals during a ftw yeare, but since she and Frances left Ireland some years ago Bhe had r card nothing <.£ her. The view from the terrace was always fine, and Mrs. Acland, unable to walk far, spent much of her time there. This evening, with the rays of the sun falling on the beechts and oaks that stood thickly together, aud flashicg here and theie on the little stream that rushed meinly along, Frances thought she had never seen Brentwood look fairer. Aw-»y in the distance the thick smoke showed where Sudbury, the nearest town, stood. A few houses gathered round a little church, not far from the park gates, made up the village of Brentwood. " How beautiful BjeDtwood is ! ' Frances said, " or is it that the early summer makes all places beautiful ?" " It beiDg all your very own, as the children say, perhaps gives you that feeliug " '• No, that's not it ; but 1 tlink that my father and mother both dying here so young has soniethiDg to do with it." " Why Francis, child," the elder woman said, " T see now how I have spoiled you. You need companions of your own age, while here I have always kept you tied to my side. You are growing morbid." "Indnjil, 1 am not, grannie. But," speaking quirkly, " I did not tell you oi my adventure." " Adventure ?" "A. tiny little one only. You know I walked to Sudbury to-day for y£ur wools, and I lingered longer than I intended, so that I was hurrymg for luncheon. Wei 1 , there is a path through the meadows, a Bavint; of a mile or more, ar.d 1 came that way. and in crossing the river the plaiA gave way, aud there I was left clinging to a tree that bti etched over the ri er. It must have brok -a m a second or two wben ,i gt'utlcmin hfiei mo over, and — juuss who he wa' ? "

" I don't know, indeed.' 1 " Mr. Kivers, the member for South Tyrall." " How did he come to this quarter of the world ? " "He is staying with Sir Charles Darce. Perrnps we may meet him to-night. And dew, grannie, if you are tired I Bhall settle you in your chair and run off for some roses for my hair." But Mrs, Acland was not destined to rest long. " A lad/ desires to see you, ma'am ; she is in the library," said her own maid, coming to her side. " A lady I Who is she, Jane ?" " I don't know, ma'am. She gave no name." " Thank you, Jane, that will do. I can manage now myself," and Mrs. Acland went towards the library, and opening the door saw the person Frances and she bad been speakir g of a little before — Mis. Harper. She was plainly dressed, but Mrs. Acland saw at a glance that she expected to be treated in a different manner from that of former dayp. " Why, Mrs. Harper, how glad 1 am to see you again !" said Mrs. Acland. " You should have told your name at once, and 1 would have brought Frances. She will be pleased to see you." " Thank you, Mrs Acland, but I wished to see you first, and 1 dom't think I need trouble Miss Brent wood." " Oh, just as you like," Mrs. Acland said, puzzled by something in ber visitor's manner. " Pray sit down. Did you walk from Sudbury ?" " No," Mrs. Harper answered laconically. " I did not." " Perhaps I can offer you some refreshments — a glass of wine ?" "No, thank you, Mrs. Aclaod, nothing. I wish to speak to you first." " Very well, but I am sorry we dine out this evening, and," looking at her watch, " my time must be necessarily Bhort." " I will not detain von long. Do you know a gentleman named Mi Rivers ?" "The member for South Tyrall ?" " Yes." " No, but I expect to make his acquaintance to-night. Why ?" " He is my son." " Your son 1" " Yes, my son." " But his name ' " Is Charles Harper Rivers." " I Jon't understand." " No. Well it is easily explained. All my savings were expended on bis education, and a gentleman, Mr Rivers, took a fancy to him when at school, and helped him to get on." " And left him a fortune, I make no doubf. Indeed, Mrs Harper, I am very glad he was so fortuna'e." "He was cot fortunate in that respect. Mr. Rivers died inteotate. My boy has nothing save what he makes himself." " But lam sure he will succeed now. You must be very proud of him, Mis Harper." ■' I am," she answered, •■ and anxious tj see him marry a woman of means." " Naturally enough," smiled Mrs Acland. "He might rise to any position if he once had money. Mrs Acland, I wish to see him married to your granddaughter." For a minute there was silence, then Mrs Acland rose, speaking slowly. '• Mrs Harper, you forget yourself strangely. Please excuse me, but 1 really have no further time to spare." But Mrs Harper, more active than she, stooi before the dooiway, "You shall listen to me," she said, her black eyes glittering, " Why should uot this match take place 7 He is young, handsome, and talented. Why should he no* wed Miss Brentwood ?" "As I Baid before you forget. He is your son, and she — " " Is Frances Nolan whose mother earns her bread by charing." Mrs Acland never moved, and she went on. "On the night I came from Fleetwood with your daughter's child, you may remember there was a s'orm. Only another woman was on board, and she, too, hid a baby with her nearly of tha same age as the child I carried. While we were waiting for the ship to go to pieces, a wave swept the deck. How, I cannot tell, but the child was boiue out of vny arms, and at the same moment Mrs Nolan was thrown violently on the deck. She struck her head in falling, and I, not meaniDg but to save the child, hftei it. There was great confusion on deck, and this passed unnoticed. When, at length, help came to us, all assumed that it was ber child thit had ben swept overboard. I did not enlighten them then, and finally I resolved to bring her child to you." While the woman wa3 speaking Mrs. AcLvid droppe 1 into tho chair. " You are siyintj this <o fiig .1 ".\ me," she gasped. ■' lam not. It is true. I knew how you would feel for the baby, and the woman Nolan was poor, and Dot likely to recover from the eff cts of her fall, as I was told, s" 1 brought her child here,

" I can't believe, I don't believe it," Mrs. Aclami said. "And if it be bo, why do you tell me now ?" The woman smihd. "It is yon who forget row. I tell you now that you may help to bring about that marriage I *poke of." " Never. Let Frances be who she may, she shall npver marry a son of yourß." " Gently, Mr*. Acl«nd, and think of the consequrnces. I tell this cow. Will any <ne disbelieve mo wh-n I H*y that you knew that the biby I broug ,t yru was not your (.Tand.laujhter ? Every one knows that Hugh Bren'Wood was no friend of yours. Will his son be credulous enough to suppose that you did no: know who kept him out of hU inheritance 1 " " But you have no proof of this ?" 11 But I have. On Frances' shoulder there is a birth-mark, a red star. Mrs Nolan will reccgnise this mark. Tha nurse who attended Mrs. Brentwood will swear there wns no such mark on her child." Mrs AclaDd rose again, white and trembling. " You are a bad womm, Mrs Harper, but give me a few days time." " A dozen if you like, but remember the loss to Frances if this beoomes known, and remember it rests with you for all things to remain aa they are. And I ask notttnsr difficult, only that you ask my son —no one nee ! of me— h-re, and let him win Prances, if he can." " If he can? ' " Yes ; at least let him try. He has many things in his favour, and he has seen your— Francep, I mean, at church, and in the village, and is half in love already. You are to meet him to-night I understand ? " Mrs. Acland looking up inquiringly. "At Sir Charles Darce's." "Oh 1 at dinner, but I cannot go ; I am not able." 11 Oh I yes you are. Frances would suspect something, and she must know nothing," "Oh ! no, no. She must not know," Mrs Acland moaned. I' And now, good-by. You shall hear from me in a few days," and in a few moments Mrs Harper was away from Brentwood. ' K To be concluded.')