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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -<title>LOVE'S GOLDEN THREAD</title> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="Love's Golden Thread" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2015-08-16" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Edith C. Kenyon" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="49787" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1905" /> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="Love's Golden Thread" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="Love's Golden Thread" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="/home/ajhaines/thread/thread.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" name="DCTERMS.language" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" /> -<meta content="2015-08-26T17:47:58.858017+00:00" name="DCTERMS.modified" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/49787" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="Edith C. Kenyon" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="2015-08-16" name="DCTERMS.created" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="love-s-golden-thread"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">LOVE'S GOLDEN THREAD</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> included with -this ebook or online at </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>. If you -are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws -of the country where you are located before using this ebook.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Love's Golden Thread -<br /> -<br />Author: Edith C. Kenyon -<br /> -<br />Release Date: August 16, 2015 [EBook #49787] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>LOVE'S GOLDEN THREAD</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="container frontispiece"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 60%" id="figure-61"> -<span id="with-a-glad-cry-bernard-sprang-to-his-feet"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""WITH A GLAD CRY BERNARD SPRANG TO HIS FEET." (p. 134)" src="images/img-front.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"WITH A GLAD CRY BERNARD SPRANG TO HIS FEET." (p. </span><a class="italics reference internal" href="#id1">134</a><span class="italics">)</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="xx-large">LOVE'S GOLDEN -<br />THREAD</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">EDITH C. KENYON</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">AUTHOR OF -<br />"A GIRL IN A THOUSAND," "A QUEEN OF NINE DAYS," -<br />"SIR CLAUDE MANNERLEY," ETC. ETC.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">Mark how there still has run, enwoven from above, -<br />Through thy life's darkest woof, the golden thread of love. -<br /> ARCHBISHOP TRENCH.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">WITH SIX ILLUSTRATIONS</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">London -<br />S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO. -<br />8 & 9, PATERNOSTER ROW -<br />1905</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CONTENTS.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">CHAP.</span></p> -<ol class="upperroman simple"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#love-and-hope">LOVE AND HOPE</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-terrible-wrong">A TERRIBLE WRONG</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-pencil-note">THE PENCIL NOTE</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-hard-woman">A HARD WOMAN</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#bernard-searches-for-doris">BERNARD SEARCHES FOR DORIS</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#doris-alone-in-london">DORIS ALONE IN LONDON</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#friends-in-need">FRIENDS IN NEED</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#new-work-for-doris">NEW WORK FOR DORIS</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#alice-sinclair-s-pot-boilers">ALICE SINCLAIR'S POT-BOILERS</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#doris-and-alice-work-together">DORIS AND ALICE WORK TOGETHER</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#an-unexpected-meeting">AN UNEXPECTED MEETING</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#an-artist-s-wrath">AN ARTIST'S WRATH</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#conscience-money">CONSCIENCE MONEY</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#bernard-cameron-visits-doris">BERNARD CAMERON VISITS DORIS</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#another-visitor-for-doris">ANOTHER VISITOR FOR DORIS</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-great-renunciation">THE GREAT RENUNCIATION</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#in-poverty">IN POVERTY</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#new-employment-for-doris">NEW EMPLOYMENT FOR DORIS</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-powerful-temptation">A POWERFUL TEMPTATION</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-welcome-legacy">THE WELCOME LEGACY</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#bernard-seeks-doris">BERNARD SEEKS DORIS</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#too-late-too-late">TOO LATE! TOO LATE!</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#alice-sinclair-s-intervention">ALICE SINCLAIR'S INTERVENTION</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#norman-sinclair-s-letter">NORMAN SINCLAIR'S LETTER</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-happy-wedding">A HAPPY WEDDING</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#two-months-later">TWO MONTHS LATER</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#restitution">RESTITUTION</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#conclusion">CONCLUSION</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#with-a-glad-cry-bernard-sprang-to-his-feet">WITH A GLAD CRY BERNARD SPRANG TO HIS FEET</a><span> . . . </span><em class="italics">Frontispiece</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-shock-of-learning-the-sad-news-was-great">THE SHOCK OF LEARNING THE SAD NEWS WAS GREAT</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#she-uttered-an-exclamation-of-surprise">SHE UTTERED AN EXCLAMATION OF SURPRISE</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#go-you-cannot-appreciate-self-denial-and-love">"GO! YOU CANNOT APPRECIATE SELF-DENIAL AND LOVE"</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#read-it-he-said-handing-her-the-letter">"READ IT," HE SAID, HANDING HER THE LETTER</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#doris-clung-to-her-at-the-last-you-have-been-like-a-dear-sister-to-me">DORIS CLUNG TO HER AT THE LAST. "YOU HAVE BEEN LIKE -A DEAR SISTER TO ME"</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="love-and-hope"><span class="bold x-large">LOVE'S GOLDEN THREAD.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">LOVE AND HOPE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Little sweetheart, stand up strong,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Gird the armour on your knight;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>* * * * *</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>There are battles to be fought,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>There are victories to be won,</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Righteous labours to be wrought,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Valiant races to be run:</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Grievous wrongs to be retrieved,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Right and justice to be done:</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>* * * * *</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Little sweetheart, stand up strong,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Gird the armour on your knight:</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Sing your bravest, sing your song,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Speak your word for truth and right.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>ANNIE L. MUZZEY.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"You know, Doris, to-morrow I shall be of -age and shall come into my inheritance, the -inheritance which my dear father left me," -and the speaker sighed lightly, as his thoughts -went back for an instant to the parent whose -loving presence he still missed, although years -had passed since he died.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, dear, I know," said Doris, lifting -sweet sympathising eyes to his. "And, -Bernard, it will be a trust from him; he knew -you would use it well; you will feel almost -as if you were a steward for him--for him -and God," she added, almost inaudibly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave her a quick nod of assent. -"Money is a talent," he said, "and of course -I shall do heaps of good with mine. But you -know, dear, I've not got such a wise young -head as yours. I shall be sure to make heaps -of blunders, and, in short, do more harm than -good unless you help me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her very meaningly. But -her eyes were fixed on the green grass -of the hill on which they were sitting, and -instead of answering she said, rather -irrelevantly, "You will be a man to-morrow; quite -legally a man. I'm thinking you'll have to -form your own opinions then, and act upon -your own responsibility."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, yes. And one day does not make -much difference. I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> a man now." He held -himself up rather proudly; but the next -moment, as "self passed out of sight," he drew -nearer to his companion, looking down into -her sweet flushed face very wistfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow will make a difference," she -said lightly:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"The little more, and how much it is!</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And the little less, and what miles away!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>she quoted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was thinking of those lines, too," said -the youth, "but not in connection with my -coming of age. Doris, dear, the day after -to-morrow I shall return to Oxford." He -hesitated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I am sorry you are going."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not half so sorry as I am to have to leave -you!" he exclaimed. "However, it is my last -term at Oxford. When I return next time -it will be to stay." He hesitated a little, and -then, summoning his courage, added hastily, -"Doris, couldn't we become engaged?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl looked up, startled, yet with love -and happiness shining in her bright blue eyes. -"Is it your wish?" she asked. "Is it really -and truly your wish?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard assured her that it was, and moreover -that he had loved her all his life, even -when as children they played together at -making mud-pies and building castles in the -sand, on the rare and joyous occasions when -their holidays were passed at the seaside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, dear," he proceeded, after a few -blissful moments, while the autumn sunshine -fell caressingly upon their bright young faces, -"I am rather young and could not speak to you -quite like this if it were not that to-morrow I -shall be fairly well off. My money--oh, it -seems caddish to speak of money just now!--is -invested in Consols, therefore quite safe, -and it will give me an income of £500 a year. -We shall be able to live on that, Doris."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes." The girl looked down shyly, her -cheeks becoming pinker, and her blue eyes -shining. She was only nineteen, and she loved -him very dearly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I shall have to assist my mother," -continued Bernard. "She has very little money -and will have to live with us when we marry. -You won't mind that, dear; if we keep together -there will be enough for us all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, of course." But for the first time a -shadow stole across the girl's face. She was -rather afraid of Mrs. Cameron, who was the -somewhat stern widow of a Wesleyan minister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard Cameron divined her thoughts. -"Mother's sure to like you, Doris," he said. -"She's a bit particular, you know. But you -are </span><em class="italics">so good</em><span>. She cannot fail to approve of you. -Ours will be a most suitable match in every -way. Mother will be very pleased about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shadow passed away from Doris's face, -and she smiled. Bernard knew his mother -much better than she, therefore he must be -right. And her last misgiving vanishing, -she gave herself up to the enjoyment of the -present.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Time passed as they sat there on the pretty -hill at Askern, where so many lovers have sat -and walked, plighting their troth and building -castles in the air; and it seemed as if these -two, who were so young and ardent, would -never tire of telling their version of the old, -old story of the love of man for woman and -woman for man. It was all so new to them -that they would have been both startled and -incredulous if any one had suggested that the -same sort of thing had gone on continuously -ever since Adam first saw Eve in the Garden -of Eden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>However, everything comes to an end, and -the best events always pass the quickest; and -so it happened that, in an incredibly short -time, the sun sank low in the heavens and -finally disappeared, leaving a radiance behind, -which was soon swallowed up in twilight and -the approaching shades of night. The girl -first became uneasy at the lateness of the hour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We must go home," she said. "Mother -will think I am lost. Oh, Bernard, I did not -know it was so late."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind," said he, "we have been so -happy. This has been the first--the very first -of many happy times, darling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I don't like annoying mother," said -Doris penitently. "Oh, Bernard, let us hurry -home!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, darling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So they went down the hill and across the -fields to the village of Moss, situated between -Askern and Doncaster, where they lived; and -as they walked they talked of the bright and -happy future when they would be together -always, helping and encouraging one another -along the path of human life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was so fortunate for them, they considered, -that Bernard Cameron's father had left him -£25,000 safely invested. Doris's father, -Mr. Anderson, a retired barrister, was one -of Bernard's trustees, the other was a -Mr. Hamilton, a minister, who knew little about -business but had been an intimate friend of -the late Mr. Cameron's. Mr. Hamilton was -expected at Bernard's home on the day -following, when both trustees would meet to -hand over to the young man the securities of -the money they held in trust for him. -Mrs. Cameron would then cease to receive the -income that had been allowed her for the -maintenance of her son, and it would become -Bernard's duty to supplement her slender -resources in the way which seemed best to her -and to him. There were people who blamed -the late Mr. Cameron for leaving the bulk of -his property to his son, instead of to his -widow--that happened owing to an estrangement -which had arisen between husband and wife -during the last years of Mr. Cameron's life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard mourned still for the father of -whom his mother never spoke; but he was -attached to her also, for she was a good -mother to him, and he meant to do his duty as -her son. It was his intention after taking his -degree to devote himself to tutorial work, as -he was fond of boys. In fact he intended to -keep a school, and he told Doris this as they -walked home together, adding that he should -realise part of his capital for the purpose of -starting the school. He talked so convincingly -of the number of boys he would have, -the way in which he would manage them, -the profits which would accrue from the -school-keeping, and the enormous influence for -good which he hoped the scheme would give -him over the young and susceptible minds of -his pupils, that Doris felt convinced that the -enterprise would succeed, and admired his -cleverness, business-like ability, and, above all, -his wish to help others in the best and highest way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Timidly, yet with a few well chosen words, -she sought to deepen and strengthen his -purpose, assuring him that nothing could be -nobler or more useful than to teach and train -the young, and promising that she would do -everything in her power to assist him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-terrible-wrong"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A TERRIBLE WRONG.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>All day and all night I can hear the jar</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Of the loom of life, and near and far</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>It thrills with its deep and muffled sound</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>As the tireless wheels go round and round.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Busily, ceaselessly, goes the loom,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>In the light of day and the midnight's gloom.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>The wheels are turning, early and late,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And the woof is wound in warp of fate.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Click! Click! There's a thread of love wove in:</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Click! Click! another of wrong and sin--</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>What a checkered thing will this life be</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>When we see it unrolled in eternity!</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Anon.</em></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was late when Bernard Cameron left Doris -at the garden-gate of her home--so late indeed -that the girl hurried up the path to the house -with not a few misgivings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How angry her mother would be with her -for staying out so late with Bernard! Doris -was amazed that she had dared to linger with -him so long; but time had sped by on magic -wings, and it so quickly became late that -evening. Well, she must make the best of it, beg -pardon and promise not to offend in that way -again. And perhaps when her mother knew -what had been taking place, and that she -and Bernard intended to marry when he had -obtained his degree and was ready to launch -out into his life-work, she would be pleased -and would forgive everything. For -Mrs. Anderson admired Bernard very much, and -had been heard to say that she almost envied -Mrs. Cameron her son.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He will be mother's son-in-law in time," -thought Doris. "I am sure she will like that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris had reached the hall door now. It -was locked, and she hesitated about ringing -the bell, being dismayed at the unusual darkness -of the house. Why, it must be even later -than she had imagined, for the servants appeared -to have fastened up the house and gone to -bed! The top windows which belonged to -them were the only ones that were lighted. -No one appeared to be sitting up for her, and, -not liking to ring the bell, she went round to -the French windows of the drawing-room, in -the hope that she might be able to open one -of them. But they were closed and in darkness. -Then, going a little farther, Doris turned -to see if the library window would admit her, -and found, to her satisfaction, that a gleam -of light from behind its curtains revealed the -fact that it was an inch open and that some one -was within.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl was about to open wide the window -and enter the room, when her attention was -arrested by hearing her father exclaim, in tones -of agony:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am ruined! I am quite, </span><em class="italics">quite</em><span> ruined! -And what's more I've speculated with Bernard's -money--and it's all gone! It's all gone! And -to-morrow they'll all know! Everything will -come out--and I shall be arrested!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, John! John! What shall we do!" It -was her mother's voice, speaking in anguish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tremblingly poor Doris drew back, away -from the window, feeling overwhelmed with -horror and consternation. What had she heard? -Bernard, her lover, ruined by her father! She -felt quite stunned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How long she stayed there in the dark, afraid -to enter by the library window lest her appearance -just then should grieve her parents, and -uncertain what to do, she never knew; but -at last she found herself standing under her -own bedroom window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pear-tree against the wall. A -boy would have thought nothing of climbing it -and of entering the room through the window; -Doris herself had often done that as a child, -but now she hesitated, feeling so much older -because she had received her first offer that -day from the man whom she loved devotedly, -and because, since then, great shame and pain -had overwhelmed her in learning that it was -against him--of all men in the world!--her -father had sinned. Therefore she felt it -impossible to climb that tree, as a child, or a -light-hearted girl, might easily have done. So -she stood beneath it, with bowed head, feeling -stunned with misery and utterly incapable of -effort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Above her the stars looked down, and the -lights of the village shone, here and there, at -a little distance, while the night wind stirred -the trees and shrubs close by, and gently swept -the hair from off her brow. Just so had she -often seen and felt the sights and voices of -the night from her bedroom window up above; -but everything was different now. No longer -a child, she was a girl engaged to marry -Bernard Cameron, whom she had always loved, -and whom her father had plundered of all that -made his life pleasant and that was to make -their marriage possible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment Doris felt angry with her -parent, but only for a moment: he was too -dear to her, and through her mind surged -memories of his kindness in the past and of his -pride and joy in her, his only child. It might -have been that in speculating with Bernard's -money he was animated by the thought of still -further enriching the son of his old friend. At -least Doris was quite certain that her father -had not meant to do him such an injury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But oh, father, if only you had not done -this thing," thought the poor girl distractedly, -"how happy we should be! But now, what -shall we do? What will poor Bernard do? -And I, oh! what shall I do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a little while she stood crying under the -old pear-tree, and then a prayer ascended to -the throne of Grace from her poor troubled -heart.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-pencil-note"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE PENCIL NOTE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>The winter blast is stern and cold,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Yet summer has its harvest gold.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Sorrow and gloom the soul may meet,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Yet love rings triumph over defeat.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>The clouds may darken o'er the sun,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Yet rivers to the ocean run.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Earth brings the bitterness of pain,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Yet worth the crown of peace will gain.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>The wind may roar amongst the trees,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Yet great ships sail the stormy seas.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>THOS. S. COLLIER.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was impossible for Doris to stay out in the -garden all night, within reach of her comfortable -bedroom, and presently she took courage to -climb the tree and enter by the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little room, with its snow-white bed -and dainty furniture, including well-filled -bookshelves and a pretty writing-table, looked -different from of old; it did not seem to belong -to Doris in the familiar way in which it had -always hitherto belonged to her. Everything -was changed. Or perhaps it was she who -was changed and who saw everything with -other eyes than of yore, and, recognising this, -she sobbed, "It will never be the same again--never, -never! I shall </span><em class="italics">never</em><span> be happy again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then, because she was so lonely and -so much in need of help, she knelt down by -her bedside, and poured out her full heart to -Him who comforts those who mourn and who -strengthens the weak and binds up the -broken-hearted. After which, still sobbing, though -more gently, she undressed and went to bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thoroughly tired out in mind and body -the poor girl slept heavily and dreamlessly for -many hours, so many in fact that she did not -awake until quite late the next morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, oh, the pain of that awaking, the pain -and the shame! Would she ever forget it?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The maidservants came into her room one -after another, the young housemaid and cook, -and Susan Gaunt, the faithful old servant who -acted as working-housekeeper; they were all -in consternation, asking question after -question of the poor distracted girl. Where were -her parents? Would she tell them what she -knew about them? When had she seen them -last? What could have happened to them? and so on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris asked what they meant? Were not -her father and mother in the house? What had -happened? What were they concealing from -her? "Tell me everything?" she implored in -piteous accents.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The servants, perceiving that she knew -nothing of her parents' disappearance, began -to answer all together, making a confusion of -voices. Their master and mistress had gone -away: they had vanished in the night. Their -beds had not been slept in. No one knew -where they had gone. And this was the day -upon which Mr. Bernard Cameron was to come -of age. Mr. Hamilton and the family lawyer -were expected to lunch, and so were -Mrs. Cameron and her son. What should they (the -servants) do if the master and mistress were -absent?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris, half stunned and wholly distracted, -ordered every one to leave the room, and, -turning her face towards the wall, shed a few -bitter tears. That, then, was what her parents -had done; they had run away and had left their -unhappy daughter behind. "It's not right! -They have not done the right thing!" Doris said -to herself. "And they might have offered to -take me with them," was the next thought: -though, upon reflection, she knew that she -could not have borne to leave Bernard in such -a way, and neither would she have consented -to flee from justice with those who had -wronged him, even though they were her own -parents.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was no use lying there crying, with her -face turned towards the wall, and so she arose, -and, having dressed, began to search for a -letter or message which might have been -left for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a long search, by the accidental -overturning of the mat by her bedroom door, she -discovered a note which had been left under -it and had thus escaped earlier recognition. It -was from her mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris locked herself into her room in order -to read the letter, which was blotched and -blurred with the tears that had been shed -over it:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"MY DARLING CHILD,--</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I am grieved to tell you that a very -terrible thing has happened. Your father has -unfortunately lost all Bernard Cameron's -money. He speculated with it as if it were -his own, in the firm belief, he says, that he -would be able to double the capital. -However, he lost everything, and he is -overwhelmed with grief and remorse, realising now, -when it is too late, that he had no right to -speculate with Bernard's money. Indeed, a -terrible penalty is attached to such a -mistake--the law deems it a crime--as he has made. -He dare not face Bernard and his mother, -Mr. Hamilton and the lawyer to-morrow, and -his only chance of escaping from a dreadful -punishment is by flight. Doris darling, my -heart is torn in two; I cannot let him go alone -for </span><em class="italics">his heart is broken</em><span>--and something dreadful -may happen if he is left to himself--so -you will forgive me, darling, but I must go -with him--</span><em class="italics">I must</em><span>. For twenty years we have -been married, and I cannot leave his side, now -that he is in despair. Oh, I know it would -be better of him, and more manly and just, -if he would stay and face the consequences of -his sin, but I </span><em class="italics">cannot</em><span> persuade him to do it, -though I have implored him with tears, and -so, if it is wrong to flee, I share the -wrong-doing, and may God forgive us! Now, my -dear Doris, when we have gone you must tell -Susan that she must give notice to our landlord -that we give up our tenancy of the house; -then she must arrange with an auctioneer to -sell all the furniture; and tell her when that -has been done, after paying the rent and taxes -and the tradesmen's bills, she must put the -remainder of the money in the bank to your -father's account.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then, as for yourself, my dear child, -it will be better for you to know nothing of -our whereabouts, or our doings. You must -go to London to my dear old friend Miss -Earnshaw, and ask her </span><em class="italics">for my sake</em><span> to give -you a home. I am sure she will do that, for -she is so good and loves me dearly. She lives -at Earl's Court Square; and you must go to -her at once, travelling by train to King's Cross, -and then taking a hansom there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Once before, long years ago, Miss -Earnshaw wanted to adopt you and make you her -heiress, but your father and I could not give -you up. Tell her we do so now, and consent -that you shall take her name--which was the -sole condition she made--it will, now, be more -honourable than our own. Farewell, dear, my -heart would break at parting from you thus -were it not that what has happened has broken -it already.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>"Your loving Mother,</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>"DOROTHY ANDERSON."</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Doris read the letter over and over again -before she could quite realise all that it meant. -She was nineteen years old, had received a -fairly good education, and now her parents had -forsaken her, leaving her entirely to her own -resources, except for the command that she -should go to London to Mrs. Anderson's old -friend, Miss Earnshaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris had never been to London, and she -had never stayed with Miss Earnshaw, though -the latter came to be at the hydro at Askern -every year, and never left without visiting them -for a few days. She was rich and generous, -and Doris knew that she would be willing -to give her a home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But oh," said the girl to herself, "it is -hard to have to leave here in this way--never -to return--under a cloud, too, a dreadfully -black cloud!" And she sighed deeply, for -it was difficult for her to understand how her -father could possibly have speculated with -money that was not his own. He was a -reserved man, who had never spoken of -business matters to her, and she was a child -yet in knowledge of the world, and did not -comprehend such things as speculating on the -Stock Exchange; but she knew that he had -done wrong--for had not her mother acknowledged -that?--and realised, with the keenest -pain, that Bernard Cameron, her lover, was -ruined by it, absolutely ruined, for he could -not continue his career at Oxford, and the -capital with which he meant to start his school, -afterwards, was all lost, too. Moreover, they -could not marry, for he was penniless, and she -a beggar, going now to beg for a home in -London. All thoughts of a marriage between -them must be over. It was a bright dream -vanished, a castle in the air pulled down and -shattered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose we must prepare the luncheon, -Miss Doris?" said Susan, when, at length, -in answer to her persistent knocking at the -door, Doris turned the key to admit her, and -as she spoke the woman cast an inquiring -glance toward the letter in Doris's hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lunch? Oh, yes, Susan! Mr. Hamilton, -Mrs. Cameron, and the others will be -coming--although----" The poor girl broke down -and wept.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't, Miss Doris! Don't cry so, dear!" -said Susan, pityingly, wiping her own tears -away as she spoke. "Master and mistress -may return in time to sit down with their guests."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, they won't. They'll never come -back!" exclaimed Doris, with another burst -of sobs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do they say in the letter?" asked -the old servant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's awful!" replied Doris. "Just see"--she -passed the letter, with a trembling hand--"see -what mother has written to me. </span><em class="italics">You</em><span> -may read it, Susan, though no one else shall. -There's a message for you in it about the -house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Susan adjusted her glasses and began to read -the letter with some difficulty, for tears were in -her eyes, and she had to take off her spectacles -again and again in order to wipe them away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" she ejaculated -more than once, as she read the letter. "That -I should have lived to see this day! My poor -mistress! What she must be suffering!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And father!" exclaimed Doris. "Oh, -how miserable he must be! For it is his fault, -you know, and the knowledge of that must -be so dreadful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot understand his doing it," said -Susan, looking deeply pained. "Such a -high-minded, honourable gentleman as he always -seemed. Your poor mother! your poor -mother!" she repeated. "What must she be -feeling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's bad for me, too," said Doris, "to be -deserted, to be left behind like this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, dearie, it is," sighed the old servant, -looking at her with great affection. "But -you must remember, 'When my father and -mother forsake me then the Lord taketh me up.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't feel as if He takes </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> up," sobbed -Doris, whose mind was too full of trouble to -receive any comfort just then. "Father and -mother </span><em class="italics">might</em><span> have kissed me and said -good-bye! Oh, it was cruel, cruel to steal away -when I was asleep!" And again she cried -as if her heart would break.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Susan endeavoured to calm her, but for -some time in vain. At last, however, the old -servant, glancing at the small clock on the -mantelpiece, exclaimed:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> prepare to meet the visitors -who are coming! Miss Doris, rouse yourself, -be brave; we have our work to do -now--afterwards we can weep." Susan brushed -away her own tears as she spoke, and, -drawing herself up, added in her more usual, -matter-of-fact tone, "I should like to have -this letter, or at least the part of it -containing that message to me, so that I -may be able to show it to those who may -question my right to sell the furniture, etc."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't spare the letter," replied Doris, "but -I will tear off the half sheet containing the -message to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, do, dearie, and write your mother's -name after it, and your own, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," said Doris, "I will write my -own name beside mother's--then it will be -seen that I have written hers for her." She -did so, adding "pro" before writing her -mother's, and then Susan took the half sheet -and went to prepare for the coming guests.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An hour afterwards, as Doris was mechanically -arranging the drawing-room in the way -her mother always liked to have it when visitors -were expected, Bernard Cameron entered -unannounced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doris!" he exclaimed, coming up to her -with outstretched hands. "My dear Doris, -what has happened? Crying? Why, darling, -what is the matter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Bernard! Bernard!" She could not -tell him for her tears; but the touch of his -cool, strong hand was comforting, and she -clung to it for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He soothed her gently until she was able -to speak and tell him what had happened since -she parted from him the night before, then she -allowed him to read her mother's letter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a great blow to the young man full -of bright anticipations and ambition, in the -full tide of his Oxford career, on the eve of -his engagement of marriage, and on the day -of his coming-of-age, to learn that he was -bereft of his entire fortune and rendered -absolutely penniless by one who had undertaken to -care for him and protect his rights; who was, -moreover, the father of his beloved, with whom -he intended to share all that he possessed. -Small wonder was it that the young man drew -back a little, covering his face with his hands, -and uttering something between a boyish sob -and a manly sigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next minute he would have turned to -Doris again, in order that he might say kind, -reassuring words; for not for a moment was -his love for her affected by her father's -wrong-doing, but they were interrupted, Mr. Hamilton -being announced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The trustee looked worried. He came -forward nervously, inquiring if Doris knew -where her father was. It was evident that he -had already heard from the servants of -Mr. Anderson's absence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris could not speak. She looked helplessly -at the man, and then at Bernard, rose -as if to leave the room, made a step or two -forward, stumbled over a footstool, and would -have fallen if Bernard had not caught hold -of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All this is too much for you," he said, -in a quick, authoritative manner. "You must -go and lie down. Mr. Hamilton, be so good -as to touch the bell. Thank you. Doris does -not know where her father is. That will do, -Doris. No need to say any more at present. -Susan," he continued, as the door opened, -"help Miss Anderson to her room. She is ill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He handed Doris over to the maid with care; -but it seemed to the poor girl that he was only -too anxious to get rid of her, now that he was -aware of the wrong her father had done him. -She was, however, relieved to be able to go -to her own room, and, under the plea of illness, -escape the harassing questions which, otherwise, -the coming guests might oblige her to answer. -In sending her to her room Bernard was really -doing the kindest thing. It never occurred to -him that she could possibly imagine that he -blamed her, or in any way felt his love for -her diminished by her father's heinous conduct.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a pity, and the cause of much unhappiness, -that he had not time to say one kind word -to the poor girl, after the grievous disclosure -she had made to him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-hard-woman"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A HARD WOMAN.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>O for the rarity</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Of Christian charity</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Under the sun!</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>LONGFELLOW.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I have come to say a bit of my mind, Doris -Anderson!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The words were hard and uncompromising. -Mrs. Cameron, who, in the twilight, had sought -and obtained access to the bedroom of the -missing trustee's daughter, stood over her -with a gesture which was almost menacing. -The difficulty she had met with in forcing her -way upstairs against the wishes of Susan and -the other frightened maidservants, in whose eyes -she looked terrible in her wrath, had much -increased her displeasure. She now longed to -"have it out" with the only member of -Mr. Anderson's family within her reach, or, as she -expressed it to Doris, to give her a "bit of -her mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not a nice mind, Doris knew, so far -as gentleness, charity, and courtesy constitute -niceness, and the poor girl shrank away from -her visitor, burying her tear-stained face still -deeper in the pillows. A pent-up sigh -escaping as she did so might have appealed to a -more tender-hearted woman, but only served -to still further incense Mrs. Cameron, who, -tossing her head with a muttered malediction, -forthwith proceeded to disclose the real -vulgarity and unkindness of her nature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's no use sniffing and crying there, young -woman," she said, "and it's not a bit of good -your playing the innocent, and pretending you -knew nothing of what was going on. Your -father is a thief and a scoundrel! Now what -is the use of your sitting up, with that white -face, and pointing to the door like a tragedy -queen? I shall say what I've come to say, -and no power on earth shall stop me. John -Anderson, your father, has stolen my poor -boy's money, and wasted every penny of it! -There is nothing left! Nothing! All has -gone! Twenty-five thousand pounds were -entrusted to your father by his dying friend -Richard Cameron, my husband, who had -unlimited faith in him, as had also Mr. Hamilton; -and it's all gone! There is nothing left! -Nothing! </span><em class="italics">Nothing</em><span>! My poor boy is ruined, -absolutely ruined! Just at the starting of his -life, when he is doing so well at Oxford, with -all his ambition----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She broke down for a moment, with something -like a sob, but, suppressing it, frowned -the more fiercely to hide the momentary -weakness, "He has this blow hurled at him by -one of the very men who, of all others, were -appointed to protect his interests, and make -everything smooth before him. It isn't as if -your father wasn't paid for being acting -executor, or trustee. My husband, who was -always just"--Mrs. Cameron was one of those -wives who abuse and quarrel with their -husbands while they have them, but after their -death wear perpetual mourning and lose no -opportunity of sounding their praises--"left -John Anderson a legacy of a hundred pounds, -to repay him for any trouble the business of -administering his estate might cause. Little -did he think what a thief and rogue the man -would turn out to be!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave the room!" gasped poor Doris, -sitting up and waving her hand frantically -towards the door. Whatever her father had -done, she could not listen to such abuse of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave the room, indeed!" cried -Mrs. Cameron, sitting down on a bedroom chair, -which trembled beneath her weight--she -weighed at least twelve stone, being stout and -tall--"I shall leave it when I choose, and -when I've said what I have to say, and not -before! And it doesn't become you, Doris," -she cried--"it doesn't become you to speak -saucily to me. You're as bad as John -Anderson, no doubt. Like father, like daughter! -You're all tarred with the same stick. If you -didn't actually take my boy's money yourself, -perhaps you used some of it; or, if you didn't, -no doubt it was your extravagance and your -mother's that made Anderson want money so -badly that he took what was not his own. -However," she went on inconsequently, "you -are as bad as he if you defend him, and take -sides against my poor boy, who never did -anything to harm you in his life----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't!" interrupted Doris, distressed -beyond measure at the idea of such a thing. -"If you only knew how I esteem Bernard, and -I----" She broke off with a saving instinct -which told her that not by pleading her love -for Bernard would she soften his mother's -heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Esteem him, and yet take the part of the -villain who has robbed him of everything?" -cried the other indignantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget"--almost soundlessly murmured -Doris, her white lips only just parting for the -words to escape--"you forget, the wrong-doer -is my father. Yes, he has done wrong--I -acknowledge it," she cried pathetically. -"But still he is my father!" And the tears -fell down her cheeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a sight to melt a heart of stone; but -Mrs. Cameron was not looking. Though her -eyes were fixed upon Doris, and her ears heard -the faintly uttered words, she perceived nothing -but her boy's wrongs and her own, the vanished -£25,000, the stopping of Bernard's education -at Oxford, the failure of her own tiny income to -provide for their daily bread and the commonest -clothes, the sinking of her son into a poor, -subordinate sphere at the very commencement -of his life, the slipping of herself into squalid, -poverty-stricken surroundings, and a narrow, -meagre old age. Another picture, too, -presented itself the next moment, and that was -the mental vision of Mr. and Mrs. Anderson -enjoying themselves abroad, in the lap of -luxury, eating and drinking at the best hotels, -arrayed in handsome clothing, and laughing, -yes, actually laughing together about the way -in which they had lightened the Camerons -pockets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That being so, it was no wonder that -Mrs. Cameron's next words were even harsher than -those which had preceded them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you've a scoundrel for a father! You -must never forget that!" she cried. "Never, -never, for one moment! Wherever you are, -whatever you may be doing, you must never -forget that. You'll have to take a back seat in -life, I can tell you. Not yours will be the lot -of other girls. With a father who is a felon in -the eyes of the law you can never marry into -a respectable family without bringing into it -such a load of disgrace as will do it a cruel wrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She fixed her eyes sharply on the girl's pale -miserable face as she spoke, with more than -a suspicion of a love affair between her and -Bernard, which she determined to quash, cost -what it might to Doris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you marry," she continued harshly, -"you will take your husband a dowry of -disgrace--that, and nothing else!" She laughed -harshly. "Why," she ejaculated the next -minute, "why, the girl's not listening!" for she -perceived Doris springing from her bed and -beginning, in trembling haste, to dress herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To get away from that terrible voice, and -the sound of those cruel words, was Doris's -first determination; her second was to go -where she could hide for ever and ever from -Bernard Cameron, lest in his noble, -disinterested love for her he should venture, -in spite of what had occurred, to insist upon -marrying her. The idea of bringing him a -dowry of disgrace was so frightful that it -over-balanced for the moment the poor, distraught -mind of the suffering girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Cameron was one of those women who, -when wronged, are blind and deaf to all else; -suffering acutely, they pour out torrents of -words, unseeing, unheeding the mischief they -may be doing to others. She, therefore, -continued talking, in a loud, harsh voice, with -unsparing bitterness, all the time Doris was -dressing and putting on her plainest outdoor -apparel; and the mother's mind having turned -to the subject of marriage, and her wish being -to destroy any thoughts Doris might have -cherished of Bernard as a possible husband, -she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My son, though poor as a pauper now--thanks -to your father--bears an unblemished -name. Honourable as the day, he comes of -a most honourable race of men. In time, -when he has worked up some sort of position -for himself, he may marry a girl with money, -and thus, in a way, attain to something like -the position he has lost. It is all a chance, -of course, but it is the only chance he has. -There are lots of girls with money. He is -handsome and taking; he must marry one of -them. Do you hear me, Doris? I say he -must! It is the only chance he has. Are -you not glad for him to have just that one -little chance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! You do not answer? Can it be, -can it possibly be," Mrs. Cameron's voice -grew hysterical, in her fear and anxiety, "that -from any foolish words the poor, ruined lad -has said--such words as lads will say to giddy -girls--you can possibly consider him at all, in -any way, bound to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The poor girl would not answer. She -looked appealingly around. Was there no one -who could save her from this woman? Where -was Bernard? Why was he not at her side, to -shield and protect her? The next moment -she realised the impossibility of his being there -in her bedroom; and again her eyes roved -longingly round the limited space.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the morrow no doubt pitying friends, -hearing of her trouble, would rally round her: -the clergyman's wife, the doctor's, the ladies -to whose school she used to go, and others, -acquaintances more or less intimate. There -was not one of them who would not be kinder -to her than this woman, who was goading her -now beyond endurance. But they were absent--and -Mrs. Cameron was so very, very present.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mean to say--do you mean to say--there -is anything between you, the daughter -of a criminal, who shall yet be brought to -justice, if there be any power in the arm of -the law, and my son--my stainless, innocent -child? Will you answer me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The room, which was going round and -round, in a cloud of darkness crossed by sparks -of light, seemed to Doris to assume once more -its ordinary appearance, as she came round -out of a half-swoon. What to answer, -however, she knew not. She could only dimly -comprehend the question. Was there -anything between her, overwhelmed as she was -with disgrace, and Bernard, poor, defrauded, -yet honourable in the eyes of all men? Was -there anything between them? Yes. There -was something between them--there was love. -But could she speak of that to a third person, -and that third person one so aggressive as -Mrs. Cameron? She felt she could not: -therefore again she was silent, while the woman -poured out on her the wrath which now -completely over-mastered her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You bad girl!" she cried. "Not content -with your father's having ruined my boy by -stealing all his money, you are mean enough -and wicked enough to deliberately determine to -cut away his one remaining chance of rising -in the world! 'Pon my word"--all the -vulgarity of the woman was coming to the -surface--"you would ruin him body and soul, if you -could! All for your own ambition, that you, -too, may rise in the world; you intend to cling -to him as a limpet clings to a rock--and he -won't be able to raise you, not he, poor -lad! but you will drag him down into the mire, -which will close over his head and then--then -perhaps you will be content."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She waited for Doris to speak, but still the -girl was unable to articulate a word. She was -fastening her hat now, and putting the last -touches to her veil and gloves; in a moment -or two she would be able to escape into the -open air, and into the night, now fast coming on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is to his chivalry, doubtless, that you are -trusting, to his generosity, his love, his charity, -his magnanimity. By his virtues you would -slay him, that is, I mean, debase him in the -eyes of the world--the world we live in," -continued the upbraiding voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Doris, stung beyond endurance and -driven to bay, made answer, confronting -Mrs. Cameron proudly, with her little head held -high:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You may keep your son. I will never -marry him. He is nothing to me now--</span><em class="italics">nothing</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can tell him that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell him," cried Doris passionately, "tell -him that I would not marry the son of such -a mother for any consideration in the world! -Tell him that I would </span><em class="italics">rather die</em><span>." She -felt at that moment as if she would, for the -woman's cruel words had dragged her heart -far from its moorings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next moment Mrs. Cameron was alone, -standing in the middle of the room, where she -had so brow-beaten and insulted the innocent -daughter of that unhappy house, listening to -Doris's retreating footsteps on the stairs and in -the hall, and then the gentle closing of the -outer door.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="bernard-searches-for-doris"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">BERNARD SEARCHES FOR DORIS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Life is so sad a thing, its measure</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Brims over full with human tears;</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>A blighted hope, a buried treasure,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Infinite pain, delusive pleasure,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Make sorrowful our years.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>* * * * *</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Heaven is so near, oh friend, 'tis yonder,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>God's word doth clear the uncertain way;</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>His hand will bear thee, lest thou wander,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>His Spirit teach thee thoughts to ponder</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Till thou hast found the day.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>LOLA MARSHALL DEANE.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Doris had gone. She had promised never to -marry Bernard. The young people were parted -for ever. Mrs. Cameron, though poor, had -her son, her dear, if penniless, son all to herself. -By a vigorous onslaught she had defeated and -driven away the enemy, utterly routed and -confounded. It was a moment of triumph for -her, and yet she felt anything but triumphant; -and it was with a cross and gloomy countenance -that she proceeded downstairs in search of her -son, whom she found at last closeted with -Mr. Hamilton in the study.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is Doris?" asked Bernard, rising as -his mother entered, and offering her a chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Cameron sat down heavily, a little -disconcerted by this interrogation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does that matter?" she snapped. -"The question is how are we, the wronged, -defrauded, robbed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her son looked at her impatiently. "After -all, it is worse for Doris," he said, with great -feeling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Worse?" ejaculated his mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Worse?" echoed Mr. Hamilton. He was -a long, lean man, remarkable for his habitual -silence and great learning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, ten thousand times worse!" cried -Bernard. "We have lost only our money, but -she has lost her parents, her home, her money, -and everything--that is, almost everything," -correcting himself, as a smile flitted across his -face, "at one stroke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bernard is right--and the poor girl has -the disgrace to bear as well," interjected -Mr. Hamilton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Humph!" Mrs. Cameron tossed her head. -"The Andersons deserve all that they have -got," she was beginning, when Bernard stopped -her hastily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother," he said, and his tone had lost -its usual submissiveness in speaking to her, -"Doris has nothing to do with the cause of -our misfortunes. She knew nothing about all -this until after it had happened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you know?" asked Mrs. Cameron sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doris told me so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doris told you so! And you believed her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and always shall!" cried Bernard, his -face glowing and his eyes flashing. "And I -would have you understand, mother, that I -will have no word said against Doris. She -and I are engaged to be married. She is my -promised wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a dead silence in the room when -his clear, manly voice ceased speaking. His -mother was too much astounded and disturbed -to easily find words; she had not imagined -things had gone quite so far as that between -the young people. And Mr. Hamilton, not -knowing what to say, shrank back into his -habitual silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is my promised wife," said Bernard -again, and there was even more pride and -confidence in his young tones. A smile, joyous -and brilliant, broke out all over his handsome -face. Forgotten were the pecuniary troubles -now, the broken career at Oxford, the school -that would never be his. In their place was -Doris, his beautiful beloved, who would more -than make up to him for all and everything. -To his mother's amazement and consternation -he went on rapidly, "I shall marry her at once, -then I shall have the right to protect her against -every breath of calumny,--though indeed, if -you will respect my wish, Mr. Hamilton," he -added, turning to the minister, "and will not -tell the police, or prosecute Mr. Anderson, the -matter can be hushed up as far as possible, -and her name will not be tarnished. But in -any case, </span><em class="italics">in any case</em><span>," he repeated, "Doris -is mine. I shall marry her and work for her. -If the worst comes to the worst, I can get a -clerkship, or a post as schoolmaster--and -with Doris, with Doris," he concluded, "I -shall be very, </span><em class="italics">very</em><span> happy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His mother's words broke like a bombshell -into the midst of his fond imaginings. "Doris -has just been telling me," she said, in low, -cruel tones, "that she will </span><em class="italics">never</em><span> marry you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What? What are you saying?" exclaimed -Bernard, agitatedly, the joy in his face giving -place to an expression of great anxiety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His mother said again, "Doris has just been -saying to me that she will never, </span><em class="italics">never</em><span> marry -you. She told me I was to tell you so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But this is most unaccountable!" cried -Bernard, beginning to walk up and down the -room. "This is most unaccountable," he -repeated. "Why, she told me----" he broke -off, beginning again, "Where is she? I must -see her--must hear from her own lips the -reason of this change."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You cannot see her, Bernard," said his -mother, in slow, icy tones. "You cannot see -her. She is not in this house----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not in this house? Not here? What -do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She has gone away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But where? Where has she gone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But has she left no message for me?" he -asked, with exceeding anxiousness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She left the message I have given you," -answered his mother. "Tell Bernard," she -said, "that I will never, </span><em class="italics">never</em><span> marry him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That message I refuse to receive!" cried -Bernard. "Poor Doris was in such trouble -she did not know what she was saying--I am -sure she did not mean that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you think I am telling you a -lie?" began his mother hotly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard did not reply, indeed he did not -apparently hear her words. He hurried out -into the hall, got his hat, and then returned -to the room to say to his mother:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you no idea where Doris has gone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not the least!" snapped Mrs. Cameron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall find out. I shall follow her, -wherever she has gone. You will not see me again -till she is found!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bernard! You silly lad!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he had gone. No use, Mrs. Cameron, -in rushing after him into the hall, with all the -arguments you can think of! No use in standing -there, frowning and execrating his folly! -The influence that draws him after Doris, in -her poor distracted flight, is stronger than that -which binds him to your warped and selfish -nature. Love is spurring his footsteps onward, -far, far away from you. If you wish to keep -him by your side, you, too, must have some -of its magic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard first went on his bicycle to -Doncaster, to the railway station, where, after -many inquiries and much futile questioning, -he ascertained that a young lady answering -to the description he gave of Miss Anderson -had booked for King's Cross, London, and -had set off to go there by the 7.34 train.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without hesitation he determined to follow -her by the next express, which was to leave -Doncaster at 11.18. It was then eight o'clock, -so he had time to cycle back to Doris's -home, there to question Susan Gaunt as to -what relations or friends Miss Anderson had -in London besides Miss Earnshaw, for he -thought that in case Doris had not gone to -her, as her mother had directed in the letter -he had seen, she might be with other friends.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Susan was in a state of great distress and -anxiety when she heard that her dear young -lady had gone alone to London so late in the -evening. "There will be no one to meet her -when she arrives!" cried the good woman. "It -will be night, and Miss Doris has never been -to London before! She won't know what to do. -There won't be any one to take care of her. -Oh, dear! Oh, dear! what will she do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'm going after her," said Bernard, -"as fast as I can. And I intend to go straight -to Miss Earnshaw's in Earl's Court Square. -She will go there, I suppose?" And he looked -searchingly into the old servant's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir. She will go there, for her mother -told her to do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, in case she is not there when I -arrive?" said the young man tentatively, -"have you any idea of any other friends in -London to whom she may go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir; no," answered Susan, shaking -her head. "She knows no one in London -except Miss Earnshaw. How should she -when she has never been there? Oh, my -poor young lady! My poor, dear young lady! -God grant she may find Miss Earnshaw!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard left her in tears, and hurried off to -his home, in order to pack a small bag which -he could carry on his bicycle to Doncaster -Station. Having trimmed his bicycle-lamp -and eaten a little supper, without much appetite, -he strapped his bag on his bicycle and again -set off for Doncaster, arriving there in time -for the first night express.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During the hours of that long, rapid journey -south he was full of fears and doubts; fears -for the welfare of the girl who had run away -from her old home in such terrible grief, and -despair and doubt as to his power to find, -console, and persuade her to take back her -promise not to marry him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hours of the night wore slowly away, -until at 3.5 in the morning his train arrived -at King's Cross. Nothing could be done at -that hour, and, after making inquiries at the -station as to whether any young lady had -arrived by the train from Doncaster, which -reached King's Cross at 10.45 P.M., without -eliciting any satisfactory information, he lounged -about for a couple of hours, and then went out -in search of a coffee-house, and was glad to -find one at last where he could obtain some -hot, if muddy, coffee, and a little bread and -butter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The homely fare caused him to realise the -state of his finances as nothing else would -have done. This was what it meant to be -bereft of fortune! For others would be -the comforts and pleasant appointments of good -hotels; for others would be ease, culture, -and luxuries: he himself would have to -take a poor man's place in the world. He -would have to be content with penny cups -of coffee and halfpenny buns, with poor -clothes and a little home--thankful indeed -if he could secure that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But no matter," he said to himself, raising -his head and smiling so brightly that several -persons in the coffee-house turned to look at -him. "No matter, if I win Doris for my wife. -With her dear face near me, and her sweet -and gentle words of encouragement sounding -in my ears, I can bear all and everything. -She will transform a plain little cottage into a -palace by her presence, and will make a poor -man rich. I can be content with anything, -shall want nothing, when I have Doris." And -afterwards, when he was walking about in the -soft, misty rain, which seemed to him so black -and cheerless, he said again to himself, "It -doesn't matter. Nothing matters now that I -am going to Doris."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For he felt confident that he would find -her at Earl's Court Square when he arrived -there. Of course she would have gone straight -there in a cab, as it would be night-time -when she arrived at King's Cross. There was -nothing else that she could do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He would follow her as soon as he possibly -could. Dear little Doris! How glad she -would be that he had not taken her at her -word, if indeed she had sent him that cruel -message! How devoted she would think him -to follow her at once! How much comforted -she would be to receive the protestations of -unchanging, nay, more, increasing love!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Time seemed to drag with leaden wings, -until what he thought a decent hour for calling -upon Doris began to approach. Then he took -a hansom in a hurry, bidding the cabman -drive to Earl's Court Square as fast as he -could.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was scarcely ten o'clock when he stood at -the great door of the house in Earl's Court -Square, touching the electric button, and -waiting in breathless suspense for the door to -open. No one answered his summons for -quite five minutes--which seemed an eternity -to him--then the door slowly opened, and a -lad in plain livery stood before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Miss Anderson in?" inquired Bernard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Anderson, sir?" asked the page slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Miss Anderson. Has she not arrived?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir. I don't know whom you mean, sir. -There is no one here of that name."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Doris had not arrived! It was a -great blow to poor Bernard. "Can I see Miss -Earnshaw?" he asked at length.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir. You can't, sir. She is dead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dead?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir. She died suddenly yesterday of -heart disease. Very sudden it was, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dead! Miss Earnshaw! Then what had -become of Doris? "Are you quite sure that -a young lady did not come here in the early -hours of this morning?" asked Bernard, slipping -a coin into the youth's hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The touch of silver seemed to quicken the -latter's memory. "I was in bed, sir. But -if you wait here I will ask Mr. Giles, the -butler," he said, inviting Bernard into the hall -and going in search of the information he -needed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently he returned with a deferential -butler, who said to Bernard:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There was a young lady came to this -house in a hansom, sir, about one o'clock this -morning. She wanted Miss Earnshaw, and -seemed terribly cut up to find she was dead. -She saw Mr. Earnshaw, Miss Earnshaw's -distant cousin, who inherits everything. But -I think he couldn't do anything for her, sir, -for she went away in great trouble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is Mr. Earnshaw?" demanded -Bernard excitedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He went off by an early train to Reigate, -where he lives. He won't return until the day -of the funeral."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When will that be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Day after to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me his address. I must wire to -him!" exclaimed Bernard. "Did you observe -whether the lady went away in a cab or -walked?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The butler had not noticed the manner of -her departure, nor had any one else in the -house. All the inquiries Bernard made--and -they were many--resulted in nothing. Doris -had vanished as completely as it was possible -for any one to vanish in our great and crowded -metropolis.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard was in the greatest distress and -anxiety about her, and sought for her in every -possible way, by advertising, through the police, -by telegraphing, and when he returned from -Reigate by a personal interview with -Mr. Earnshaw, who said that he had told her that -any claim she, Miss Doris Anderson, had on -Miss Earnshaw could not be considered at all -by him, for he had nothing to do with it, and -could not see his way to do anything to help her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard said strong words, and looked with -exceeding anger upon the wealthy man who -had just inherited the great house. But the -warmth of his feelings only hastened his -own departure, for Mr. Earnshaw requested -his servant to show him out with all speed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And nowhere in London could Bernard -discover a trace of Doris Anderson, though -he sought for her diligently and with care.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard was a true Christian, possessing -earnest faith, otherwise he would have been -perfectly overwhelmed by these sad reverses -of love and fortune; as it was, although he -was very unhappy, hope never quite left him, -and in this, his darkest hour, he was able to -trust in God and take courage.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="doris-alone-in-london"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VI.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">DORIS ALONE IN LONDON.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Most men in a brazen prison live</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Where is the sun's lost eye,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>With heads bent o'er their toil, they languidly</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Their lives to some unmeaning task, work give,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Dreaming of nought beyond their prison-wall.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>But often in the world's most crowded streets,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And often in the din of strife,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>There rises an unspeakable desire</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>After the knowledge of our buried life.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>MATTHEW ARNOLD.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Doris felt quite stunned when she found that -her friend Miss Earnshaw was dead, and that -Mr. Earnshaw, the heir, refused to recognise -any obligation to be kind to one whom she had -loved. Night though it was when Doris -arrived in London she hurried to Earl's Court -Square in a cab, for she knew not where else -to go. It seemed to her most fortunate that -Miss Earnshaw's house was lighted up, little -knowing the reason for it. And then the shock -of learning the sad news of the sudden decease -of her old friend was great, and the cold and -almost rude behaviour of Mr. Earnshaw, who -would have nothing to do with one whom he -looked upon as a protégée of his late cousin's, -gave poignancy to her distress.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 60%" id="figure-62"> -<span id="the-shock-of-learning-the-sad-news-was-great"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""THE SHOCK OF LEARNING THE SAD NEWS WAS GREAT."" src="images/img-061.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"THE SHOCK OF LEARNING THE SAD NEWS WAS GREAT."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris had very little money in her purse, -and knew not what to do. Mechanically therefore -she returned to the cab, whose driver she -had not paid, and re-entered it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where next, madam?" asked the cabman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not knowing what to say, Doris made no -answer. Was there in all the world, she -wondered, a being more deplorably hopeless, -homeless, and overwhelmed with trouble -than she? Where could she turn? What -could she do? It was out of the question that -she should return to Yorkshire, where there -was now nothing but ruin and disgrace for an -Anderson. She would not encounter -Mrs. Cameron again if she could by any means -avoid doing so, and she had promised never to -marry her son. Bernard would be sorry for -her now, she knew, yes, very sorry indeed. -Still he had shrunk from her and looked very -strange upon hearing of her father's misappropriation -of his money and absconding, which -was enough truly to seriously lessen his -affection for her. Indeed, Doris thought he could -no longer love her, in which case she had -certainly lost him entirely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Father, mother, lover, all gone; cut off from -friends by a black cloud of disgrace and shame, -penniless and alone, terribly alone in a world of -which she knew so little, amidst dangers more -vast than she, with her limited experience, -could imagine, what could she do? Surely -God as well as man had forsaken her! She -turned quite sick and faint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where to, lady?" asked the cabman again, -and this time there was a note of compassion -in his rough voice which appealed to Doris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She burst into tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man turned his head aside. He was -one of nature's gentlemen, though only a poor -cabman, and it was not for him to look upon a -lady's tears. He stepped back to his horse -the next minute, and pretended to busy himself -with the harness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris had time to recover. In a few -minutes she was able to check her tears. Then -she beckoned to the cabman to approach.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am in trouble," she said; "the friend to -whose house you have driven me died suddenly -yesterday----" She broke down pitifully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cabman nodded. "That's bad!" said -he, looking down on the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what to do," added Doris in -tones of despair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There'll be servants in this big house, -won't they take you in for the remainder of -the night, at least," suggested the man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I dare say they would if they were alone," -answered Doris. "But there is a man in the -house--I cannot call him a gentleman--who -says everything is now his, and that I have -no claim upon him, and he will do nothing -for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cabman muttered something strong, and -then broke off to apologise for speaking so -roughly. "You'll excuse me, miss," he added, -"if I say I should like to punch the fellar's -'ead. May I go to the door and make 'em -take you in if I can?" he asked finally.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thank you," replied Doris. "I am -poor and homeless"--her lips quivered--"but -I am too proud to intrude where I am not -wanted." She turned her head on one side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The horse started forward a step or two, -and the cabman went to its head. A sudden -gust of wind and rain swept over Doris through -the open door, causing her to shiver. The -man returned to her side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We can't stay here any longer, miss," he -said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No"--Doris hesitated--"no, but----" she -paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where shall I take you, lady?" asked the -cabman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," replied Doris miserably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man stood waiting somewhat impatiently. -All was silent in the square: there were no -passers by, except one solitary policeman, who -stood to look at them for a moment, and then -passed on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drive me to an hotel, please," said Doris -at length.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, lady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cabman drove her to two or three hotels -without avail; either they were closed for the -night, or the night-porter on duty refused to -admit a lady without any luggage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again the cabman came to Doris for orders. -"What will you do?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," replied Doris, pitifully, with -quivering lips. She felt terribly desolate and -lonely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fortunately for her the cabman happened to -be an honest man, who had a wife and children -of his own, therefore seeing his "fare" so -helpless, and so entirely ignorant of the great -city, with its immense dangers for a young -and solitary girl, stranded in its midst, in the -night-time, he suggested, "You might go to -a decent lodging, lady, until morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I should be glad. But how can I -find one? Do you know of one?" asked the -girl desperately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's my mother at King's Cross. She's -poor, but respectable, and she lets lodgings -and happens to have no one in them at -present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris looked at him as he spoke. Could -she venture to go to his mother? He seemed -an honest man. And what else could she do?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother's house is clean," continued the -cabman. "She lives in a quiet street a few -doors from where I live with my wife and -children. Mother's always been very particular -about her lodgers: and she's so clean," he -persisted. "Any one might eat off her floor, -as they say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The simple words appealed to Doris; they -bore the stamp of sincerity, and so also did the -honest kindly face of the poor man. But still -she hesitated: her common sense told her she -could not be too careful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you'd look at this, miss," said the -man, putting his hand in his breast pocket -and producing a small New Testament. He -opened it and pointed to the inscription written -on the fly-leaf, which Doris read by the light -of the cab-lamp:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Presented to Sam Austin by his friend and -teacher the Rev. Charles Barnett, as a small -acknowledgment of his valuable assistance in -the St. Michael's Night School, London, N."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How nice!" said Doris. "Thank you for -showing that to me. I will go to your mother's. -I am sure she must be a good woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is indeed, lady. A better woman -never lived, though I say it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drive me there, please," said Doris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man shut the door of the cab and -returned to his seat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An hour afterwards poor tired Doris found -herself comfortably lodged in a small but -respectable house near King's Cross, and -before retiring to rest she thanked God for -His providential care of her during the -difficulties and dangers of the night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Downstairs Mrs. Austin was giving her son -a cup of cocoa and asking questions about the -young lady he had brought to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We don't know anything about her, Sam," -she said cautiously. "There is of course no -doubt about her being in trouble, and looking -as good as an angel, too, but one can never -tell. I'd rather she'd have had some luggage. -Don't you think if she had come up from the -country to stay with her friend, now, she'd have -had some luggage?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, yes, so she would in an ord'nary -way--but we don't know all the circumstances. -And it was a first-class big house in a fashionable -square, and she went up to the door as -boldly as if she expected a welcome----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which she didn't get, and they wouldn't -have anything to do with her there. That -looks bad. For the rest you have only her -own tale to go by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother, are you going to turn her out?" -asked Sam, with reproach in his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Sam, I can't do that. But I shall -keep my eyes open."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll be good to her, mother, I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, of course." Mrs. Austin smiled, and -her son knew that she would keep her word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went away then with his cab, and Mrs. Austin -closed her house for the night and went -upstairs to bed, pausing on the landing by her -new lodger's door. Did the girl want anything, -she wondered, and after a low knock she -opened the door softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris was kneeling by her bed-side, and with -a little nod of satisfaction Mrs. Austin withdrew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris's sleep, when at last she sought her -couch, was long, so that when she awoke it -was afternoon and she found her landlady -standing by her bedside, with a little tray, on -which was tea and toast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are very good to me, Mrs. Austin," -she said, gratefully, as she partook of the -refreshing tea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm very pleased to have such a nice -lodger, miss," said the widow, completely won -over and forgetting all her misgivings, as her -stout, good-humoured countenance expanded in -a broad smile. "There are some who like -gentlemen lodgers best, but I don't. 'Give -me a nice young lady,' says I, 'and you may -take all your gentlemen!'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris smiled a little dolefully. "But I -haven't very much money----" she began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you worrit yourself about that, -miss! The sovereign you gave me when you -came in will see you through at least two -weeks here, so far as lodging is concerned--of -course the food will come to rather more--but -it may be that you will find work, if it is -work you are wanting, miss, though you do -seem too much of a lady for that sort of -thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall have to work," said Doris, "because -I have very little money, and no one to give -me any more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear me, that's bad. Might I make so -bold, miss, as to ask if you have been running -away from home--from your parents, miss?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Running away from her parents? How -different the case really was! It was her -parents who had run away from her! But she -could not tell Mrs. Austin this. She therefore -only shook her head, saying gently, "I lost my -parents before leaving home. The--the reason -I have no luggage is this, I--I was in great -trouble when I came away, and so I forgot -to pack any."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then can't you send for your luggage, -miss?" asked the woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no. There are reasons why the people -I left, at least one of them, must not know -where I am. So I can't send. Besides, I left -in debt, and as I cannot pay the money, I want -the people to have my clothes and jewellery."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin's round eyes opened wider. -It was queer, and her first feelings of -compassion, which had been aroused by her lodger's -pitiable situation, and by the fact that she had -seen her on her knees, became mingled with -doubts and suspicions. This young lady left -the last place she stayed at in debt; it would -behove her present landlady to be careful lest -she, too, should be taken in. Miss Anderson -was very young and innocent-looking, but it -was wonderful how sharp those baby-faced -girls could be!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall have to buy a few things," said -Doris, "and that will cost money. But I must -look out for work immediately. The question -is, what can I do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think you can do a great many -things, miss," said Mrs. Austin. "A young -lady like you will almost have been taught -everything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris shook her head. "I know a smattering -of many things," she said, "but I doubt -if I could earn money by any one of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, miss, time will show. I wouldn't -worrit myself about it this evening, if I were -you--I would just lie still and go to sleep. -You're worn out, that's what you are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris took this good advice so far as to lie -down again after she had her tea, with her -face to the wall. But for some time she did -not go to sleep, for her heart ached too much; -yet she did not weep, though there was a pain -at the back of her eyes which hurt more than -tears, and did not give her the relief that they -would have given. She felt keenly her changed -circumstances. Two days ago she had a -good home, kind parents, an ardent lover, -and many friends and acquaintances; now she -had lost all. She was homeless, her parents -had forsaken her, she and her lover had -parted for ever. She was without friends -and without acquaintances, for they, too, -were left behind. "I am alone, quite alone," -she thought; and then remembered that the -best Friend of all, her Heavenly Father, was -still with her. That idea saved her from -despair, and gave birth to the resolve that she -would not allow herself to sink beneath her -troubles, but would keep a brave heart and -endeavour to live worthily. Her life would be -different from of old; yes, but it need not be -worse--rather, it should be better. -Longfellow's familiar words rose to her mind:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Not enjoyment and not sorrow</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Is our destined end or way;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>But to act that each to-morrow</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Finds us further than to-day.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And she grasped the idea, even then, in that -hour of bitter humiliation and despair, that -the brave soul is not made by circumstances, -and the environment which they bring, but, -strengthened by Him who first trod the narrow -way, it makes stepping-stones of what would -otherwise deter and hinder it, pressing on to -the prize of our high calling, the "Well done, -good and faithful servant!" of our Master.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Doris said to herself, "I will live to -some purpose, and first of all I will set before -myself one aim above all others. If I possibly -can earn money enough, in some way or other, -I will repay Bernard the money of which my -father robbed him--yes, that shall be my -ambition. To pay the debt--the debt my -father owes him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Twenty-five thousand pounds! An immense -sum truly! But immense are the courage -and the hopefulness of youth, inexperienced, -ignorant but magnificent with the rainbow hues -of undaunted imagination.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When at last Doris fell asleep the last words -she murmured to herself were these:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>To pay the debt.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And her last thought was that she would be -honourable and true to the teaching of that -Voice which is not far from any one of us, -if only we have hearing ears and an -understanding heart.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="friends-in-need"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">FRIENDS IN NEED.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Like threads of silver seen through crystal beads</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Let Love through good deeds show.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>SIR EDWIN ARNOLD.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>This is a very hard world for those who, -untrained for any special vocation, find -themselves through stress of circumstances driven -into the labour market, to oppose with -unskilful hands and untrained brain the skilful and -highly trained labour of professional workers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pretty golden-haired Doris, with her slender -array of accomplishments and small amount of -book learning, found herself at a great -disadvantage as compared with girls who had -received a sound Board School, or High School, -education. As a teacher she could find no -employment, having no certificates, and -testimonials, or references to give. After -answering many advertisements, which entailed much -expenditure in bus and train fares, though she -walked whenever she could, thereby saving her -pennies at the cost of shoe leather, she was -obliged to come to the conclusion that not -by teaching would her money be earned. The -same ill success attended her search for a -situation as lady's companion. Her want of -references alone debarred her from any chance -of success in that direction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One day, when passing down a well-known -street in north London, she perceived a notice -in a dress and milliner's shop window stating -that young girls were much needed as junior -assistants. She therefore went in to make -inquiries, and found that if she liked to go -there and sew from morning to night she -would receive in payment a couple of meals -a day and eighteenpence a week. It would -be impossible for her to be lodged also, the -manageress said, as they had as many hands -living in as they had beds for. Plenty of girls -were to be had for that trifling wage, as they -went there to get an insight into the business, -hoping to pass on to better work and higher -wages in due course.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As it was impossible for Doris to pay for -a bedroom out of such a wage she was -compelled to decline the work; and as the weeks -passed by and nothing better turned up she -at last found herself in a pawn shop, trying -to raise a little money on her watch and chain, -and undergoing a truly humiliating experience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The day came, only too soon, when Doris -was obliged to confess to her landlady that -she could no longer pay for her week's lodging -in advance. By that time, however, Mrs. Austin -had conceived a real attachment to her -young lady lodger. When, therefore, Doris -stated her sad case, with tears in her eyes, -the good woman's heart was touched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now don't you take on about that, miss, -don't!" she cried. "I shall not ask you for -any more money till I am obliged, miss. I -know you will pay me when you can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You may be quite sure I shall do that," -said Doris. "I am only too distressed at the -idea of your having to wait for the money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin went out of the room, to return, -however, in a few minutes with what she -thought might be a "helpful suggestion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you can paint, miss," she said, "perhaps -they may be willing to sell your pictures at -some of the picture shops."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris's face brightened. Her little -water-colour and oil paintings had been very much -admired at home. But she sighed the next -moment, as she said gently, "I have no paints -here, or brushes, or canvas, or anything!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have thought of that," said Mrs. Austin -cheerfully. "Just you come upstairs with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She led the way up the narrow stairs to the -back bedroom where she slept, and pointed -to a chest of drawers with no little pride. -"My Sam made that," she said, "when he -was a joiner and cabinet maker, before he took -to cab driving, which I wish sometimes he had -not done. For it's a life of temptation. The -fares so often give drinks to cabmen--'specially -on cold nights. Sam says it's almost impossible -sometimes to keep from taking too much; and -his wife has cried more than once because he -has come home 'with three sheets in the wind,' -as they call it. And he's reckoned a sober -man, for he's that naturally, only he lives in -the way of temptation. But now, look here, -miss!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Opening a drawer Mrs. Austin displayed all -sorts of painting materials heaped up within it. -Water-colour paints, drawing blocks, palettes, -oil-tubes, canvases, pencils, and chalks were all -mixed up together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"These belonged to my dear son Silas," -said Mrs. Austin, wiping her eyes with a -corner of her apron. "He was never strong -like Sam, he was always a delicate lad. He -couldn't do hard work, with his poor thin hands -and weakly legs. But he was a rare lad for -a bit of colour. 'Mother, I'll be an artist,' -he oft said to me. And I had him taught. -He used to attend classes, and go to a School -of Art--I was at a deal of expense--and now, -now he's gone!" She broke down, sobbing -bitterly, while Doris put her arms round her -neck and kissed her poor red face, which was -all she could do to comfort her. "He's gone," -continued the widow pathetically, "to be an -artist up above, if so be it's true that God -permits people to carry on their work on high."</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"On the earth the broken arcs, in the</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Heaven a perfect round,"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>quoted Doris softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, miss, I think so," said the poor woman, -whom sorrow had taught much. "My Silas, -he said to me when he lay dying, 'Mother, God -is the Master Artist, He began me, just as -I begin my pictures, and He never makes -mistakes, or wastes His materials; He'll turn -me into something good over there, as it isn't -to be down here.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He had beautiful faith," said Doris, "and -I am sure it will be as he said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my dear young lady," cried the other, -with great feeling, "I thank God that He -sent you here! I do feel so comforted to have -you here, and I do hope you will do me the -favour to accept these painting things--every -one of them, please. Then you can paint -pictures and sell them, as my poor dear boy -wanted to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris, however, was reluctant to accept so -much, and only did so at last on the -understanding that if she were so fortunate as to -sell her pictures Mrs. Austin should have a -percentage of the pay, for the use of the -materials. That settled, it became necessary -to arrange where the work should be done; -for both Doris's bedroom and the little front -parlour, where she sat and had her meals, were -too dark for the purpose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin was equal to the occasion. -"Why shouldn't you have the top attic, where -my boy used to paint?" she said. "There's -a sky-light, you know; and my Silas always -said the light fell beautiful in his study, or -studio, as he used to call it. Do come upstairs -and see what it is like?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris did so, and found a large attic lighted -by a huge sky-light. Boxes and lumber littered -the floor, an old square table was against the -wall, and a rather decrepit easel stood under -the sky-light; a few plaster casts, and big -discoloured chalk drawings, were scattered -about, or stuck on the walls with gum-paper, -or sealing wax. The atmosphere of the attic -was close and fusty, it having evidently been -shut up for a long time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, this is the very place for me to -paint in!" exclaimed Doris. "Will the -skylight open? Oh, thanks!" as the landlady, -opening it, let in a pleasant draught of fresh -air. "That is charming!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will clean and tidy up the place for you, -miss, and bring a chair or two in, and scrub -the table clean, and then you can begin as -soon as you like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin was as good as her word, and -when Doris returned to the attic in the -afternoon quite a transformation had taken place, -and, if not an ideal studio, it was certainly a -light and extremely picturesque one. An old -but clean rug had been found for the centre -of the floor, an old-fashioned Windsor -armchair and a three-legged stool were placed -near the table, on which was spread a large -old crimson cloth, while a little cheap art -muslin of the colour of old gold was draped -here and there as curtains to hide the unsightly -lumber. The attic smelt rather strongly of -soft soap and soda, but that, the landlady -remarked succinctly, was "a good fault," and -certainly through the open sky-light came -remarkably good air for London.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris could not do anything that first day, -as by the time she had put a few touches to -the room and arranged her things it was too -dark to paint. But there was gas laid on, -so she sat at the table that evening, with -pencil and paper before her, making little -sketches from memory of places she had seen, -which she intended to utilise for her paintings -by daylight. And as she did so, for the first -time since the dreadful night on which she had -heard of her father's crime, something like -happiness returned to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Great is the power of work to tide us over -waves of trouble--waves strong enough, if we -sit brooding over them, with idle hands clasped -on our knees, to sink our little crafts in the -sea of life, so that they will never reach the -quieter waters where they can sail serenely. -"Work hard at something, work hard," said -the Philosopher of Labour, over and over -again. "Idleness alone is worst: idleness -alone is without hope." Work, he went on -to say, cleared away the ill humours of the -mind, making it ready to receive all sweet and -gracious influences. And in Doris's case it -was so for a while that evening; and day -by day afterwards as she sat busily working -in her attic, the cloud of shame--laid upon -her innocent shoulders by her guilty father--lifted -and disappeared; for she felt instinctively, -as she worked, that she, at all events, had no -part nor lot in that matter, but was doing her -best--feebly enough, yet nevertheless her best--to -destroy one of the consequences of his -sin, which was certainly the right thing to do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And as she worked Hope came, touching -with rainbow hues the dreary outlines of her -dismal thoughts, letting a little light in here -and shutting a little dark out there, until the -future began to look less drearily forlorn, and -even became gradually endowed with pleasant -happenings. She would sell her pictures, at -first for low prices which would tempt -purchasers; they would be liked, orders would -pour in, she would raise her prices, earning -more and more money. Living on quietly -where she was, with good, kind Mrs. Austin, -she would save what was not actually needed -for her simple wants; and thus would begin that -secret hoard which, she hoped, would one day -grow to such dimensions that she could pay part -of the debt her father owed Bernard Cameron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she grew happier every day, and as -Mrs. Austin never failed to applaud loudly -every little picture that was made she thought -that others, too, would see some beauty in -them. She knew, of course, that the good -landlady was only an uncultivated, ignorant woman, -and therefore one who could not be a judge -of art, yet Doris fondly imagined that, having -had a son who aspired to be an artist, -Mrs. Austin must know more of such things than -ordinary women of her class.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was disillusioned only too soon. There -came a day upon which, having half a dozen -little pictures finished, she ventured out bravely -for the purpose of offering them for sale. Sam -Austin, who took a great interest in the project, -had, at his mother's solicitation, written down -for her the names and addresses of three or -four picture-dealers, and, not content with -doing that, he was most anxious to drive her -to their shops in his cab, in order that she -might make a good impression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It won't do, mother," he said, "to let -them dealers imagine that she can hardly scrape -together a living by her work. They would -not think it very valuable in that case. Folks -usually take us for what we appear to be in -this world; and if we want to get on we must -not let outsiders peep behind the scenes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris would have preferred to go alone, in -order that she might make her little venture -unobserved even by the cabman's friendly eyes; -but, not liking to grieve him and his mother, -she accepted the offer of his cab, and was -accordingly driven over to what she hoped -would be the scenes of her triumph and success, -but which proved instead to be those of bitter -humiliation and disappointment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cheerful and brave she was when she stepped -out of her cab and entered the first picture-dealer's -shop, with her brown paper parcel in -her hand, to return saddened, disheartened, -and chagrined ten minutes later, with the same -parcel rather less tidily wrapped up. The -cabman, who hastily opened the cab-door for -her, guessing the truth, regarded her very -seriously, whereupon she endeavoured to smile; -but the attempt was a failure, and only her -pale face quivered as she bowed assent to his -proposition that he should drive her on to the -next dealer's. Here, as before, she was -received with effusive politeness--for, coming up, -as she did, in a cab, the driver of which hurried -down from his seat to open the door for her, -touching his cap most deferentially as he did -so, the shopkeeper expected that at least her -parcel contained some valuable picture which -they were to frame for her. But when it -turned out that she was only offering them -what one or two men rudely termed "amateur -daubs" for sale, their manner changed with -extraordinary rapidity. It appeared that they -did not want any pictures to sell, either in oils -or water-colours. They had more of that sort -of "stuff" than they could do with. Young -ladies supplied them with any amount for a -nominal payment, and did the paintings better, -too, than those which were being offered. -"Even if we bought yours," said one dealer, -"and I tell you they are not good enough for -us, we should only offer you a price which -would scarcely pay for your materials."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was plain to poor Doris at length that -there was no market at all for her wares, and -Sam waxed furious as he read the truth in her -pitiful face. As he drove her homeward he -was divided in his mind as to two lines of -conduct. Should he go back and give these -dealers a bit of his mind, or should he try to -speak words of comfort to the poor young lady -as he left her at his mother's door? Finally -he decided to do the latter, and therefore as -he opened the carriage door for her to alight he -ventured:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ought to have told you, miss, that it's -terrible hard for any one without a connection -to get a footing in the business world. -Dealers always know people who can do work -for them if they require it, and outsiders have -but little chance." This was a long speech for -Sam to make to a lady, and he only got through -it by looking into his hat steadily all the time -he was speaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Doris, "I suppose so. I am -very much obliged to you, Mr. Austin," she -added gratefully. "I am sure," she continued, -her pale face lighting up with a smile, "if -these picture-dealers were more like you they -would be much improved."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I was a picture-dealer," said Sam to -himself, as he drove off with his empty cab, -thinking over this compliment, "I'd buy the -whole bloomin' lot of pictures at a price that -would ruin me rather than bring tears to the -eyes of that blessed little angel. It's -horsewhipping, or else shooting, them dealers want, -and I'd give it them if I was the Government, -I would, as sure as my name is Sam Austin."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="new-work-for-doris"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VIII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">NEW WORK FOR DORIS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Have hope, though clouds environ now,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And gladness hides her face in scorn:</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Put thou the sadness from thy brow,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>No night but hath its morn.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>SCHILLER.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>That was a dark time with Doris. Long -afterwards she looked back upon it as the -hour of her deepest humiliation, when the tide -of her life was at its lowest ebb, and Giant -Despair held out claw-like hands to seize her -for his own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was unsuccessful: the pictures she had -thought so pretty were of no commercial value, -her only hope of making a living for herself, -not to mention her magnificent project of -repaying Bernard Cameron some of the money -of which her father had robbed him, was -completely destroyed. She had no gift by -means of which she could</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Breast the blows of circumstance</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And grapple with her evil star,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And make by force her merit known.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And she was friendless, except for the Austins, -and alone in London; moreover, she was -absolutely penniless, nay, worse than that, she -was in debt, not having paid for her food and -lodging for at least three weeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Going upstairs as quickly as possible, in -order that she might escape Mrs. Austin's -questions and even her sympathy, which just -then she could not bear, Doris entered her -little room, and, locking the door, flung -herself on her knees by her bedside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had no words with which to beseech the -intervention of the All-Powerful; but words -were not needed, her very attitude was a -prayer, her want of words a confession of the -extremity of her need. It was impossible for -her to do anything more for herself. She -knelt there and waited for assistance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now it happened that Mrs. Austin, on an -errand to her grocer's, meeting her son Sam, -as he was driving away with his empty cab, -learnt the truth about Doris's failure from him, -greatly to her disappointment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, poor dear young lady!" she cried, -"what will she do now? Whatever will she -do now? Painting was the only thing she -could do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, she'll have to do something else," -said Sam, "since those picture-dealers won't -'ave her work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what else can she do?" ejaculated -Mrs. Austin in consternation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sam did not know; but he was obliged to -drive on, having spent more time than he -could afford on Miss Anderson's business that -morning. Mrs. Austin returned home, and, by -way of comforting Doris, set the kettle on, and -began to prepare a little meal for her. As she -was thus busily engaged the door-latch was -raised, and a youth entered dressed as a -shop-boy and bearing a family resemblance to the -Austins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good afternoon, aunt," he said, looking -round the room with sharp eyes that noted -everything.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good afternoon. I suppose you are in -want of a bite or a sup?" she remarked -sagaciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I do feel a bit of a sinking here," -and he made a rapid gesture indicative of -hunger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit you down then; I'm just making a little -dinner ready, and a cup of tea for my -lady-lodger, and you shall have some too, Sandy, if -you'll wait."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, I'll wait," and so saying he sat -down and watched his aunt as she boiled a -couple of eggs and made tea in a little brown -teapot which had seen many days.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she worked Mrs. Austin talked, and, -because her mind was full of Doris she spoke -most of her, not exactly revealing her artistic -efforts and subsequent failure to effect a sale of -her pictures, but still graphically portraying her -need of remunerative work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sandy listened with scanty attention. He was -much more interested in the egg and large -cup of tea which his aunt placed before him, -and it seemed as if he were the last person in -the world to do Doris any good. Indeed, -Mrs. Austin suddenly perceived that her words were -absolutely wasted, and therefore pulled herself -up short, with the exclamation, "I declare, I -might as well talk to this lampshade as to -you!" She glanced as she spoke at the pretty -crimson shade over the gas-light. It was -made of crinkled paper, tied together with a -narrow ribbon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You never have an idea in your head, -Sandy," she added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sandy grinned. "Who made that lampshade?" -he asked, as he cut the top off his egg.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What shade? Oh? the gas-shade! Miss -Anderson, my lodger, you know, made that for -me one evening, with a bit of crinkled paper -that only cost 2-½*d*. Very handy she is with -her fingers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sandy made no further remark until he had -finished eating and drinking everything that -was placed before him. "There," he said, at -last, "I've done! Now then for a look at this -shade," rising to look at the pretty lamp-shade, -tied with a knot of crimson ribbon, which Doris -had made in a few minutes with her clever -fingers, as a small thank-offering for her landlady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what do you think? Isn't it pretty?" -asked Mrs. Austin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pretty? Yes, well, it's pretty. I reckon -if your lady-lodger made some of these for our -shop they'd sell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would they now?" There was eagerness -in the question. Could this possibly prove to -be a chance of work for poor Miss Anderson?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. We sell lots of flimsy silk -lampshades that cost heaps of money. And -we're often asked for something cheaper. Our -manager might be inclined to buy some like -this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would he indeed? Oh, Sandy, Sandy!" In -her eagerness the good woman caught hold -of his arm. "Poor dear Miss Anderson does -not know where to turn for a penny. Could -you get her this work to do, for good pay, do -you think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sandy grinned again. "You said I never -have an idea in my head," he began teasingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did. Yes, I did, but I won't say so -again. I won't if you'll get my dear young -lady some work that will keep the wolf from -her door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The wolf? What wolf?" Sandy looked -round with an assumed air of alarm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The wolf of hunger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shouldn't have thought you would have -allowed him to come near a lodger of yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get out with you!" Mrs. Austin pushed -him towards the door. "Run and see if there -is a chance for Miss Anderson."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A chance? Oh, I see what you mean. -Just ask her first if she would be willing to -do the work at a fair price."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Willing? She'd jump at it. But I tell -you what, Sandy, we must not have her -disappointed again. I won't say anything to her -about it until we know whether she can have -the work and on what terms."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the manager will want to see a -specimen," protested Sandy. "He's a big man. -You can't rush before him with nothing. He'd -order me off at once for fooling round in that way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Specimen? Oh, well, if you want one, -take this," said Mrs. Austin, carefully taking -down the pretty shade Doris had made, blowing -the dust from it, and wrapping it lightly up in -a huge newspaper. "Now you must hold it -in this way not to crush it," she said, "and -make as good terms as you can for my young -lady; tell your manager she is a real lady, who -won't do things for nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right!" Sandy darted off with the -shade, and Mrs. Austin went upstairs with -her tea-tray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris opened the door slowly. Her eyes -were red with weeping, and her hair was -dishevelled and dress untidy. "Oh, Mrs. Austin," -she said, "I've been so unfortunate! No one -will have my pictures. They are not good -enough to sell----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, nay. That's not it. But there's no -market for such pretty things. I know all -about it, my dear young lady. I met Sam -and he told me. He is so sorry, he has a -feeling heart, has Sam. But there, there, -don't you take on so! Don't cry, dearie!" She -was crying herself, with sympathy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris had burst into tears, and sat down -weeping as if her heart would break.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come! come! we mustn't give way. It's -always the darkest hour before the dawn," said -the good woman soothingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If only I hadn't wasted all this time, and -used your painting materials! And now what -shall I do? What shall I do?" cried Doris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin's resolve not to tell her about -the lamp-shade making until Sandy returned -with good news vanished in the stress of this -necessity, and she hastily related to Doris that -her nephew had thought of some paying work -which she might be able to do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl was startled at the idea of such -work. It was very different from what she -had been attempting; but her downfall was -too real for her to be able to indulge in her -former hopes, and her need of money was too -great for her to be fastidious, she therefore -brightened up a little, and began to talk about -the new project. At all events this might -provide her with sufficient money for food and -lodgings until she could procure something -better.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two went on discussing the matter -whilst Doris drank her tea and ate her egg and -bread and butter; and then Mrs. Austin took -the tray down, and waited impatiently for the -return of her nephew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last he came in, bringing the manager's -compliments to Miss Anderson, and he begged -her to call upon him the next day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris, therefore, went to the ironmonger's -shop in the morning, was duly shown into -the manager's room, and, after remaining there, -some little time talking over the matter with -him, the result was that she was engaged to -work at lamp-shade making for the firm, in -a little room behind the shop, for eight hours -a day, at a salary commencing at sixteen -shillings a week.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This arrangement Doris thought a more -desirable one than another which would -necessitate her providing her own materials, -making the shades in her attic, and receiving -so much a dozen for them. She stipulated, -however, that if the shades sold well her salary -should be increased in proportion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Weeks and months of pretty, if monotonous -work followed for Doris. Her candle- and -lamp-shades were a decided success, and sold -quickly at low prices. One window of the -shop was given up for a display of them, -and they made a "feature," or a "speciality," -which attracted customers. The head of the -firm, Mr. Boothby, sent for Doris one day, -praised her handiwork, and raised her salary to -a pound a week.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris was very thankful for the additional -money, as it enabled her gradually to pay her -kind landlady all she owed, and still have fifteen -shillings a week for her board and lodging. -More than this the good woman would not -take, and as for Sam, he stoutly refused to -be paid anything for the use of his cab on -the picture business. One favour only he -begged, and that was that Miss Anderson -would give him one of the little pictures he -had endeavoured to assist her to sell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris chose one of the best, and wrote his -name on the back of it, much to his delight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She became contented, if not happy, as time -went on, knowing that she could earn her -living by work which was not too hard for -her strength; but her old dream of partially -repaying Bernard Cameron was no nearer -fulfilment, for what could she do with only -a few shillings a week for dress and personal -expenditure? Sometimes, as her fingers -worked busily, her thoughts were turning over -new schemes for earning money, which might -in the future develop into something greater -and more lucrative than what she had in hand -just then; and on a Saturday afternoon or -Sunday, when walking or sitting in Regent's -Park, or more occasionally in Hyde Park, -or even at Richmond or Kew Gardens, her -thoughts would fly to those who loved her, -and she would long to see again her mother -and father, and look once more on the -beloved face of Bernard Cameron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Did they ever think of her? she wondered. -Would she ever meet them again? They -could have no possible clue to her whereabouts. -She, buried in a little back room at the -ironmonger's shop for eight hours a day, had small -chance of being seen by any one except -workpeople and shop assistants. And even if she -were out-of-doors more, walking about in those -North London streets, or in the parks, or -mingling with the "madding crowd" within the -City, what likelihood was there that she would -run across any of the three who, in spite of -the sad separation from her, yet occupied the -largest share of her heart of hearts? Where -were they now? Probably her parents were -hiding away somewhere abroad, perhaps in -America or Australia, banished for ever -from England by her father's sin and fear -of the penalty of the laws which he had -broken. It was wretched to think of them -in their self-imposed, compulsory exile. Her -mother's words, "Farewell, my child: my -heart would break at parting from you, were it -not that what has happened has broken it -already!" recurred to her, to fill her eyes with -tears, and make her heart ache painfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Scarcely less painful was it to think of -Bernard, and of his tender love, because that -was followed by his shrinking back from her -when she last saw him, and by his mother's -upbraiding and harsh cry, "If you marry, you -will take your husband a dowry of shame." And -again, "Do you mean to say that there -is anything between you, the daughter of a -criminal who shall yet be brought to justice -if there be any power in the arm of the law, -and my son, my stainless, innocent child?" -and then her excited denunciation:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You bad girl! Not content with your -father having ruined my boy by stealing -all his money, you are mean enough and -wicked enough to deliberately determine to -cut away his one remaining chance of rising -in the world! You would ruin him ... you -intend to cling to him as a limpet clings to -a rock ... he won't be able to raise you, poor -lad, but you will drag him down into the mire, -which will close over his head!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, she had given him up; goaded by -those words, following his obvious shrinking -from her, she had left him a message which, -if he loved her still, would sting him to the -quick, and, in any case, had sufficed to sever -them for ever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was done now. She must not brood; -that would do no good, it would only unfit her -for her daily work. Perhaps in time the -feelings which racked her heart when she -thought of these things would grow blunt, -the hand of Time would still the pain, and -her Heavenly Father would send angels down -to whisper to her words of peace and consolation.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="alice-sinclair-s-pot-boilers"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IX.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">ALICE SINCLAIR'S POT-BOILERS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Yet gold is not all that doth golden seeme.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>SPENSER.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Good-morning! Some one has told me that -you have a garret to let in this house." The -speaker, a merry girl a little over twenty, stood -in Mrs. Austin's doorway, smiling up at her, -one hot day in summer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A garret, miss. Who for?" asked Mrs. Austin, -smiling back at her visitor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, for me," answered the girl, quite gaily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For you, miss?" exclaimed Mrs. Austin, -in surprise. "Why, you don't look like one -who would sleep in a garret!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, no. I don't think I should like to -sleep in a garret, unless it were a very pretty -one. But I want to rent one, if I can find one -with a good skylight. I want it for artistic -work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, indeed, miss! Are you an artist?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was respect, and even awe, in Mrs. Austin's -tone. She had not imagined that such -a merry-looking lady could be one of the elect.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, yes, in a way I am; and I want to -do something--paint some pictures, you know--in -a quiet, respectable garret, where I shall -not be interrupted. Is it true that you have -one to let?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, miss. I have one to let. I had an -artist son once who used to use it. He's -gone"--Mrs. Austin wiped her eyes with the -corner of her apron--"and since then," she -continued, "I let my young lady lodger have -the use of it for her painting. Not that she -uses it now,--poor dear!--still, it's supposed -to be hers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If she does not use it, would she object -to my having it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know, miss. I'll just run over -to Boothby & Barton's shop, in the next street, -and ask her. It is there she works."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell her I shall be immensely obliged if -she will give up the garret to me--that is, if -it suits me--as I particularly want to have a -garret with a good skylight, and I should like -you to be my landlady." The young lady -smiled again in Mrs. Austin's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, miss, you are flattering!" Mrs. Austin -caught up an old bonnet and proceeded -to put it on. She looked doubtfully at her -visitor as she did so. Would it be safe to -ask her to sit down in the house until she -returned? She thought so, and yet, "One -never knows who strangers are," she said to -herself. She, therefore, closed the door, locked -it, and put the key in her pocket, saying, -"Perhaps you'll step along with me, miss, -then you'll know sooner if you can have it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well. And now," the girl continued, -as they walked down the street, "I must tell -you my name. I am Miss Sinclair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, indeed! And I am Mrs. Austin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How much a week shall I have to pay -you for your attic, if I take it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, miss, there is not very much furniture -in it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All the better. I shall require a good -deal of room for my own things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall you require much attendance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, very little! But people will come -to see me sometimes, and they will bring things -and take them away--there will be a little -wear and tear of your stair carpets."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see, miss. Would six shillings a week -be too much for you to pay?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I can pay that." The girl's face -brightened; she had feared the rent would be -heavier. "And I can give you a month's pay -in advance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin looked pleased. When they -reached Messrs. Boothby & Barton's she went -in alone to see Doris, and speedily returned, -saying Miss Anderson had readily consented -to the arrangement. She would remove her -few things out of the garret that evening, and -then it would be quite ready for Miss Sinclair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is very kind of her. She must be -very pleasant," said Miss Sinclair. "I have -been wondering," she continued, "what work -a lady who paints can find to do in a shop -like this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin told her, for Doris made no -secret of her employment, and the stranger -was greatly interested, and could easily -understand the difficulty she had experienced in -trying to sell her paintings. "The fact is, -too many people paint," Miss Sinclair said. -"There are nearly as many amateur artists as -there are people to look at their productions. -Your lodger is quite right in taking a more -practical line. I'm doing that sort of thing -myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, miss! What may you be doing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Sinclair did not answer, but went -upstairs to look at Mrs. Austin's garret when -they got to the house, and, expressing herself -as very well satisfied, engaged it at once, -saying she would begin to use it on the -morrow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Accordingly, the following day, just after -Doris had gone to her work, Miss Sinclair -arrived early, together with a couple of boys -bearing great packages, canvas frames, and -millboards. The boys went to and fro a great -many times, bringing pots of paint, sheets of -gelatine, etc.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin's eyes opened wide with astonishment -at some of the things which were carried -up her stairs that day, but she did not interfere. -Her new lodger made the boys assist her to -prepare the garret for her purposes and arrange -her work. Then she sent them away, and -remained alone in the attic for two or three -hours. When at last she left it she locked -the door, saying to Mrs. Austin, as she passed -her on the stairs, "You may have another key -for the garret, but please do not allow any one -to enter it, or even look in. I know I can -trust you." She put her hand in the widow's -as she spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin rose to the occasion. "No -one shall enter or look in, miss," she said. -"You have paid for the garret for a month, -and it is yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Doris returned home in the evening, -however, Mrs. Austin confided to her that she -thought Miss Sinclair must be a funny sort -of artist, if indeed she was one at all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris felt a little curious, too, about the girl -who painted with such odd materials. But -as she came after Doris went to her work -in the mornings, and had usually gone before -Doris returned in the evenings, several weeks -passed before their first meeting. As time -went on Mrs. Austin told Doris tales of beautiful -oil-paintings being carried out of the garret -and downstairs by men who came for them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I only just catch a glimpse of them sometimes," -she said, "and they fairly stagger me, -they are so gorgeous. Mountains and lakes, -cattle and running streams, pretty girls and -laughing children, animals of all sorts and I -don't know what besides! Miss Sinclair must -be a popular artist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris felt a little sceptical. A young girl -like Miss Sinclair to do such great things all -alone, and so quickly, too! It seemed very -strange.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder if they are real paintings?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You might almost think she is a magician, -or a fairy godmother, or something or other," -said Mrs. Austin. "Oh, yes, they are saleable -goods, for she gets lots of money for them--I -know she does. She told me she was -getting on so well that she could give me half -a crown a week more for the garret, and -would be glad to do that, for she liked it so -much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am very glad to hear it," said Doris -kindly. "You deserve every penny, dear Mrs. Austin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh! dear, there's no one like you, Miss -Anderson. I am well off to have two such -lodgers--one that pays so much, and the other -that upholds me with good words."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another evening she said to Doris, "Do you -know, miss, I heard a dealer saying to Miss -Sinclair to-day, 'Well, I'll buy as many -dozens of that picture as you can do for me."'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dozens of that picture!" Doris opened -her eyes widely. </span><em class="italics">Dozens</em><span>? What was this -artist who painted dozens of paintings all -alike?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid, miss," continued Mrs. Austin, -reading her thoughts, "that although the -paintings do seem really beautiful to me when -I get a glimpse of them from the garret door, -or pass them as they are being carried out -of the house, they are not what may be called -genuine works of art. Still, they're very pretty: -and they bring in lots of money!--and what -more do you want?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What indeed? Dealers would not buy the -painstaking efforts of amateur artists, and yet -they flocked to a garret to purchase dozens -of pictures, which, to put it mildly, could not -be called genuine works of art. The public -must buy these things, or the dealers would -not want them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a strange girl Miss Sinclair must -be!" thought Doris, "to work away at that -sort of thing all alone. And she must be -clever, too. I wonder how she does it, and -why she does it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris was soon to know. Her work grew -slack at the ironmonger's shop. A rival firm -in the same street had started selling tissue -paper lamp-shades, which were prettier than -those Doris made, and cheaper also. Messrs. Boothby -& Barton tried to do it as cheaply -but failed, although they reduced Doris's wages -and bought commoner tissue paper for less -money. Doris tried to improve her shades, -or at least copy those in the rival shop, but -could do neither well, and, disheartened -and dissatisfied, her work grew irksome to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was then extremely hot weather, and -Doris, drooping in her little close workroom, -grew pale and thin. She needed change of -air and scene, rest and freedom from anxiety -as to ways and means, and she could get none -of these things. A presentiment that she -would lose her employment weighed heavily -upon her mind: and one night she returned -home in such low spirits that Mrs. Austin -discovered the whole state of affairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The good landlady endeavoured to comfort -Doris as best she could, declaring that if she -lost her work something better would turn up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And in any case, my dear," she said in her -motherly way, "you must put your trust in the -Lord and He will provide." And when at -last she left Doris it was with the words, -"Don't lose heart. You have at least one -friend in the world who, although only a poor -woman, will share her last crust with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next morning, when Miss Sinclair was -working hard in her garret, with her door -locked as usual, Mrs. Austin stood outside, -knocking for admittance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you please, miss, might I speak with -you?" she asked through the keyhole.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The worker within uttered an impatient -exclamation, but opened the door, saying, -with a little sigh, "Well, come in. I thought -it would come to this sooner or later."</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 62%" id="figure-63"> -<span id="she-uttered-an-exclamation-of-surprise"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""SHE UTTERED AN EXCLAMATION OF SURPRISE."" src="images/img-109.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"SHE UTTERED AN EXCLAMATION OF SURPRISE."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm very sorry to disturb you, miss," -began Mrs. Austin. Then she uttered an -exclamation of surprise, as she looked round -on the oil paintings propped up on the table, -against the walls, on the old easel, and indeed -everywhere about the room. Three or four -were duplicates of the same picture, and -the colours were very vivid and brilliant. -Most of them were landscapes; but there were -one or two ladies in ball-dresses, and a couple -of gaily dressed lovers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think of them?" asked Alice -Sinclair, who stood by the easel, a slight, tired -girl in a huge, paint-smeared apron that -completely covered her dress, which fell open at -the throat, revealing a pretty white neck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'm sure!" ejaculated the landlady. -"I never saw such pictures! Have you done -them, miss?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I have painted them--that is, I -mean, I have coloured them. Do you like -them, Mrs. Austin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The landlady thought of her son Silas, and -the pretty sketches Doris had taken such pains -over, and her answer came slowly, "They'd -just suit some people. Now, my son Sam, -who was never satisfied with his brother's -paintings, would go wild over these."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Mr. Sam an artist?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, he's a cab-driver."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice began to laugh rather hysterically, -and, turning playfully to Mrs. Austin, she -pushed her gently into the Windsor armchair. -"Sit there," she said, "and listen to me. I -like you because you speak the truth! I'm a -bit of a sham, you know, and so are my pictures, -and you have found me out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure I beg pardon, miss."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it is I who must beg your pardon for -using your garret for such a purpose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The garret's no worse for it, miss. And -there'll be lots and lots of people who will be -that pleased with your pictures!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, there are more Sams in the world -than Silases!" said Alice, with a little sigh. -"And I give people what they want for their -money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, of course, miss. When my boys -were little 'uns they used to spend their pennies -over humbugs. The money soon went, and -so did the humbugs. But they were quite -satisfied, having had their humbugs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just so--and my pictures are like the -humbugs, only they don't vanish, they stay. -I'm a bit of a humbug myself," continued -Alice ruefully. "I must say this, however," -she added, "what I do I do from a good -motive----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the motive's everything," interposed -the widow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mine is to make money--and I succeed in -making heaps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but, miss, surely to get money isn't -a very high motive, if I may say so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I did not tell you what I want money -for. It is in order that I may be able to -support and maintain one of the greatest of -God's artists, whilst he works at his -heaven-sent tasks. He would have been starved to -death by now, or would have had to abandon -his work, if it had not been for this!" She -waved her hand towards the pictures. "I -hate the work. I loathe it," she went on, with -a little stamp of her foot, "and never more so -than now--for, to tell you the truth, I am feeling -ill and overworked--yet I am obliged to go -on, as my artist has only half finished his -picture. </span><em class="italics">I must go on</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But not to kill yourself," interrupted -Mrs. Austin, whose opinion of her lodger had gone -through various stages since she entered the -garret. At first she disapproved of Miss -Sinclair's work, then greatly admired the noble, -self-sacrificing spirit of the worker, and now -the latter's ill looks appealed to her motherly -heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it does not matter about me," said -Alice, with a little tired smile; "but I must -not waste any more time in talking. A man -will be here for these pictures in a couple of -hours, and I haven't quite finished them off. -Why did you come? I mean, what did you -come for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bless me! I'm forgetting. I came to -ask you if you could help poor dear Miss -Anderson, who is in trouble. Her wages have -been reduced, and she has reason to think -she will lose her employment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think she is about tired of it," -said Alice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She will have no means of livelihood if she -loses her work," continued the landlady. "She -is very poor, and gets very anxious about the -future. She looks so thin and pale. I made -so bold, miss, as to think that perhaps you -would allow her to assist you, or even that -you would suggest to her that she could do -so in time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice smiled, and, taking the good woman's -hands in both hers, cried:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You dear old soul! Here am I, ill -through overwork, and earning lots of -money, and you ask me to help a girl -who is ill from want of work and want -of money! Of course I must help her. -That belongs to the fitness of things. You -must go now. I will stay a little longer -than usual to-day, and when Miss Anderson -comes in ask her, please, to step up to my -garret."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, thank you, miss. Thank you very much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But remember," said Alice finally, "that -I don't expect Miss Anderson will like the -idea of joining me in my work. She will -think that I am a sham and that my pictures -are sham pictures, and will have nothing to -do with me, but will leave me to make my -pot-boilers all alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She won't do that! Not if you tell -her what you've told me," continued Mrs. Austin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you had better tell her about -that--I don't think I could tell the tale a -second time," said Alice, with a little wan -smile. "Tell her everything, dear Mrs. Austin, -and then if she cares to come to me----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She will--she will," and so saying the -good woman hurried downstairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That evening, as Alice knelt on her garret -floor, sand-papering the edges of her pictures, -in order that the paper on the boards might -not be detected, there was a little knock at the -garret door, and in answer to her "Come in" -Doris entered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two girls looked at each other: one -from her lowly position, flushed with exertion, -the other standing just inside the doorway, -with outstretched hand and a smile on her -beautiful face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have come," said Doris. "Will you let -me help you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice rose from her knees, and took the -outstretched hand in hers. "Do you know -everything? Has Mrs. Austin told you -everything?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I honour you. And the work that -is good enough for you is good enough for me. -Besides I--I have been dismissed from my -employment. My lamp-shade work has failed, -at last----" Doris broke down a little, remembering -her despair, but clung to the proffered -hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor dear!" Alice kissed her, and from -that moment they were friends.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="doris-and-alice-work-together"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER X.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">DORIS AND ALICE WORK TOGETHER.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>He that is thy friend indeed,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>He will help thee at thy need.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Old Proverb</em><span>.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A very beautiful thing is true friendship. -History and mythology give us many notable -examples--for instance, David and Jonathan, -Damon and Pythias, Orestes and Pylades, and -so on. Man was not meant to live alone. All -cannot marry, but no one need be without a -friend. Our Lord Himself loved one disciple -more than all the others, and made him a -friend. "Friendship is love without wings," -says a German proverb, and certainly it is -often more stable and more enduring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The friendship between Doris Anderson and -Alice Sinclair began warmly, and gave promise -of growing apace. They were both young and -comparatively friendless, they had both seen -much trouble, and both were compelled to -work hard and continuously. In some respects -alike, their characters were in others dissimilar: -in fact, they were complementary to each other. -Doris was gentle and good-tempered, affectionate -and reserved, painstaking and conscientious: -in fact, truly religious. Alice, on the -other hand, was lively, almost boisterous, -sometimes passionate, yet loving withal, and frank, -clever and enterprising, but not very scrupulous, -and though religious extremely reserved -about it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must tell you exactly how I came to make -imitation oil-paintings," said Alice candidly, as -she sat on the three-legged stool in her garret -that first evening, with Doris in the Windsor -chair beside her. "I was forced into it by -necessity. I am an orphan, you must know, -and I live with my dear elder brother Norman. -He is an artist--a real gifted, talented artist: -he can paint such glorious pictures! But they -don't sell yet. The fact is, the British public is -so foolish!" She tossed her curly head as she -spoke. "It--it prefers these," waving her -hand towards the artificial oil paintings. "And -meantime," she continued, "meantime, Norman -and I have come to the end of our resources. -He doesn't know. He is such a dear old -muddle-head about business matters that he -thinks the ten pounds he gave me last -Christmas is still unfinished!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed--it was characteristic of her, -Doris found, to laugh when others would cry. -"And I had been so puzzled," Alice continued, -"as to how I should be able to find the means -of subsistence for us both. For I had long -known Norman hadn't another five-pound-note -that he could put his hands upon. I looked in -his purse often, when he was asleep, and in -the secret drawer of his writing-table, which -he uses as a cash-box, and which he fondly -imagines no one can open except himself. -Don't look so shocked! Motive is everything, -and I don't pry about from curiosity, but -simply to keep the dear old fellow alive and -myself incidentally. Oh, where was I?" she -paused for a moment in order to recover breath, -for she talked with great rapidity. "Oh, I -know, I was saying we had come to the end -of our resources. I had sold my watch and -my hair--oh, yes, I didn't mind that. It is -much less trouble now it is short, though I -have to put it up in curlers at night, which -makes it rather spiky to sleep upon. However, -I am always so tired that I can sleep on -anything. And, to cut a long story short, I sold -everything I could lay my hands upon that -Norman would not be likely to miss. Then -I saw in a magazine, in the Answers to -Correspondents, that very striking imitation oil -paintings could be made in a certain way, which -would sell well amongst ignorant, uncultured -people, and, knowing what numbers of such -folk there are, I determined to try to make -them." She paused for breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris said nothing. Her blue eyes were -fixed upon the other's face and she was reading -it, and reading also between the lines of her -story as she listened to her talk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I practised the work at home first," said -Alice, "until I could do it properly, and had -secured a few customers. But I was nearly -found out, for that dear old stupid brother of -mine must needs take it into his head that -a very old engraving he wanted was in the -attic--it wasn't, Doris! Pity me! I had turned -it into one of my oil-paintings, and it had been -sold for five shillings! Norman went to search -in the attic, and was amazed to find lots of -my things, pot-paint, and so on, about the -place, which made him almost suspicious for -a time. But, happily, his painting absorbed -him again, and he forgot about the queer things -in the attic. However, I thought it would be -better to avoid such a risk in the future, and -so went, one morning, to search for a garret -which I could rent, and in which I should be -able to work by day. When I had fixed upon -this one, and it was settled that I should have -it, I had to make some excuse to Norman for -my long absences from home--don't ask me -what I said; I mean to tell him the whole -truth one day, and then, perhaps, he'll despise -me! I cannot help that. It doesn't matter -about me." She tossed her head, as if -dismissing the idea at once. "What does matter," -she continued very earnestly, "is, that I am -maintaining my dear old Norman, while he is -painting his beautiful picture. He will live, -and his picture will be painted--and only I -shall be in disgrace. I don't care!" but tears -were in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Disgrace!" Doris leaned forward and -caught hold of the small hands, hard and -discoloured with work and paint. "Disgrace! -I should think he will honour you, for your -love and cleverness and self-sacrifice. He will -say you have made him. He will thank God -for such a sister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the other shook her head. "You don't -know Norman," she said. "He would not -mind dying, and he could give up finishing -his picture sooner than endure the thought that -I had 'gulled' that poor, stupid, credulous -British Public--at least the uneducated section -of it. He has a great reverence for truth and -sincerity, and he hates and abhors a lie and -a sham."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you do it, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am forced," returned Alice plaintively. -"We </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> live. And I want him to finish -his picture, yes, and others. I hope he will -have more than one in the Academy next year. -I want him to be great--a great artist, -recognised by all the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How you must love him!" exclaimed Doris. -"And what faith you have in his gift for -painting!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have no one except him," said Alice, -simply. "He is father, mother, and brother -to me. And he has a great gift. I believe -he will win fame, and be one of the celebrities -of the age--if I can keep him alive meanwhile -with my pot-boilers. But now about yourself, -will you help me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly. Only too gladly. I also have -a most excellent reason for earning money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it? Have you any one depending -upon you? A parent perhaps? Or a brother -or sister?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I have no one like that. I stand -alone!" Doris sighed deeply. When Alice -was talking of her brother she had said to -herself, "If I had only a relation to work for -like that how happy I should be!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor Doris!--you will allow me to call -you Doris, won't you?--you shall never stand -alone any more. I will be your friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you? But perhaps you wouldn't, -if you knew all. I am under a cloud, and I -cannot--cannot tell you everything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice looked quickly and searchingly at her, -as the unhappy words fell slowly, tremulously -from her lips; and there was that in Doris's -expression which reassured the artist's sister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me nothing if you prefer," she said, -"but come and work with me every day here. -You shall be well paid, and you will have my -friendship----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which will be worth more than the pay!" -cried Doris delightedly. "Oh, how glad I -am! How very glad I am! I thank you a -thousand times!" In the intensity of her -gratitude she raised the other's hand to her -lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Deeply touched, Alice threw her arms round -her neck and kissed her. "Now we are -friends," she said, "and chums! We shall get -through lots of work together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When they were a little calmer Doris explained -the process, as she called it, by which -her "pot-boilers" were made. She bought -prints, both plain and coloured, and mounted -them on stretched canvas frames, or on thick -mill-boards, being very careful to exclude all -air bubbles from between the board and the -paper. Then she carefully rubbed the edges -with sandpaper, in order to conceal the edge -of paper; and afterwards the surface was -covered with a solution of prepared gelatine, -upon which the picture was easily coloured -with paint, and made to look as much as -possible like a genuine oil-painting. The -coloured prints were less trouble, because they -had simply to be painted as they really were -underneath the gelatine. The plain prints, -on the other hand, required taste and judgment -in the selection of colour and its arrangement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris was able to do this last extremely -well, as she knew how to paint much better -than Alice, who had never attempted anything -of the sort before she embarked on her present -undertaking. For Alice had only watched her -brother painting, and his method was widely -different from hers. The dealers who bought -her pictures paid £2 a dozen for them, and -took them away to frame and sell for at least -fifteen shillings or £1 each. That the sale of -them was good was evidenced by the dealers' -quick return to the garret with further orders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for the business arrangement between -the girls, Alice began by giving Doris a weekly -salary for assisting her; but as they prospered -more and more, the arrangement was altered, -and Doris received a third of all the profits -they made--more she would not take, for, as -she said, she brought no capital into the -business, nor connection, as did Alice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Weeks and months passed away, whilst the -two who worked together in Mrs. Austin's -garret became sincerely and devotedly attached -to each other. Alice often talked freely to -Doris of her beloved artist brother, and told -how when one beautiful picture was finished, -he began another, in the hope that he would -have two or three ready for the Royal Academy -the next year. But Doris never told her -secret, for her dread lest Alice should turn -from her if she knew of her father's crime was -always sufficient to close her mouth about the -past; and neither could she tell of the great aim -of her life which was to make at least some little -reparation to Bernard Cameron, as to do so -would necessitate the sad disclosure of how he -had been robbed. She was therefore very -reticent, which sometimes chafed and irritated -Alice, who was, as we have seen, so very frank.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the quarrels of lovers are the renewal -of love. And after every little coolness the -two became more devoted to each other than ever.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="an-unexpected-meeting"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XI.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Have hope, though clouds environ now,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And gladness hides her face in scorn;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Put thou the shadow from thy brow,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>No night but hath its morn.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>SCHILLER.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was a dull Sunday in November, cold, too, -and damp and comfortless. Grey was the -prevailing colour out-of-doors; the clouds were -grey, so, too, were the leafless trees and bushes -in Kew Gardens,--a dirty, brownish grey. -And grey appeared the pale-faced Londoners, -who sought in the nation's gardens for -recreation and beauty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the Palm House certainly there was vivid, -beautiful green in the fine trees and tropical -plants collected there. It was very warm, -too, and over the faces of those who entered -tinges of colour spread and stayed, whilst smiles -broke out, like sunshine illuminating all around. -But it was too enervating to remain there long, -and Bernard Cameron, who had wandered -alone through the place, not excepting the -high galleries, hurried out of the house at last, -and breathed more freely when once more -outside in the damp greyness of the gardens.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a heated, unnatural, artificial life in -there," he said to himself, "and does not -appeal to me as does the beauty of the Temperate -House, with its healthy green in trees and -plants, and, at this time of the year, its masses -of brightly coloured chrysanthemums."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked off quickly in the direction of -the Temperate House, looking closely at all -those he met or passed upon the way. "I -never see Doris," he said to himself. "I -never, never see her! She is not among the -workers in London, so far as I can find -out--though certainly the field is so vast that I -have scarcely touched it in my search for -her--neither is she in any pleasure resort. -Sometimes I think she must have left London, and -that she may have returned to Yorkshire. -But I, having obtained a situation at a school -at Richmond, must remain here for the present. -Oh, Doris! Doris! Why did you leave me? -Could you not have trusted my love for you? -Why, oh, why did you send me that cruel -message? No doubt mother had irritated you, -yet I had given you nothing but love!" The -greyness of the day seemed concentrated in his -despairing face as he said this. He looked ten -years older than he did on that bright, glad -evening--his last happy day--when he -proposed to Doris upon the hill at Askern Spa. -His clothes were a little worn and untidy. He -had grown thin, and there were sharp lines -indicative of care and anxiety upon his face. -His dark brown hair was longer, too, than he -used to wear it, and he had all the appearance -of one who had come down in the world after -having had an unusually sharp tussle with -fortune.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had been wandering about for hours -that Sunday, having a day's leave of absence -from the school, and he felt tired and -disheartened, for wherever he went he looked -for Doris, and nowhere could he find her. He -was, therefore, glad when, upon entering the -Temperate House, he was able to find a vacant -seat, where he could rest undisturbed. It was -most people's luncheon time, and there were -not many in the House just then--the other -seats were occupied, certainly, but they were -a little distance off. Bernard felt the comparative -seclusion very pleasant; he closed his eyes -in order to rest them, although, indeed, the -green around was very refreshing to look -upon, and, once again, he fell into a reverie--a -sad one now, for he was thinking of his -mother, who was so hard and bitter about -Doris and her parents. Terrible had been -the scene when, in spite of Mrs. Cameron's -earnest request that he should do so, Bernard -refused to prosecute John Anderson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you will be as bad as he!" cried -the incensed woman. "You will be compounding -a felony," she went on wildly. "You -will be breaking the law of the land."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, nay, mother. Come," he answered, -"look at the matter reasonably. My prosecuting -Mr. Anderson will not restore the money to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it will cause him to be punished," she -exclaimed. "That is what we want--we want -him to be made to suffer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> do not want him to surfer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're so foolish, Bernard, so very foolish!" -screamed Mrs. Cameron, scarcely knowing -what she said. "It's that daughter of his -you are thinking about. I know it is. You -are perfectly infatuated with her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you please keep her out of this -discussion?" asked Bernard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But his mother was unreasonable, and would -drag Doris in, time after time, telling him that -she was a chip of the same block as John -Anderson, saying, "Like father, like daughter," -and declaring that she would never consent to -his marrying Doris if there were not another -woman in the kingdom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard was as patient as he could possibly -be, but at length, finding it impossible to -endure any more such talk, he caught up his -hat and went out, with his mother's parting -words ringing in his ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unless you prosecute that rogue, John -Anderson, and give me your promise that you -will never marry his daughter, my house shall -be your home no longer: you shall not sleep -another night under my roof!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hard words! stinging words! They seemed -to ring in Bernard's ears again, as, sitting -there on a seat in the central walk of the -Temperate House in Kew Gardens under -the shade of a fine Norfolk Island pine, he -thought about them sadly. No wonder was -it that when they were uttered they drove him -immediately--and he thought for ever--from -his mother's house. Since then he had come -to London and obtained an ill-paid assistant -mastership in a suburban school, and now -he spent all his time searching for Doris, yet -in vain. "I have lost her," he said to himself, -"I have lost her in this huge metropolis. Yet -I forbore to prosecute her father for her sake: -and for her sake I am an outcast from home, -a mere usher in a school, earning my daily -bread in the outskirts of this city!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A great longing to see the girl he loved -once more filled his whole heart; he longed -to see her inexpressibly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And just then she came. Talk about -telepathy, about magnetism, about the hypnotism -of will as people may, can anyone explain how -it is that immediately before a longed-for -person, or a longed-for letter arrives, that -person or that letter is prominently present in -the yearning mind? The same thing is seen -intensified in answers to prayers. The one -who prays longs unutterably for the boon he -asks. It is given; and he thanks God and -knows that he has received an answer to -prayer. And it may also be that He Who -alone knows the heart of man, is continually -answering the unspoken prayers of those others -who long unutterably for those things which -yet they do not ask in words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Doris came, walking straight down the -central path in the Temperate House, talking -to Alice Sinclair, or rather listening, whilst -Alice prattled to her about the trees and -flowers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look! See, there is a poor tired Londoner -asleep," said the merry voice. "He has been -somebody's darling once," she added in a lower -tone, which Bernard could just hear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush! He will hear you. Why--oh!----" Doris -opened her eyes wide, a look of apprehension -came into them, and she reeled as if -she would have fallen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext" id="id1"><span>"Doris! Doris!" With a glad cry Bernard -sprang to his feet, holding out his hands. -"Doris!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl recovered her presence of mind -first. She touched Bernard's hands for a -moment, and then, releasing them, observed to -Alice, with forced calmness, "This gentleman -is an old acquaintance of mine from Yorkshire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An acquaintance! Oh, Doris!" Bernard's -voice expressed his chagrin, nay, more, his -consternation. He had found Doris at last. -But she was changed: she was no longer his -Doris. He had slipped out of her life, and she -had adapted herself to the altered circumstances. -Glancing at her quickly, sharply, he perceived -that she looked well, and even happy. The -unwonted exercise and the fresh air of Kew -had done her good and brought a pretty colour -into her cheeks. She was with her dear friend -Alice, and the delightfulness of mutual sympathy -and love had caused her eyes to sparkle and -her step to regain its buoyancy. Besides, the -meeting with her lover, calmly though she -appeared to take it, had brought back a tide -of young life in her veins and imparted to her -a sweet womanliness. Altogether she looked -quite unlike the drooping, heartbroken Doris -whom Bernard had last seen, and whom he -had been picturing to himself as unchanged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Allow me to introduce you to my friend, -Miss Sinclair," said Doris, disregarding his -protest. "Mr. Cameron, Miss Sinclair," she -said, adding, "Mr. Cameron comes from -Yorkshire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice bowed and held out her hand, in her -usual good-natured way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We thought you were a poor, tired -Londoner," she remarked with a smile, "and -lo! you come from the North."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I live in Richmond now," Bernard remarked -quietly. "I have a--position in a school there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed?" Alice was regarding him -critically. He was a gentleman, handsome, -too, and he looked good. But he was also -rather shabby: there was no doubt about that; -and she did not think Doris looked particularly -pleased to see him. There was an expression -of apprehension in her eyes which Alice had -never seen there before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you live here?" Bernard asked Doris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no. We have only come over for the day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are you living?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris made no reply. She stopped the -answer Alice was about to make by a -beseeching look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We have not any time to spare for visitors," -she said, rather lamely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you allow me to walk with you a little -way?" he asked. "Or perhaps," he hesitated, -looking at Alice uneasily--"perhaps you will -sit here with me a little while? There -is--is--room for three on this seat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice good-naturedly came to his assistance. -"Doris," she said, in her brisk, businesslike -way, "sit down and have a chat with your friend -while I go over there to the chrysanthemum -house to look at the flowers. I do so love -chrysanthemums."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And so do I," said Doris quickly. "I will -come too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doris!" Bernard's exclamation was pitiful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice felt for him, but concluding Doris did -not wish to be left, she said briskly, "We will -all go there. Come on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Accordingly they all went to look at the -chrysanthemums, amongst which they talked -mere commonplaces for a little while.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard was miserably disappointed. Doris -was uncomfortable and frightened--the shadow -of her father's sin seemed to rest over her, -filling her with shame. She did not know -whether Bernard was prosecuting her father or -not, and feared that he might say something -which would betray the wretched secret to -Alice. Even if he regretted the way he shrank -from her when hearing of her father's -misappropriation of his money, or if he wished, as -seemed evident, to renew their former relations, -she could not and would not ruin his life, as -his mother had said she would ruin it by -marrying him. Poor he was, and shabby. Not -a detail of this escaped her--his worn clothes -and baggy trousers touched her deeply; but -at least he bore an unblemished and honourable -name. Was she to smirch it? Was she to -bring to him, as his mother had said, a dowry -of shame? No, no. His mother's words were -still ringing in her ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stung beyond endurance by the remembrance, -Doris raised her head and confronted Bernard -proudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Cameron," she said, "you must see--I -mean, do you think that it is quite right -to--accompany us--when----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I am not wanted," he suggested, -bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not say that exactly. But----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You meant it." Bernard's eyes flashed. -He, too, was stung now. "I will say 'Good-bye,'" -he said, raising his hat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girls bowed, and, turning away, walked -quietly out of the great house, leaving Bernard -to return to his seat a crushed and miserable man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He thought that it was all over between -him and Doris. His mother had spoken the -truth in saying the girl had declared she would -never marry him. He need not have grieved -his mother by refusing to prosecute her father: -he need not have lost his home for that. -Doris no longer loved him; she no longer -loved him at all. He had lost his money, and -he had lost Doris. That was the worst blow -that had ever befallen him; nothing mattered -now, nothing at all: he was in despair. It -was far worse to have met Doris and found -her altogether estranged from him than not to -have met her at all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She wasn't like Doris," he said to himself, -miserably. "She wasn't like my Doris at all. -It might have been another girl; it might have -been another girl altogether." The hot tears -came into his eyes, and he buried his face -in his hands that others might not see them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, don't, don't be so unhappy!" said -a voice in his ear, suddenly. "Didn't you -notice that her manner was forced--unnatural?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" Bernard rose, and stood looking -wonderingly into Alice Sinclair's face. It was -full of kindness, and seemed to him, then, -one of the sweetest faces he had ever seen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have returned," she said in a low, -confidential tone, "ostensibly to find a glove I -dropped somewhere, but really in order to tell -you our address. For I think--that is, I -imagine, you might call to see her one of these -days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, can I? Do you think it is possible?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly. This is a free country. Call -by all means. Doris was awfully sad a few -minutes after we left you. I am sure she was -repenting her harshness to you. She was -crying, actually crying. And you looked so -miserable when we left you, so I thought I -might try to help you both."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are good!" cried Bernard, taking -one of her hands in his, and pressing it warmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next minute he was alone, with an -envelope in his hand, upon which was written, -"Miss Sinclair, c/o. Mrs. Austin, 3, Haverstock -Road, King's Cross, London, N."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How good she is!" Bernard thought. -"And what a difference there is now!--I am -no longer in despair." He looked round. -What a change had come over everything! -The huge conservatory in which he stood was -a vast palace of beauty: birds--robins mostly--were -hopping about and singing a few notes -here and there. The visitors looked very -happy, and through the glass he could see -gardens that were dreams of loveliness. It -was not a dull, grey world now: oh, no, but a -very pleasant place, full of boundless possibilities!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="an-artist-s-wrath"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AN ARTIST'S WRATH.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>A man may buy gold too dear.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Proverb</em><span>.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"What does this mean, Alice? Is it here -you work? What are you doing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Norman! You here? Oh, dear!" Alice -looked up in dismay from her work on -the floor of the garret to the tall figure standing -in the doorway, with head bent to prevent its -being scalped by the low top. "You shouldn't -have come, dear," she faltered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shouldn't have come! I think it is time -I did come! Great Scott! What are you -murdering here?" He had reached the middle -of the room with two strides, and was stooping -over a brilliantly limned "oil-painting" Alice -had just finished, looking at it with eyes blazing -with wrath. "Did you do this?" he demanded. -"Did you do this atrocious thing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes--yes, Norman, I did," faltered his sister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I'm ashamed of you! Here, let me -put it on the fire-back." Lifting the picture, -he strode towards the fireplace with it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't, Norman! Don't! You must not! -It--it is </span><em class="italics">sold</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sold!" cried the artist. "What do you -mean? Can any one be so debased as to -have bought a thing like that?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice began to laugh a little wildly. "Oh, -Norman, how innocent you are!" she cried. -"Don't you know that some one has said that -the population of this island consists of men, -women, and children, mostly fools? There -are a great many more who admire and buy -'works of art' like mine than there are to -appreciate such paintings as yours!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You little goose!" he exclaimed, -impatiently. "Are you content to cater for -simpletons, aye, and in the worst way possible, -by pandering to their foolish, insensate tastes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice was silent a moment, and then she -said, rather lamely, "It pays me to do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her brother would not deign to notice that. -He began to walk up and down the room, -with long strides and a frown on his face. He -was above the average height of men and -broad in proportion, and his irregular features -were redeemed from plainness by the beauty of -his expression and his smile, which was by no -means frequent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris was painting at her easel on one side -of the room, but the visitor did not appear to -see her; his mind was absorbed with the -distasteful idea of his sister demeaning herself to -cater for the uneducated masses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't as if you were trying to raise -them," he burst out again. "You are not -teaching them what beauty is--you are -pandering to their faults! Leading them -astray. Making them believe good is bad -and bad is good! For, don't you know"--he -stopped short by his sister's side, and laid a -heavy hand on her shoulder--"don't you know -that every time you make them admire a false -thing--a thing that ought not to be admired--you -rob them of the power to appreciate what -is truly great and beautiful? It is a crime--a -crime you are committing in the sight of God -and man!" He gave her another frown, and -began again to walk up and down quite -savagely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice looked wistfully towards Doris, but -the latter was painting steadily on, with -heightened colour and hands that trembled, -in spite of the effort she was making to control -herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Norman then began to examine the pictures -standing about in the room in varying stages -of completion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! I see!" he said, scoffingly. "The -way you get your drawings is to buy prints, -and stick them on mill-boards. Yes, and then -you smear them over with gelatine and colour -them with this wretched paint. How is it you -are not found out?" he continued, looking -sharply at her, and then turning to examine -the edges of one of the pictures. "Ha! I -see! Sandpaper! So you rub the edges -smooth with that! You little cheat! You -defraud your purchasers! I really--you must -give up this work at once. Do you hear? -You must give it up forthwith--</span><em class="italics">immediately</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot, Norman!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It pays so well. Sometimes we get eight -or nine pounds a week by it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pays well! Eight or nine pounds a -week!" There was intense scorn in the -artist's tones. "So, for money--mere -money--you will sell your soul!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense! We must live. I pay for -food--your food and mine--and our clothes, -yes, and rent, gas, coal, and the servant's -wages, with this money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared at her. "I gave you money for -those things," he said. "I'm sure I gave you -ten pounds not so very long since."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Last Christmas! Nearly twelve months -ago! You are so impracticable, Norman. -That ten pounds was used in a few days, to -pay bills that were owing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You never asked me for more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Could you have given it me if I had?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A dusky red stole over the artist's face. He -became conscious of the presence of a stranger. -"This lady must pardon us," he said to his -sister, with a glance at Doris, "for speaking -of our private affairs before her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, she does not mind, I'm sure," said -Alice. "May I introduce my brother to you, Doris?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris bowed coldly. She went on with her -painting, begging them not to mind her being -there. "It is most important that the work -should be finished to-night," she said, "and -I must work the harder because Alice is being -hindered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fear I am the cause of that," rejoined -the artist, quite meekly. "But I have had -some difficulty in finding the place where my -sister works, and now that I am here I must -say what I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris made no rejoinder, and, having cast -an admiring glance at her winsome face and -pretty figure, he turned to Alice again, saying, -"No consideration of mere money should -prevent your instantly ceasing this disgraceful -work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice began to pout. "It's all very fine -talking like that, Norman," she said, "but how -do you propose to keep us if--if I abandon -this?" She looked from him to her work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did we live before? I suppose we -can exist in the same way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We cannot! I have nothing more to -sell, or--pawn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If only my paintings would sell!" He -began to walk up and down again. He was -thinking now, with huge disgust, that he had -been living for many months upon the proceeds -of sham oil-paintings. It was a bitter thought. -"Better to have died," he muttered, "than to -have lived so!" Aloud he said, "But I must -insist upon your giving up this work. It is -wicked, positively wicked work! You must -not do it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot give it up. I must do it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must not! You shall not! I really---- Upon -my word, if you do such things you -shall not live with me!" He was in great -anger now, the veins upon his temples stood -out like cords; he could scarcely refrain from -rending into pieces the hateful "frauds" upon -which he was looking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A cry of pain escaped from his sister's lips. -She was pale as death. Her brother had never -been angry with her before. Their love for -each other had been ideal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Doris spoke, turning from her easel -and looking up at the artist with flashing -eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are vipers," she said, "which sting -the hands that feed them. Alice, dear," she -added, with a complete change of tone and -manner, "come to me." She held out her -arms, and Alice flew into them, clinging to -her and crying as if her heart would break. -"Go!" said Doris to the artist, pointing to -the door. "Go, and live alone with your -works of art. You cannot recognise or appreciate -the self-denial and love which is in the -heart of one of the noblest sisters in the -world!"</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 59%" id="figure-64"> -<span id="go-you-cannot-appreciate-self-denial-and-love"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""'GO! YOU CANNOT APPRECIATE SELF-DENIAL AND LOVE.'"" src="images/img-147.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"'GO! YOU CANNOT APPRECIATE SELF-DENIAL AND LOVE.'"</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Norman Sinclair went out of the room as -meekly as a lamb, all his wrath leaving him -as he did so. Indeed, to tell the truth, he felt -very small and despicable, as he mentally -looked at himself with Doris Anderson's eyes, -and saw a man, who had been fed for many -months by the hard, if mistaken, toil of his -young sister, threatening her with the loss of -her home in his house if she would not abandon -her only source of income.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="conscience-money"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">CONSCIENCE MONEY.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="small">No one should act so as to take advantage of the ignorance of -his neighbours.--CICERO.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>After Norman Sinclair went away Doris -comforted Alice as well as she could, and then -both girls set to work to finish the pictures -which a dealer would send for that evening. -Alice, however, performed her part half-heartedly. -Through her ears were still ringing -her brother's fierce denunciation of her -employment. It was a crime; she was a cheat, -defrauding the ignorant, making them believe -bad was good and good was bad; for money -she was selling her soul. Oh, it was terrible -to remember! Her tears fell down and smeared -the brilliant greens and yellows, blues and reds, -upon her mill-boards.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris, seeing what was going on, felt -extremely uncomfortable. She imagined that -Alice was fretting because her brother had -practically turned her out of his house, and her -wrath against him increased. But for some -time she could not stop working in order to -give utterance to her feelings; the men would -come soon for the pictures which must be ready -for them, and they had to be finished off, or -the way they were made would be detected. -So the work went on until evening came, and -with it the men from the dealers, who packed -up the sham oil-paintings and carried them off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin had been upstairs more than -once, to see if her young ladies, as she called -them, were ready for tea--which, in those days -they usually took together in the sitting-room -before Alice went home--and the landlady's -importunity caused them both to leave the -garret at length and descend to the sitting-room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, darling, you shall have some tea," -said Doris, affectionately. "Sit there in the -armchair. I will bring you a cup."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did so, and then, pouring out one for -herself, sat down on the stiff horse-hair -sofa, and began to make plans for the future.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You and I, Alice," she said, "shall always -live together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Alice, slowly, and with a little -hesitation, which the other did not appear to -notice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your brother has, by his own act and -deed"--that sounded legal and therefore -businesslike, so Doris repeated it--"by his -own act and deed, forfeited his claim to you. -Instead of honouring you, as I honour you, -darling"--she caught up Alice's hand and kissed -it--"for your bravery and cleverness and -industry, he has actually dared to blame you in -most unwarrantable, most uncalled-for language, -and in the presence of a third person--which -makes his conduct far more heinous----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't that a little strong?" interposed -Alice. "Doris, I love you for your love, but -you must remember he is my brother. He -has a right to say what he likes to me, for I -am his sister, and--and I cannot bear even you -to blame him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg to apologise!" said Doris, instantly. -"It isn't right of me to speak against him to -you. And, now I think of it, I was wrong -in ordering him out of our--your--garret----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, yes, dear, a little----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was wrong," said Doris, "and perhaps -one day I will apologise. But however wrong -I was, that does not make him right. He has -behaved abominably."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, there you are again! You must not -blame him to me, dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon!" Then Doris was -silent a minute or two. It was hard to be -pulled up at every point. Still, Alice was -right, therefore her sense of justice caused her -to refrain from taking offence. "But, Alice," -she said, at length, "the fact remains, that he -will not consent for you to remain in his house -if you carry on your work here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is an autocrat!" Alice burst out. "A -martinet! A tyrant! I must carry on my work. -I must. I have nothing else to sell. I have -nothing else to do. Either I must continue -what I am doing, or we must starve, or go -into the workhouse. We cannot live on air." She -paused, breathless. It was like her fervent, -inconsequent way of reasoning to speak so -strongly against her brother, whom she had -just been chiding Doris for blaming. -However, we are all apt to say things about our -relations which we would not tolerate from -other people. It is like blaming ourselves, or -hearing others blame us. A man may call -himself most foolish, yet if any one else were -to say so it would be unpardonable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris was silent, and in that she showed -wisdom. Left to herself, Alice would say all -that Doris had been about to utter, and would -act upon it as the latter wished her to do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot return to his house," said Alice, -with a little sob. "He has indeed turned me -out; for I cannot give up my means of -livelihood. Who will give me an income if I -throw away the one I have? No one. No -one. The world is a world of adamant to those -who have no coin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is indeed!" said Doris, tears filling her -eyes as she thought of her own struggles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But where shall I live?" continued Alice. -"Will you let me live with you, Doris?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, darling, of course I will! I love you, -darling, as you know; and we will live together, -and be like sisters--only--only perhaps----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you wouldn't let me if you knew -what a cloud of disgrace hangs over me----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris broke down weeping. Was that cruel -disgrace always to balk her every time she saw -a prospect of happiness?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Disgrace! How you talk! It is I who -am in disgrace." Alice flung her arms round -her friend, and their tears mingled as they -wept together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin, coming in to see if they wanted -any more tea, was quite affected by the sight -and beat a hasty retreat into the kitchen. "It -all comes of that horrid Mr. Sinclair forcing his -way up to their garret," she said to herself, -mentally determining to admit no more visitors -to her young ladies without first acquainting -them with their names.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When they were calmer the two girls -discussed the feasibility of their living together, -as well as working together, with the result -that they agreed to try the plan. Accordingly, -when night came, they withdrew to Doris's -room, and lay down side by side in Doris's -bed, which happened to be a rather large one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tired out, Doris slept so heavily that she -did not hear her more wakeful companion's -sighs and sobs, nor did she see her slip out -of bed in the early morning, dress hurriedly, -and then go downstairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When at last Doris awoke, Mrs. Austin -was standing by her side, looking very grave -and with a letter in her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the matter?" asked Doris, sleepily. -"Have I overslept? Oh!" She looked round -for Alice. "Where is Miss Sinclair?" she -asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gone!" cried Mrs. Austin, tragically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gone? When? Where?" cried Doris, -in alarm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know, miss. She went before I -came down. When I came down this morning -I could see that some one had gone out at -the front door, for only the French latch was -down. And there was this letter for you on -the sitting-room table, and Miss Sinclair's boots -had been taken from the kitchen, so I felt sure -she must have gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You should have awoke me at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I came upstairs to do so, miss, but you -were in such a beautiful sleep, I really hadn't -the heart to disturb you. But now it is -getting late, and I have brought your hot -water."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris opened the note when Mrs. Austin -had left the room. It was short and to the -point.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"DORIS DARLING,--</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"You are </span><em class="italics">sweet</em><span> to want me to live with -you, and I should love it. But I have been -thinking how kind Norman used to be when -I had the toothache, and that he gave me such -a nice copy of Tennyson on my last birthday,--and--the -fact is, no one can make his coffee -as he likes it in the morning but me--so I must -go and look after him. Poor old Norman! -He has no one else to look after his little -comforts. And he will starve, </span><em class="italics">absolutely starve</em><span> -if left to himself. I shall always remember, -darling, how you wanted me to live with you.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>"Yours lovingly,</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>"ALICE.</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"P.S.--I make you a present of the business. -Perhaps when we are starving, you will fling -us a crust. Norman can't object to my -receiving charity, although he will not allow me -to do the only work I am fit for.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"A.S."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Doris sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. -What a child Alice was, after all! And how -impracticable and unbusinesslike! The head -of the firm, she had given up her position in -favour of her junior partner without demanding -any compensation! "However, she knew -she could trust me," said Doris to herself. "I -shall make her take half, or at least a third, -of the proceeds. But it will be hard on me -to have to do all the work alone, and I shall -miss my dear partner. I hope she will come -to see me sometimes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After breakfast Doris went to the garret, -and all day she worked hard, scarcely leaving -off to eat or rest for a few minutes. A dealer -came with a large order, and, after expressing -his surprise at finding her alone, advised her -to engage a boy or two to do the rough work -and to assist her generally. In the evening -she was almost too weary to eat her supper, -and when Mrs. Austin was lamenting the fact, -she told her what the dealer had suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, now, how that does fit in, to be -sure!" said the landlady. "It was only this -afternoon that my nephew Sandy came here, -to tell me that he and another nice lad, his -friend, had lost their situations through -Messrs. Boothby & Barton's bankruptcy. They -would be rare and glad to work for you till -such time as they could get another place."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I should be very glad to have -them," said Doris, after a little consideration. -"Your nephew did me a kindness about the -lamp-shades, and I shall be pleased to offer -him work now that he is out of a place."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So the next day the two boys came up to -the garret, and set to work manfully to assist the -young lady. They could soon do most of -the work really better than she could herself, -and she found it a great relief to confine her -energies to the mere colouring. It was, -however, not nearly so pleasant for her working -with the two lads as it had been with her -dear friend Alice, whom she missed at every turn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the Wednesday morning she received -a little note from Alice, saying that at present -she was forbidden to go to Mrs. Austin's, but -hoped later on to be able to do so. "My -brother is angry yet about the 'oil-paintings,'" -wrote Alice, "but he is very glad to have -me back; and, by the way, Doris, he would -give worlds, if he had them, to make you sit -for a picture of Rosalind in her character of -Ganymede in </span><em class="italics">As You Like It</em><span>. Don't you -think you could give him that gratification, -dear? But I know these are early days to -speak of such a kindness as that. And you -would never have the time, even if you could -forgive poor, blundering old Norman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she referred to the letter Doris had -sent her, in which the former stated that half -the money earned would still be set aside for -Alice. "It is lovely of you to say that about -the money, dear," wrote Alice; "but Norman -declares I am not to touch what he is pleased -to call ill-gotten gains. Lest I should do so, -he declares he will not eat anything I buy, -and in consequence he is living upon oatmeal -porridge and lentil soup! Oh, and the -oatmeal is nearly finished! I have been thinking -that if you would kindly send a five-pound-note -now and then, anonymously, to him--mind, -to him, not to me--and just put inside -the envelope that it is 'Conscience Money'--that -would be quite true, you know; for if you -had not a conscience you would keep what -I have thrust into your hands--he might use -it, thinking it was the repayment of some old -debt. For he has lent lots of money, in the -old days, to people who have never let him -have it back again. I hope you can see your -way, as the dealers say, to do this. We must -live, you know. It is so miserable to starve, -and it's worse for the housekeeper, as the fault -seems to be hers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't like complying with her request," -thought Doris. "Her brother is an honest -man, a most awkwardly honest man, and it -is a shame to deceive him. Yet the money is -Alice's. It is a point of conscience with me, -as she says, to give it her. But I wish it -could be done in some other way. It seems -such a shame to make him eat food which -his very soul would revolt from, if he knew -everything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She thought over the matter as she was -working, and the more she thought about it -the less she liked it. But when a dealer came -in that afternoon, and paid her ten pounds that -was owing to the firm, in two five-pound notes, -she immediately posted one of them to Norman -Sinclair, Esq., at his address in Hampstead, -writing inside the envelope the words -"Conscience Money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That done, she felt more comfortable about -Alice, for at least she would not starve when -that money arrived. Doris still missed Alice, -however, exceedingly; and though turning to -her painting with fresh energy, alas! she felt -for it more distaste than ever. For Doris -could not forget--it was impossible for her to -forget--that an honest man had called her work -wicked, and declared that it was a crime in -the sight of God and man. If that were true, -and it was a crime, then she was a criminal -just as her father was! Hereditary? Yes, -the criminality must be hereditary. In her -thoughts she had been hard upon her father. -Was she any better herself?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="bernard-cameron-visits-doris"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">BERNARD CAMERON VISITS DORIS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Patience and abnegation of self and devotion to others,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>LONGFELLOW.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was on Saturday afternoon that Bernard -Cameron called. Doris had been through a -particularly trying morning. It began with a -letter from Alice, evidently written at her -brother's instigation, advising her to give up -the business of making sham oil-paintings and -thus defrauding the public. "Better to be -poor and honest and honourable," wrote Alice, -virtuously. Doris read between the lines that -her brother wished her to say these words, -and that annoyed her extremely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What business is it of his?" she said to -herself, resenting his interference.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she went upstairs to the garret, to -begin work for the day, she accidentally -overheard Sandy saying to his fellow-worker, -"Ain't folks simple to buy these for genuine -oil-paintings? I know a chap who gave three -pounds for a pair of them at a shop. And, -says he, them's real oil-paintings. As proud -as a peacock he was!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He shouldn't have been so green," said -the other youth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Government is down on folks who -sell margarine for butter; it can't be done -now-a-days, but there don't seem to be no -penalty for this sort of thing!" He tapped -one of the pictures meaningly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris entered, and the conversation ceased; -but all the morning her assistants' words and -Alice's letter rankled in her mind. No doubt -the business was not by any means a high-class -one, but no one would buy her genuine paintings, -she therefore told herself she was driven -to make what she could sell: and now she had -quite a nice little sum already in hand, to form -the nucleus of what she would require to pay -the debt to Bernard Cameron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>However, it was rather too much for her, -when, as she was snatching a hasty lunch -in the little sitting-room, she overheard Sam -Austin saying to his mother in the kitchen, -"Mother, I used to think them pictures Miss -Anderson made so fast were really beautiful, -and my wife went and bought one at a shop, -but when the Vicar was in our house the other -day, and she was showing it to him, he says, -'My good woman, that's no more a work of -art than that stocking you are knitting, and -it isn't half so useful! Don't you waste your -money over such stuff!' says he. I felt so -ashamed-like, mother, that our young lady's -work should be so spoken of. And the Vicar -is a gentleman who knows what's what."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, Sam! Miss Anderson is in the -room, and she might hear. I am sure she -thinks they are all right and worth the money, -or she would not do them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the good landlady entered the room, -a few minutes afterwards, she was dismayed -to find the door ajar, and not closed, as she -had imagined. This caused her to turn very -red. But Doris did not refer to what she -had overheard, for in truth she did not know -what to say. Later she might refund -Mrs. Sam her money, and have that off her -conscience; but what about all the other people -who had purchased her pictures? She felt -sick at heart, and quite unable to do her work -as usual. However, it had to be done, and -she went upstairs slowly and heavily. "What -shall I do?" she thought. "I cannot earn -my living unless I do it in this way, which is -not honest--I see that now; at first I thought -it was, but I know Alice's brother is quite -right. I'm a cheat and a fraud, a humbug -and a thief; for I take money out of people's -pockets, and make them no adequate return -for it, although I make them think I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then Bernard called. He was dressed -in his worn clothes, and looked tired and -harassed, but "every inch a gentleman," as -Mrs. Austin said when she gave his name to -Doris, asking if she would come downstairs to -see him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At first Doris thought she ought to send -word that she was engaged. But she could -not do it. She was so miserable and so -hopeless; and the very thought of Bernard's -presence there in the house caused hope and -joy to spring up in her heart, and was like -new life to her. She, therefore, took off her -painting-apron, washed her hands, and went -down to the sitting-room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doris"--Bernard spoke very quietly, holding -out his hand exactly as any other visitor -might have done--"Doris, I have called to -see you. It is very kind of you to come down. -I--I will not detain you long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is kind of you to call," said Doris, -rather lamely, noticing all at once how thin -and worn he looked, "and I haven't much -time to spare, but I could not--could not -refuse." Her voice trembled and broke; tears -filled her eyes. It was hard, very hard to -have to speak thus to one she still loved -dearly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Doris," he cried, hope springing up -in his heart by leaps and bounds at the sight -of her downcast face, "Doris, darling, I -cannot bear to see you looking so sad, and to -know that you are alone here except for your -friend----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She has left me!" interrupted Doris, crying -now. "I am quite alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Left you! You are alone! Oh, my -darling!" He put his arms round her slim -waist. "You are not alone! You need never -be alone again, for </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> am here. Nay, don't -send me away, dearest," he pleaded; "hear -me, I beg. I love you, Doris. I love you -with all my heart. The loss of my money--ah! forgive -my mentioning it--it is as nothing -to the grief of losing you. Ah, you don't -know what I have suffered! Without you -this world is to me a howling wilderness." He -drew her to him. "Darling," he continued, -low in her ear, "</span><em class="italics">never</em><span> send me away again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl was powerfully tempted to -surrender her determination and submit her -weaker will to his stronger one. Her inclination, -her heart was on his side; but what she -thought was duty, and her sense of right, held -her frail bark to its moorings. She therefore -drew herself away, and with a little gesture -waved him back, and then, to make her -position more secure, she feigned anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't! Don't!" she exclaimed sharply. -"You go too fast, Mr. Cameron, much too -fast! What we might have been to each -other in happier times, events have rendered -impossible now. You know they have----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, not impossible!" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say impossible," insisted Doris. "My -father appropriated your fortune. He stole -from you your birthright."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What of that? I forget it. I have forgotten it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think so now. In your magnanimity -you choose to think so; but supposing I were -to trust to that, and we were to marry, do you -think you could live with me day by day, in -poverty, remember--for we should be very -poor--without remembering that my -father--mine--stole from you all the money your father -left you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shouldn't think of it, or, if I did, I would -say to myself that you have, by giving me -your hand"--he took hers in his as he spoke--"and -promising to be my wife," he added, -"righted the wrong, paid the debt, made me -rich indeed with what is worth far more than -money, yes, infinitely more." Raising her -hand to his lips, he kissed it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't!" She drew her hand away. -"And there is another side to the question," -she continued. "Could I be happy seeing -you poor, and knowing what was the cause of -it? Don't you think that daily, hourly, I -should realise with pain that my father's crime -was blighting your life?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense! Mine would be a poor life -indeed, if the loss of money--mere -money--could blight it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It has a very stupefying effect on one to -have no money," said Doris, with a little sigh, -thinking of her past experience. "Don't you -know the song--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Dollars and dimes! Dollars and dimes!</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>To be without cash is the worst of crimes!</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It gets one into disgrace, anyway," she added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor child! I am afraid you have been -hard up since----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," she interrupted, "it takes the -courage out of one to have no money. You -know that verse--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Whereunto is money good?</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Who has it not wants hardihood;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Who has it has much trouble and care,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Who does not have it has despair."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> shall have despair if I have not you!" -he declared, moodily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you will not. You will find some one -else to love--some one who has heaps and -heaps of money. Then you will marry--will -marry her." Doris's voice shook a little, but -she waved him back when he would have -drawn her to him again. "You will marry -a girl with lots of money," she continued, more -firmly now. "That is what your mother wants -you to do. It is your one chance, she says, -of retrieving your fortune."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did she say that to you, Doris?" His -voice was hoarse, he looked very pale.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And that caused you to send me that -dreadful message?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What message?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That you would never, </span><em class="italics">never</em><span> marry me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! I understand it now." He passed -his hand wearily across his brow--"I -understand. But I can't help it, and she is my -mother!" Again he was silent, struggling to -control himself. "Do you know," he said, -"she turned me out of my home?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She did? Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I would not prosecute your father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! You have not attempted to prosecute him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doris! Did you think that I </span><em class="italics">could</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forgive me," she said. "But after your -shrinking from me, as you did, when you -heard what my father had done----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shrinking from you! Shrinking! Surely -you did not think that I could ever have done -that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you did, Bernard. You did. It was -that which broke my heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My darling, you must be mistaken!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed I am not. You shrank away from -me. And then, your mother came and said -those dreadful things--so I gave you up -entirely, and I said that I would never marry -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But now that you know that I never -intentionally shrank from you--and indeed I think -that it must have been your fancy, darling--surely -you will unsay those cruel words?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris looked at him, at the love in his eyes, -and his earnest face as he pleaded thus, and -she softened considerably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll just tell you how it is, Bernard," she -said, and now her tone was kinder, and there -was a light in her blue eyes corresponding with -the glow in his. "I'll just tell you how it is, -Bernard, exactly. I feel that, because my -father robbed you, I have had a share in the -crime, and so I am going to work hard, in -order to make you some little reparation--though -of course I can never repay you all the -money. Do you understand?" and she looked -up earnestly into his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To make some little reparation? To repay -money? What do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Twenty-five thousand pounds is so large a -sum!" she said. "I can only repay a small -part of it. But I'm doing my best; I'm putting -by four or five pounds a week, and I have -already saved forty pounds. You can have -that forty pounds now if you like. It's yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forty pounds! My dear Doris, what are -you talking about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to earn as much money as I -possibly can for you, Bernard," said the girl -firmly, "in order to repay you at least some -of the money my father took from you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You earn money for me? Your little -hands"--he looked down admiringly on -them--"your little hands earn money for me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I must. It is my bounden duty. -And I'm getting on splendidly as regards -money: only they say, do you know, Bernard," -and her tones were troubled, "they say that I -ought not to earn it in the way I do. -However," she broke off, and began again, "I -mean to earn you a lot of money, that you may -have part at least of that which is your very own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The idea!" he exclaimed; "the very idea -of your earning money with these hands, these -little hands," he repeated, "for me! Why, if -only you would give me your hand in marriage, -I should be more than repaid for all and -everything?" He spoke eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bernard, I shall not marry you until I have -done all that I possibly can to pay the debt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In vain the young man protested, pleaded, -and expostulated. Doris was firm: the utmost -that she would concede was that he might -visit her occasionally and see how she was -getting on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When that matter was quite settled she gave -him some tea, and then explained to him about -her work, which he was astonished to find so -remunerative. He did not think it wrong of -her to make those poor imitation oil-paintings. -He said that people could not expect to obtain -real oil-paintings for such small sums.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not call them oil-paintings," he said, -"you call them pictures; and if people think -them oil-paintings that is their fault: it is -because they are ignorant that they make the -mistake. You are not answerable for that. -The case of margarine and butter is different. -It was because margarine used to be called -butter that it was made illegal to sell it as -such. Margarine is still sold, but it is called -margarine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How very sensible you are, Bernard!" said -Doris. "I wish----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you wish?" he asked earnestly, -for he longed to serve her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you would convince the artist, my -friend Alice's brother, that he is wrong in -thinking it so wicked to make those pictures -and sell them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does it matter what he thinks?" asked -Bernard, full of a new alarm. "Is the man -anything to you, Doris?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything to me? No, I have only seen -him once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet you would like to stand high in his -opinion?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, yes. There is something grand--heroic, -about him. He would die for the truth. -The man is made of the sort of stuff of which -the old martyrs used to be made." Doris spoke -with great enthusiasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard's alarm increased by leaps and -bounds. "Oh, Doris, darling, don't have -anything to do with him!" he exclaimed -passionately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" She looked startled. The flush -which had risen to her face as she spoke so -earnestly of Sinclair deepened into a very warm -colour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I do not wish you to know him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" she repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My instinct tells me that he has impressed -you strongly and that you think a great deal -of him, and if you get to care for him, this hero -whom you admire so much, you won't care -for your poor Bernard any more!" He ended -in doleful tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You foolish boy!" Doris cried, with -complete change of voice. "You know very well -that although our engagement has been broken -off and I have vowed that I will never, never -marry you--that is, unless some of the debt is -paid--I shall never love anybody in all the -world as I love you," she ended with a little -sob, and buried her face in her hands, lest he -should see the tears which filled her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was impossible for him to refrain from -kissing her then; but she only suffered him to -touch her hands, and then, starting up, waved -him aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no! You must not," she exclaimed. -"I shall not go back on my word. I shall -stick to my purpose. You may come to see -me sometimes if you like, but I shall promise -nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked despairingly at her as she stood -there, tall, erect, a very queen of beauty, with -brilliantly coloured cheeks, shining blue eyes, -and golden hair like an aureole above her small -beautifully shaped head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my dear, you cannot earn money for -me!" he cried; "I would never touch it. -</span><em class="italics">Do</em><span> dismiss the idea from your mind! What -I want is </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>, to be my own darling wife. -We might be ever so happy--even if we are poor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want you to be poor, Bernard," she -rejoined. "If you are it will be my father who -has made you so, and I could not endure to see -it. Now, don't let us waste time in arguing -about that again. I shall continue my work -here: for you have made it plain to me that -it is all right. You may come to see me -occasionally, as I said----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think if I were to throw up -my tutorship--it is badly paid--and come daily -to assist you with your work? It would be -awfully jolly working together, and I could see -that your lads did their share, instead of -wasting their time in chattering about what they -do not understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Doris would not hear of that arrangement -being made. The work might do for -her, but she revolted mentally from the idea of -her Bernard pursuing a calling which the artist -had declared to be so utterly and radically -wrong: and it was like her inconsequent, girlish -way of reasoning not to see that what was -right for one was right for the other, and </span><em class="italics">vice -versa</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>However, when Bernard went away, she -felt ever so much happier than she did when -he arrived. He loved her and she loved him: -that was the chief thing; all else was of -secondary consideration. He approved of, -and saw no harm in her occupation--could he -by any possibility see any harm in anything -that she did?--and that was healing balm to -her hurt, despondent feelings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is very nice and sensible, is Bernard," -she said to herself, last thing that night, as she -laid her head on her pillow; "he is very different -from poor Alice's despotic brother. Now, I -like a man I can convince even against his -will--and Bernard does love me in spite of -everything." She fell asleep thinking about him, -and dreamt that they were again in the -Temperate House, looking at the chrysanthemums, -and she was not trying to send him away as -she did before, but, on the contrary, her hand -rested within his arm, which held it tightly.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="another-visitor-for-doris"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">ANOTHER VISITOR FOR DORIS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Shun evil, follow good, hold sway</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Over thyself. This is the way.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>SIR EDWIN ARNOLD.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>After Bernard's visit and his approval of her -work, Doris went on with it doggedly, -disregarding all doubts that arose, and justifying -her doings to herself by thinking of Bernard's -opinion of the rightfulness of her -occupation--exactly as men and women have sheltered -themselves behind the views of others ever -since the day when Adam screened himself -behind his wife's, and she behind the serpent's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The business prospered, so that the girl's -little store of money increased, and she began -to anticipate a not very distant time when there -would be one hundred pounds saved wherewith -to make her first payment to Bernard. She -determined to begin by paying him one hundred -pounds at once, and wondered if the time -would ever come when she would have so much -as one thousand pounds to hand over to him. -The girl had a very brave spirit, but it was -often daunted by the herculean task she had -set herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One day, when she was very busy with her -assistants in the garret, Mrs. Austin knocked at -the door and asked her to be so good as to -come outside to speak to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That gentleman's come again," she said. -"He who frightened away Miss Sinclair. It's -you he's after now, I'm thinking. But oh, -Miss Anderson, don't see him! He's got an -awful look on his face, as if we kept a -gambling-place at least! Don't see him! For, oh, my -dear, you must live! What is to become of -you if you give up such a good business as -you have got? Remember what a hard world -this is for those who have no money, and how -difficult you found it to get dealers even to look -at those genuine little paintings you took so -much trouble over!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Sinclair might have saved himself the -trouble, if he has come to try to persuade me -to give up the business," said Doris, rather -hotly. "I wonder what business it is of his, -by the bye! No, I will not see him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, forgive me, I followed your landlady -upstairs! I beg a thousand pardons for the -intrusion." The artist stood behind -Mrs. Austin, towering above her. He spoke very -humbly, but there was an air of determination, -if not of censure, about him which displeased -Doris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am engaged," she said, shortly. "I was -just sending you word that I could not see you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I bring you a message from my sister," -he observed, after a moment's pause. "Surely -you will receive it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her as he spoke, and again -Doris felt the dominating power of his strong -will. She was vexed with herself for yielding, -and yet could scarcely avoid it. Slowly and -with reluctance the words fell from her lips, "I -cannot hear it here," as she looked significantly -at her assistants, who, busy though they -appeared to be, were listening to what was being -said; "we will go downstairs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the room below they stood and looked -at each other--he tall, broad-shouldered, -vigorous; she slim and slight, but beautiful as -a dream. The girl did not ask him to be -seated, nor did she look at the chair he offered -her with a gesture which was almost compelling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment or two there was silence. -Then Doris spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have come between your sister and -me," she said. "You have drawn her away -and prevented my visiting her, and yet you -have"--she paused--"condescended," she -hazarded, "to bring me a message from her!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have. Alice wants you to give up -this--this business----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If that is all," interrupted Doris, hotly, -"you might have saved yourself the trouble of -coming here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't say that! Listen to me. No doubt -you are angry because I come here, as I -came before to express my disapproval of the -whole affair. I feel it my duty to do so. It -is a prostitution of Art--a robbery in her -name----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay!" interrupted Doris, passionately. -"I know what you think it, and I know also -what I think of your speaking to me like this! -You may lecture your sister and do what you -please with her, but is it any business of -yours--I mean, what right have you to come here -to find fault with </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> work? As I was saying -to Mrs. Austin when you----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Intruded," he suggested, bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, intruded," she went on, with severity, -"upstairs, it is no business of yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think it is," he said, more gently. -"You are Alice's friend, and I do not wish -my sister to associate intimately with one -who----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I am not fit for your sister's society----" -began Doris, furiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you think it is a pity for us to -quarrel in this way?" Mr. Sinclair said, in a -calm manner. "Please sit down, and let us -talk calmly and reasonably." He again waved -his hand towards the chair which he had placed -for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris sat down rather helplessly. How he -dominated her! She felt as if she were a -little child, who did not know what to say in -the presence of a grown-up person.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My sister is extremely attached to you," -said the artist, his rich voice full of feeling and -his grey eyes shining as they looked straight -into Doris's, as if they would read her soul. -"She thinks that no one in the world is like -her friend. Nothing that one can say--I -mean that one can do--that is, that can be -done--has any power to shake her loyalty to -you----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! You have been trying to estrange -her from me----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will not deny your charge," said the -other, "for there is some truth in it. I do -not wish my sister to see much of one who, -for money--mere money--is content to do that -which is wrong. The love of money is the -root of all evil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you think," exclaimed Doris, "you -think </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> love money? You think that for -money I am content to do wrong?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What else can I think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are exceedingly uncharitable," cried -the girl, bitterly, "to beg the question in this -way! Let me say that, in the first place, I -do not love money. That I want to earn as -much of it as possible is true; but I do not -want the money for myself. It is to help to -pay a debt, a debt of honour so large that -it is not possible for me to pay it all; but if -I can in time pay a few hundreds of pounds, -I shall be very glad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A debt of honour! A few hundreds! My -child, you cannot earn all that by such trashy -work as this that you are doing!" In spite -of himself, Norman regarded her with great -admiration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The word cannot is not in my dictionary," -said Doris, rather grandiloquently. "It must -be done!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible!" he ejaculated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And as for the work being wrong," -continued Doris, "I do not know that it is -wrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not know that it is wrong!" exclaimed -the other. "When every one of your -oil-paintings is a sin against truth. You know -it; surely this must appeal to your honour!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not </span><em class="italics">call</em><span> them oil-paintings," said -Doris, proceeding to repeat rapidly Bernard -Cameron's arguments, and ending with the -words, uttered very meaningly, "What is -truth? We can but obey it as it appears to -us. You judge of my pictures from such a -different standpoint. They are untrue to all -your canons of high art. But I know nothing -comparatively of art: I only try to make -pictures which will please people, and be worth -the trifling sums of money they give for them. -Such people could not see any beauty in -great works of art; but they say, 'That's -pretty! That's very pretty!' when they see -mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The artist was silent. It was true. What -beauty could Jack Hodge and his cousins Dick, -Tom, and Harry, see in the Old Masters, -or in the new ones either? Yet they were -the people who paid their shillings, and even -pounds for such pictures as this young girl -provided for them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Believe me," continued Doris, "there is -room in the world for workers of all sort. The -birds cannot all be nightingales; the flowers -are not all roses; and the human beings who -entertain mankind are not all the best and -highest of their kind. But there is a place -for the homely sparrow, the little daisy, and -the poor picture-maker to fill; and it is -not--not generous of those more gifted to come and -find fault with them!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice trembled and shook as she -concluded; and, feeling that she was about to -break down, she bowed slightly to her visitor -and left the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Sinclair sprang up as if to stop her, yet -did not do so. He opened his mouth to speak, -yet no word fell from his lips, and so he allowed -her to pass out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a wonderful girl!" he muttered aloud, -when she was gone, closing the door softly -behind her. "I admire her exceedingly! -And I have hurt her feelings! She has gone -away to cry! What a stupid blunderer I am! -How brutal of me to wound her so! I'm sure -I'm very sorry. I'll write her a message." He -looked round for pen, ink, and paper, -and, having found some, wrote one line only:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forgive me, I cannot forgive myself. -Norman Sinclair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having folded the paper, he addressed it -to Miss Anderson, and laid it conspicuously -upon the table, and then very quietly left -the house.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-great-renunciation"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVI.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE GREAT RENUNCIATION.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>And things can never go badly wrong</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>If the heart be true and the love be strong;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>For the mist, if it comes, and the weeping rain</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Will be changed by the love into sunshine again.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>G. MACDONALD.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Doris was quite touched when, on coming -down to tea, she found Mr. Sinclair's -communication upon the table. He could scarcely -have written anything which appealed to her -more. If he had given in to her arguments, -and had said she was right and he was wrong, -her feelings about him would have been -contemptuous: and if, on the other hand, he had -persisted in condemning her work she would -have considered him unreasonable. As it was, -however, she could not feel either contempt -or anger for the man who simply asked for -her forgiveness; and she thought better of him -for showing in that way that he was sorry for -the pain his arguments, and indeed his whole -visit had caused her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat and thought about him a long time. -How different he was from Bernard! Not -so loving and lovable, not nearly so loving and -lovable, and yet there was a grandeur about -him, and an air of distinction which Bernard -did not possess. "I wish I could see his -paintings!" she said to herself. "Alice used -to rave about them. But I did not take much -notice. I thought her simply infatuated with -her brother; she thought no one was his -equal. Perhaps if I had a brother I might -have felt like that about him." And so, on -and on went her thoughts, always about -Norman Sinclair, except when they flew for -a moment or two to Bernard, though always -reverting quickly again to the artist. -Mr. Sinclair was the greater man of the two, there -was no doubt about that, and her first feeling -of annoyance at its being so had changed into -esteem for him; yet she loved Bernard all the -more because he did not stand on a pedestal, -he was on her own level--or it might be even -a little lower--which gave her such a delicious -sense of motherhood towards him. The latter -feeling no doubt made her so determined that -he should have his own again, even if she had -to wear herself out in winning it for him. -Bernard should not suffer loss, if by any -exertion on her part it could be averted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do hope, miss," said Mrs. Austin, -coming in at last, unbidden, to clear away the -tea-things, "I do hope that gentleman hasn't -gone and worried you with his tall talk! It -is all very fine to tell other folks to give up -their businesses, but would he give up his -own, I wonder? And will he ensure your -having a good income if you throw away the -one you are earning?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Austin," she said, laying one hand -on the good woman's shoulder, and smiling -kindly into her anxious face, "I am afraid I -cannot discuss Mr. Sinclair even with you. -He is good and honourable, but I--I do not -see things quite as he does; and you may trust -me not to be such a child as to lightly throw -away my good business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With that Mrs. Austin had to be content. -But she distrusted the stranger's influence -over the young lady, and never willingly -admitted him into her little house when he -called--as he did call--time after time to see Miss -Anderson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would rather see the other gentleman, -Mr. Cameron," said the landlady to herself -many a time. But Bernard was not well, he -had taken a severe cold, and the mists rising -continually in the Thames Valley caused him -to have chest troubles. He could therefore -only write to Doris, now and then, expressing -hope that he would soon be better in health -and able to call upon her again, and regretting -deeply the delay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Left alone, Doris quite looked forward to -the artist's visits. He never stayed long, and -the short time he was with her was such a -pleasant break in the monotony of the girl's -daily life. She was too unsophisticated to -scruple to receive him in her little sitting-room, -and he was altogether too great a Bohemian -to hesitate to go there alone. To his mind -Doris stood on an entirely different plane from -other girls. The concern with which he had -seen her making her poor pictures had become -merged in admiration for her bravery in -attempting to earn a few hundreds of pounds -with which to pay part of a debt of honour. -How could it have been contracted, he wondered, -by one so guileless? </span><em class="italics">She</em><span> could not have lost -the money by gambling. It was impossible -that such an innocent girl could know -anything about gambling. And yet in what -other way could she have become indebted -to such an extent? He was soon to know, -for as his influence over her increased, she -became possessed with a restless longing to -stand well in his opinion, and it seemed to her -untruthful to conceal from him the cloud of -disgrace which hung over her family, although -she had thought it right to keep the matter -from Alice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She therefore told him, one day when he -lingered with her a little longer than usual, -and the early twilight favoured confidences, -softening as it did the austere lines in the -artist's face and revealing only the good -expression of his countenance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He listened in amazement and distress, -having had no idea of the tragedy in her -young life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Simply and as briefly as possible she related -the story of her father's appropriation of his -young ward's money, and his subsequent flight, -with her mother, in the dead of night. She -was a little tired and dispirited that day, and -her voice broke now and again as she recounted -the wretched happenings of that woeful time, -and then not allowing herself to break down, -or shed a tear, went on bravely to relate about -the letter her mother left for her, with its -scanty information and command to her to -proceed to London, there to live with their -good friend Miss Earnshaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But when Doris proceeded to relate how -Mrs. Cameron came into her room in order to -upbraid her in her misfortunes, being overcome -by the recollection, she completely broke down -and wept.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Norman Sinclair was deeply moved. The -tears were in his own eyes as he waited in -silence, without venturing to touch, or speak -to her, lest any move on his part should check -her confidence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently she continued, "You must know -I was just becoming engaged to Bernard -Cameron when all these things happened----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Engaged?" interrupted the other, in dismay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Bernard and I had loved each other -long. But she--his mother, you know--made -me vow that I would not marry him--to bring -disgrace upon him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Disgrace?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," Doris said. "The only thing my -father had left him, Mrs. Cameron told me, -was his honourable name, which would be sullied -if I married him, and also, she said, the only -hope for his being able to retrieve his position -was for him to marry some one who had money. -I therefore declared that I would never, never -marry him, and I ran away at once that I -might not see him again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ran away? Alone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," and then Doris told about her -travelling to London and upon arriving at -Earl's Court Square in the night finding her -friend Miss Earnshaw dead, so that there -was another person in possession of the house, -who was unkind and inhospitable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My child, what did you do?" The -words escaped involuntarily from Norman's -lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris told him of the compassionate cabman, -who most fortunately being a good and honest -man, took her to his mother, who proved to -be a good Samaritan to her in her poverty -and need. Then she spoke rather shyly of -her abortive attempts to paint pictures which -would sell, and the work she found at last -of lamp-shade making, which supported her for -a time, until, upon its failing her, she joined -Alice Sinclair's more remunerative business.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You spoilt our partnership," she said in -conclusion, "but I am getting on all right now, -and have saved nearly one hundred pounds for -Bernard. In time I hope to let him have much -more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You consider yourself so greatly in his -debt?" queried the artist, in amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly. My father robbed him of -much money. I must try to pay some back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the man cannot legally claim a farthing -from you. A girl--under age, too--cannot be -made to pay a debt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't understand. It is a debt of -honour. Ah!" she smiled sadly, "you thought -I acted dishonourably about the pictures, so -you cannot understand my being honourable -about anything else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You could not be dishonourable," exclaimed -Norman, quite hotly, "or anything else except -most honourable. About the pictures you hold -a mistaken view, that is all. For the rest, -your taking upon yourself this debt is </span><em class="italics">noble</em><span>. -I only know one other girl who would have -attempted it." He smiled grimly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alice?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, she would have done it. How I wish -you would let her come to me! I have not -many friends," Doris's lips trembled. There -were times when she yearned for Alice's bright -young face and loving words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have not lost her love--she is always -wanting to come to you. But I really----" he -hesitated, seeking a word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think I am not good enough to -associate with Alice--that I should contaminate -her if she came here----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not good enough? Contaminate her?" -Sinclair cried excitedly. "Oh, if you knew -what I think of you, how I esteem and admire you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush! hush! please," said Doris. "You -are speaking excitedly--you do not consider -what you say. The fact remains that you think -my work altogether wrong. 'A crime,' you -have called it, 'in the sight of God and man.' And -you have forbidden your sister to come -here. That shows you have not changed your -opinion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have forbidden my sister to come here -lest she should have a relapse into her former -views, and insist upon joining you again at -the business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would not allow her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Most certainly I should not allow her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His tone was emphatic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you still think it wrong of me to -do it, in spite of what I have said?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you are mistaken. I am sure you -would not knowingly do wrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After he had gone, for he went soon afterwards, -not being able to trust himself to stay -there any longer, Doris sat a long time thinking -over what had passed. His evident admiration -and indeed love for herself--which she had -discouraged, because if she belonged to any one -it was to Bernard--only heightened the effect -of the uncompromising way in which he -regarded her employment. It was, then, in -the eyes of an honest man a fraud which even -the exigency of her need of money wherewith -to pay Bernard his own again could by no -means exonerate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It certainly is wrong to do evil that good -may come," she said to herself. "And oh! my -heart tells me that I have known in its -depths for a long time, in spite of what Bernard -said, and in spite of my sheltering behind his -opinion, that mine is very questionable work, -leading, as I fear it often does, to poor and -ignorant people giving their money for what -is of no real value. If the shops would sell -my pictures for a few shillings it would not -be so bad; but though the dealers only give -me a few shillings for each, they sell many -of them for as much as a pound or thirty -shillings each. I should not like any one I -loved to pay such a price for them--and it -isn't fair to cheat other people's loved ones. -Every one is the loved one of the Lover of -mankind," was the next thought, "and He said, -'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of -the least of these My brethren, ye have done -it unto Me.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The solemnity of the thought was great. -"Unto Him!" she murmured. "Do I treat -Him like that? Can I possibly do it to -Him?" She thought over the essential points -of her religion; over what He had done for -her, and then asked herself how could she -make Him such a return?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fire sank low in the grate. Sounds of -the little house being locked up for the night, -and the footsteps of Mrs. Austin going -upstairs to bed fell unheeded on her ears, as she -sat there still absorbed in these reflections.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The business was wrong; she must get -out of it, must give it up. But, could she? -Would she have strength of mind and will -sufficient for the task? It would be a hard -thing to do. "If thy right hand offend thee, -cut it off and cast it from thee." Yes, she -would do it. For conscience' sake, she would -strip herself of this really lucrative business -which was so wrong, and would commence -in some other way to toil for the money which -was required to pay some of the debt to -Bernard. With a capital of a hundred pounds -she might start some business, she thought, -which would enable her to earn money rapidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having made up her mind for what she -called "The great renunciation," she lost no -time in setting about it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And first of all, before going to bed, she -ascertained from her books what sum of money -was due to Alice--for all this time she had -regularly forwarded to her ex-partner's brother -one third of all profits made in the business--then -placing the amount in notes, in a sealed -envelope, in the inside of which she wrote -"Conscience Money," she went out and -slipped it into the nearest pillar-box. "I -cannot bother to register it this time," she -said to herself, "it will get there all right." Then, -quickly re-entering the house, she locked -and bolted the door, and went upstairs to -her bed-room. But not to sleep. For hours -she lay awake, pondering over ways and -means. Should she hand over to Bernard -the hundred pounds there would be altogether, -after she had sold the last remaining pictures, -and the paint, mill-boards, etc., she had in the -garret? Or should she trade with the hundred -pounds in some way, with the view to making -it bring forth a hundredfold? But in what -way could that be done? And, supposing she -were to lose it? Bernard might never have -even that hundred pounds restored to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She fell asleep at last, her thoughts running -to the tune of the hundred pounds, and awoke -about seven o'clock, still with the problem -unsolved. But the post brought her a letter -from Bernard, saying that he was ill and in -trouble. He had lost his situation through -ill health, and was alone, helplessly ill, in his -lodgings at Richmond.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That morning Doris left her assistants to -pack up her stock-in-trade, while she went to -Richmond to see Bernard, whom she found -in a small, dingy house in Jocelyn Road. He -was not in bed, but lying on a couch, looking -ill and unhappy. His unhappiness, however, -quickly disappeared when he perceived her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You here!" he exclaimed. "Oh, Doris, -does my sight deceive me? Are you really -standing before me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. It is I," replied Doris, and then, -laying her cool hand upon his burning brow, -she added, "Why, how hot you are! What -is the matter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The doctor calls it influenza, but I think -they call everything influenza in these days. -I know I have been ill a horribly long time, -and I can't get better. I have written to my -mother, Doris. I have been obliged to write -to her. Perhaps if I could go home a -little--quite away from this wretched place--my -native air might restore me. But mother has -not replied. I think she will have nothing -more to do with me. The old idea of the -prodigal son's being welcomed back with best -robes and rings and fatted calf is exploded. -Parents are not like that in these days!" He -spoke bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you have not been a prodigal son," -said Doris. "Perhaps if you had been, your -mother would have proved more merciful. It -is the fact that you have acted more nobly -than she about not proceeding against my -father which stings and humiliates her. Don't -you know, dear, that the higher we raise our -standard the more it seems to reflect upon -those who allow theirs to drag in the mire? -Your mother cannot forgive you for being -better than she."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was silence for a few moments in the -little room. Bernard could have said several -things, but he did not wish to speak against -his mother. Presently, however, he remarked,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't feel as if I could get well here. -These are such nasty, fusty rooms--so -depressing--such a want of air and light--so -different from dear old Yorkshire and the -breezes to be had on Askern Hill. Do you -remember Askern Hill, Doris?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Did she remember? The colour returned -into her pale cheeks, and the light into her -eyes, as she remembered the last happy occasion -upon which she and Bernard trod that hill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Bernard, you ought to go back there!" -she said. "My poor boy, you would get well -and strong if you were there again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You also," he rejoined, with a look of -yearning love. "Oh, Doris, if we could return -together!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If wishes were horses beggars would ride," -she said, lightly. "Look here!" she spread -a little heap of bank-notes before his astonished -eyes. "Count them. There are ninety -pounds," she said, for she had brought with -her the money she had saved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ninety pounds!" exclaimed he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Ninety pounds. It is yours. I -repay that much of our debt to you to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ninety pounds! You repay! Debt!" cried -he, in bewilderment and indignation. "What -nonsense! I cannot take your money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must! I insist upon it! I have earned -it for you. See. It is all yours," and, gathering -up the money, she tried to put it into his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he would not take it. He was no cad -that he should take money from a girl. And -he seized the opportunity to show her practically -that it was quite impossible for him to accept -any payment at all from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little contest made him so ill and -feverish that Doris had to call in his doctor, -who, after giving him a draught, insisted upon -his going home to Yorkshire forthwith, while -he was still able to travel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris went to the telegraph office, to wire -to his mother to say that he was returning -home ill, and afterwards while she was packing -up for him the reply telegram arrived. It was -short, but to the point:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Shall be glad to see you. Come immediately."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In the afternoon, Doris and Bernard went -to King's Cross in a cab, and there the girl -saw him off in an express for Doncaster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He urged her to accompany him, but this -she declined to do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, of course, if you won't marry me at -once, dear," he said, "it would be a pity for -you to leave your good, paying business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris had not told him that she was -relinquishing the work, and he departed in the -belief that she still retained her remunerative -employment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the girl returned slowly to Mrs. Austin's, -to sell the tools of her trade, which she no -longer required, and thus complete the -renunciation of her business.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And if the thought of that strong man, -the champion of truth and honour, Norman -Sinclair, was a help and support to her in -this difficult crisis of her life, who can wonder -at it?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard was ill and far away, and the artist -had powerfully influenced her.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="in-poverty"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">IN POVERTY.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Give me neither poverty nor riches.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">The Prayer of Agar</em><span>.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Doris realised ten pounds by the sale of her -stock-in-trade, the materials and the pictures -which had not been paid for previously, and -then, having altogether one hundred pounds in -hand, she imagined herself fairly well off, and -with means sufficient to maintain herself in -comfort until she could find some other employment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now she bought newspapers and -frequented public reading-rooms, in order to -search through the columns of advertisements -in papers and ladies' journals for some post -which she could hope to obtain. Her idea -of paying back even a small portion of her -father's debt to Bernard being now exploded, -she hoped to obtain a comfortable home and -small salary as lady's companion, or governess, -or secretary; and many were the applications -for such places that she made personally, or -by letter, but always in vain. Having no -better reference to give than poor Mrs. Austin, -and having had no experience of the work, she -was so unfortunate as to meet with refusals -everywhere. She was too pretty for some -mistresses to tolerate the idea of having her -in their homes, and she was too reticent about -her parents and home to suit others.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It would have been better for her had she -written to some of her old friends in Yorkshire -asking if they would allow her to refer people -to them, but a mistaken idea that the knowledge -of her father's crime might prevent their -vouching for his daughter's rectitude prevented -her. Since she left Askern she had written -only once or twice to Susan Gaunt, and -then had given no address but the vague one -"London," which caused poor Susan to wring -her hands in dismay, and complain that Miss -Doris couldn't want to hear from her. Perhaps -Mrs. Cameron's insistence on the shame which -attached to her as being her father's daughter -unduly influenced the girl's mind, for she felt -an intense shrinking from renewing her former -relations with her old friends.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So it came about that, as weeks and months -passed by, Doris found that her money was -rapidly diminishing, while her prospects did not -brighten. Bernard only wrote once after the -first brief note saying that he had arrived at home -and received a kind welcome from his mother, -and no more letters coming Doris understood -that Mrs. Cameron would not permit the -correspondence, and therefore she ceased writing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin, who had deeply lamented the -termination of the picture-business and had -even suggested its resuscitation, was loud in -expressions of grief and concern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To think," she said,--"to think that you, -who could earn ever so many pounds a week, -cannot now earn as many shillings! It all -comes of that Mr. Sinclair's coming here -unsettling you! But there, I won't say any -more about him, Miss Anderson dear, since you -don't like me to do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said Doris, gently. "But -now for business," she added, with an attempt -at cheerfulness. "I cannot pay you for this -nice bedroom much longer"--they were in her -bedroom, and she looked round at its cosy -little appointments as she spoke--"you must -try to let it to some one else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What? And part with you? Not if I -know it!" cried Mrs. Austin, throwing up both -her hands to emphasise her words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You need not part with me," said Doris, -putting her arms round the good woman's neck, -and speaking with real affection. "Dear -Mrs. Austin, I should be homeless indeed if I left -your roof! What I want is this: Let me -have the garret--only the garret; make me -up a nice little bed there, and let me have my -food--anything that you happen to be -having--for a moderate charge."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The widow began to protest vehemently, but -Doris cut short her vociferations by declaring -that if her proposal was not agreed to she -would have to seek a lodging elsewhere, for -she could not use the bedroom when it was -quite impossible to pay for it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Accordingly, that very day, a notice that -a bedroom and sitting-room were to let was put -up in the front window, and when at length -they were let Doris carried up all her -belongings to the garret, which Mrs. Austin made -as comfortable as she possibly could.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Doris continued her weary search for -work, even applying at shops for a post as -cashier or shop-assistant. But her lack of -knowledge of book-keeping precluded her from -the one--even if she could have given better -references than the poor Austins'--and her -want of experience and of testimonials caused -her failure as an applicant for the other. -Every evening she returned to her garret worn -out with the futile attempt to obtain employment, -and every evening Mrs. Austin brought -her up a nice little hot supper, in spite of -her protestations and declaration that she was -not at all hungry. That was true enough, -alas! for she lost her appetite and grew thin and -worn during those days; and there were times -when she doubted her wisdom in having given -up the sham oil-painting business. "One must -live," she said to herself, "and I had nothing -else. But at least--at least I have cast into -God's treasury all that I have. Will He bless -me for it, I wonder? It does not seem like it at -present; but I suppose I must have faith, only -I feel too weary to have faith in these days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Such thoughts often came at nights, and she -wept as she lay on her poor garret bed, so -that sleep forsook her, and she arose in the -morning unrefreshed and weary still.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The artist called several times when she -was out, and not being liked by Mrs. Austin, -he found the good woman taciturn and -uncommunicative, so that he did not hear anything -about Doris's business having been given up, -and was in total ignorance upon that point. -But Alice had heard the news from Doris: -for the latter was obliged to mention it in -giving a reason for the money remittances -having ceased. To tell the truth, Alice was -dismayed, and very sorry that Doris, too, felt -it to be her duty to abandon the work. Though -Alice, under her brother's compulsion, had -once requested Doris to give it up, she had -not really wished her to do so, for Alice was -essentially practical, having, moreover, the -responsibility of keeping her artist brother alive -until he won his spurs as a Royal Academician. -Sometimes Alice thought of acquainting her -brother with the fact that Doris, too, had given -up the work he abhorred, but as they had -nearly quarrelled about Doris more than -once--owing to Norman's forbidding Alice to visit -her--each was very reticent about the girl. -Alice did not know of the artist's visiting -Doris; and he did not know that she and -Doris corresponded regularly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you poor, dear darling!" wrote Alice -to Doris, "what an awfully inconvenient thing -it is to have a conscience! And an appetite -for food, with a conscience which prevents one -from having the means to satisfy it, is a piling -on of the agony! With Norman on his high -horse, so that he will not allow me to do this -and that, and you with a conscience which -prevents your sending me any more money, -truly I am in a fix. But I won't be beaten. -I must find grist for the mill somewhere and -somehow, if I have to sing in the street, or -be a flower-girl. My dear old Norman shan't -starve to death while I have any wits left at -all. As for you, if you were not too proud, -there are artists who would pay much for the -privilege of painting your lovely face. I know -Norman would be charmed to have it for his -picture of 'Ganymede.' Indeed, he is painting -her astonishingly like you, although an ordinary -model is sitting for it. Your face is your -fortune, darling, when all is said and done. -And you'll marry a duke, no doubt, in the -end, while I shall be only an insignificant -nobody, perhaps mentioned in the 'Life of -Norman Sinclair, R.A.' as having fed the -lion when he was oblivious of such mundane -things as pounds, shillings and pence. Good -night. When I have thought of what I will -do, I'll send you word. Then maybe you will -join me in doing it: and we won't let anybody -come between us ever again.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>"Thine,</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>"ALICE."</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Another day, when Doris was despairing of -ever getting anything to do, she received a -second letter from her friend, which was short -and to the point.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Eureka! I have found it," wrote Alice, -"now at last our woes will be all over. Our -work will be honourable of its sort, and it will -pay a little--enough to feed the lion and our -humble selves, although we shall not be able -to save money. Oh, dear no. But we must -be thankful for small mercies in these days. -Meet me to-morrow at twelve o'clock at the -Park Square entrance to the Broad Walk in -Regent's Park; then we will have a walk and -talk about it.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>"Thine,</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>"ALICE."</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="new-employment-for-doris"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVIII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">NEW EMPLOYMENT FOR DORIS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>No soul can be quite separate,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>However set aside by fate,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>However cold or dull or shy</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Or shrinking from the public eye.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>The world is common to the race,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And nowhere is a hiding-place:</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Behind, before, with rhythmic beat,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Is heard the tread of marching feet.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>* * * * *</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>And as we meet and touch each day,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>The many travellers on our way,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Let every such brief contact be</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>A glorious, helpful ministry:</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>The contact of the soil and seed,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Each giving to the other's need,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Each helping on the other's best,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And blessing, each, as well as blest.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>SUSAN COOLIDGE.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Oh, my dear Doris, isn't it lovely to be out -here in the fresh air and sunshine, with you, too, -at last? At last!" Alice's feet almost danced -over the ground, as with a smiling face she -drew her friend along the Broad Walk in -Regent's Park. "Oh, I have so much to tell -you! We have been parted ages--</span><em class="italics">ages</em><span>!" she -cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ages indeed!" sighed Doris. "It does -seem such a long, </span><em class="italics">long</em><span> time: and yet I -suppose it is barely four months since you -left me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Months? Four months did you say? It -seems like </span><em class="italics">years</em><span>! Why, it was the depth -of winter then, and now it is spring, though -the trees are bare yet," and Alice glanced up -at the fine chestnut trees on both sides of the -walk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid I cannot walk so fast as this -if I am to talk as well," panted Doris, as she -was being hurried along.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what is the matter with you? You -dear thing, what is the matter? You are pale. -You are ill?" Alice was looking at her now -with great concern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all. I'm all right, only I cannot -walk so quickly. You walk very fast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How worn your clothes are!" cried Alice, -scrutinising her closely. "And how thin you -are! Doris, I believe you are </span><em class="italics">starving</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing of the sort." A bright colour -had come into Doris's face now, making it -look more beautiful than ever, although it was -so thin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you had a good breakfast?" -questioned practical Alice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Mrs. Austin saw to that. She is -very good to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Doris!" Alice read between the lines. -Her friend had been suffering want; indeed, -was suffering it now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am all right," declared Doris again. -"Come, tell me, dear, what is the work you -have found for me to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it is honest work, at all events, and -although it isn't at all romantic, it is interesting -enough. I tried to get into several other -things first, but found them all so difficult -without a special training, and time is the -commodity in which we are deficient: for what -we want is immediate money--cash </span><em class="italics">down</em><span>" and -Alice gave a little stamp with her foot to -emphasise "down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is, indeed," cried Doris. "Go on -quickly, please. Tell me what you have found -for us to do?" It was a matter of vital -importance to her, for she had reached her last -coin that day, and her only hope was in Alice's -promised work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is account collecting. You know, calling -at people's houses for the money they are -owing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" Doris's "Oh!" was rather dubious. -Such work seemed indeed most unattractive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was my grocer who gave me the idea," -Alice went on briskly. "I was apologising for -not paying him at once, and he said that he -wished every one was as honest. Upon which -I remarked that I was looking out for work, -and should have more cash in hand when I -obtained it. He seemed quite sorry for me. -'It is only temporary, of course, this want of -yours,' he said, oh, so kindly; and then I was -such a goose, I couldn't help the tears coming -into my eyes, upon which he jumped up, went -into an inner room, and presently returned to -invite me in. Then he asked if I would like -to collect his outstanding debts, the debts -people owed him, you know, and he offered -me from 5 per cent. to 10 per cent. on all the -money I got in for him. 'Young ladies do -such work,' said he, 'and if you are successful, -Miss Sinclair, I will recommend my friends to -employ you also. I know one or two -lady-collectors,' he added, 'who make from £50 to -£100 a year by this sort of thing.' Beggars -cannot be choosers; therefore I accepted the -work, and began at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How clever of you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was a bit rough on me at first, you -know. People very rarely indeed pay their -debts pleasantly. Most people who greeted -me with smiles when I went to their houses, -looked considerably less amiable when they -found out that I wanted some of their money; -and then going about in all weathers--for the -money has often to be collected weekly--is not -nice. Nevertheless, I am getting on. I earned -a pound a week at first, and now it is usually -nearer two pounds a week than one. And, -best of all," Alice gave a little laugh, "dear -old Norman hasn't found out about it yet; -and--and," she could scarcely speak for laughing, -although there was a little choke in her voice, -"he swallows the fruits of my toil beautifully!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alice," exclaimed Doris, with immense -admiration, "what a brave girl you are! A -sister in a thousand!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now I have more work than I can -do," went on Alice earnestly, "and I thought -you would assist me, dear. If I could hand -over some of the surplus work to you, why, it -would prevent my overworking, and it might -help you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It certainly would!" exclaimed Doris. -"But before taking up the work I ought to -have good references to give you and your -employers, and who----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> should be responsible, of course," -interrupted Alice. "You will simply act as my -assistant. I will give you your work to do, -and you will have a percentage of all the -money you collect. It will be all right. You -will simply act for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris could not do otherwise than gratefully -accept this kind offer. Indeed, there was -nothing for her between it and starvation, unless -she would be a helpless burden upon poor -Mrs. Austin. Alice explained to Doris fully -about the work, arranged where they should -meet daily, and went thoroughly into every -detail connected with the new employment. -Moreover, she thoughtfully advanced ten -shillings, that Doris might be able to buy -herself a new hat, veil, and a pair of gloves, also -a note-book and pencil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When that matter was settled, the girls -sat down under one of the chestnut trees, -enjoying to the full the sights and sounds of -spring about them, the fresh green of the -grass, the blue sky, and the sunshine resting -over all and everything--not to mention the -singing and twittering of the birds, the barking -of dogs, the rolling of the carriages, and the -bright appearance of the ladies walking or -driving by.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently Alice ventured to ask after Bernard -Cameron. Upon which Doris, with her heart -lightened from carking care and warmed by -her friend's affection, for the first time took -her entirely into her confidence, by relating -how matters stood between her and the young -man, together with a full statement of the -manner in which his money had been lost. -She could trust Alice completely, and, -moreover, felt that, as the latter was about to be -responsible for her honesty in dealing with -other people's money, no detail of the cloud -of disgrace resting over the Andersons should -be concealed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it does not make the slightest difference -about you, darling," cried Alice, looking -tenderly into Doris's downcast face. "It is -very sweet of you to tell me all about it. And -I think, dear, that you take rather too serious -a view of your father's fault----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, </span><em class="italics">sin</em><span>," corrected Doris, gravely. "Let -us call things by their right names----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, </span><em class="italics">sin</em><span>," conceded Alice. "But in my -opinion it was not so bad as you think. When -he speculated with Bernard Cameron's money, -of course he thought it quite safe to do so, -and anticipated a big profit, which no doubt -he intended to hand over to Bernard. If -things had 'panned out,' as the Americans -say, successfully, no one would have blamed -him. Indeed, people would have thought he -acted very cleverly and with rare discrimination. -It seems to me that it was the mere -accident of non-success, instead of success, -which made his conduct reprehensible and not -praiseworthy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris took no little comfort from this view -of the matter, and wished she had confided -in Alice before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How very sensible you are, Alice, dear!" -she cried. "Oh, I am fortunate in having -such a friend!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I am fortunate in having you for a -friend, darling!" returned the other, adding, -in her most matter-of-fact tone, "When an -outsider brings eyes that haven't been saddened -by grief to look at a trouble, of course the -vision is clearer. And I must say, also, that -I like Bernard for not accepting that money -from you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but I did want him to take it," said -Doris. "Though, really," she added, "I don't -know what I should have done without it. He -does not know that I have given up my lucrative -business," she said in conclusion. "He -thought it all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you heard from him lately?" asked Alice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not very lately. He wrote to tell me of -his safe arrival in Yorkshire, and that his -mother was very kind in nursing him. And -then he wrote again, to tell me he had been -very ill, and mentioned that his mother worried -him considerably by endeavouring to induce -him to do things which were utterly distasteful -to him. 'But this is a free country,' he wrote, -'and I shall do as I please.' Since then," -Doris continued, "I have heard nothing; -indeed, I have not written much lately."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two girls sat there talking for some -time, and then went to get some lunch at -Alice's expense.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the day following, Doris commenced -work as Alice's assistant account-collector. -But, being thoroughly run down and out of -health, she found her duties extremely arduous -and fatiguing. She was not adapted for the -work, and it was to her most irksome and -unpleasant to have to ask people for money. -She would rather have given it to them. -When they were disagreeable--and, as Alice -had said, it was rarely indeed that people could -be pleasant when they were asked for money -by an account-collector--Doris had the most -absurd inclination to apologise and hurry away. -In fact, she did that more than once, and had -to be severely scolded by Alice for neglecting -her duties. It was in vain, however, that -Alice lectured and coached her; Doris was -much too tender-hearted to make a good -collector. When people began to make -excuses for not paying their debts it was only -with difficulty she could refrain from assisting -them to do so; her sympathy was always on -their side, consequently she did not earn much -of a percentage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice paid her liberally, as liberally indeed -as she could afford to do, for she had her -"Lion" to keep, and her means were limited; -but Doris earned barely enough money to pay -her rent for the garret and for the food with -which Mrs. Austin supplied her, and, in -consequence, her clothes grew shabbier and her -health became worse every day. She did not -hear from Bernard, and was often despondent -and hopeless about the future. How could she -possibly pay him back any money out of the -trifling sums she was earning? And he would -not take it if she could. He would rather -remain poor, and there could never be any -marriage between her and Bernard Cameron.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-powerful-temptation"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIX.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A POWERFUL TEMPTATION.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>When shall this wonderful web be done!</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>In a thousand years, perhaps, or one--</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Or to-morrow: who knoweth? Not you or I,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>But the wheels turn on and the shuttles fly.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Ah, sad-eyed weaver, the years are slow,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>But each one is nearer the end, we know:</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>And some day the last thread shall be woven in,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>God grant it be love, instead of sin!</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Then are we spinners of wool for this life-web--say?</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Do we furnish the weaver a web each day?</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>It were better then, O kind friend, to spin</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>A beautiful thread--not a thread of sin.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Anon</em><span>.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Is Miss Anderson in?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, yes, sir, she is, but----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be so good as to announce me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know about that, sir. Miss Anderson -is not very well; and I think--I think it -might be better for her not to see visitors."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Visitors? I am not visitors. Be so good -as to show me in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin reluctantly led the way to her -sitting-room--a small one at the back of the -house--where Doris was reclining on an -old-fashioned sofa. She started up on perceiving -Mr. Sinclair, and would have risen, but he put -her gently back again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't let me disturb you, I beg," he -entreated. "I shall have to go away if you -don't lie still. And I want to see you very -much," he pleaded. "It is so long since I had -that pleasure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As of old, his strong will dominated hers, -and she fell back against the soft pillows -Mrs. Austin had placed for her head, and looked -at him in silence. Her blue eyes seemed -bigger than ever, and her complexion was -more clear and waxen; but her cheeks were -too thin for beauty, and her mouth drooped -pathetically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear child, what have you been doing -with yourself?" Norman's tone was more -fatherly than loverlike now: he took Doris's -hands in his and held them gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Overcome with emotion, and unable to command -herself, she burst into tears. What had -she been doing? Much, much that he little -suspected. She had visited a pawn-broker's -shop more than once, for the purpose of raising -money on articles of dress. That was because -her earnings were not sufficient for her -maintenance; and then she disliked her work -exceedingly. There were all sorts of annoyances -connected with it. More than one irate -householder, on learning that her visit was for money -owing, had treated her with rudeness and -disrespect, shutting the door in her face. She -had also been affronted with coarse jests and -familiarities, which terrified and wounded her -more than unkind words. Sleepless nights -and unsuccessful, ill-feel days combined to rob -her of health and strength, while uneasiness -about Bernard's lengthened silence and anxiety -about ways and means harassed her mind -continually.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were alone in the little room, -Mrs. Austin having returned upstairs. Norman -Sinclair's heart ached for the poor girl's distress, -although he by no means knew what occasioned -it. He soothed and comforted her as best he -could, and then, bit by bit, as she became -calmer, drew from her the history of those last -months since he had seen her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris could not keep anything back. Now, -as ever, the strong will of the man compelled -her to reveal her very soul, with all its doings, -yearnings, and despair, even in regard to -Bernard Cameron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When all was told there was silence in the -little room, save for the ticking of the -eight-day clock and the purring of the cat upon the -hearth. Doris had said everything there was -to say: she could add nothing, but only waited -for the artist to speak. She looked at him to -see why he did not begin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His head was averted, as if he were trying -to conceal the emotion which caused his strong -features to work convulsively. Then he -turned towards her, and the love revealed in -his eyes and in his whole expressive countenance -blinded and dazzled her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly, with a swift movement, he took -her hands, saying in tones full of deep feeling, -"You must come to me. You are totally -unfitted to contend with this wicked world. -Will you not be my wife?" he pleaded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am to be Bernard's," she faltered, -releasing her hands with gentle dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sinclair frowned a little. He did not think -that Bernard Cameron loved her; from what -Alice had told him he was inclined to think -the young man was treating her rather badly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you quite sure that he loves you?" -asked Norman Sinclair drily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doubts born of Bernard's long silence -recurred to the girl's mind. If he loved her, -surely he would have written, in spite of his -mother's prohibition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have given him time," persisted Norman, -"but he has apparently deserted you, whilst -I am---- Oh, Doris, you little know how -much I love you! Will you not be my wife?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, hush! Hush, please!" said Doris. "I -am </span><em class="italics">so sorry</em><span>! You have been such a dear, -good friend--I have thought so much of your -advice--you know it was that mainly which -caused me to give up my business, and -sink--sink into poverty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was very brave of you to do it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have thought so much of your advice," -she repeated, "and have looked up to you so -much. Do not spoil it all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His face fell. Where was his power over -her. She seemed to be receding from him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doris," he urged, "will you marry me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot," she replied, very earnestly. -"Indeed I cannot!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You cannot?" There was a great disappointment -in his tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot," she repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a minute or two after she said that, -the artist sat motionless and silent. Then -he began to speak rapidly and with deep -feeling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a few well-chosen words he described -graphically the loneliness and hardship of his -orphan boyhood, when Alice was a baby and -therefore unable to give him even sympathy; -and then he spoke of the dawning of ambition -within him and of his boyhood's dreams that -one day he would become an artist worthy of -the name, and went on to relate the story of -his striving to acquire the necessary skill and -culture, and to mount one by one the golden -stairs. Tremendous difficulties had to be -overcome, indomitable, unfaltering resolution and -untiring industry had to be displayed by him: -perseverance under many adverse circumstances -became almost his second nature, until at last, -gradually, success came nearer. Then he spoke -of his hard work more recently, and of the -pictures he had painted that last year, two of -which had now been accepted and hung in the -Royal Academy. Only quite incidentally did he -mention that he and Alice would have actually -wanted bread sometimes if it had not been for -mysterious bank-notes arriving anonymously, -labelled "Conscience Money," which made him -think they came from one or another to whom -he had formerly lent cash which could ill be -spared. In conclusion he said quietly, "However, -thank God, all that is ended, for, through -the death of a rather distant relation, I have -quite unexpectedly inherited a fortune of one -hundred thousand pounds. As soon as I was -absolutely certain that there was no mistake -about the matter, I said to myself, 'I will go -to Doris. If she will share my life and help -me to do some good with the money, ah, then -I shall be happy.' So, Doris dear, I came."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl was silent. She was deeply touched. -He came to her as soon as the cloud of poverty -had lifted and he was able to offer her a home -and plenty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You came to me," she faltered at length, -without daring to lift her eyes to his, lest he -should see the tears which filled them--"you -came to me--a beggar girl--a pauper----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said, "a brave, hard-working, -honourable girl! Doris, you have suffered, -are suffering now; but by marrying me you -will be lifted at once out of all difficulties. -Think, dear, how easy and pleasant your life -would be, and how useful, too, for you would -help me to do much good with our riches."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Doris shook her head. She could not -accept his offer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sinclair went away presently, disappointed -for the time being, but determined to try again. -The next day he sent his sister to visit Doris, -and Alice brought her useful presents of -chickens, jelly, cream, and cakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's so delightful to be rich," she said. -"You've no idea how pleasant it is to be able -to buy everything we want! Wouldn't you -like to be rich, too, Doris?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Doris. "Yes, I should. I hate -poverty. It is so belittling--so sordid to have -to think so much of ways and means! I should -like to forget what things cost, and accept -everything as unconsciously as we accept the -air we breathe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet you won't be rich," said Alice, -with meaning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris coloured a little. "How can I?" she -asked, "when there is Bernard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps he would like to be rich, too?" -suggested Alice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> you think it would be best for -him to marry you, and plunge both himself -and you into poverty?" asked Alice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You talk as his mother did," sighed Doris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After all, there was commonsense in her -view of the matter," persisted Alice. "What -is the use of two young people marrying, and -living in poverty ever after, when they may -both be rich and happy if they will?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Riches and happiness do not always go -together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think poverty and happiness do," -said Alice, curtly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris felt a little shaken. Would it really -be better for Bernard and she to be true to -each other, when their marriage would only -mean poverty and anxiety?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Norman came again that afternoon when -Alice had gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doris," he said, when they were conversing -in Mrs. Austin's back parlour, "perhaps, as -Cameron has been so long in writing, he may -have ceased to care for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps so indeed!" rejoined Doris, with -a sigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Couldn't you ascertain whether it is so?" -suggested the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes--if he will answer me; but--I don't -know how it is--I receive no answer to my -letters," faltered the girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is there no one else to whom you can -write in Yorkshire--I mean, so that you -can get to know his feeling about you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's only Susan Gaunt, our old servant, -I might write to her; but I scarcely think that -she can do anything, though she has known -him since he was a boy, and he is always nice -to her, and talks to her quite freely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, ask her about him. And write to -him, too, once more, asking him straight out -if he has changed towards you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I will," said Doris. "It can do -no harm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She accordingly wrote that evening both to -Susan and to Bernard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old servant answered immediately. Her -letter was as follows:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"MY PRECIOUS MISS DORIS,</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"At last you send me your address, -and I hasten to write these few lines to ask -if you are well, as this doesn't leave me so -at present.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My heart is very bad, dearie, and the -doctor says I may die quite suddenly any time. -Well, I've always liked that verse--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Sudden as thought is the death I would die--</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I would suddenly lay these shackles by,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Nor feel a single pang at parting,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Or see the tear of sorrow starting,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Nor feel the hands of love that hold me,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Nor hear the trembling words that bless me;</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>So would I die,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Not slain, but caught up, as it were,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>To meet my Captain in the air.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>So would I die</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>All joy without a pang to cloud it;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>All bliss without a pain to spoil it,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Even so, I long to go:</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>These parting hours how sad and slow!</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>But I would like to see you once more, my -precious young lady, before I go. I have -cried about you often and often, and I always -pray for you day and night--I did so specially -that first night when you went away--that -God would guard and protect you. And He -did, didn't He, or you would not now be -writing to old Susan so peacefully?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ask about Mr. Bernard Cameron. -Don't think any more of him, lovey. I have -heard on the best authority that he is going -to marry a rich young lady at Doncaster. It -is his mother's doing, no doubt; she always -hankered after riches, and while he has been -ill she has had him to talk to morning, noon, -and night--and this is the result. So don't -think any more of him, dear Miss Doris, but -look out for a good, honourable gentleman, -and don't marry at all unless you find him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please excuse bad writing--I know my -spelling is all right, for I always was a good -speller--and accept my love and duty.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>"Your faithful servant,</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>"SUSAN GAUNT."</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>There was no letter from Bernard; no letter, -though Doris waited for it many days.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed clear, therefore, that he must be -going to marry the young lady at Doncaster, -of whom Susan wrote; and that being so, -and poverty and starvation weighing heavily -in the balance against prospective wealth and -every comfort that money can give, Doris -yielded at length to Sinclair's persistent urging, -and consented to become his wife.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-welcome-legacy"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XX.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE WELCOME LEGACY.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>All things come round to him who will but wait.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Tales of a Wayside Inn</em><span>.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Late for breakfast again, Bernard! It's idle -you are! Bone idle, that's what it is!" Mrs. Cameron's -tones were angry, and when angry -they were very shrill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard, who had entered the room languidly, -did not hasten to reply, but stood -leaning wearily against the mantelpiece. His -face was pale, his eyes heavy and a little -bloodshot; he looked unhappy and as if he had -passed a sleepless night, which, indeed, was the -case; but he had not spirit enough to plead -that as an excuse for his lateness. Instead, he -glanced at the clock, murmuring that it was -scarcely half-past eight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And late enough, too!" cried Mrs. Cameron, -who was pouring out the coffee as -she spoke. "I told you breakfast would be -at eight. You are quite well now, and must -get out of the lazy, lackadaisical habits of an -invalid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes! All right." Bernard took his -place at the table opposite his mother, looking -askance at the large plate of porridge set there -for him to eat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your porridge will be half cold by this -time," continued the scolding voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is." Bernard just tasted it, and pushed -the plate away. "I cannot eat porridge yet," -he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must try. Porridge made as Jane -makes it, of good Scotch oatmeal, is just what -you want to put some life in you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard did not think so. He drank his -coffee disconsolately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His mother looked as if she would have -liked to make him eat the porridge, as she had -done often in that very room when he was a -little pale-faced lad, with a small appetite and -a strong will of his own. As it was, however, -she pushed a loaf of brown bread towards him, -saying that he could have some bread and -butter, though it was poor stuff compared with -porridge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are there no fresh eggs?" asked her son.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Cameron reluctantly conceded that -there were such things in the house, and -Bernard rang for them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After that, the breakfast proceeded in silence -for a time, and then Bernard remarked that he -hoped to get another situation as tutor, near -London, very soon. "I have written to one -or two agents," he said. "I want to get a -private tutorship, if I can. It will be less -disagreeable than being an under-master in a -school."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you want to be near London?" -asked his mother, frowning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard did not answer. She knew very -well that he wanted to be near Doris Anderson, -and he did not wish to discuss Doris with her. -During his illness, it had been one of his -heaviest afflictions that he could not escape -from the sound of his mother's voice, as she -railed against Doris and her parents.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has the newspaper come?" he asked presently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes." Mrs. Cameron pointed to the local -daily newspaper lying on the sideboard; and, -as her son rose to get it, she remarked: "I -cannot think why the postman has not come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he has. I took the letters from him -at the door, as I was passing it----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You did?" Mrs. Cameron looked annoyed. -"How often have I requested you to allow -Jane to bring the letters into the room in a -decent manner!" she snapped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They were only for me. Surely a man -is entitled to his own letters!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whom were they from?" was the next -sharp question, as his mother looked keenly -at him over her glasses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I really don't know. I simply glanced at -them to see----" He stopped short, not caring -to say that, as there was not a letter from -Doris, he had not deemed the others worthy -of immediate consideration. Thrusting his -hand into his pocket, he produced a couple -of unopened letters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We will see what this one is," he remarked -with an attempt at cheerfulness, taking up a -table knife and cutting open an envelope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" he exclaimed as he read. "Oh, -mother! Oh, how good of Mr. Hamilton! -How good of him! What a boon!--what a -great boon for us!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it? What do you mean?" exclaimed -his mother, in great excitement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Read it," he said, handing her the letter, -and leaning back quite faint and dizzy with -surprise and gladness not unmingled with sorrow.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 62%" id="figure-65"> -<span id="read-it-he-said-handing-her-the-letter"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""'READ IT,' HE SAID, HANDING HER THE LETTER."" src="images/img-239.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"'READ IT,' HE SAID, HANDING HER THE LETTER."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Adjusting her glasses, his mother read the -letter, which was from a well-known firm of -lawyers in Birmingham.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"DEAR SIR,</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"We have to inform you that by the -will of our late client, the Rev. John Hamilton, -you are bequeathed a legacy of five thousand -pounds free of legacy duty, as some compensation -for the loss of your fortune, for which our -client always felt a little responsible, as, had he -been a more businesslike man, he might have -prevented the defalcations of your other trustee, -Mr. Anderson, or at least he would not have -left your money so entirely in his hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you would kindly write and tell us how -you would like to receive your legacy--whether -we should pay it into your bank, or directly to -yourself, you would oblige,</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils noindent-white-space-pre-line"> -<dt><span>"Yours faithfully,</span></dt> -<dd><dl class="docutils first last"> -<dt><span>"MARK AND WATSON,</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last pfirst"><span>"Solicitors."</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Well," cried Mrs. Cameron, "I never was -more surprised in my life, nor more pleased!" -she added. "And it was right, too, of -Mr. Hamilton! I told him about his being to -blame, you know, for not looking after his -co-trustee--and I told him my mind about it; -and he went away in anger. But, you see, he -has been thinking about my words, and he -recognised the justice of them----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, mother, I wish you hadn't blamed -him!" exclaimed Bernard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wish I hadn't blamed him? How silly you -are, Bernard! Why, it's to that you are -indebted for all this good fortune. If I hadn't -stood up for you and put his duty before him, -you wouldn't have had anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you suggest he should leave me -money?" asked Bernard, aghast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did that! I said it was his bounden duty -to give you a thousand or two."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother! How could you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I could. It was for you I did it. -What right had he to leave all your money in -that Anderson's hand? What right had he -to sign papers--as he confessed he did--at -Anderson's request without reading them? I -told him he ought to have been ashamed of -himself, and, in fact, that he ought to give you -half of all that he possessed--we all knew he -had a lot of money somewhere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will it be wronging his relations if I take -this legacy?" asked Bernard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you take it? Why, Bernard, how silly -you are! You'll deserve to starve if you don't -take what the man has left you," cried his -mother, angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't take it--if any one else ought to -have it," said Bernard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Simpleton!" muttered his mother. Then -she added, "He hadn't a single relation nearer -than a second cousin, who is a rich brewer, so -you may make your mind quite easy about that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard felt much relieved. In that case he -would not have any scruples in accepting the -legacy which his late trustee had left him, and -how welcome the money would be!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My boy," cried his mother, with more -kindliness, as she realised what a blessing the -money would be to them, "you can return to -Oxford, obtain your degree, and afterwards -have a school of your own!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard smiled, as he mentally said good-bye -to hard toil as an usher, or assistant-master -in another man's school. He would have one -of his own one day; but first there was -something else of great importance for him to do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Later in the day, after he had written to -the lawyers thanking them for their communication, -and asking them to be so kind as to pay -the five thousand pounds to his account in the -London and County Bank, and after he and his -mother had discussed Mr. Hamilton's somewhat -sudden decease during an attack of pneumonia, -he damped all her joy by declaring that the first -step he should take would be to go to London -to Doris Anderson, and the second would be -to marry her forthwith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think she will consent," he said, "as her -only reason for refusing me before was that the -debt was not paid. Now I have only to go to -her and say, 'Doris, part of the debt is paid. -I have come to marry you,' and then she will -consent--oh, yes, I know she will consent!" -and his face was bright with joy and thankfulness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was in vain that his mother vociferated -and protested against his marrying Doris, he -would not listen to her any longer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is of no use your talking about the -matter, mother," he said; "I am going to marry -Doris, and no amount of talking will prevent me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His mother was miserable; now less than -ever did she desire Doris to be her son's wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she lay tossing about on her sleepless -bed that night she almost wished Bernard had -not received his very substantial legacy, as -he was going to use some of it for such a -purpose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the early morning she dressed hurriedly, -purposing to speak to her son on the subject -before he started for Doncaster to catch the -early express for London.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Early as she was, however, Bernard had -been earlier, for he had already left the house -when she came downstairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Cameron hired a dogcart and ordered -a man to drive her as fast as possible to -Doncaster Station.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it happened that the dogcart collided -with a waggon on the way. No one was hurt, -but there was some confusion and considerable -delay, and when at length Mrs. Cameron was -able to walk into the station at Doncaster, it -was to catch sight of the express fast -disappearing in the distance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have lost my son!" said the unhappy -woman to herself. "He will never speak to me -again when he finds out about the letters I -have suppressed. He will hate me--yes, he -will hate me for doing it." The thought followed -that she would deserve her fate, for if ever -a parent provoked her son to wrath she had -done so.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="bernard-seeks-doris"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXI.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">BERNARD SEEKS DORIS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>The course of true love never did run smooth.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>SHAKESPEARE.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Is Miss Anderson in?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir. She doesn't live here now, sir," -answered Mrs. Austin, in melancholy tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not live here! Then where is she?" cried -Bernard somewhat faintly, for in his surprise -and consternation at not finding Doris there a -return of the faintness that had before troubled -him seemed imminent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The good woman caught hold of him by the arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Excuse me, Mr. Cameron, sir," she -exclaimed. "You are ill. Come inside, sir. -Come inside the house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard shook her hand off, declaring he -was all right; but he walked unsteadily into -the little sitting-room, where he had expected -to find Doris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down, sir; I'll get you a glass of water -or a cup of tea in a moment----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense! I mean, I'm much obliged to -you. But all I wish to know is this, where -is Miss Anderson? Where--is--Miss--Anderson?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'll tell you, sir, in a moment," answered -Mrs. Austin, bustling about and getting him -some water. "Take a drink, sir," and she held -the glass to his lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drank slowly. The room, which had -been turning round and sinking into the -ground, became once more stationary, whilst -the clouds of darkness disappeared, and it was -light again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, you'll do now," said Mrs. Austin. -"Miss Anderson told me that you had been ill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind me. Where is she?" Bernard -asked the question impatiently. Would the -woman never answer him?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There have been changes, sir, since you -were here," said Mrs. Austin, rather nervously, -standing before him, twisting her apron round -her fingers, with her eyes fixed upon it. "It -all came of the artist gentleman. I wish to -goodness he had never set his foot inside of -my door!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mean Miss Sinclair's brother?" -interrupted Bernard, taking alarm at Norman -Sinclair's influencing Doris's movements. He -remembered warning her against him in this -very room, and telling her that if she grew to -care for him she would not love her Bernard -any more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Mr. Sinclair. I begged her not to -listen to him. But she did. And he came -again and again, until he had persuaded her -to stop making those pictures and give up -her business, which was paying her so -grandly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give up her business! Did you say he -persuaded her to give up her business? Did -she do that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir, yes. Didn't she tell you? For, -now I come to think of it, she had done that -before you were ill, when she went to see you -at Richmond."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Had she taken such a step then? She -never told me so. She never said a word -about it to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't she, sir? Then perhaps she thought -you were too ill to be bothered. She told me -when she returned from Richmond that she -had seen you off by train for the north, hoping -that your native air and your mother's nursing -would restore you. Not that it has done much -for you, sir, as far as I can see----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind that. Tell me what Miss -Anderson did next?" Bernard asked anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She told me that she sold what she had -left of the pictures she had finished, and all the -materials she had bought in for others; and -then, having given up the business, she began -seeking employment again, answering advertisements, -applying at shops, and all that sort of -weary work. It made my heart ache to see -her come in at nights tired out, pale, and -worn--a lady like that, who ought only to have -been fatigued with cycling, or tennis, or -amusing herself as other young ladies do! -'Perhaps I shall have more success to-morrow,' -she would say to me, with her patient smile. -But months went by, and it was always the -same, until, at length, she came towards the -end of her savings, and then she began to -economise and pinch herself of comforts, -and--necessaries."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't say so!" cried Bernard in -consternation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid you are ill, sir," exclaimed -Mrs. Austin, seeing him turn very pale.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I'm all right. Go on," he said -though his old faintness was troubling him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir, the day came when Miss Anderson -said to me very plainly that she had no money -left, or next to none, so she begged me to -allow her to give up her rooms and just have -the garret to sleep in until she found work that -she could do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why didn't she write to me?" cried Bernard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She hadn't much time for writing, sir, when -she was all day seeking work; and at nights -she was too tired, too down-hearted. And I -think, sir, she kept looking for a letter, which -didn't come, from you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From me? Why, I wrote to her almost -every week when I was well enough, until, -latterly, having no answer, I became -discouraged. But hurry on with your story. -Where is she now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She had a letter from Miss Sinclair which -made her very glad; and then Miss Sinclair -found her some work, about which she was -very hopeful at first; but it was difficult to do, -I am sure, for she used to come home quite -fagged out, and it must have paid badly, for -she had very little money. 'I'm such a poor -hand at it, Mrs. Austin!' she used to say. -And sometimes she used to add, 'My heart -isn't hard enough for it.' Poor dear! If it -was a hard heart the work wanted, Miss -Anderson was quite the wrong lady for it. I've -seen ladies who would 'skin a flint,' as the -saying is, but----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind that!" interrupted Bernard -with more impatience than courtesy. "Tell -me where Miss Anderson is?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin began again, for she would tell -things in her own way. "She fell into a poor -state of health, and got a hacking cough, which -wouldn't be cured, though I made her linseed -tea, and honey and lemon, and----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is she? Speak! Tell me, is she -alive?" For now Bernard's fear caused him -to leap to the conclusion that Doris must have -died.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, dear, sir, she's alive, of course! Though -she was in a bad state at that time, and had -a regular churchyard cough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on. You frighten me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry, sir. Where was I? Oh, there -came a day when she couldn't go out. I made -her lie on the sofa in my back parlour, and it -just happened that Mr. Sinclair called: he had -been many times when she was out, but that -day he called when she was in. He had a -very long talk with Miss Anderson. And she -was very much excited after he had gone. She -cried a good bit, and then, next day, his sister -came to see her, and afterwards he called again, -and then Miss Anderson sat down and wrote a -letter to you, sir, and another one to an old -servant in Yorkshire, and she cried while she -was writing them. I think those were very -important letters, sir, for she was very anxious -that they should be safely posted. I had to -put on my bonnet and take them to the post -myself, for she would trust no one else. And -then she waited so anxiously for the answers, -but only the old servant wrote. Oh, sir, why -didn't you write?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I received no letter from her. I have had -none from her since the first week after my -return to Yorkshire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I'm sure she wrote to you, sir, several -times."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard uttered an exclamation. It was -clear to him that his mother must have seized -his letters and kept them from him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There was something in the old servant's -letter," continued Mrs. Austin, "which struck -my dear young lady all of a heap and made -her go about like a stricken lamb, with her -poor young face so white and drawn. She did -not cry then, sir. I only wished she would, -for there was a heart-broken look in her poor -face. Then Miss Sinclair came, full of -affectionate concern, and she did her best to -comfort Miss Anderson; but in vain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'It's no use,' she said to me, 'I cannot -make Doris cheer up. I shall send my brother.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then, the next thing was Mr. Sinclair -came, and after he had gone, Miss Anderson -said to me, quiet-like, 'I'm not going to be -poor any longer, Mrs. Austin!' And then she -went on to say, 'It will be better for you, dear -Mrs. Austin; I've only been a burden on you -lately, and now you will be well paid for all -you have done for me---not that money will -ever repay you, my good, kind friend!' and, -throwing her arms round my neck, she kissed -me more than once. 'I should have died if it -hadn't been for you,' she said. 'And now I -am going to live and be Mr. Sinclair's wife. -He is rich now, and I have promised to marry -him.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To marry him!" Bernard exclaimed, -starting up so violently that he overturned a -small table. "Did she say to marry him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," Mrs. Austin answered, with -great sympathy; "I'm sorry to say she did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But she is </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> promised wife!" cried -Bernard, picking up the table and beginning -to pace up and down the room, in his agitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, sir!" Mrs. Austin's round eyes -opened widely in astonishment. She had -always understood that Mr. Cameron loved -Doris, and indeed she wondered who could -help loving her! But it was altogether another -thing to hear that Doris had promised to -marry Mr. Cameron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is she? I must speak to her--must -hear from her own lips how it was that -she could do such a thing. Where is she?" -cried Bernard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a minute, please, sir," said -Mrs. Austin. "I must tell you that after the -engagement was settled Miss Sinclair came -the next day and took Miss Anderson away. -Miss Sinclair gave me her address,--Steele's -Road, Hampstead, and said that I was to -forward all Miss Anderson's letters there. Miss -Sinclair also gave me a five-pound-note, and -Miss Anderson promised to come and see me, -and settle up everything before she got married. -She begged me to pack up all her things, and -take care of them for her; but she said, too, -that she would never be able to come and live -here again. 'No,' I said, 'you are going to -be a grand lady, and you'll forget all about -poor Mrs. Austin!' But she said, 'No, no, -indeed!' and she cried, and kissed me. 'I'm -not very happy,' she said, and could say no -more for weeping, especially as Miss Sinclair -came up to urge her to make haste, for the cab -was waiting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not very happy? I should think not -indeed! Oh, Doris!" The last words were -said very low, as Bernard turned his head -away for a few moments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She looked miserable, sir. I'm thinking it -was only for a home and support that she was -thinking of marriage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But she wouldn't sell herself for that!" -exclaimed Bernard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then it was such a grievous thing, -sir, that you didn't write to her. Hope deferred -maketh the heart sick. And very sick at heart -my poor dear young lady was, many and -many a time, while she was looking for the -post bringing her a letter, in the days before -she got engaged to Mr. Sinclair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I did write! I wrote many more -letters than I received from her. I never -heard from her after the first week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then there has been foul play, sir, -somewhere! Letters have been stopped, and have -got into the wrong hands before to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard knew well who must have been the -culprit. His mother had wronged and sinned -against him in a way which would be hard to -forgive. She had done all she possibly could to -destroy his happiness in this world. But he told -himself that he must not waste time in thinking -of that just now; he would hasten to Doris and -have a talk with her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you say she is at Hampstead?" he -inquired, hastily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She went there with Miss Sinclair, but -they are not there now, sir. They have gone -to the seaside somewhere, for the benefit of -Miss Anderson's health."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gone!" cried Bernard. "To the seaside! -What seaside? Where?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know, sir. They'll tell you -at--Steele's Road, Hampstead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll go there at once. You've been a good -friend to Miss Anderson. Allow me," and he -pressed a sovereign into the landlady's hand, -and hurried out of the house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the shortest possible time he was at -Hampstead, inquiring at Steele's Road for -Miss Anderson's address. Mr. Sinclair -happened to be out--which Bernard thought was -just as well for him; but the servant being -under the impression that his master was -somewhere about the house, Bernard was -shown up into the studio. There, as he waited, -he perceived more than one painting in which -Doris's fair sweet face was beautifully -delineated. The sight of it there, however, only -maddened her unhappy lover. What right had -the fellow to make Doris's loveliness so -common? What right had he to possess the -presentment of it there? By the power of -his strong will and helped by his riches he -had prevailed upon the lonely girl to promise -him her hand in marriage. In the absence -of her own true lover he had stolen her from -him. But a Nemesis had come, was coming -indeed; and when Doris saw her Bernard and -spoke with him, face to face, she would throw -over the usurper, and matters would be -readjusted as happily, nay, more happily, than if -this engagement had not occurred.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'For things can never go wholly wrong</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>If the heart be true and the love be strong'"--</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>quoted Bernard to himself, "and there shall -be no mere engagement, but a marriage shall -take place forthwith. For, thank God! I am -rich enough now," he said to himself, "to be -able to marry my Doris. Yes, all will come -right when I see her again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A maidservant entered, bringing in an -address on a slip of paper. "Mr. Sinclair is -out," she said, "but this is where we have -to send all letters that come, either for Miss -Sinclair or Miss Anderson."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said Bernard, taking up the -scrap of paper, and reading, "The Queen's -Hotel, Hastings," upon it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will go there immediately," he said to -himself, as he left the house. "I will take the -very first express train to Hastings." He -hailed a cab. "Drive me to Charing Cross," -he ordered, "and drive your fastest."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="too-late-too-late"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">TOO LATE! TOO LATE!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="small">There is no disguise which can long conceal love when it does, or -feign it when it does not exist.--LA ROCHEFOUCAULD.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"How strange it is to be rich!" cried Alice -Sinclair, as she sat with Doris in a shelter -by the sea at Hastings. "It </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> delightful!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris smiled, but her smile only seemed to -enhance the sadness in the expression of her -beautiful face, and she shivered slightly as she -drew a fur-lined cloak more closely round her. -"This is different from account-collecting," she -said, looking at the fashionably dressed people -sauntering by, and then allowing her eyes to -rest upon the beauty of the sunlit waves before -them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, or making imitation oil-paintings -either!" exclaimed Alice. "Who would have -thought to see us, now, that we were two poor -girls toiling in a London garret not long ago?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To feed a 'Lion' and pay a monstrous -debt," said Doris, plaintively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now our task is done," continued -Alice, with cheerfulness. "The Lion is fed, -and is roaring loudly in the Royal Academy: -moreover, he has food enough for a lifetime. -And as for you, your struggle with the hard -cold world is ended, dear," and as she spoke -she laid her hand on Doris's thin arm. "Are -you not glad?" she asked a little wistfully, for -the sadness of her friend was a great trouble -to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I try to be," answered Doris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Try to be?" Alice raised her eyebrows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I have to try, you know, for I don't -feel able to rejoice about anything in these -days." The tears came to Doris's eyes as she -spoke, and her lips trembled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor dear! That is because you are out -of health----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes I wish it was out of life," -interrupted Doris wearily. For it was a dark -hour with her, and, in her trouble in losing -Bernard's love and having promised to marry -a man for whom she had no affection, she had -for the time being lost her usual happy faith -in the golden thread of her Heavenly Father's -love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Doris!" Alice was shocked. Things -were even worse than she had feared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot help it," returned Doris. "I -am sad, and there is no denying it. Whichever -way I look I see nothing but sadness--sadness -in the past, in the present--and, God -help me, in the future." Her tones were -miserable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the future with Norman? Oh, Doris, -you cannot </span><em class="italics">love</em><span> him!" Alice's tones were -full of distress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At least, I am not deceiving him. He -knows what my feelings are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think he does--quite?" asked -Alice, softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, quite. And he is content: he says -the love will come in time--that he will win it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think he will," said Alice--they -were talking in low tones which others could -not hear, as they had the shelter to -themselves--"love cannot be compelled. I don't know -much about it myself," she added candidly; -"no man has ever wanted to marry me, and -I have never cared for any one so much as I -care for Norman, but I have read about love -in books, and I know it cannot be forced. You -do not love Norman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alice," protested Doris, "you ought not -to say that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen, dear," said Alice, "in your -innermost heart you know that I am right. I am -only calling a spade a spade, and it isn't the -least use to make a pretence of calling it -anything else. You do not love Norman. Now, -dear, hear me out, </span><em class="italics">you do not love him at all</em><span>. -I was watching you this morning when you -received that letter from him, and you looked -infinitely bored. When he is over here you -escape from his presence whenever you can, -especially if I am not with you. You say that -he is not being deceived, but does he realise -what a wretched man he will be if he marries -you when you are feeling like that? He is -full of love and tenderness towards you, and -you have not even the old liking for him and -interest in his talk and doings which you had -at first. You can, in fact, barely tolerate him -now. Think, then, what it will be to have to -live with him for years and years, until you -are old and die----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, dear! Perhaps I shall die soon." There -was a peculiar sound in the poor girl's -voice, and Alice, looking at her with searching -eyes, could see that her heart was breaking, -and that she would indeed die soon if she were -not released from what was slowly killing her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The marriage must not take place," said -Alice, firmly. "If not for your own sake, you -must stop it for Norman's. If </span><em class="italics">your</em><span> heart is -breaking now, </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> will break after marriage, -when he finds that he has only bought an -empty shell without its kernel, a lovely woman -without a heart which can return his love, -a wife without the wifely qualities he craves. -Poor old Norman! He deserves a better fate," -and there was indignation in her tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Doris, "it is true. He deserves -a better fate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were silent for a few minutes after she -had said that. The girls sat watching the -sunlit sea dotted here and there with boats of -various descriptions. They listened to the -gentle lapping of the waves, the shouts and -laughter of the children paddling on the beach, -and the scraps of conversation from the -passers-by. But mentally they were seeing very -different scenes, and they were hearing, too, -other more interesting words. Doris was -thinking of Bernard, of the gradual growth of -their love for each other, and his proposal upon -the hill at Askern in Yorkshire, and, later on, -his more mature declaration of love, in -Mrs. Austin's house in North London. Alice, on the -other hand, was thinking of her brother -Norman, and of the pained expression of his -face when Doris too manifestly avoided a -</span><em class="italics">tête-à-tête</em><span> with him. If it were so now, what -would it be when they were married? What -prospect of happiness could there be for either -of them?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look! See who is coming towards us!" -exclaimed Doris, suddenly. Her face had -lighted up with a smile of singular beauty, and -she was leaning forward the better to discern -the features of a tall young man hurrying -towards them through the promenaders on the -front.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, it is Mr. Cameron!" cried Alice, -in great surprise. "What can he want here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was soon evident what he wanted, for -he came straight up to Doris, exclaiming, "Ah, -you are here! How are you?" His eyes -sought hers, eagerly and with great wistfulness. -"And how are you, Miss Sinclair," he added, -holding out his hand to Alice; but his eyes -went back to Doris. "They told me at 'The -Queen's,'" he went on hurriedly, "that I should -find you here, so I came straight along, looking -in at every shelter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are very glad to see you," said Alice, -rather gravely. Was it for the best, she -wondered, for her brother and Doris, that the -latter's first lover should return to claim her? -She knew instinctively that it was for that -purpose this very resolute young man had -come. Perhaps, indeed, this would be the -solution of the very unsatisfactory state of -things she had been grieving over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris said nothing. She dared not bid -Bernard welcome, but she could not feign -displeasure at his persistency in following her -there: it was impossible for her to simulate -unconcern and coldness. She was glad to see -him, and to know, by his very presence and -the way in which he came to her, that she -still possessed his love: a great weight was -lifted from her heart, and a glow as of returning -happiness crept through her frame, bringing -the pretty colour into her cheeks, reddening -her pale lips, and brightening the eyes which -had shed so many tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice, glancing at her, understood that -Doris's happiness, perchance even her life -itself, might depend upon her interview with -Bernard at this fateful time. "He has her -heart," thought Alice, "he may as well have -her altogether: for Doris without a heart -would make poor Norman as miserable as -she would be herself." Therefore Alice said -briskly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am glad you have come up, Mr. Cameron, -for I want to do some shopping, and you can -sit here with Miss Anderson whilst I am -away. I did not like leaving her alone, but -now I can go. You will be all right with -Mr. Cameron, Doris, and I will return -presently," and before they could make any -coherent reply, she had set off, walking -briskly away from the sea-front.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard gave one grateful look after her, -then he quickly turned to Doris. "I may -sit down," he said, "may I not? For I have -much to say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris bowed. She could not speak, for -hope and happiness had come to her, which -she was vainly endeavouring to resist. Bernard -was there, she had him all to herself; might -she not for one half-hour give herself up to -the happy present before she was made -miserable for life?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you anything to say to me first?" -asked Bernard, gently. She looked so frail -that he determined to be very gentle with -her, and he said to himself that he could not -really believe that she was engaged to Norman -Sinclair, unless she said it with her own -lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris could not speak. She endeavoured -to do so, but in vain. It did not seem to her -to be right to say what she wanted to tell -him, and yet she could not utter the words -that duty demanded. Therefore she remained -silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have given her a chance to speak of -her engagement to Sinclair, and she has not -availed herself of it; therefore I will not believe -she is engaged to him," said Bernard to -himself; and then one of his hands stole under -Doris's fur cloak and clasped hers warmly, -as he cried in low yet earnest tones, "My -darling, I have brought good news. I have -had a legacy left me in part payment of my -lost money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris uttered a cry of joy. "My father!" -she exclaimed. "You have heard from him! -He has sent you money! Oh, thank God! -Where is father? Tell me quickly! And -did he mention mother?" She spoke rapidly, -in intense eagerness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard was grieved to disappoint her; -still, the truth had to be told, so he said -quickly, "The money was not from your -father. Mr. Hamilton, his co-trustee, has -died and left me five thousand pounds in -his will, he said, as some compensation for -my lost money. Immediately I knew it I -came to claim you, my dearest!" He drew -the shrinking girl a little nearer. "I always -said," he continued--"I always said that you -and no other woman in the world should be -my wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot! Oh, I cannot!" The words -were only just audible, but reached Bernard's -ears at length.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cannot!" He looked at her with pained -surprise. Being very sanguine and also very -young, he had already, in the last few minutes, -almost forgotten the unwelcome news of her -having become engaged to Norman Sinclair, -which he had heard in London, and which -had hurried him to Hastings. "Cannot!" -he repeated. "But you must, and you shall! -I have been too poor and too ill to claim you -for some time. Now, however, that that -money has come to me, I have immediately -hastened here, in order to claim the fulfilment -of your promise made to me upon the hill at -Askern Spa. Don't trifle with me, Doris," -he added, with a little choke in his manly -voice. "I have been through so very much -that I cannot bear it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have, too," she faltered. "God knows -what I have been through."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But that is ended," he said, quickly. -"Thank God, that is all ended, and I have -come now to </span><em class="italics">claim your promise</em><span>?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot marry you--I cannot," she repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why cannot you?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Bernard, do not try to question me. -Dear Bernard," she looked up at him -beseechingly, "be so very good as not to ask -me that question. Take my answer, dear, -and go away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go away! Doris, do you know what -you are saying? I come to you in order to -claim you for my own, and you tell me to go -away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forgive me, dear," she said, weeping now -and turning away her face so that he might -not see her tears. "Forgive me, dear, and go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall not. I cannot--I will not unless -you say that you have ceased to love me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot say that, Bernard, for I love -you," Doris answered, "and I know that I -shall never love any other man as I love you." Then -she tried to rise, as she ended miserably, -"Nevertheless, </span><em class="italics">I cannot marry you</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit still." He placed her on the seat -again. "You say that you love me, and yet -persist in saying you cannot marry me. I -must know how that is. You must tell me, -dear. I have a right to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Slowly the words dropped from Doris's lips, -"I cannot marry you, because I am engaged -to Norman Sinclair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Engaged to Norman Sinclair?" Bernard -repeated indignantly. "Then it is true, that -tale they told me in London. You--my promised -wife--have engaged yourself to marry -that man!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it--is--true," again the words dropped -falteringly from the poor girl's lips. "But I -could not help it, Bernard," she added, quickly. -"I could not help it--I was obliged. You -see, you did not write. There was nothing -before me except starvation; and then Norman -came to me with his offer, and I was tempted. -Oh, Bernard!" she exclaimed, "why did -you not write? I waited and waited for a -letter so anxiously, especially after I had told -you about Mr. Sinclair's offer. Oh, you -might have written just one line!" She looked -at him with reproach in her blue eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear girl, I did not receive that letter, -or any at all from you after the first week -of my return to Moss, although I wrote -repeatedly. Some one has suppressed our letters, -Doris!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cruel! Cruel!" cried the girl, instantly -suspecting who it was. "But how was it -that, not hearing, you did not come to me -in order to ascertain the reason? It is such -a long, long time since you returned to -Yorkshire, almost a year--and it seems more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been so ill," replied Bernard sadly, -"and when I recovered from my first illness, -I caught chills and had bad relapses. I was -not out of the doctor's hands during nine -months, and my mother nursed me so devotedly. -How could I suspect that at the same -time she was grievously injuring you and me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then there was another thing," -complained poor Doris. "I wrote to Susan, our -old servant, you know, and asked her about -you; whereupon she replied that I was to -think no more about you, as she had heard -on good authority that you were going to -marry a young lady at Doncaster."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but you couldn't believe that, Doris? -Surely you had more faith in my love!" -exclaimed Bernard, reproachfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What else could I believe when you never -wrote and she said that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doris, I should not have believed it of -you!" exclaimed Bernard, stopping short, with -a little frown, as he remembered that she had -become engaged to Norman Sinclair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris looked up miserably. "Circumstances -were too much for me," she said, "and, forgive -me--I thought that they had been too much -for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you think I was so weak?" cried -Bernard--"so weak," he repeated, "as not -to be true to the only girl I have ever loved?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How was it," asked Doris, gently--"how -was it that Susan could hear on good authority -that you were going to marry a Doncaster -lady?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, if you must know," said Bernard, -"my mother set her heart on the match, and -she was always having the girl over and trying -to leave us together, and taking her with us -everywhere, and she must have spread it about -that we were engaged; so I daresay she told -Susan the same thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which would account for Susan's saying -that she had the news on good authority," -interposed Doris. "But tell me, was the girl -rich? And did you like her?" and she looked -searchingly at Bernard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, she was very well off," he admitted, -"and she was nice enough; but of course I did -not love her, for I love you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very, </span><em class="italics">very</em><span> sad," said Doris, the tears -rising to her eyes as she spoke. "But, dear -Bernard, there is nothing to be done. It is -too late! Too late!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but it is not. You are not married yet. -You will have to break with Sinclair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot. He is a good and honourable -man, and he loves me. I cannot break my -promise and make him miserable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But your engagement was made upon false -premises: you thought I was faithless, and I -was not. Everything must be explained to -Sinclair, and as a man of honour he will feel -bound to release you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris shook her head. "I cannot make him -miserable," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was in vain Bernard argued and pleaded, -he could get no concession at all from the poor -distracted girl, who simply repeated in different -words her one cry, "I cannot, dear, I cannot -be your wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young man became angry, at length, at -her unreasonableness, as he called it, declaring -that she could not love him as much as he -loved her, or she would not see such great -difficulties in the way of their union; and when, -upon his adding that he would see Mr. Sinclair -and thrash the matter out with him, she said -that she could not consent to that, he got quite -out of patience with her, and, saying goodbye -rather coldly, went away towards the railway -station, with the intention of taking the next -train for London.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="alice-sinclair-s-intervention"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">ALICE SINCLAIR'S INTERVENTION.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>It never could be kind, dear, to give a needless pain:</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>It never could be honest, dear, to sin for greed again,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And there could not be a world, dear, while God is true above,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>When right and wrong are governed by any law but love.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Anon</em><span>.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Bernard Cameron was hurrying along towards -the station when he met Alice Sinclair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl looked immensely surprised to see -him there, and immediately exclaimed:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What? You here, Mr. Cameron? Why, -I left you in charge of Miss Anderson until I -returned. I was on my way back, now," she -added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am off by the next train to town," said -Bernard, in very injured tones. "I was a -fool," he added, bitterly, "to come down here -at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice read the lines of distress and -disappointment written upon his face, and was -very patient with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There isn't a train to London for at least -an hour," she said, "and you must not think -of going until you have had some tea. Let us -return to Doris, and then we will go into the -Creamery and have some tea."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must beg you to excuse me," said Bernard, -stiffly. "I have taken leave of Miss Anderson, -and must now bid you good-bye." He held -out his hand as he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice perceived that he had been hard hit. -"You must not leave me like this," she said, -gently. "Mr. Cameron, I thought you and I -were friends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So we are. You have always been -good to me, but----" He stopped short, and -his eyes wandered in the direction of the -station.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is no use thinking of starting to London -yet. As I said, there is no train for fully an -hour. Tell me," she regarded him very -sympathisingly, "what is the matter? Have you -and Doris quarrelled?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard looked at her kind sympathising -face and his resolution wavered. "Quarrelled -is not the word," he said; adding, with an -effort, "I should like to tell you all about it, -Miss Sinclair, if I might."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you would," said Alice, earnestly--it -was one cause of her influence with others -that she was always in earnest. "Come and -let us walk up and down in Cambridge Gardens, -where it is quiet. Then we can have a long -talk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They turned into the less frequented street, -and walked slowly along, whilst in low, rapid -tones Bernard told Alice all his trouble, and -especially the grievous fact that his and Doris's -letters had been suppressed and kept from -them for many months, finally ending by -complaining bitterly of Doris's ultimatum.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doris must not marry your brother, Miss -Sinclair." Bernard's tone was as decided and -masterful as the artist's as he concluded with -these words: "She must marry me. We loved -each other long before your brother ever saw -her, and we love each other still--and shall -until death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed to Alice, walking by Bernard's -side and listening to his low, earnest voice, -that no power on earth would be able to -separate him from the girl he loved, and -certainly Norman would not endeavour to do -so. Norman was a man of honour, and when -he learnt how the two lovers had been kept -apart and separated by the wickedness of -Mrs. Cameron, and after everything was -explained to him he would release Doris -from her engagement, no matter at what cost -to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice tried to say something of this sort to -Bernard, but he scarcely listened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was glad of her for a confidante, but did -not want to hear her views or listen to her -advice, because in his own mind he had -already solved the problem. And first, his -thoughts, as was natural, returned to Doris, -from whom he had parted in anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All this time," he said, hastily, as if only -then realising it, "Doris, whom I left in anger, -must be in distress. She must be suffering -intensely, for you know she is so very -sensitive. I must therefore return to her at -once, and must encourage her to hope that -all will yet be well. If she will not throw -Sinclair over----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Allow me to remark that you are speaking -of </span><em class="italics">my brother</em><span>," interposed Alice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon," said Bernard, in -remorseful tones, as he looked at the kind girl, -whose colour had risen. "It was an awful -shame for me to speak like that, but----" He -broke off, and began again, "I thought we -were agreed that she would have to give him up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is not the way to put it," said Alice. -"My brother, who is really the soul of honour, -will have to release Doris from her promise. -He must do it--and will, when he knows -everything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, of course. As I was saying, if Doris -will not--I beg your pardon, as she cannot -in honour release herself, I shall go to Sinclair -and tell him that it will be most dishonourable -of him if he does not release her from her -engagement----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That won't do!" exclaimed Alice; "that -won't do at all. If you go to Norman in -that spirit you will soon be outside his door -again. My brother is a bit of a lion, you -know, in more senses than one. He might -listen to any one speaking very courteously, -but if a bear comes in and tries to get his -bone, oh! there </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> be a pandemonium!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, he must be told----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will tell him," said Alice. "I will go -to London to-morrow, and will see him -and explain everything to him. It will not -be a very pleasant task--it will pain me -very much to make my brother unhappy, -but I will do it for dear Doris and for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is very, </span><em class="italics">very</em><span> good of you," said Bernard, -gratefully, "to say that you will go and -explain everything to your brother. Perhaps -you will be able to do it in a nicer way than -I could."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice smiled. She certainly thought that -was possible. "Norman is very good," she -said. "I am sure he will release Doris, but it -will be a dreadful sorrow to him, for he loves -her very much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure of that. Though he shouldn't -have come poaching in my preserves!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The last words were uttered so low that -he did not intend Alice to hear them. But the -girl heard, and instantly retorted:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget that was the fault of the person -who kept back Doris's letters and yours, -causing her to think that you no longer loved -her; so that naturally both she and Norman -concluded that she was free to marry whom she -pleased."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, of course. You are right. I beg -your pardon for forgetting that," said Bernard, -penitently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now we will return to Doris together, and -after we have explained to her how matters -stand, we will go and have some tea at -the Creamery in Robertson Street. Afterwards----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice paused, looking wistfully at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will keep out of her way until you return -from London," Bernard said, understanding -that he ought not to proceed further until -Norman had freed Doris from her engagement -to him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="norman-sinclair-s-letter"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">NORMAN SINCLAIR'S LETTER.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Not only those above us on the height,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>With love and praise and reverence I greet:</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Not only those who walk in paths of light</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>With glad, untiring feet:</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>These, too, I reverence toiling up the slope,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And resting not upon their rugged way,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Who plant their feet on faith and cling to hope,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And climb as best they may.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>And even these I praise, who, being weak,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Were led by folly into deep disgrace:</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Now striving on a pathway rough and bleak,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>To gain a higher place.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>* * * * *</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Oh! struggling souls, be brave and full of cheer,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Nor let your holy purpose swerve, or break!</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>The way grows smoother and the light more clear</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>At every step you take.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Lo! in the upward path God's boundless love</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Supports you evermore upon your way:</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>You cannot fail to reach the heights above</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Who climb as best you may!</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>EUDORA S. BUMSTEAD.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Doris sat alone in the shelter, after Bernard -had left her, in a state of unhappiness so great -that she could not even weep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All is over between us," she sighed, -"and Bernard has gone away in anger. How -wretched it is! Nothing could be more -wretched! Nothing! I am the most -unfortunate girl in all the world!" And she sat -with her pale face turned towards the sunlit -waves, watching them and yet in reality seeing -nothing except her own utter misery. What -had become of all her prayers, she wondered--the -prayers which she had poured out to -her Heavenly Father from a sorrow-laden heart?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had saved her from starvation, and -placed her in a position of great temporal -prosperity; yes, but what about her previous many, -many prayers for Bernard, for their mutual -reconciliation and union when a part at least -of the debt was paid, and for the happy and -useful married life which they had once planned -together on the hill at Askern, and for which -she had so often longed and prayed?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have done my best," thought Doris, -"and have tried to serve God all the while. -The thought of Him was ever in my heart, -and I gave up my prosperous little business--all -that I had--in obedience to His Voice, -speaking to me through Norman's words and -my own conceptions of what I ought to do. -I cast my all into His treasury: and all -the time--every day--I prayed for Bernard--and -for our future together--until--until I -was led by circumstances to believe that -he did not love me. And since then--since -then everything has gone wrong, and -I seem to have lost hope and faith in God -and man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was in despair. It was the darkest hour -of all her sorrowful young life, and she could -see no gleam of light in any direction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How long she sat thus she never knew, but -it seemed an immense time before she heard -the cheerful voice of Alice behind her saying -brightly, "Doris! Doris darling, we have -brought you good news!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no good news for me," answered -Doris, without turning her head, and the two -who loved her were aghast at the hopelessness -of her tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doris!" exclaimed Bernard, "I have returned, -in order to bring you the glad news -that there is hope for us, and help, for Miss -Sinclair is going to be our good angel and is -going to save the situation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How? What? I don't understand," said -Doris, turning to look at them in relief and -surprise. "Do explain, please," she added, -tremulously, feeling quite unable to bear any -more suspense.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sitting down beside her, they hastened to -tell everything, and then to combat her conscientious -objections to Alice's proposed arbitration, -as it seemed to her, at first, that it was -scarcely right for Alice to persuade her brother -to release his </span><em class="italics">fiancée</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall not persuade him," replied Alice, "I -shall simply tell him the facts of the case, and -leave him to act as it seems right to him. But -I will tell you this, Doris," she added, "I know -dear old Norman will at once release you from -your engagement."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Alice carried them off to the Creamery, -and, after they had partaken of a charming -little tea, she invited Bernard to meet her at -the Warrior Square Station at five o'clock on -the following day, when she expected to be -back from London, in order that she might tell -him first what her brother decided. When that -matter was settled to every one's satisfaction, -Bernard took leave of the girls and went away, -to pass the time as best he could until Norman -Sinclair's ultimatum was received.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The following evening, as Doris sat in one -of the large balconies of the Queen's Hotel, -enjoying the fine air, the pleasing sea view, and -most of all the delightful hope that all might yet -be well, Alice, who had been to London, and -Bernard, who had met her at the station, came -to her there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All is well," said Alice, "as I knew it -would be. Doris," she took the girl's thin hand -in hers, and placed it gently within Bernard's, -"Norman has sent you your freedom. You -can marry Bernard now as soon as you like, -and Norman hopes you will be very happy. -He has sent you a letter, dear," she said in -conclusion, putting one into Doris's hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris swayed in her chair. She could not -even see the letter for the tears which filled -her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice, too, began to cry, and Bernard had -to clear his voice two or three times before he -could speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid I was a little rough on your -brother, Miss Sinclair," he said at length. -"He is indeed a man of honour. I am sure -I beg to withdraw all that I have said against -him, and to apologise for my hot words. I -hope that you will tell him how grateful we are -when you see him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid I shall not see him for a very -long time," answered Alice; "he is going -abroad alone." She looked deeply pained. -"He wishes me to stay with Doris and see -after her getting married." She said the last -words more cheerfully, for, being a woman, the -idea of a wedding was pleasant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There won't be much to see about in my -wedding," said Doris, with a smile, "for I -shall have to do without a trousseau and -without a good many things, because I am not -taking Bernard any money. You will have -a poor bride, Bernard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall not! You will be the very best -bride that ever a man could have!" he cried, -rapturously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Alice went away, and left them together. -Later on in the evening, when Doris -was alone, she opened Norman's letter, which -was as follows:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"DEAR DORIS,</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I give you back your promise to -marry me. I am sorry for the mistakes which -have been made and the suffering through -which you have passed, and trust that your -future life with Mr. Cameron may be all joy -and gladness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will, I am sure, do me the justice to -believe that had I known he was true to you -I should not have tried to induce you to -become engaged to me, however much I loved -and esteemed you.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>"Yours very faithfully,</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>"NORMAN SINCLAIR."</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Doris shed tears over the letter, for she -knew that, reticent though the writer was -about his own feelings, she must have made -him exceedingly unhappy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And when Doris thanked God that night -before she slept that He had heard her prayers, -and that He had mercifully given her her -heart's desire, she prayed, also, for Norman -Sinclair that he might be comforted and blessed -exceedingly.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-happy-wedding"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A HAPPY WEDDING.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Never to part till angels call us home.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Song</em><span>, "</span><em class="italics">Golden Love</em><span>."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>The span of life's not long enough,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Nor deep enough the sea,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Nor broad enough this weary world</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>To part my love from me.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Anon</em><span>.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>So they were wed, and merrily rang the bells,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Merrily rang the bells when they were wed.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>LONGFELLOW.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"After all, Doris," said Alice, the next -morning, "you will have a trousseau, and a -very pretty one, too. For I am going to buy -it for you. Yes, indeed, it is to be my -wedding present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know how to thank you," said Doris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then don't try. Pay me the compliment -of accepting what I have much pleasure in -giving."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris rose, and, throwing her arms round -her friend's neck, gave her a hug.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How soon do you intend to be married?" -asked Alice, presently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In three weeks. There is no reason for -delay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not. The sooner the better. -Where shall you be married?" asked Alice, -a shadow falling across her face at the thought -that she could scarcely take her friend home -to be married from Norman's house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, here, in this dear place, where my -happiness has come to me!" said Doris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here? At Hastings? From this hotel?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, why not? I am sure the Vicar of -All Saints, whose church I have attended, -will marry us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't doubt that! Yes, of course -you shall be married here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's only one thing," said Doris. "The -Austins are not here. And I must have dear -Mrs. Austin, and her good son Sam, at my -wedding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Send for them all," interposed Bernard, -entering the room and overhearing her -last remark. He had been for a bathe, -and was looking well and happy. There is -no greater restorative for body and mind than -happiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Send for them?" said Doris. "Oh, but -I don't think they will come if we send for -them. I think I shall have to go and see -Mrs. Austin, and arrange with her about their -coming down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not strong enough to take all that -trouble," said Bernard. "It will take you all -your time until our wedding-day"--he spoke -with joy and pride--"to recover sufficiently -for it and for our little tour afterwards."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll not go far," said Doris. "Why -should we go far," she laughed happily, "when -we have found each other?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why indeed? Supposing we go to the -Isle of Wight, will that do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, charmingly. I have never been -there. But, Bernard, I must go to see dear -old Mrs. Austin and invite her to the wedding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cannot you write to her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, a letter will not do. Think how good -she was to me when I was penniless and a -stranger in London! Can I ever forget how -she received me into her house, and trusted -me to repay her as I could? And then she -gave me her late son's painting materials, and -tried to make me believe I should succeed as -an artist,--and, afterwards, when that had -failed, she comforted and encouraged me, and -got her nephew to find me work, and, later, -interested Alice in employing me; and then -afterwards, when I gave up the business and -became poor again, she stood by me, trusting -and caring for me more lovingly than ever. -Bernard, if there is one friend in all the world -whom we ought to value and esteem next to -the Sinclairs it is Mrs. Austin, and, next to -her is Sam Austin, the cabman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did he do?" asked Bernard, though -indeed he partly knew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He saved me from despair that first night, -when, on coming to London by the night -train, I found my godmother, Miss Earnshaw, -had died, and that I was alone in the great -metropolis, with only a few shillings in my -pocket, and no claim upon any one in all the -vast city. He took me to his mother, and -persuaded her to receive me into her house; -and then, afterwards, when I had made my -first little water-colour sketches, he drove me -round to the dealers in his cab, and would -take no payment then, nor afterwards, until -I was earning a lot of money, and then -compelled him to do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He shall come to our wedding, too," said -Bernard. "They shall both be our honoured -guests."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, thank you! Thank you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I'll tell you what we will do, darling. -We will give them a wedding-present, yes, -we will!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, thank you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, you must not thank me, dear! It -is you who will invite the wedding guests, -that is always the prerogative of the bride. -I will pay their expenses, if you will allow me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, I will," said Doris, gladly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall we go up to town to invite her?" -said Bernard, tentatively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should like to do so," said Doris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wouldn't it be too tiring for you?" said -Alice. "Otherwise," she added, "I should -like to go up to shop with you in Bond Street."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I," said Bernard, "should like to go -over to Richmond on business. The fact is, -I have heard that the school in which I used -to work is for sale, and I rather think of -buying it. When I was a poor assistant -there I used to think what a future it might -have if it were more efficiently managed. -How would you like to live on Richmond Hill, Doris?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Near the Terrace, with the loveliest view -of the Thames to be seen anywhere! Oh, -Bernard, how charming that would be!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'll go and look after the school, if -you like; and if you come, too, we can see the -Austins while we are in town and invite them -to our wedding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In about a week Doris was strong enough -for this arrangement to be carried out. She -and Bernard, accompanied by Alice as far as -Victoria, where they separated, went to London -for the day, and after going to Richmond, -where negotiations were commenced for the -purchase of Bernard's former school and the -head master's house, they went on to King's -Cross in order to see Mrs. Austin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The good woman was delighted to see them -together, apparently on such intimate terms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Doris!" she cried. "And Mr. Cameron! -And both looking so happy! So very happy," -she repeated. "Don't tell me anything, I -know it all. There'll be a wedding. I saw -it in the fire last night. Come in. Come in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They followed her into her little room, -which seemed to Doris to be smaller and -dingier than ever after the great rooms to -which she was accustomed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mrs. Austin, I am so happy!" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Mr. Right this time, and no mistake!" -exclaimed the good woman. "Between you -and me, miss," she added aside, "I didn't -want you to marry that other gentleman. Miss -Sinclair was a dear, sweet lady, but the brother -was so upsetting!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has been very, very kind to me," said -Doris, "and to Mr. Cameron, too. He has -been a very good friend to us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has he, miss? Well, I'm glad to hear it, -but----" she broke off, and began again, "Give -me Mr. Cameron, for a fine, pleasant-speaking, -right-living gentleman!" she declared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris laughed, and her eyes rested on -Bernard with loving pride. "Do you know, -Mrs. Austin," she said, "I was engaged to -him before I came to London at all--only -unfortunately our engagement had been cruelly -broken off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, miss! Ah, I could see you were -in deep sorrow when you came to me. If you -had seen her then, Mr. Cameron," and she -turned to Bernard, "you would have been -sorry. She was that white, and there was -such a stricken look upon her poor, dear face. -And yet, for all she was in such trouble, she -did me good; so that I thanked God for -sending her here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She does me good, too," said Bernard. -"That's why I love her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, he's one of the right sort!" exclaimed -Mrs. Austin to Doris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> think so," said Doris, laughing -merrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin looked wonderingly at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never heard you laugh like that before, -Miss Anderson," she exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently the widow's two visitors sat at -tea in the little parlour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And how are you getting on, Mrs. Austin?" -asked Doris, presently. "You say so little -about yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, miss, this is such a joyful occasion I -don't like to spoil it----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, then, I'm afraid you are not doing -well?" said Doris, sympathisingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tears came into the widow's eyes; but -she dashed them off with a corner of her -apron, and tried to smile, as she answered, -"I have a lodger in my front rooms, and a -young shop-girl rents my attic; but--but----" -and she broke down, weeping bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris and Bernard tried to comfort her, -and at length ascertained, with some difficulty, -that the cause of her distress was that her -landlord had given her notice to leave the house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I've lived in it all my life," she said. -"I was born in it and brought up here: my -dear mother lived with me here till she died, -and when my husband made me an offer of -marriage I said, 'Yes, if you'll come and live -in my dear home.' And he did, and was so -good to my mother--as good as good could -be--always taking off his boots before he went -upstairs on the stair carpets, and always -lighting the kitchen-fire and making me a -cup of tea before he went to his work, till -he fell ill of his last illness. He died in the -front sitting-room. I had the bed brought -down there for him. And there was my -Silas, he was born in my front bedroom; -and he used to paint his lovely pictures, as -you know, miss, in the attic; and he lay down -and died, as sweet and calmly as a child, in -the back bedroom, 'Going Home,' he said, -'to the Great Artist, Who will put in the -finishing touches to the work that He has -made.' I couldn't bear to leave this house, -with all its memories! It will kill me--I -know it will! And my Sam feels almost as -bad. 'I shall never drive down this road, -mother,' he says, 'when the old home isn't -yours.'" Mrs. Austin stopped at last for -want of breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why does the landlord want to turn -you out?" asked Bernard. "You must be -such good tenants."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Austin is," said Doris. "She pays -her rent regularly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, miss. I've always paid it to the day, -though I have been rather hard put to sometimes, -when my lodgers haven't paid up. It's -not for want of the rent that the landlord gives -notice. It's because he's selling a lot of his -houses to a man who wants them for his own -workpeople, and therefore must have them -emptied." The widow's tears flowed again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't cry, Mrs. Austin dear!" said Doris, -rising and putting her arms round the good -woman's neck, while she kissed her kind old -face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You shall not be turned out," said Bernard; -"I will see your landlord, and buy the house, -if I can. Then you shall not be turned out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, sir, it will cost you a lot!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will be an investment, and I shall -have a good tenant. You know, Doris," he -added, turning to her, "I must not put all the -money into the school."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having asked the landlord's name and -address, Bernard left Doris resting in Mrs. Austin's -sitting-room, and departed to transact -the business, which he was able to do -satisfactorily, as the landlord happened to be in -a hurry to sell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have bought the house for three hundred -and fifty pounds," Bernard announced, on his -return to Doris. "You tell Mrs. Austin, dear," -he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So it was Doris who had the pleasure of -telling the good woman that Mr. Cameron had -bought her house, and so she would be able to -remain in it as long as she lived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God! Thank God! That is all I -want. And you shall have your rent regularly, -sir," said the widow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You shall never be asked for it," said -Bernard. "When you have the money to spare -you can pay it, and when you have not any -to hand over, nothing shall be said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are too good, sir," began Mrs. Austin. -But Doris interrupted:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is only treating you as you treated me," -she said. "When I could not pay you, dear -Mrs. Austin, you always let it pass over, and -forgave me the debt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you have paid everything now, miss." (Through -the Sinclairs' kindness Doris had -been able to do this.)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can never repay you for all your exceeding -kindness," cried the girl; adding, "And I am -delighted that we can enable you to remain in -your comfortable home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Austin was overjoyed. She shed tears -again, not for sorrow now, but for joy. -"How little I knew when I took you in, -Miss Anderson," she said, "that I should be -entertaining an angel unawares!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Doris asked Mrs. Austin if she would -come to Hastings with her son, in order to -be present at the wedding, and this the widow -joyfully consented to do, saying:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would go further than that, miss, to -see you married, and so would my Sam. We'll -come to your wedding, if we have to walk -every inch of the way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right," said Bernard; "that's the -right spirit! But you will have to allow me -to pay your fare, for you might not arrive -in time if you walk the sixty miles or so to -Hastings, and I shall be only too pleased to -pay your fare."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris wanted to see Sam, but he was away -with his cab, and therefore she could only -leave a message for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was exceedingly happy as she returned -to Hastings with Bernard in a luxurious -corridor-train--so happy, indeed, that she felt -at peace with all the world, and therefore -ventured to suggest:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Couldn't we have your mother to our -wedding, too, Bernard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young man's face darkened, and his -voice shook as he answered, "No, I think not. -I--I </span><em class="italics">could</em><span> not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall have to forgive her, dear," -pleaded Doris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes--in time. You must give me time, -dear." Bernard was silent for several minutes -after that, and then he said abruptly, "We -will go to see her after we are married."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, dear," acquiesced Doris; "I should -like that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The day came quickly which was to make -them man and wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Theirs was a pretty wedding, although the -wedding guests were only two, and they were -not of the same rank in life as the handsome -bridegroom and the beautiful bride, supported -by her friends, and bridesmaid, dressed like -herself in costly silk and lace. Doris was in -white, and Alice in creamy yellow, whilst -Bernard, of course, was in immaculate attire, -his good-looking young face lit up with love -and joy and thankfulness to God.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bless them! God bless them!" exclaimed -good Mrs. Austin as the young couple left -the vestry, where Doris had signed her maiden -name for the last time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Amen," said Sam, "and may they live -long happy years!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sam had only one regret about the wedding, -and that was that he could not bring his cab -down to be used on the occasion. "I should -like to have driven them to church in it," -he confided to his mother. "It would have -been a sort of finish to the two rides I gave -Miss Anderson in it. First when I drove -her to Earl's Court Square, and then home -to you when she was in such distress, and -afterwards when I drove her round to see -those skin-flinty old picture-dealers about -selling her pictures."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But now the bride and bridegroom had -to be met, congratulated, and wished all sorts -of happiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you! Thank you!" said Doris, -shaking hands with Sam, and lifting up her -glad young face to kiss his mother, while -Bernard shook hands warmly with them both, -thanking them for himself and his bride.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Later in the day Alice drove with Bernard -and Doris to the station to see them off in the -train for Portsmouth, as they were going to -the Isle of Wight for their honeymoon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris clung to her a little at the last. "I -don't know how to thank you, Alice," she -said; "you have been like a dear sister to me."</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 62%" id="figure-66"> -<span id="doris-clung-to-her-at-the-last-you-have-been-like-a-dear-sister-to-me"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""DORIS CLUNG TO HER AT THE LAST. 'YOU HAVE BEEN LIKE A DEAR SISTER TO ME.'"" src="images/img-303.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"DORIS CLUNG TO HER AT THE LAST. 'YOU HAVE BEEN LIKE A DEAR SISTER TO ME.'"</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want thanking," protested Alice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you will feel so lonely, dear, when we -have gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind me," said Alice; "you know -to-morrow I shall start for Switzerland, in order -to join my brother there, and then there will -be no more loneliness for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will Give him our kindest remembrances, -Miss Sinclair," said Bernard, earnestly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I can I will--that is, if he speaks of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The train began to move off, and there was -no time to talk any more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye--good-bye, dear," cried the -travellers, and then--Alice Sinclair was left -alone upon the platform.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="two-months-later"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXVI.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">TWO MONTHS LATER.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Time and the hour run through the longest day.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>SHAKESPEARE.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mrs. Cameron was a miserable woman. Poor, -unhappy, and remorseful, she sat alone in her -solitary house--even her one maidservant had -left her--thinking dismally of her sad past, -mournful present, and hopeless future. On -her lap was her son's letter of two months -before, the only one he had sent her since he -left home to go in search of Doris, and she -thought that it would probably be the last one -she would ever receive from him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know all that you have done," he wrote, -"to destroy my happiness and that of my -beloved Doris, and the means by which you -sought to separate us for ever in this world, -and I write to inform you that your schemes -and machinations have failed; for we are -engaged to be married, and, there being no -longer any obstacle to prevent it, the marriage -will take place on the 20th of this month.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That, I think, is all I need say now, or at -any time, to one who has done her utmost to -alienate me for life from the one I loved.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>"I remain, Mother,</span></dt> -<dd><dl class="docutils first last"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>"Your much-wronged Son,</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>"BERNARD CAMERON."</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"A nice letter for a mother to receive!" -grumbled the widow. "Yet I know that I -deserve it," she added mentally. "I've been -too hard--too hard on him, and too hard on -other people. If I hadn't been so quarrelsome -with my husband, he would not have left most -of his money to Bernard, and that wretch -John Anderson would not have had the chance -of stealing it all. And if I hadn't been so -hard on Bernard and on Doris Anderson, I -should have retained my boy's love, which -would have been better than nothing." She -sniffed and passed the back of her bony hand -across her tearless eyes. "Yes, it would have -been better than nothing, and I might have -come in for a bit of his money now he is -richer; but, as it is, I've got nothing, neither -money, nor love, nor anything at all!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked dismally at the dusk stealing -across the room with its threadbare carpet and -faded chairs and curtains. There was no -servant to come in and light the gas and -close the blinds. She was all alone, and so -hopeless that she did not care whether the gas -was lighted or not. "What matter if it is dark, -so long as I have nothing to do but think!" -she said to herself, dismally. "They'll have -had their honeymoon now, and perhaps will -be getting settled in their new home. I -wonder where it is? To think that I shouldn't -know where my son is going to live! I never -thought Bernard would turn against me; and -yet--and yet I deserve it, for mine was a -crooked policy, directed against all his wishes -and ignoring his rights. I told myself I was -doing it for him, for his best interests; but -really I was doing it more for myself, that -he might become rich and be in a position to -give his mother a good home; and out of -spite, too, against those Andersons, and a -determination that Doris should not have -him." She paused, listening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some street singers were wailing forth the -hymn, "O God, our help in ages past!" -before the house; but the woman, who had -found no help in God, because she had never -sought it, was only angered by the sound. -Rising and going to the window, she made -emphatic signs to the man and woman--the -latter with a child in her arms and another -clinging to her skirts--to pass on; but they -either could not see her in the deepening -dusk or would not be persuaded to go away, -for they continued singing even more loudly -than before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I shall not give them anything!" -declared Mrs. Cameron, relinquishing the -attempt to stop them and returning to her -chair by the fireless hearth. "What right -have they to come disturbing folks in this way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again she sank into gloomy, miserable -reflections, while the darkness increased about her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door-bell rang; but she paid no attention -to it, thinking that it was only the singers -wanting alms. "They may want!" she said -to herself grimly. "Other folks want what -they can't get, too!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once more the bell rang, and yet a third -time, and even a fourth; but still Mrs. Cameron -remained firm in her determination not to -speak to the intruders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm a hard woman," she said to herself; -"aye, and I'll be hard. I'm too old to change -now, and nobody cares, nobody cares what I'm -like or what I do. If any one cared ever such -a little bit, I might be different; but nobody -cares, least of all God; He's shut me out of -His good books long ago. I shall never get -to His Heaven, never! Even if He let me -into His Heaven, I shouldn't be happy -psalm-singing, and praising Him, and living in His -presence. Not I! I don't care at all for Him, -and that's truth. And if, as some say, in -heaven the angels are always ministering to -others and doing deeds of kindness, that work -wouldn't suit me. Not it!" She laughed -shrilly, as if in derision of the idea; and the -darkness deepened around her. "I don't care -an atom for other people. Not I!" she went -on, and again her weird, unholy laugh rang -through the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Its echoes reached a young man and woman -who stood at the door, hesitating before ringing -the bell again, and caused them both to shiver.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nobody cares for me, and I care for -nobody!" soliloquised Mrs. Cameron. "If -any one cared ever so little, it would be -different. Oh, dear! What's that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An exceedingly loud rapping at the street -door made her start up, exclaiming angrily, -"Those tramps again!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bounced out of the room and across -the little hall to the door, opening it somewhat -gingerly, and crying out the while in her sharpest -tones, "I've nothing for you! Get away! -Go!" Then she attempted to shut the door, -but a strong hand held, it so firmly that she could -not close it, whilst a voice spoke, which she -was unable to hear for her own clamour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you don't be off I'll prosecute you!" she -cried, menacingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother! It is I, Bernard! Let me in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The words reached her ears at last, -penetrating even to her starved and icy heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bernard!" She fell back a pace, and the -door flew open, revealing her son and a lady -by his side. The street light fell upon the two, -and also upon the pale, astonished face of -the unhappy woman they had come to see.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bernard!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother!" He put his arms round her -neck, in his old boyish way, forgetting everything -except that she was his mother, who was -looking miserable, whilst he had come to her in -his joy, with his dear young wife by his side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If any one cared ever so little, it would -be different," she had said to herself. Well, -here was Bernard, and he cared for her, in -spite of everything, and--</span><em class="italics">it was different</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My son! My son! Forgive me," she -said, clinging to him, her tears falling on his -manly face and neck, as he kissed her tenderly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, mother! The past is past," he -whispered. "I want you to welcome Doris," -he added low in her ear. "She is my wife now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Cameron turned to Doris, holding out -her hand, but the young wife raised her face, -and she had to kiss her, too.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then they went in, closing the street door -after them; and Bernard, striking a light, -lit up every gas-burner he could find about -the place; so that the darkness was gone, and -it was light, very light.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="restitution"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXVII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">RESTITUTION.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Does any one know what's in your heart and mine,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>The sorrow and song,</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>The demon of sin and the angel divine,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>The right and the wrong:</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>The dread of the darkness, the love of the day,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>The ebb and the flow</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Of hope and of doubt for ever and aye,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Does any one know?</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>NIXON WATERMAN.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>He wins at last who puts his trust</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>In loving words and actions just.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>* * * * *</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>On every action blazon bright,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>"For toil, and truth, and love, we fight."</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>T. S. COLLIER.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>An hour later, after they had partaken of a -substantial tea-supper, the principal constituents of -which Bernard fetched from the village shops, -with boyish glee, renewing his acquaintance with -the shop-keepers quite merrily, Mrs. Cameron -and her son and daughter-in-law sat round -the fire Doris had lighted, talking about the -future.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard had placed the school at Richmond -(of which he had now completed the purchase) -in good hands, and he and Doris were going to -live in rooms at Oxford until he had obtained -his degree, when they would at once proceed -to their new home in Richmond.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We want you to come and live with -us, mother," said Bernard; "or if you -would prefer not to live with us, at least -to occupy rooms near us, so that we may -often look in upon you, to prevent your -feeling lonely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you wish that, too, Doris?" asked her -mother-in-law, quite timidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, indeed I do," said Doris, heartily. In -her great happiness it was impossible for her -to cherish any resentment against Bernard's -mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Cameron looked red and confused. -Their love made a difference, yes, a very great -difference in her feelings. But she shook her -head, saying, "You will be better without me. -Far better. I will remain here. You can -come and see me sometimes, and you must -remain here a few days now. I'm afraid we -are rather desolate here in the house, but I'll -have a charwoman in to-morrow, and we'll try -to make the place comfortable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The house ails nothing," said Bernard, -"for it is home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," remarked Doris, brightly, "and you -know, 'East or West, home is best.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Cameron thought remorsefully that -she had made only a poor home for Bernard -in the last year or two, since he lost his -money.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he appeared to forget all about that, -as he merrily assisted her and Doris to -arrange a room for their accommodation that -night--in point of fact he had engaged a -bedroom at the comfortable hydro at Askern, -but he did not venture to mention that to -his mother under their altered and happier -relations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next morning, as they were sitting at -breakfast, the postman dropped a letter into -the letter-box, and Bernard, upon going to the -door to fetch it, discovered that it was addressed -to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bringing the letter into the room he looked -at the envelope curiously, and perceived that it -bore the impression, "London, City & Midland -Banking Company, Ltd," whilst the postmark -was Doncaster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what's this?" he said, and then, opening -it wonderingly, found that it was an official -intimation from the Doncaster branch of the -London, City & Midland Bank, saying that -the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds had -been placed there to his credit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young man put his hand to his brow -in great bewilderment. What did it mean? -Mechanically he handed the document to his -mother, saying, "Look at this. What does -it mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Cameron fumbled about for her spectacles, -found them, could not see through them, -shook her head, and, handing the document to -Doris, remarked, "You read it, Doris. What -does it mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris read aloud the printed and written -words, which stated that the bank had -received twenty-five thousand pounds, and -placed the money to the credit of Bernard -Cameron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Twenty-five thousand pounds!" cried -Mrs. Cameron, excitedly. "Why, some one has -restored your fortune to you, Bernard!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard was amazed and glad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who can have paid the money in?" -questioned Doris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will have to go to Doncaster to the -bank, to see the manager, and ascertain who it -is," said Mrs. Cameron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," Bernard agreed, still looking very -mystified.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It may be some mistake of the bank's," -suggested Mrs. Cameron. "It is dated all -right for yesterday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were still wondering and conjecturing -about the matter, when the sound of a carriage -driving up to the door, followed by a loud peal -of the door-bell, startled them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bernard went to the door, and, upon opening -it, perceived, to his intense astonishment, his -wife's father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Mr. Cameron in?" began the visitor, -and then, recognising Bernard, he cried, -"Bernard! My dear fellow, I </span><em class="italics">am glad</em><span> you are -at home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Anderson!" exclaimed Bernard. "Mr. Anderson -</span><em class="italics">here</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father! Father!" cried Doris, overhearing -Bernard's greeting, and running into her father's -arms. "My dear father!" Forgotten were all -his shortcomings, his desertion of herself and -appropriation of Bernard's money, forgotten -was everything except love in that glad moment -of reunion. "Where is mother?" asked Doris, -kissing him again and again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the cab, there." He waved his hand -towards the vehicle, out of which Mrs. Anderson -was leaning forward, in the endeavour to obtain -a glimpse of her child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris ran to the cab, and disappeared -within it, as there only could she have her -beloved mother entirely to herself for a few -moments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Anderson signed to the cabman to wait -for a little while, and then went into the -house with Bernard, asking, "Are you alone? -Or is your mother within?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is here. This is her house still," -answered Bernard, leading the way into the -dining-room, where Mrs. Cameron stood, very -erect, and looking extremely grave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Anderson bowed without making the -attempt to shake hands, indeed she had -placed hers behind her with a very significant -gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have to thank you, Mrs. Cameron," said -the barrister, "and your son, for your exceeding -clemency in not prosecuting me for my terrible -defalcations more than a year ago, and I must -explain how it was that I lost your son's -money, and how it is that I have been able -yesterday to place the whole amount in the -Doncaster branch of the London, City & -Midland Banking Co. for him. Have you had an -intimation of this money being placed in the -bank to your credit, Bernard?" he asked the -young man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. This morning. I could not understand -who placed it there. I am glad it was -you. Oh, Mr. Anderson, I am </span><em class="italics">very glad</em><span>!" Bernard -seized the elder man's hand, and shook -it with warmth. "I feel inclined to throw up -my cap and shout 'Hurrah!'" he continued, -boyishly, "for I am so delighted for your sake -and for Doris's!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it's a good thing you've done it," said -Mrs. Cameron. "I must say I'm surprised--I -never thought you would. What are you -nudging me for, Bernard?" she asked, rather -crossly. "You know very well that I always -say what is in my mind. And I must tell -you, Mr. Anderson," she continued, "that -it's not me you have to thank for not being -prosecuted. I was determined to set the -whole machinery of the law to work--I was so -mad with you--but Bernard would not -have it. He would not raise a finger against -you--no, not though I turned him out of my -house for his stupidity, as I thought it then, -though it seems to have answered well," she -admitted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bernard," said Mr. Anderson, looking -gratefully at him, "my dear boy, how can I -thank you enough? What you must have -borne for me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid I thought most of Doris," said -Bernard, honestly. "It would never have -done for me to have brought disgrace and -trouble upon her family."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I sinned," said Mr. Anderson, regarding -Bernard's stern mother very mournfully, "I -sinned greatly in using money which was not -my own for speculations which were risky, -as most speculations are. And when all was -lost, and I possessed nothing with which to -meet my liabilities, as you know, instead of -courageously confessing and submitting to the -penalty I had incurred, I absconded. Later -on, together with my wife, who would not -leave me, I took refuge with an old servant -of ours, who had married a shepherd in Wales, -and there, in a remote place up amongst the -mountains, we hid ourselves for a long and -weary time. Often I thought of coming down -and surrendering to justice, but as often my -wife persuaded me to remain in concealment. -Eventually, however, I became so convinced -that the only right thing to do was to give -myself up to the police that, leaving my retreat, -I returned, accompanied by my wife, to -Yorkshire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," continued he, "a strange thing -happened. Upon reaching York I first went -to a lawyer with whom I had formerly -transacted business, whereupon he informed me -that there had never been a warrant taken out -for my arrest, thanks to you, my dear Bernard," -and again the elder man gave the younger -a grateful glance. "Moreover," the barrister -continued, "the lawyer told me that Howden, -the man who in the first place led me into -those disastrous speculations, had just died, -and in his last hours, remembering remorsefully -his bad advice to me about speculating, -which led to my ruin and desiring to make -reparation as far as possible, he bequeathed to me -by will the large sum of thirty thousand pounds. -You can judge of my extreme delight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As soon as the will had been proved and -I was in possession of the money I returned -to Doncaster, paid all my debts in full, and -placed twenty-five thousand pounds in the -bank for you, Bernard. After which I came -here in the hope of finding you at home. -I cannot tell you," Mr. Anderson added, -with deep feeling, "I cannot tell you all -that I have suffered on account of my sin, -nor can I say how great is my relief and -satisfaction in being able to restore to you -your fortune."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tears were in his eyes as he said this, -and they perceived that his hair had become as -white as snow during the last thirteen months, -and also that care and trouble had drawn deep -lines upon his face. They could not, therefore, -doubt the truth of what he was saying, and -so Mrs. Cameron as well as Bernard hastened -to express their entire forgiveness of his sin -and sympathy with him in his sufferings. And -if the mother did it less gracefully than her -son, Mr. Anderson could not cavil at that, for -he knew that it was much more difficult for -her, with her hard nature, to speak so kindly -than for Bernard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And when she added, penitently, "I, too, -must ask your forgiveness, Mr. Anderson, for -the harsh and bitter thoughts I have cherished -about you and the hard words I have said," -he was only too glad to shake hands with her -and say she was not to trouble about that -any more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Upon this touching scene entered Doris and -her mother--the two who having not sinned -in the matter of the pecuniary defalcations, -had yet suffered so grievously by reason of -them. Whereupon, kind and loving words -were exchanged, and the new relationship of -the young people was discussed and approved -of by her parents, who both said that they -could not have wished for a better husband -for their daughter.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="conclusion"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXVIII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">CONCLUSION.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Poets are all who love, who feel great truths</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And tell them, and the truth of truths is love.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>BAILEY.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In Switzerland, where Alice had joined Norman -as soon as Doris's marriage had taken place, -Alice heard of the surprising restoration -of the lost money with the greatest satisfaction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doris wrote a full account of the return of -her father and the wonderful restitution he was -able to make of all the money that he had -taken from Bernard and that which he owed -the tradespeople.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know, dear Alice," she wrote in -conclusion, "I often and often prayed that he -might be able to do this, but it seemed as -if my prayers were all in vain, both about this -and other matters, and then I grew despondent -and doubted--oh, I doubted dreadfully! What -patience God must have with us when we have -so little faith! And how impatient and -short-sighted we are! Why, I might have been -sure that just as He clothes the lilies and feeds -the birds of the air, so He would give me -all things that were needful and that were -according to His will. And it must have been -His will that my father should be enabled to -do right in the end. Well, I'm going to -believe in future that He really meant His -words when He said, 'Ask, and ye shall -receive.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And there's another thing, dear Alice," the -writer continued joyfully, "Bernard and I want -to make one or two thank-offerings for the -great mercies we have received.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"First for poor Mrs. Austin, who was so -very good to me. You know that Bernard -bought her house, in order to prevent her -being turned out of it, and now we are -giving it to her for life, and to her son -after her. She is so delighted, and so is -Sam, and it is such a pleasure to us to do this.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then, with regard to the school at -Richmond, you know Bernard purchased it, -and arranged for it to be managed for him -until he has finished his career at Oxford, after -which he will take it in hand personally; and -now he has determined that he will always -give schooling and board to two pupils free of -charge. They need not necessarily be orphans, -but they are to be poor boys of gentle birth, -who would otherwise be worsted in the battle -of life. They are to receive exactly the same -benefits as the other boys, and I am to provide -them with clothes, and look after them as a -mother might. I need not tell you how glad -I am to do this.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear old Susan is coming to live with -us and be our matron, much to her satisfaction. -She is so glad that Bernard and I are married. -You know we could not have her at the -wedding, as Mrs. Cameron was not there--for -it might have made the villagers at Moss -talk if one had been present and not the other, -and it would certainly have hurt Mrs. Cameron's -feelings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Write to me, dear Alice, and let me -know what you think of these schemes, -which we have planned in this lovely Isle of -Wight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alice read the letter aloud to Norman, -a little later, when, having left Switzerland, -they were going up the Rhine in a river-steamer, -one lovely day in autumn. She was -glad of her friend's happiness, and rejoiced -in it so much that she could not keep the -letter to herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cameron seems a decent sort of fellow," -said the artist, "after all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, he is. Wasn't it nice of him -to buy Mrs. Austin's little house in order -that she might not be turned out of it, and -then to give it to her when he became -richer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Norman, "I must say that -Mrs. Austin deserves it for her goodness to -Doris; though she never favoured me, but -always endeavoured to make me feel that I -was an intruder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But she was very good to me," said Alice, -softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said her brother, "and for that, too, -she shall be forgiven everything by the poor -artist, whom you fed when he was a surly, -inconsiderate old bear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm very proud of my Lion!" exclaimed -Alice, lovingly. "See," she added, "I have -brought out with us some London papers -which arrived just as we were leaving -our hotel. I want you to see what is -said of your Academy pictures, especially of -'Ganymede.' The likeness of the girl," she -added, "is so marvellously like Doris, that -I expect her husband will be wanting -to buy it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't!" said Norman, walking a little -way apart, in order that she might not see his -face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently he returned to her without a -shadow on his fine expressive countenance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope you are observing the beauty of -all this Rhine scenery," he said, with a smile. -"It ought to appeal to the poetry in your -nature."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poetry! Poetry in my nature!" exclaimed -Alice. "Why, Norman, I always thought that -you considered me so </span><em class="italics">very</em><span> prosaic and matter-of-fact."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On the contrary," said her brother. "It -is </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> who have been so often matter-of-fact; -</span><em class="italics">you</em><span> have always been steeped in love, so much -so, in fact, that you have idealised and nursed -illusions for the sake of your beloved ones. -Don't you know--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Poets are all who love, who feel great truths</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And tell them, and the truth of truths is love.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Yes," continued Norman, humbly, "you are -before me, Alice, in the great race, because -through your life--as through Doris's--the -golden thread of Love leads you and -dominates your actions. Not the mere lover's -love for one, but a noble enthusiasm and -love for all who are near and dear to you."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>THE END.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., -<br />London and Aylesbury</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>LOVE'S GOLDEN THREAD</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/49787"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/49787</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg™ concept and -trademark. 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