The Storyteller,

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXVII, Issue 18, 30 March 1899, Page 23

The Storyteller,

ONLY AN ACTRESS.

' Oh 1 Jack, Jack, how can I leave him ?' It was only the wail of an actress as she stooped over the cot where a tiny, large eyed, baby boy of two yeara old lay. Hia little white hands clutched Ike faded counterpane as he looked up with a faint smile on his small tired face. Jack Hargraves and his wife Jess (known to the British public as Miss Irene Langton) were badly paid provincial actors, and had only arrived in the town of Burstali that day with a touring company. The child had been very ill and the long journey from the last town they had visited had been too much for him. As soon as they had found lodging to suit their pockets Jack went off for a doctor. Their rooms were shabby and not too c'.ean, but they could not afford to be too particular. On the arrival of the doctor he was met by the landlady, a rather slatternly, stout woman, with a very red face, sleeves turned up, and a dirty white apron on. She soon informed him who her lodgers were, and told him all she knew about them. * So,' he said, 'only an actress ! No doubt she wouJd be glad to get rid of the child, which must be a great encumbrance to her •when travelling.' Jess waa standing by her open door and heard this kind remark. 'Yes,' she sighed to herself, 'only an actress, but even an actress can have a mother's feelings.' The doctor came up, and she received him with a faint smile. He examined the child and shook his head. 1 He has had congestion of the lungs V asked Dr. Slater. Yes.' • And you brought him a long journey when he was quite unfit travel.' ' But what could we do ?' queried poor Jess. 'We were bound to be here to act to-night, and we could not leave our darling behind. Tell me truly, is he very ill ? In danger ?' Doctor Slater looked very grave as he said : ' I cannot say yet. Keep him warm and I will send some physic round and call again in the morning.' The afternoon passed, and it was now time for Jack and Jess to go to the small theatre to prepare for the evening. Jess saw the landlady, who promised to take her work and sit with the child while they were away. Then Jess returned to the bedroom and leaning over her baby uttered the cry : 'Oh ! Jack, Jack, how can I leave him ?' But she had to. Jack took her gently in his arms and soothed her with kisses, stroking her wavy hair the while. The play was ' East Lyane,' and Je3s was taking the part of Lady Isabel, which requires a lot of making up and dressing. A trying part at any time, aad with her baby, perhaps dying, at home, it was terribly trying for poor Jess, who lovel her boy more than anything in the world except her husband. She managed to get through her part successfully, but when the scene in which the death of the child takes place was over she staggered to her dressing-room and fainted. Kind hands administered smelling salts and brandy, which soon made her feel better and able to finish her part. As soon as the curtain fell she quickly changed her dress and hurried home with a fast beating heart, hardly daring to enter when she reached the house. The landlady met her on the stairs, saying ' The little angel is asleep, but moans a lot. Now I'll get your suppers ready as you must be tired.' Jess knelt by her darling and took his little wasted hand in hers. 1 Oh, my baby, my baby, don't die •' she whispered. ' I cannot live without you.' Her head sank oil the bed and she prayed, as she had never prayed before, that God would spare the life ot her only child. Jack came home presently, anxious enough about his heir. 1 Heir to what V he asked himself bitterly. ' A travelling basket of clothes. and some grease paint and wigs.' Jess sat by the little cot all night, and in the early dawn Jack awoke to find her with her head resting on the pillow by the baby's, both sleeping. He softly lifted her in his Btrong arms, and carrying her to the larger bed laid her down gently, she being too thoroughly worn out to be conscious of it. Then he took the vacant chair and sat watching the infant, letting his thoughts run back to the dear dead days beyond recall when he was the petted son of a large landowner, and heir to an estate bringing in several thousand pounds yearly. How through the lies of a scheming uncle he had been ordered out of the house by his father, and had gone, leaving everything behind, even his watch and signet ring. How he had met when in deepest poverty an old friend, an actor, who with an actor's usual kindness had helped him to get a minor part on the stage. How, after a year of hard work and much travel he, on joining a new company, met Jess playing a small part, loved her and made her his wife. They had been a happy couple, and when the baby boy arrived all was bright and rosy. Now all seemed dark. A poor engagement in a second rate company and little Jack desperately ill 1 So things went on until Thursday. Doctor Slater called daily and looked very grave. On Thursday he called twice, and on leaving beckoned Jack to follow. ' I fear there is little hope,' he said. ' To-night will decide it. If he falls into a natural sleep all will be well. If not ' he shrugged his shoulders. The performance seemed so long I Jess acted as if in a dream, from which she awoke amidst a storm of applause and hurried home

with Jack. The doctor's carriage stood at the door. They went upstairs dreading but expecting the worst. Neither could speak when they entered the room. Dr. Slater was feeling the baby's pulse. He raised his head, looked at them, and said : ' He is sleeping ; don't let him be disturbed.' But Jess heard not, as she sank on the floor unconscious. ' Jack, dear,' Jess said late in the afternoon the next day, ' I am going out for a little while. I must have a breath of air., ' All right, dear, don't hurry, I will watch Jackie,' responded Jack the larger. Jess put on her hat and cloak aud hurried off to the theatre, through the stace door to her dressing room. From the bottom of her basket she drew forth a small dressing case which she put under her cloak. Next to see the manager, a rough but kind-hearted man, who, on hearing all from her, agreed to find a substitute for one week for the next town so Jess could stay in Burstali and nurse her boy. But her husband must go. * * * In the study at Ayrhurst Hall was Sir John Harcourt, his white head resting on his hand as ho sat in a large armchair near the window. One hand held an open letter from his lawyer, and on his knee lay a written statement signed in a shaky hand ' Eustace Harcourt,' and duly witnessed by a doctor and a clergyman. 'My God !' groaned Sir John. ' How horribly, how hideously unjust I have been. And my own brother, too, the cursed liar !' He jumped up, rang the bell, and wrote a telegram to his lawyer which he handed to the stately butler, telling him to send it off immediately. Again he unfolded the confession of his dying brother, and read as follows : To Sir John Harcourt. I feel I cannot die until I confess to you the wrong I have done. It was a lie I told you about your son when you turned him adrift.' He was quite innoccent of the fraud, it being my own son who committed it, but I told you the lie, as I wanted my son to be your heir for, scoundrel as he was, I loved him. I have suffered much for my sin, my son being drowned within a few weaks of the event and I have not hud the courage to tell you. ' ' Then followed apologies, etc., and the signatures. Towards evening the lawyer arrived and was closeted with Sir John until late at night. The next morning he returned to London.

1 Dear mummy' me wants a ball and a noo whip.' ' And my boy shall have them when he can go out. How strong you are getting, Jackie, we shall soon be able to go after dadda.' ' Me wants dadda awful bad.' Jpss and little Jack were sitting in the room at Burstali, Jess in a largs chair and Jackie on her knees. Grapes- ond other dainties, bought with money raised on the contents of the dressing-case Jess had brought away from the theatre, stood on a small t^j&le near. A knock at the door "interrupted their conversation, and the landlady entered. ' A gentleman to see you mum.' Jess looked up in surprise at her visitor, a tall, handsome white-haired old gentleman. His face alone showel marks o' suffering., as of one who had seen much trouble. 'Am I right in addressing jou as Mrs. John Harcourt ?' he asked quietly. 'Good gracious! Who are you. 7 " asked Jess excitedly. 'You know our name ' We are always ealed Hargraves.' ' I am Sir John Harcourt.' And the old man bowed his head to hide the tears gl'stening in his eyes. In a moment Jess was by his side and holding his hands, as she drew him gently to an ea-y chair. An hour or so later Jess was making tea and Sir John talking to his grandchild Jackie. lie had confessed all to Jess; toli her of his stubborn pride and its fall. How his lawyer had with difficulty traced them here, and he had come at once expecting his son and ask his pardon. Jess on her side, had told him all about her own life, and the time Jack and she had had. When she had finished Sir John stooped, and impressing a kiss on her broad white forehead, called her ' a noble little girl,' which remark brought smiles to her face, followed by a brighter look on Sir John's. The next day a closed carriage left Burstali. Jack, the baby, vra* quite delighted with the drive until he got tired. They arrived at Jack's lodgings after many inquiries, and Jess ran up tc prepare him, leaving Sir John and baby below. Presently the door opened and Sir John stood there 1 ' Father !' ' Jack, my son, my boy.' So Jess left them.

One bright October day. under a big oak tree, a small party is gathered, while a few yards off stands a black Shetland pony, with Jackie coaxing it. Little Jack is four to-day, so Jess has brought him and baby, with the luncheon baskets, down to the wood where Sir John and his son are shooting. A happy party they are as the champagne corks ' pop,' but Jackie cannot keep his eyes off his birthday present from grandpapa — the little rough pony. — Catholic Fins'ide.