1d^ /7^oT s/ SABINA ZEMBRA 01 3)3'occl BY WILLIAM BLACK AUTHOR OP "white HKATHER" "MACLEOD OF DARE " "A PRINCESS OF THULE " "sunrise" "white wings" etc. NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 1887 d\ WILLIAM BLACK'S NOYELS. LIBRARY EDITION. 17 vols., 12mo, Clulh, $1 25 per vol. Complete Sets, $19 GO. S.\niN'.\ ZKMBRA. WIIITI'; HKATHKR JIDITH SllAKKSPEARE. Illus- tnilctl by AiiiiEV. YOI.A.VDK. Illustrated. SHANIiiiX IJEI.LS. llhistratcii. THAT liKALTlFLL WKETCU. Il- lustrated. SUXKISE. MACLEOD OF DARE. Illustrated. GKEEX PASTURES AND PICCA- DIEI-Y. MADCAP VIOLET. THREE FEATHERS. A DAUGHTER OF HETU. A PRINCESS OF THULE. IN SILK ATTIRE. KILMENY. THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. ■WHITE WINGS. Illustrated. CHEAP EDITION, IN PAPER COVERS. Sabina Zembra. 4to, 20 cents. — White Heather. 4to, 20 cents. — Judith Shahrspeare. 4to, 20 cents. — Yolande. Illustrated. 4lo. 20 cewls.—Slianiian Bells. Illustrated. 4to, 20 vents.— That Jieauti/ul Wretch. Illustrated. 4to, 20 cents. — Sunrise. 4to, 1.5 cents. — Macleod of Dare. Il- lustrated. 8vo. CO cent.s. Illustrated, 4to, 15 cents. — Green I'astures and J'tccadilh/. 8vo, 50 cents. — Madcap Violet. 8vo, 50 cents. — Three Feath- ers. Illustrated. 8 vo, 50 cents. — A Daughter of Ileth. 8vo, 35 cents. — An Adventure in Thule. 4to, 10 cents. — A I'rincess of TUule. 8vo, ."JO cent.s. — In Sillc Attire. 8vo, S,"; cents. — Kilmeny. 8vo, 35 cents. — The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. 8vo, .50 cents. — While Wings. 4to, 20 cents. — The Maid of Killeena, llie Marriage of Moira Fergus, and other stories. 8vo, 40 cents. — The Monarch of Mincing-Lane. Illustrated. 8vo, 50 cents. riiu.isnKD BY HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. J9S" Any of the atiove works vrill be smt by ntail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. SIR ANTHONY 1 IT. SABIE 9 in. WALTER LINDSAY 19 IV. FRED FOSTER 28 V. SER FEDERIGO'S FALCON 36 VI. TO BRIGHTON 50 Vn. BY THE SHANNON SHORE 55 VIII. THE NEW FRIENDSHIP 64 IX. BY THE SEA 73 X. AT THE ACADEMY 82 XI. A FOREBODING 91 XII. PLIGHT 100 Xlir. REPENTANCE 109 XIV. A ROSE-DECORATED BALL 118 XV. AN ALLIANCE 127 XVL A BETROTHAL 136 XVII. PREPARATIONS 145 XVIIL A WEDDING 154 XIX. A HONEY-MOON VISIT 101 XX. IN LONDON AGAIN 173 XXI. SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES 179 XXII. WAYS AND MEANS 189 XXIIL AT A MUSIC-HALL 198 XXIV. DIVERGENT WAYS 207 XXV. ALTERED PLANS 318 XXVL A MESSAGE 837 XXVII. IN NEW YORK 236 XXVIII. AN AMBASSADOR 245 XXIX. TOO LATE I 355 XXX. AN OLD FRIEND 264 XXXI. A THREAT 373 XXXII. A CRY OF DESPAIR 383 XXXIII. ALLIES 390 iv CONTENTS. CIIAITER PAGE XXXIV. THE rNTERPOSINC. HAND 299 XXXV. TilK EXILK's RETURN 306 XXXVI. NEW QUARTERS 314 XXXVII. TOGETHER 321 XXXVIII. " O' RVdANE DAYS AND .ME." 329 XXXIX. NEIOIIHORS 337 XL. IN TIME OF NEED 345 XLI. A SEVER^UhCE 353 XMI. DARKENED DAYS 360 XI, III. FAREWELL WORDS.. . . 368 XLIV, A REVELATION 376 XLV. CONSPIRATORS 384 XLVI. A KEEPSAICE 392 XLVIL A KNELL OF DOOM 400 XLVIII. NIGHT FALLS 408 XLIX. IN DARKNESS 417 L. IN THE KINGDOM OF GALLOWAY 425 LI. AT CARNRYAN TOWER 432 Lll. AT A PICTURE-SUOW 438 SABINA ZEMBRA. CHAPTER I. SIR ANTHONY. Ok a certain Wednesday afternoon in March, the billiard-room of the Waldegrave Club, Pall Mall, was the scene of a remarkable occurrence. The Waldegrave, it may be said parenthetically, is held in much veneration by our country cousins as the head- quarters of a great political party ; there the chiefs of that party are supposed to meet and direct the operations of a general election; thither impecunious candidates look for the sinews of war; and the honor of its membership is understood to be the crowning glory and reward of him who has wooed and won over to the cause a doubtful constituency. All this may be so, or it may not be so ; but to the Londoner, and especially to the London diner-out, the Waldegrave is chiefly known for its noble hall and its stately galleries, its excellent cuisine and cellar, its pleasant outlook into Carlton Gardens, and the proportions and decoration of its library, which is far and away the most beautiful room in Europe. As for the more modest apartment in which this re- markable occurrence took place, no visitor is allowed to enter within its door, which may account for the rumor that the pro- ceedings there are not always conducted with a dignity and re- pose befitting the fame and name of so notable a club. Indeed, it has been affirmed (but doubtless by political enemies) that the pool-players of the Waldegrave, safe in the friendly secrecy of that upper chamber, occasionally, and even frequently, break out into wild revelry; that derisive cheers overwhelm the "sniggler;" that groans of execration bring the "fluker" to open shame; and that the timid and nervous player is frightened out of his wits by the sudden cry that he has " missed the ball 1" However, 1 2 SABIXA ZEMBRA. these stories arc probably not true; the rancor of party strife is capable of inventing anything ; and it would be a pity if the constituencies were to believe that the Waldegrave is anything other than what it really is — that is to say, a great and decorous political institution. On the afternoon in question, one of the members of the club went up to the billiard-room, opened the door, and went in, greeting pleasantly this one and the other of his acquaintances as he passed them. lie was a tall man, of about sixty ; handsome and well dressed; fresh-comploxioned and white-haired; of debo- nair look and bland expression ; and evidently very well pleased with himself. This was Sir Anthony Zembra, senior member for one of the big manufacturing towns in the north ; a man of enormous wealth; a writer of pamphlets on currency and free- trade and kindred questions; an active and industrious politician, who might fairly hope to be invited to join the Government, in a subordinate capacity, one of these days ; and socially — well, socially, tlie most detested man in London. But how could he help that? No one could have explained why he was so detested ; he himself did not know it ; nay, it would have been impossible for him to grasp the idea. Rich, handsome, bland of manner; his wife a queen of fashion ; his dinners quite famous for their excellence — how could he be detested ? No, that was the last idea that could have gained admission into Sir Anthony Zembra's head. " I will take a ball, m'arker," he said, for tliey were just be- ginning a new game. " Right, sir." The new-comer walked up to the little mahogany box and de- posited the shilling claimed by the pool ; then he proceeded to get down his cue from its tin case. The marker gave out the balls. " Red on white — yellow's your player." The game had begun. "What ball am I, marker?" " Blue, Sir Anthony ; the ball is in the pocket." " Who plays on me ?" " Mr. Herscliell," said the marker, naming the notoriously best player in the club. And now occurred the incident to which reference has been made. SIE ANTHONY. 3 " Oh, look here, that won't do at all," exclaimed Sir Anthony. " Why, I sha'n't have a chance. That won't do. Herschell, do you play on me ? Well, I'm out ; I'm not going to give you three lives for nothing." " You may withdraw your ball if you like, Sir Anthony," ob- served the marker. " Why, of course I do. Mr, Herschell's too good for me," " The blue ball is withdrawn," the marker said, shutting up the three lives on the board ; and then he was about to call the game, when Sir Anthony interrupted him, " Come along, marker, give me that shilling out," The marker seemed surprised, but he said, quite respectfully, " No, sir, you can't have the shilling out. You may withdraw your ball, but the shilling is in the pool ; you can't have that back." " Oh, nonsense !" called out Sir Anthony, with a kind of stormy good-nature, " Nonsense ! I haven't played, I'm not in the game. Do you think I'm going to let them play for my money ? Come, out with that shilling!" The marker was helpless; he could only look at the other members in an appealing sort of way. And they looked at one another; for nothing of the kind had happened in the club before — no, nor in any other club, most likely. Then came mut- tered protests, some angry, some half-ashamed. " No, no, you can't have the shilling out — forfeited to the pool — you joined in the game when you took a ball — the rule of the game — the marker's quite right — you can't interfere with the pool." "Oh, but can't I?" he said, with a good-humored laugh, "Do you think I'm going to let you play for my money when I'm not in the game — you thieves and robbers!" And therewithal he jauntily went up to the mahogany box and took out the shilling and put it in his pocket. Then he proceed- ed to replace his cue in its case, and as he walked to the door he shook his forefinger in a waggish manner at the old gentleman whose superior skill had induced him to withdraw from the game. "You old rascal," he said, playfully, "you thought you were going to have an easy victim. No, no, not to-day, thank you," They made no reply, no protest; the magnificence of the man's meanness, and of his self-complacency, were too appalling ; when 4 SABIXA ZEMBRA. he had shut tlic door a Icind of awc-strncTc silence fell over the room, and they looked at each other in dumb amazement. *' Green plays on yellow !" the marker called ; and this awolce them from their trance; and then, as the jjame went on, there were questions asked as to the probable dimensions of Sir An- thony Zembra's fortune, and the bic;f]jer the flexures the greater the distrust. But there was little said, for the marker was within hearinij. Meanwhile, Sir Anthony, suave, radiant, complacent — and cer- tainly little dreaming that he had just conferred a favor on some eight or ten of his fellow-creatures in giving them something they could definitely produce as a reason for hating him — Sir Anthony, bland, smiling, and debonair, went down through the hall of the club. Perhaps the nod which he bestowed on his intimates had just a touch of patronage in it; but how could that very well be helped? His life had been all through so pros- perous and successful and satisfactory. His first wife had died as soon as she grew ugly ; his second was good-tempered, except when he wanted the carriage in the afternoon ; the Times printed his letters in leaded type; his digestion enabled him to eat even a House of Commons dinner with equanimity; and his constit- uents believed him when he told lies about previous engage- ments. The old woman who sweeps the crossing at the corner of St. James's Square courtesied lower to him than to anybody else; though never a penny had he bestowed on her. In St. James's street the cabmen had to look out for him, not he for them ; he went out into the open thoroughfare with a charming nonchalance, glancing neither to the left nor to the right. And so, eventually, he made his way home, to a big house in Lancaster Gate; and he walked the whole distance, for Lady Zembra had possession of the carriage, and he did not care to spend money on a hansom. Besides, his appearance was much admired (and he knew it) as he strode along Piccadilly and up through the Park. He let himself in with a latch-key. The house was very quiet, insomuch that a faint murmur coming from the school-room was distinctly audible. And as the door of the room was open an inch or two. Sir Anthony thought he might as well pause there and discover whether the governess were doing her duty — for this was one of the afternoons on which nothinix but French was SIR ANTHOnY. 5 allowed to be spoken — and it was Miss Renshaw's business to impose a fine of threepence for any lapse. However, everything seemed going on well. Master Reginald (his father could hear) was reading aloud a composition of his own. It was a descrip- tion of the character and conduct of a dog belonging to a public- house in the Bayswater Road — " Un gros chien qui a^ypartcmit a une maison 2'>ul>lique dans le Bayswater Road,'''' was tlie youthful scholar's rendering; and apparently that animal had not found much favor iu the eyes of the narrator. But presently other sounds smote the listener's ear. A squabble had arisen some- where. " Voyez, voyez, mademoiselle, il a fait pour mon dessin P'' ^^ JVon, non — ce ii'eiait pas vioi — ne mentez vous pas — je vous donnerai — vous donnerai — une boite sur Voreilley Sir Anthony thought this an opportune moment. He opened the door and entered, and there was instant silence. But he did not remon- strate or scold ; it was enough that Miss Renshaw should see how his mere presence — his presence, without a look or a word — could produce calm. " Have you looked through to-day's newspapers yet, Miss Ren- shaw?" said he, as he strolled up to tlie chiinney-piece and lifted therefrom a pass-book labelled on the outside " Domestic." " Yes, Sir Anthony, except those that came this afternoon," said the patient-looking, gray-faced young woman sitting there. And of these desultory paragraphs that he was now scanning with much complacent interest, who could guess at the author- ship? Perhaps the patient -eyed young person who had that morning carefully clipped them out of the various journals and pasted them in the pass-book had also herself inspired them, or even written them out, for the information of provincial editors? At all events, they showed a remarkable familiarity with the com- ings and goings of the Zembra family, and also a kind of pathet- ic assumption that these, and the smallest details about them, must be of keen interest to the British public. Here are some of them : " Lady Zembra and Miss Florence Zembra will sliortly leave Lancaster Gate, on a visit to Lord and Lady Petersfield at their beautiful place near Marlow." " At the marriage of Miss Emily Vere and Colonel Langley, last week, the costume of Master Reginald Zembra, who was dressed as a page of the time of Henry VHL, was much admired. 6 SABINA ZEMBBA. i The desip^n of the costume, we understand, was presented to Lady Zembra by a distinguished academician." " The Chapel Royal, St. James's, was on Sunday last crowded to excess to hear a sermon by the Bishop of Truro. Lady Zem- bra and her daughters were among tlie congregation." "At the drawing-room held by the Princess of Wales on Thurs- day no costume was more remarked and admired than that of Lady Zembra. Her ladyship wore a train from the shoulder of crimson Lyons velvet, lined with pink merveilleux, and trimmed with clusters of pink and crimson ostrich feathers, tied with rib- bons of the same color. Her bodice was of pink merv, over a petticoat of the same material, draped with embroidered cj-e^^e de Chine, and finished at the bottom with handsome chenille fringe." "Sir Anthony and Lady Zembra, and the Misses Florence and Gertrude Zembra, were present at the lecture given by Dr. Felt- hurst on Wednesday at Princess Hall, Piccadilly. Her ladyship formed quite a distinct figure among the assembly, although merely unostentatiously occupying a seat with her husband and daughters in the body of the hall." But all these were as nothing to the description of a children's fancy-dress ball given the week before by a sister-in-law of Sir Anthony's, at which all the Zembra family (except one whose acquaintance we will make by-and-by) appeared to have been present; and very pretty and nice were the things which the faithful chronicler had to say about every one of them. It must have been a gay scene ; according to this flattering account, every one looked at his or her best; the costumes were charming; Lady Zembra was especially admired as Marie Antoinette; and Sir Anthony Zembra, as a courtier of the time of Geoi'ge H., was a most picturesque and striking figure. It was a great success, in short; and never had the ballroom at the Red House, Camp- den Hill, presented so beautiful a sight as when the children were ranged in two long rows to dance Sir Roger de Coverley. Well, Sir Anthony was thus pleasantly engaged in studying the social impression produced by the various members of his family when he was somewhat rudely interrupted. There was an unusual noise outside. Then the doors were flung wide open, and there entered liurrieMlly a tall young lady, who was very pale, but had sufficient firmness in the look of her clear-cut and beau- tiful face. SIR ANTHONY. 7 " Miss Renshaw," said she, qniclvly, " will you take the children up-stairs? I want this room. Take them to the night-niirsery." " What's this, now ?" Sir Anthony said, at once startled and angry at the sudden interruption. " There's a man hurt," his daughter answered him, quietly ; but her fingers were quick enough in removing the things that lay strewn on a couch there. " They're bringing him in." " What !" he exclaimed again, and still more angrily; but there was a shuffling of footsteps outside, and the immediate answer was the appearance of a number of men, who were slowly and with difficulty carrying an apparently inanimate body along the passage. " Sabina, what is this ? Who is this ?" " I don't know, papa." She was busy with many things. "Then what do you mean by bringing him in here? God bless my soul, what are you about? Send him to a hospital ! I say he must go to a hospital. Here, my men, what are you doing ? Who told you to bring the man in here? He must go to the hospital — " " The young lady, sir," one of the men said. "Sabina, what is this?" her father again angrily demanded. " I will have none of your W^hitechapel nonsense here. Are you going to turn the house into a public shambles?" But Sabina had made her preparations during these few sec- onds. She caught her father's arm for a moment with a gesture of entreaty. "Papa, I cannot send him to a hospital. This is all my doing. I am to blame for the accident — and — and there is no time to be lost; why, common lumianity — " She turned to the footman, who was standing helplessly by. " George, run down-stairs and fetch me a basin of water and a sponge, and some cloths; and send for Dr. Ilungerford — no, Mr. Hungerford, I mean — the son — and tell him to come at once. And you — yes, bring him in now, but gently — gently — the head a little higher up — yes, that will do ;" and when they had got him laid on the couch, she, with her own fingers, and swiftly and dexterously, too, undid his necktie and removed his collar and opened his waistcoat. It was clear to the most ignorant of the by-standcrs that this young lady knew very well what she was about. 8 SABIXA ZEMBRA. But as for Sir Anthony ? AVell, Sir Antliony stood looking on for a second or two, very much exasperated. But wliat could he do? lie could not summon a policeman and have the whole pack of them thrust into the street ; it was his own daughter who had liad tlie man brought in ; and, moreover, she said she was respon- sible for the accident; and it would not look well to quarrel with her before these people, lie wished the wounded man was at Jericho; but he did not want to have these rude folk stare at liini for what they would doubtless consider his inhumanity. But he was very angry with his daughter; and then, again, he did not like looking at a head and neck that were bedabbled with blood; and the doctor would have more unpleasant business when he arrived ; so, on the whole, Sir Anthony thought he might as well retire from that scene, only he was growling and grumbling to himself, as he passed up-stairs, about the niidsum- mcr madness of young women who nowadays went out and got themselves trained as nurses at the London Hospital. On tlie writing-desk of his study there was lying a pass-book labelled outside " Political ;" and apparently his private secretary bad done for him what the governess did for Lady Zembra and the family. As he glanced over these paragraphs — " Sir Anthony Zembra, we understand, has consented to take the chair at the next meeting of the Statistical Society " — " Sir Anthony Zembra has given notice that on Thursday next he will ask the Secretary of State for the Home Department," etc. — " Sir Anthony Zembra was present last evening at a dinner given at the official residence of the Prime-minister in Downing Street" — "We understand that it is the intention of Sir Anthony Zembra's constituency to entertain him at a public banquet in May next" — "The remark- able speech on the Land Question which Sir Anthony Zembra delivered in the House of Commons last week i.s, we understand, to be issued in the form of a pamphlet." As he read these and many similar paragraphs. Sir Anthony's brow cleared, and his face resumed its ordinary pleasant and complacent expression, for he was glad to have his merits recognized, and he rather liked to contemplate himself in the mirror of the public press. SABIE. CHAPTER 11. SABIE. Sabina Zembra — Sabie, her intimate friends called her, and they seemed rather proud of displaying this familiarity ; indeed, many of the women-folk down Kensington way, if you mentioned the name of Miss Zeinbra, would say, with a kind of air of dis- tinction, "Oh, do you mean Sabie?" as if Sabie belonged to them, and to them alone — Sabina Zembra was a tall young woman, and fair ; of upright carriage and well-poised neck ; with a clear, pale complexion, light brown eyes that were soft and benignant, and light-brown hair that burned gold in the sun. She was twenty- five, though a dimple in her cheek when she laughed made her look younger, and hinted that she was light-hearted enough ; on the other hand, her ordinary expression was of an almost mater- nal gentleness and generosity. The blandness that in her father was begotten of self-sufficiency became in her the blandness of grave good-will ; she looked as if kindness were a natural instinct with her, as if she liked seeing the people around her being made happy. But even this cannot wholly explain the extraor- dinary affection that women seemed to have for this woman ; they would cling around her when she entered a room, and pet her with pretty names ; and would send her flowers on any birthday, or other excuse; and would treasure her letters, and show them, and say with a touch of pride, "Oh, Sabie has just been writing; isn't she the dearest and sweetest girl in the world?" "I hope Sabie will never marry," was the constant cry of her chief com- panion and friend (who, poor lass, had not much in the way of pretty looks to boast of). "Just think what her goodness and her beauty and her loving disposition mean to so many people; and think of her going and throwing all that away on a man !" Of course the men professed to laugh at this widespread and ri- diculous infatuation, and declared that Miss Senibra was a wom- an's woman, and nothing more; but at the same time it was ob- served, on the rare occasions on which Miss Zembra was to be 1* 10 SABINA ZEMBRA. found at an evening party, that these hostile critics were not near- ly so careless of her society as in common consistency they ought to have been. Sabina did not live with her father. On a certain important occasion Sir Anthony had taken her to task and spoken his mind clearly. "Understand me once for all, Sabina," he observed, in a more than ordinarily sententious way. " I am not in the habit of wast- ing words. What I say I mean to be final. Now, while you were merely busying yourself about Industrial Homes, and Training- ships, and things of that kind, I did not object ; no, nor did I mind your visiting this or that poor family where you knew the circumstances, and knew there was no infection. But this new fad is quite different. What will happen after you come out of the hospital ? You are not going in fur six mouths' training for nothing," " Papa," she broke in, " I must do something — you don't know how dreadful idleness is." " I know that I don't hear your sisters complain," he retorted. "They seem to have enough to fill the time." " Yes, but they care for quite different things," she said ; and then she added, with the slightest of demure smiles hovering about her mouth, " Besides, they're ashamed of me. Mamma says I'm a dowdy, and it's quite true. I don't care for fine dresses and driving in the Park. And then, you see, papa, I shouldn't mind playing the part of Cinderella — I shouldn't mind it at all, for Cinderella had plenty to do, and knew she was of some use ; but I know you wouldn't like that. You wouldn't like me to be- come one of the maids and sweep the kitchen." " Sabina, this is not a joking matter," Sir Anthony observed, shortly. " Let us return to common-sense. When you leave the London Hospital a trained nurse, what then? I know very well. You will be more than ever in the slums; you will be forever in the slums; and coming and going between them and this house. Well, now, that I cannot permit. It would not be right and just to the other members of my family to subject them to such a con- tinual risk of infection. It is not to be thought of." " Then do you want me to clear out, papa ?" she said, frankly. " Yes, if you will persist in this folly." Well, she was a little bit startled, for a girl does not like being SABIE. 11 turned out of her father's house. On the other hand, her rela- tions with her step -mother Lady Zembra, and her half-sisters Florence and Gertrude, had never been of the most satisfactory kind; not that they quarrelled, but that their modes of life and opinions and aims were so entirely different. So the ugly duck- ling was about to fly away. " Of course," continued Sir Anthony, " the whole thing is fool- ish from the beginning. It is simply ludicrous for a young wom- an of your education and position to turn herself into a hospital nurse, when you can get dozens of women, of more hardened nerve, who could do the work ever so much better. But we've argued out that question before. I suppose you don't intend to change your mind?" Surely his tone was unnecessarily hard, considering that he was turning her out of the house. " Papa," she said, " I — I think I am doing what is right ; but — but you might make it a little easier for me. It won't be holiday work." " If it is not the greatest happiness of the greatest number," Sir Anthony continued, calmly, "it is at least the safety of the greatest number that I have to consider. And I have thought the matter over. I am prepared to allow you three hundred pounds a year; that is ample maintenance, for you don't spend much on yourself. I have no doubt you will easily find some quiet, respectable family, where there are no children to be put in danger, who will receive you as a boarder, if go you must — " A sudden, happy light leaped to her eyes — those eyes in which " her thoughts lay clear, like pebbles in a brook." It had oc- curred to her that she could confer a kindness! Even in being thrust forth from her father's house, her first thought was that there was a chance of doing a friendly turn to certain folk she knew. " The Wygrams, papa," she said, eagerly. " Do you think they would take me? You know they are not very well off; Mr. Wy- gram never succeeds in any of the competitions now ; and this miglit be a little something, if they were not offended. Oh, I know they would take me. Why, Janic spends half her time with me now ; I should be quite at home there !" "That will be for yourself to decide," said Sir Anthony. And so it was that Sabina went to serve her six months at the 12 SABINA ZEMBRA. London Ilospital. It was not at all romantic work. Occasion- ally, of course, she had her moments of exaltation ; in crossing from the nurses' dormitory, in the strange silence and darkness of a winter morning, and looking up to the vast, immeasurable skies, with the stars throbbing palely and distant, she would sometimes repeat to herself, as with a kind of ineffable longing : "Break up the heavens, Lord ! and far Thro' all yon starlight keen Draw mo, thy bride, a glittering star, In raiment white and clean." But there was little time for self-communing during the continu- ous labor of the long day ; nor was she much given to pitying herself in any circumstances ; it was the suffering of others that moved her ; and here there was plenty of that, only too obvious, all around her. Moreover, she was a particularly healthy young woman, and she could bear fatigue better than any of her sister non-professionals, although when they got away to supper, about half-past eight or nine, and all of them pretty well fagged out with the day's work, they used to joke her about her sleepy dis- position. It was rumored, moreover, that one or two of the medi- cal students who came about had cast an eye on this pretty, tall, benignant-eyed nurse, who looked so neat and smart in her belted gown and apron and cap, and that they paid a good deal more attention to her than to the patient whose condition she had to report to the doctor. But Sabie was impervious to all that kind of thing. It was only when she was with the other nurses at night that the dimple in her cheek appeared, and that she showed herself — as long as her eyes would keep open — blithe and friend- ly and merry-hearted. Perhaps she was only a woman's woman after all. The long period of probation over, Sabina went to live with the Wygrams, a family who by dint of sore pinching still man- aged to occupy an old-fashioned house in Kensington Square that was endeared to them by its association with other and better days. Mr. Wygrara had been at one time an architect in a fair way of business, and may have saved a little money then ; but the capable partner in the firm died ; things went badly some- how ; and now the old gentleman, who was as industrious as ever, kept working away at competitive drawings, each time more SABIE. 13 and more confident that he was about to carry oS the prize, and never doing so, but sometimes securing a few pounds by way of con)pensation. However, old Mr. and Mrs. Wygram were great favorites in the artist world of London ; and very distinguished people, indeed, might be found together in the scantily furnished and rather melancholy drawing-room — at an evening party, that is to say, with tea and darkly suspicious sherry and cake to crown the festivities. And what joy filled the heart of their only daugh- ter, Janie, when she learned that her beloved Sabina was coming to live with them ! Now there would be no risk of their chance evenings being dull ; now there would be attraction and enter- tainment enough for all the world, and she would be accounted somebody among the young men — for -that she could secure them, if she chose, an introduction to Sabie ; and she would take ofE Sabie's cloak when she came in, and get tea for her, and sit by her with their arms intertwined, and have her all to herself. In short, the arrangement came to work very well all round. The sum paid by Subina for her board and lodging (though this was a covert transaction) was a certain addition to the finances of the establishment; Mrs. Wygram could be her chaperon when there was need, and Janie was her constant companion when she " went about doing good." For that was her occupation in life — as many a poor family down in Chelsea knew ; and it came natural to her, and she was as busy, and as content, as the day was long. Then they had quiet evenings in the old-fashioned drawing-room; and the plain-featured, wistful-eyed Janie played very well ; nor was she vexed when she looked round and found that her poor tired Sabie (who was very unconscionable in this respect) had dropped into a little snooze ; and sometimes they had a game at whist, too; and sometimes a few young people would drop in, and they would have a pretence of supper, and a bit of a carpet dance. But always these young people — and es- pecially the young men — treated Sabina with a certain deference. It was not that she was in any way socially their superior, for that was not the case; the Wygrams had a very excellent circle of friends and acquaintances. It was rather something in her manner that distinguished her from them. One would almost have taken her for a young and gentle-eyed matron looking on — not without sympathy and pleasure — at the amusements of those boys and girls. She enjoyed their merriment as much as they 14 SABINA ZEMBKA. did ; and her lan2;b was ready and quite youthful and joyous when anything ridiculous happened; but ordinarily there was a kind of serious sweetness and grave kindliness in her eyes that seemed to keep her a little bit apart. She preferred to be a spectator — but surely a friendly one. Of course she occasionally went up to see the family at Lan- caster Gate, when she could solemnly assure them she had been rear no infectious case ; and it was on one of those visits that there occurred the unfortunate accident already referred to. She had chosen a Wednesday afternoon, knowing that her father would be early home from the House of Commons ; but when she got to Lancaster Gate she found he had not arrived; Lady Zembra and Florence and Gertrude were out driving; the children were busy in the school-room. The only living thing to welcome her was the little spaniel. Busy — an old friend and ally of hers; and it occurred to her that, to beguile the tedium of waiting, she might as well take the dog for a bit of a run along the Bayswater Road and back. He was nothing loath, it may be guessed, and so she opened the door, and they went down the steps and made for the front pavement. What next occurred may take some minutes to tell, but it seemed to her to happen all in one wild second. " Now, come here, Busy, you keep close to me," she had said on leaving the house, for she knew the habits of the spaniel kind, and that this one delighted in nothing so much as scampering about in the open thoroughfare — amid cabs and omnibuses and carriages — and always with his nose down, as if he expected to flush a pheasant in the middle of Bayswater Road. Busy paid heed to his mistress so long as she spoke to him ; the moment they had reached the pavement lie was off — careless of anything that might be coming along. She angrily called to him to come back; he turned in his scamper, but still with his nose down — and, alas ! at the same instant she knew, rather than saw, that some one on a bicycle, coming at an alarming speed, was almost on the dog. " Look out ! Take care !" she cried. Now, no doubt the bicyclist had seen the little spaniel ; and it is also possible that Busy might have got out of harm's way un- aided ; but at all events her sudden cry seemed to startle this young fellow, who was coming along at such a rate, and probably SABIE. 15 from gallantry as rnuch as anything else, he swerved sharply from his course, to make quite sure of missing the spaniel. Unliappily, at this precise spot there was a little heap of gravel, used for scat- tering over the wooden pavement, lying by the roadway, and ap- parently the bicycle caught on some of the pebbles ; the next thing she saw Avas some terrible thing hurling through the air and striking heavily against the curbstone, where it lay motionless. The blood forsook her face, but her courage was firm enough ; she was at his side in a moment, trying to raise his head, and then a few by-standers came hurrying up, and she besought them to carry him into her father's house. White as her face was, she seemed cahn and collected ; there was an air of authority about her; they did not even suggest the hospital. Nor, it must be con- fessed, did she pay much heed to her father's remonstrances ; her hands were full of work — work that she knew; moreover, Sir Anthony almost immediately retired, grumbling. She was left alone to deal with the wounded man, a maid assisting her, for the footman, George, had rushed oflE to summon the surgeon. " Pore young gentleman ! pore young gentleman !" the maid kept saying, and was rather inclined to look on, in a feebly com- miserating attitude ; but her pale-lipped young mistress had no time for mere pity. " Catherine, get some calico — quick ; and cut it into strips, and put them into cold water — look alive !" For there was a bad scalp -wound oa the side of the young man's head, and she had to stanch the blood, and thereafter bind the cold, wet bandages round it. He lay in a heavy stupor, only that once he murmured the words "cherry blossom," and, busy as she was, it seemed pathetic to her that he should " babble o' green fields." And then, when she had bandaged his head, she passed her hands lightly over his neck and back and shoulders, and pret- ty well satisfied herself that there was no serious fracture or dis- location ; nevertheless, she was anxious that the surgeon should appear forthwith. She was moistening her patient's lips with cold water when he drew a long breath and slowly opened his eyes. He looked at her with a kind of mild wonder, and then at the room around him ; then he seemed to recollect. "Tliat was a nasty one," he managed to say. "Did I hurt the doer 2" 16 SABINA ZEMBRA. "Oh no, you did not," Sabina said, quickly. "Pray don't think of that. I ara so sorry. It was all my fault. I should not have called to you — I am so sorry." "Oh, don't trouble about me," he said, with a faint kind of smile — for the shock and loss of blood had weakened him. "This isn't my first cropper. There are no bones broken, I sup- pose — " "I think not — I think not," she said, eagerly. "And there will be a surgeon here directly." " But whose house is this ?" he asked — it was all that he dared to ask. " Sir Anthony Zembra's," Sabina answered ; and she added, without embarrassment, "I am his daughter. It was my little dog that made the mischief — or rather, I did myself. I do hope you arc not seriously hurt." " Hurt ? "No, no — don't you bother. I shall be all right," he said. He was a fairly good-looking young fellow of some six or seven and twenty, with clear blue eyes, curly but short-cropped hair of a reddish yellow, and a healthy pink-and-white complex- ion that had got a wash of sun-tan over it. Clearly he had lived much in the open air; and his frame seemed wiry and vigorous, with not an ounce of spare fat on it anywhere. As for guessing at his profession or calling or social status, that was not easy, see- ing that he was clad in a bicycling suit; but his manner was well enough, and he seemed good-natured. Suddenly he uttered a little involuntary exclamation, and bit his under-lip. " What is it ?" she said, instantly. "My knee — and I hardly moved it — oh, thunder!" The pain in his face was obvious ; and he was about to make some clfort to raise himself, when she caught him, and caught him firmly. "No, no; you must not move on any account — it may be se- rious; you must lie perfectly still till the doctor comes." "Yes, but when is he coming?" he said, with a touch of im- patience. " If I have broken my leg, I want to know. You don't understand what that would mean to me." " You have not broken your leg," said she, calmly, " but you may have injured your knee." And then she added, without any SABIE. 17 false shame or hesitation, " If you like, I will see what harm is done, and tell you. I know about these things; I have been in a hospital. Or if you would rather wait, I am sure the doctor will be here in a few minutes." " Oil, of course I will wait — I could not think of troubling you," he said, instantly. " And in the mean time I will make a splint," said she, " just in case it should be necessary. Catherine, run and get me some cotton-wool." She went to the table, tore the cover off one of the children's drawing-books, and cut a strip of the thick pasteboard about three inches wide and over a dozen long; and she was in the act of swathing the improvised splint in cotton-wool when the young surgeon arrived. Everything she had done he approved of; but he was not surprised ; he was well aware of Miss Zembra's quali- fications. Then came the examination of the knee, and that was simple enough, for he had merely to unbuckle the knee-band of the knickerbockers ; but the next moment he had grown grave. Sabina had withdrawn a step or two ; her assistance was not needed. " What is it, doctor?" the young man said, noticing that look. " Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you that you've dislocated your knee-cap, and there's a bad bruise besides. Miss Zembra, I haven't brought anything with me — your man met me in the street — " Sabina came forward. " Here is a kind of a splint," she said, " and I think there's enough calico here for a figure-of-eight bandage — if that will do in the mean time — " "In the mean time that will do excellently, until I run home and get some things." "But, doctor," the young man on the couch said, and he was rather pale now, partly from loss of blood, no doubt, but also partly from anxiety, " what does all this mean ? Is it really so bad? You don't mean that I'm to be laid up with a splint? AVhy, how soon — how soon, now, shall I be all right again ? Not long, surely !" " I don't wish to alarm you," the surgeon said, in reply, " but I ought to warn you that it is a rather serious case, and that the greatest care will be wanted. Even then it may be months before you can put your foot to the ground." 18 SABIXA ZEMBRA. "God bless me, you don't know what you're saying!" the young man cried, faintly, and very white his face was now. " I'm afraid I do," the surgeon said, quietly. The other remained silent for a second or two ; then he said, with a kind of forced resignation, " When can I be taken to my own rooms?" The doctor turned to Sabina. "It is a serious case," said he; "I would not advise his re- moval, if your people would not mind letting him have the use of this room, for a few days even." " Oh, but they must; of course they will," Sabina exclaimed, eagerly. " Oh, you don't know, doctor ; it was all my fault that the accident happened ; I am more grieved about it than I can say ; I cannot even think of it; and what we can do we must do ; but how can I ever atone for such an injury ?" " The young lady had nothing to do with it," said the maimed man; but he had to hold his breath now, for the surgeon was about to put his knee in the splint. By-and-by, when the doctor was giving a few parting direc- tions to Sabina (who had already installed herself as nurse, the maid Catherine assisting), and promising to be back shortly, the young man on the couch called to him in ratlier a faint voice, " Doctor !" "Yes?" " I wish you would do me a favor, will you?" "Certainly." " When you are out, will you go to a telegraph office and wire to the duke — the Duke of Exminster — that I sha'n't be able to ride Cherry Blossom for him in the Grand National ? It's hard luck, it is. Twenty times have I dreamed of lifting the old horse over Valentine's Brook. Don't forget — the Duke of Exminster — he's at llelmslcy just now. Well, it's liard luck; I knew the horse. Nobody else can do anything with him but myself. I could see us over the ditch and rail-fence near the bridge, and fairly in the line for home. Poor old Cherry Blossom — it's very hard luck." " And from whom shall I telegraph ?" the doctor said, gently. " Oh, my name, you mean ? Fred Foster, Bury Street : the duke knows." Sabina had left the room for a minute or two, and so remained WALTER LINDSAY. 19 undeceived as to the mistake she had made about his having " bab- bled o' green fields." But that was not of much account, perhaps. What was of more account, at least to one very tender heart, was that poor Janie Wygrani was now to be deprived for many a long day to come of the society and companionship of her be- loved Sabie. CHAPTER in. WALTER LINDSAY. It is rather a sorry thing in these times to have to speak of a man who is in love ; for in the eyes of most people — especially of the young men of the day — he seems to be considered a sen- timental jackass ; unless, indeed, the woman he is in love with should happen to be a married woman, and then tlie whole situa- tion becomes intelligible, and even something to be mildly envied. However, Walter Lindsay was in love, and very much in love; and not with a married woman, but with Sabina Zembra. " Poor fellow 1" Janie Wygram would say to her mother, " I do believe he is the most wretched man in this country ; and yet you would think he had everything that a human being could wish for. Good-looking — well, I call him most distinguished-looking — and handsome, with pleasant manners, a favorite everywhere, every woman anxious to have him at her house; and people be- ginning to speak of him as almost, if not quite, the first land- scape-painter in England ; with a splendid career before him, with plenty of money, a beautiful house, and heaps of friends ; and then his family — well, no wonder he is a little proud of the Lind- says of Carnryan, and of the old tower overlooking the sea : just think of all that, mother; and I know it is all worthless to him just because he cannot have Sabie's love — and Sable's love he never will have in this world." "Don't be so sure," the mother would answer. " Ah, but I know," the plain-featured, gray-eyed Janie would continue (and she seemed rather to like talking about Miss Zem- bra). "I know the only way to win Sabie's love: it's through her pity. If you're poor or ragged or suffering, and look to her for help — that is the only way. Then her eyes grow soft. But 20 BABINA ZEMBBA. why sliould she pity Mr. Lindsay, or take any interest in him ? He has everything the world can give him — liandsomc, famous, with plenty of money, and plenty of friends — how should he ap- peal to her pity ?" "Don't you say that he is miserable?" Janie smiled a little, but not out of malice. " She doesn't understand that hind of misery ; no, nor that kind of love, either. If you speak to her of that kind of love she only laughs and turns away. Sabie will never marry — never." " Don't be so sure," the mother would repeat : she had seea more things happen than her daugliter had. "Ah, but I know. And why should she marry? Doesn't she see how great a delight she can give to so many people? And it's so easy for her, mother. She has only to smile and look pleased, and people are grateful. When she comes into a room it's like bringing sunlight: everybody's face brightens up. I wonder," continued Janie Wygram, rather wistfully, " if beauti- ful people know how thankful they should be for their beauty ? I wonder if they know how easy it is for them to make friends — and to be kind — " " I wish you would stop talking about her," her mother would probably interpose at this juncture. "She has made a fool of you." " And you, mother ? You don't see much in Sabie ? Well, it's a shame to speak of her as if it was only her beauty. It's her goodness. She's ' better than she's bonny ' — if that is possible." "She has got a stanch champion, anyway." One afternoon the young artist whose name was introduced so frequently in their repeated conversations was in his studio, up Ladbroke Grove way, and he was seated at an open piano, though he was not playing. He was a man of about eight-and-twenty or thirty, tall and spare, pale of face, with perfectly coal-black hair and black eyes, that were contemplative rather than observant — at least they were so at this moment. The studio was a large and liandsome apartment, hung with tapestry, and stored with all kinds of bric-a-brac, that spoke of Spain, and Tunis, and Egypt mostly, though there w-as a nondescript and picturesque variety and confusion prevailing throughout. Damascus- ware jugs, old violins, bits of Italian embroidery, Indian swords, eightcenth-cen- WALTER LINDSAY. 21 tnry ale-jnp;s, Sheraton chairs, pictures framed and unfraraed, pho- tographs of popular actresses, wooden pipes, sheaves of brushes, books, stray music, invitation cards, Persian rugs, Rhodian dishes, tennis-balls, cigar-boxes, Syrian silks, all were flung together any- how ; but besides these ordinary paraphernalia of a modern stu- dio, there were certain "properties" more particularly wanted for the landscape artist's special work — a great mass of freshly cut golden-blossomed furze, a sheaf of dried bulrushes, the stem of a birch-tree with its hanging silvery flakes, and everywhere bunches of early spring flowers stuck carelessly into pots. And yet there was a kind of harmony in all this entanglement of things; they seemed appropriate. Perhaps the sombre grayness of the after- noon had its effect. And perhaps, too, that had its effect on the mind of the young man sitting at the piano. When he put his fingers on the keys it was in a musing kind of way, and the chance bits of Mendelssohn or Chopin that he absently played seemed to come unsought for, as if it were his memory that was speaking to him. Sometimes his fingers rested idle, and then the silence was almost painfully distinct, for the studio was separated from the house by a strip of garden, and there was not even the ticking of a clock to be heard, lie played one or two little waltzes by Mo- zart — curiously quaint and simple and melodious. lie hummed to himself, as he touched the notes, Lillo's " Ritorna ch'io t'amo, mio primo sospir." But by-and-by this languid and careless occupation ceased alto- gether ; he sat for a little time plunged in a vague reverie, and then, as with an effort, he rose, shut the piano mechanically, and turned to face the empty studio. This seemed to bring him to his senses somewhat. "It's a queer world," he said to himself. And yet he seemed irresolute. Ho took up a wooden pipe, but almost immediately put it down again ; then he went and stood in front of the unfinished landscape that was on the easel. It was a large water-color drawing: an evening scene — the spire of a village church rising dark into the golden glow of the sunset sky ; a river stealing in shadow underneath a grove of dusky elms; empty meadows with a pearly gray mist rising from them. It seemed to suggest silence and remoteness, and perhaps a trifle of sadness too, for the day was dying away in the west, and the vel- 22 SAniNA ZEMERA. vet-footed night coming stealthily over the land. But what a time and a place for lovers! There were no figures in this landscape; he had intentionally left it without any sign of life ; it seemed secret and sacred at this sad hour ; there was not even a swallow skimming over that still-flowing stream. But what, now, if some veiled and hooded maiden were to appear out of that golden glow beyond, and come swiftly with timid footstep along by the hushed meadows and the whispering reeds? Could the gracious heavens be so bountiful, on some such evening as this — in the coming years — and she, the one maiden in all the world, be actually there, and he hastening towards her with wildly beating heart? Easily could he recognize her figure far away ; there was but the one. And then the untying of the hood, and the beautiful tender eyes benignant — Subina — "If I were on my death-bed," he said to himself, "the image of that woman would come between me and my grave." But what had Sabina done that he should be angry with her? If he chose to make a fool of himself about a woman (he said to himself), that was none of her fault. And so, as the afternoon was dreary and uncomfortable, and not conducive to work, and the studio very silent and lonely, and the associations of this pict- ure rather melancholy, he thought he would go away and seek for some society somewhere. And whose? Why, Janie Wygram's, to be sure — if haply he might find her at home. If not the rose, she was near the rose ; and she would have something to say to him about Sabina. He put on his hat and overcoat, and also a pair of gloves, for artists have abandoned their Bohemian manners and customs nowadays, and he was about to pay an afternoon call. And as he walked away over Camden Hill Road, and so down into Kensing- ton, how was it that his eye instinctively sought out any tall woman that he could see in the distance? It was very unlikely that accident should bring Sabina in his way; and yet the remote possibility was always there, and it lent an interest to all the neighborhood of Kensington, and it had become an unconscious habit with him to look far ahead with this half-defined hope al- ways present with him. And then, again, where the High Street narrows there is an abundance of shops, and there mammas and daughters congregate, passing by the windows slowly ; and if by chance he were to find Sabina in that throng! In especial there WALTER LINDSAY, 23 •was a florist's shop that was of interest to him ; for Sabina, when she came round that way, generally called there to carry home some flowers for Mrs. Wygram, who herself could not well afford such luxuries. However, on this particular afternoon, as on many and many another one, his half-intentional scrutiny was fruitless, and so he turned down Young Street, and made for the Wygrams' house in Kensington Square. Janie was up-stairs in her mother's room ; she saw him come along the pavement. " There's Mr. Lindsay, mother." "You must go down, then, and make some excuse. I can't see him in this state ; besides, I'm busy." " Oh, I can entertain him well enough, mother," the younger woman said. "You've only to talk to him about Sabie." Of course it was not Mr. Lindsay who introduced that subject when these two were seated in the dusky drawing-room — oh no ! Mr. Lindsay talked about theatres and new books -and music; and when Miss Wygram incidentally mentioned that Sabie was spending that afternoon with her people at Lancaster Gate, he did not say anything at all. Nay, when Miss Wygram, who was a kind-hearted creature, would insist on talking about Sabie, and the good she was doing, and her kindness, and her gentleness, and her courage, and all the rest, he listened respectfully, it is true, but did not betray much interest. " Of course she has her faults," said Janie. "Oh, indeed 1" said he, thinking himself very cunning. " Well, now, it would be something to hear of them. As every one has nothing but praises for Miss Zembra, it would be quite refreshing to hear unkind things said of her." Janie winced. That she should be thought capable, even in jest, of saying unkind things of her dearest ! Nevertheless, she continued : "Oh yes, she has faults, and plenty," she said, cheerfully. " How could one love her if she were perfect ? Faults — oh yes. For one thing, she is a little too anxious to have every one fond of her. She can't bear that any one should be quite indifferent about her. She likes to be well thought of. I don't know that it is exactly vanity — for it is not her appearance she thinks of — it's herself that she wants people to like ; and more than that, she insists on it. If an ill-conditioned brat of a boy will have 24 SABINA ZEMBRA. nothing to say to her, you will see her deliberately neglect tho whole of the family until she has won him over in spite of him- self. Or an old woman. Old women are sometimes cynical. They distrust pretty eyes. Then you should see Sabie ! Oh, she is a hypocrite — an out-and-out hypocrite ! But that is the one thing she cannot bear — that anybody should be quite indif- ferent about her," "So far," said he, "Miss Zembra's faults don't seem to be very serious. Some people would call them virtues. I don't think it is much against a woman — and particularl}^ a young woman — that she should wish to be thought well of. It seems to me quite natural. And as for wishing people to be fond of her, surely that is natural too. The strange thing to me is that she should experience any difficulty." She knew he would come to Sable's defence — knew it perfect- ly wlien she began, and she thought she would reward him. She had observed his eyes wandering occasionally towards a photo- graph that stood on the mantle-piece ; she went and fetched that. " This is the last that has been done of Sabie ; do you think it like?" He took the photograph in his hand. "Like?" he said, after a second. "Why, it's herself — her very self! And so natural and simple the whole thing — and so good-natured she looks!" " Would you care to have it?" she said, with an air of indiffer- ence. She meant him to understand that she could have as many photographs of Sabie as she chose. He looked up quickly and eagerly. " May I have it ?" " Oh yes, if you care for it, I have plenty of others. Only a studio is such a public place — people come strolling in, and you would have to explain that it was I who gave it you," "But do you think I would have it lying about? I can assure you no. If I may have it, I will lock it away as my greatest treasure," "Oh, but you must not say such things," said Miss Janie, laughing. " And about the studio, Mr. Lindsay — I hope you did not think it rude of us, going in the other day." "It was the most awful piece of bad luck that ever happened to me that I should have been out," he answered. "And Mrs. WALTER LINDSAY. 25 Summers not to have offered you tea! She's a dreadfully stupid woman, that woman." " But I suppose she was so frightened by our boldness," said Miss Janie. " You see, it was such a temptation. Sabie had never been in a studio before. And then mother happened to be with us; and it was really her doing; for when Mrs. Summers said you were not at home, mother said, ' Oh, that's all right ; we'll go and rummage over the place.' And Sabie said, ' Oh, he's so good-natured he won't mind.' And you should have seen how interested she was — especially in the embroidery ; and she won- dered who could have taught you to pick up such things. Yes, and the picture — you should have heard what she said — " "But which one?" he said, quickly. It was all music to his ears. "The one on the easel, you know — the one with the church and the trees and the river — the evening one — " "Did she like that?" "Oh yes; you should have beard. And when Sabie likes a thing she tells you." "Miss Wygram, would you do me a very, very great favor?" said he. " Do you think you could get her to accept it ?" " What ?" "That picture. Do you think Miss Zembra would take it? I should be so glad if she would. It is a fair exchange — I have her portrait. Do you think she would take that drawing if I finished it and had it framed for her?" "But what would she do with it?" Miss Janie said. She was a little bit frightened, thinking she had said too much ; and she knew that Mr. Lindsay's pictures fetched very large prices, for water-colors. " Why, she might hang it up in her room, if she cared any- thing for it at all. Or over there — she might hang it there — and it would be hers all the same. Do you think you could induce her to accept it if it was framed and made a little more pre- sentable?" " Oh no, no, no, Mr. Lindsay !" Miss Janie said, earnestly. " It's bad enough for a parcel of strangers to go into an artist's studio — " " Strangers !" said he. " But to plunder him as well, simply because you happen to say you like a particular picture — " 2 26 SABINA ZEMBRA. " But you don't know," lie broke in — " wliy, you don't know what pleasure it would give me if Miss Zeinbra would only take that picture. It's nothing; it's a foolish kind of thing. But if she sees anything in it — if she would take it — " "I'm sure she would not," said Miss Janie, promptly, " and I know I should get into sad trouble if she discovered tliat I was the cause of your making so generous an offer. But — but — now, shall I be frank with you ?" "Yes; but be frank in this way: I will give you the picture, and you will hang it up in her room," said he, "Oh no; how could that be? But — but — if you would make a small sketch of it — something that would not cost you too much trouble — I'm sure she would be glad to have that." "Are you sure she would take it?" he said, eagerly. " I'm sure she would be very, very much pleased to have it," said Miss Janie, frankly. "But you see how it is, Mr. Lindsay; it's difficult for people who are not artists to accept a valuable picture. It's all very well for artists, who can repay in kind." "Then you think there is nothing in winning approval — there is nothing in being able to gratify a friend?" said ]>e. " Oh yes ; if every one was as pretty as Sabie, I could under- stand it," she rejoined. " But even in her case — " And then he grew bold. "Now, I am going to tell you something," said he, "and to ask of you the greatest favor I ever asked of anybody. Have you heard of Borella, the new barytone? No? Well, he has only sung at one or two houses, privately, as yet; but he is something wonderful, I assure you ; the quality of his voice is perfectly mar- vellous, and the skill with which he adapts it to a small room just as marvellous too. Well, he is coming to my studio Thursday, next week, in the evening ; and there will be a few young people there ; and there will be a little music, and a little supper, and so forth ; and I was wondering if your mother and you would be so kind as to join the little party. You see — " " I think I know," interposed Miss Janie, with a smile ; and although she was not pretty, she could look friendly and amiable on occasion, and she had a little sympathy with this unhappy young man, " I think I know. You would like mother to go up in the afternoon, and have a little chat with Mrs. Summers about the supper, and the arrangement of the flowers, and so forth?" WALTER LINDSAY, 27 "Would she be so kind ?" "But as for me," said Miss Janie, demurely, " what use should I be? Well, would you like me to bring Sabie with me?" He lowered his eyes to hide their anxiety. "Do you think Miss Zembra would care to come up for even half an hour?" said he. " Borella is a very good-natured fellow; he told me that if he came at all it would be to sing for my guests. I think she would be pleased. I am sure she would be pleased." " But that's not the way to put it when you're talking about Sabie, The question is — Can she do a kindness to anybody ?" " I should consider it more than a kindness," he said, in rather a low voice. " Oh, I'll bring Sabie along," Miss Janie said, cheerfully. "Will you?" he said. He looked up. "It is a promise,' mind. And you know. Miss Janie" (for he permitted himself this familiarity on rare occasions), "I am going to insist on your taking that sunset sketch as a present from me. Oh yes, you must. When I have offered anybody anything, then it is no longer mine." " But, good gracious, Mr, Lindsay, what should I do with such a valuable picture?" said Miss Janie, frightened again, " It will become valuable if you accept it," said he, gently. " And there is the very place to hang it, over there ; and if Miss Zembra would care to have a little replica of it, I should be very happy to do that for her at any time," He rose and took his hat, " I will send your mother a little reminder note about Thursday next week," said he. " And I hope you won't forget your prom- ise about Miss Zembra." " Oh, I'll bring Sabie along," was the confident answer. " Good-by," Dark had fallen over Kensington now ; but for him the gray melancholy that hung about the dismal streets was filled with all kinds of brilliant and happy visions, Sabina was coming to his little party ; and now the question was as to what he could do, and plan, and contrive, for the entertainment of this radiant vis- itor. Neither Mrs. Summers nor Mrs. Wygram, to begin with, was to be intrusted with the supper arrangements ; he would go forthwith to a famous confectioner and bid him do his best, spar- 28 SABIXA ZEMBRA, infy neither cost nor trouble. And he would call on the great barytone and make sure of him. Then, whatever Covent Garden could produce in the way of flowers would make that one nio-ht sweet and memorable; with this proviso, tiiat while the florist migiit exercise his fancy as he pleased with regard to the little bouquets or button-holes placed on the table for the guests, he — that is to say, the host himself — would reserve for himself, and for himself alone, the devising of the bouquet that Sabina would find awaitino: her ! CHAPTER IV. FRED FOSTER. An angry man, indeed, was Sir Anthony Zembra, when he found that the stranger who had been thus unceremoniously thrust into his house promised to be a fixture there, at least for a considerable time. And naturally he was impatient to know who he was; but he would not ask Sabina; he made his inqui- ries of Dr. Hungerford, plainly intimating the while that as likely as not this unwelcome guest was a common swindler, and all the fuss about the hurt knee part of a scheme of robbery. "He would be an enterprising burglar who would get himself smashed about like that on purpose," said the young surgeon, laughing. " Anyhow, Sir Anthony, it will be many a day before he is able to run away with anything. And I will say this for him: he tries to make as light of his injuries as may be — espe- cially if Miss Zembra is within hearing; and talks quite content- edly about the whole affair. He has pluck, at all events — " "Yes, yes; but — but — God bless my soul, I want to know who he is! Who is he? What is he?" Sir Anthony demanded. " Well, I think I should call him, speaking generally, a sporting character," the surgeon answered. " At least I can't make out that he has any occupation besides riding steeple-chases, backinc: horses, playing billiards, and so forth. But his interest in such matters seems to be of an all-round character. He offered to lay me 6 to 4 on Oxford for the boat race." " Professional conversation !" Sir Anthony said. FRED FOSTER, 29 " My fault, at all events," the young surgeon said, promptly. " Well, it is neither that race nor any other that he'll be present at for many a day to come, poor fellow !" "What I want to know is," observed Sir Anthony, coldly, " when you mean to remove him from this house. I don't see that we are responsible for the accident in any way whatever; and, really, to have one's domestic arrangements upset in this fashion, on behalf of a stranger, is perfectly absurd. Common humanity? Common stupidity ! When is this gentleman jock- ey, or whatever he is — 'gentleman jock' is the phrase, isn't it? — when is he going to clear out of my house?" " Well, now, Sir Anthony," the surgeon said, " I would beg of you not to hurry his removal. I would rather not run any risk, unless you have imperative need of the room. I dare say every- thing will go on well ; his constitution seems to be a sound and healthy one ; and as soon as it is fairly safe we will have him taken away — but not to his own rooms, I hope. Bury Street, St. James's, is not a very cheerful place for a man who will have to be on his back for the next month or two. I don't know what his means are ; but if he could afford to go to Brighton — if he were to get a front room on the King's Road or the Marine Parade, that would be more lively for him. And then on a fine day he might be wheeled down the Pier on a stretcher, and get the sea air and the sunlight into his blood." " I cannot say that I feel called upon to concern myself about the young man," observed Sir Anthony, in his lofty manner, " al- though one naturally wishes him a speedy recovery. In the mean time I shall be glad to have the use and freedom of my own house again at the very earliest opportunity." Lady Zembra, for her part, flatly declined to allow the maid Catherine to be forever dancing attendance on the sick-room; and as Sabina could not do everything herself — and as, moreover, she could not wholly neglect certain charges of hers down in the Chelsea district — she got in a trained nurse to help her, defraying the cost out of her own pocket. But she herself spent a large portion of each day in the invalid's chamber; and she would bring him newspapers and illustrated journals and books, and would sit amiably chatting with him to lighten the tedium of this enforced confinement. Fred Foster, it must be confessed, was not much of a reader; when he had glanced at the latest 30 SABINA. ZEMBKA. betting for the Lincolnshire Handicap, and seen how Cherry Blossom stood for the Liverpool Grand National, he was content to put the evening paper aside, and would rather talk to Sabina, in a timid and respectful and grateful way. And yet he spoke cheerfully, too ; for he would not have her think he was fretting overmuch, and as they became better friends, he was quite frank- ly garrulous about himself and his experiences and companions and pursuits. It was a new world, this that was being opened to her; and yet it was interesting in a fashion; for she was a friendly and sympathetic kind of creature, and accustomed to meeting diverse people, who all had their own way of life. And there was a sort of good-natured cynicism and saturnine honesty in this young man's talk that was in a measure attractive, and he seemed to have seen a good deal of the world for one of his years. But it was when he told her all about his home in Bucking- hamshire, and the old people there, that he pleased her most. It appeared that he was returning from a visit to them (having sent on his portmanteau by rail) when he met with the smash in Bays- water Road. His father, he told her, had, a good many years ago, laid out his last penny on property down Amersham and Missen- den way, in the expectation of a railway being made along the valley; but the railway never came; land would not sell at all; farms were letting badly ; and times were not as they used to be. Still, that seemed a comfortable home that he talked about; and Sabina, sitting in this silent room, and listening with friendly in- terest to his idle discourse, could see for herself the big, old-fash- ioned, red-brick house fronting the road; a row of tall elms out- side ; inside the low, wide hall, with its pillars; rambling corridors and rooms with casemented windows ; a spacious garden behind ; and, busy in the vineries, an old gentleman in velveteen coat and gaiters, with a velvet cap and tassel on his head, a pair of shears in his hands, and not far away from him a long clay pipe. " But it's the Mater," he would say (and he was fond of re- turning to this point, and Sabina liked to hear him speak in this fashion) — "it's the Mater has been my stand-by through thick and thin ; and whatever happens to me I know I've got one friend. Well, you see, the governor has been rather inclined to cut up rough with me from time to time, and no wonder, for I have been an idle wretch ; I mean, the only things I can do well FRED FOSTER. 31 don't seem to bring; in much coin, and I dare say I have been a disappointment to him. But the old lady is my stanch friend through everything. And mind, I don't mean only in the way of money. No, no. You see, Miss Zembra, a man who has had a little experience in turf affairs, and mixed himself up in that kind of life — well, I don't suppose that he can have the highest notions about human nature, and be too ready to believe in peo- ple; but it's a very capital thing for him if he knows that some- where or other — no matter where, but somewhere — there is one human being that is just as good as gold. I suppose, now, at my age, my one perfect human being should be a young woman, not an old one ; a divinity and angel about eighteen or twenty. Well, I've never met any of that kind ; I've never met any girl even fit to be compared to my mother. It isn't ribbons and scents, and a dog-cart and a pair of ponies driven tandem, for her; she doesn't think what she can get out of you ; it's what she can do for you, that she thinks of ; she's just as good as gold, she is." "And I hope and am sure you will always think so," Sabina said. "But why should you have disappointed your father?" " Well, you see, my wares don't fetch a big price in the world's market," said he, and there was an odd kind of simplicity in his self-disparagement. "What am I to do ? I can ride a horse; and I've even been complimented at times for a niceish bit of mouth-touching. And I play a fair game at billiards. And I'd back myself at a pigeon-match even against the Claimant, and that is saying something — " "Pigeon-shooting?" she said; there was the least trace of sur- pi'ise in her tone; and that of itself was a compliment. " I beg your pardon — I shouldn't have mentioned that," he said, laughing a little. " Sentiment has changed. But don't you believe the nonsense that is talked about pigeon-shooting, either. Miss Zembra. It used to be the most fashionable thing going; it isn't now; and why? Because it's easy? Because it's merely slaughter? Not a bit; it's because it's too difficult — and a score is kept. If you put a man into a hot corner at a pheas- ant-shoot and let him blaze away, he'll make a bag somehow, and nobody counts the misses; it's different in an open field, with a crowd of fashionable people looking on, and the reporters with their note -books just behind you. Did you ever hear of the Lords and Commons pigeon -shooting match at Hurlingham ? 32 SABIXA ZEMBRA. No; before your time, I suppose. And before mine, too, rather; but I've seen the score ; and if you look at that score you'll find how it was that pigeon-shooting ceased to be fashionable. Peo- ple always turn their backs on what they can't do. You don't like to have all your lady -friends looking on while you show what a duffer you are; and you don't want to have the score in the newspapers next day. Then don't you believe the stories about the maiming of the pigeons either ; that's all newspaper nonsense. Do you think they'd get a single man to lay a sover- eign if anything like that were allowed ? No, no ; and of course the betting men back the pigeon ; they know he'll play fair; they may not be sure about the noble sportsman, but they know the bird will try to get away if he can. You can't ' pull ' a pigeon." However, he saw by the expression of her face — and the hazel eyes were easy to read — that this was not a wholly grateful sub- ject, and he got away from it. She was far more pleased by his descriptions of the morning gallops, before breakfast, on Epsom Downs ; and he spoke rather wistfully about them ; and she thought it a pitiable thing that he should be lying here, help- less. But whether he spoke wistfully or cheerfully, all the way througb these chance conversations there ran an innocent assump- tion that she must be interested; and she did become interested, without hardly knowing why. For one thing, he talked about horses with a genuine enthusiasm ; and she grew to sympathize in his admiration of skilful riding; and could almost understand how Jem Robinson burst into tears of vexation when he found he had been tricked by the lad Twitchet ; and she was sorry for Fordham when she was told how Sam Rogers had served him the same turn. It was a new world to her ; and there were plenty of strange characters in it, and striking incidents, and moving his- tories. She grew almost familiar with its physical aspects; when he described the Grand National course, she had to construct in her imagination the successive thorn fences and hurdles bushed with gorse, and Beecher's Brook, and Valentine's Brook, and the Water Jump, and then again the hurdles on the straight way for home. Cherry Blossom was now at 11 to 2, and still first favor- ite; and how could she help hoping the horse would win, seeing that this young man, who seemed so good-natured and cheerful and patient under his grievously bad luck, was so obviously anx- ious about it? FEED FOSTER. 33 The Duke of Exminster called on Fred Foster to see how he was getting on ; and very sorry was that young gentleman that Sabina happened to be out. " Very sorry," he said ; " I should like you to have met, if just for once, the very straightest man that ever had anything to do with the English turf — the very straightest, and all his life through too. I wonder who ever heard of him 'readying' a horse and running it out of form so as to scoop the big handicap after- wards — " "But is it so unusual to find an honest man on the turf?" Sa- bina asked. lie did not answer ; he only said, evasively, and a little grimly, " Horse-racing is a great game ; and it has got to be played different ways." Now, as has already been said, the training that Sabina had vol- untarily undergone had taught her a wide catholicity of sympa- thy ; and she had long ago got rid of any Pharisaical notion that because a certain way of life is right for this or that person, it is necessarily so for all. This kind of life that he described, if it did not appear to be informed by any lofty purpose, or to be ex- erting any beneficial influence on others, was nevertheless appar- ently joyous and merry, and so far it was distinctly well; while it was certainly not one whit more selfish than the lives of the vast majority of the people — highly respectable and praiseworthy peo- ple — whom she saw around her. Perhaps there was a trifle too much luncheon-basket in it; and there was a pretty continuous popping of champagne-bottles ; but, on the other hand, that was probably the handiest way of celebrating victories; and, for the rest, there seemed to be a considerable amount of good-comrade- ship and generous help for the unfortunate in this set that he de- scribed. Nay, when she began and told him a little of how she spent her own time — what her occupations were, and so forth — he said he was quite ashamed of himself ; and wondered what she would think of him, who could but talk of horses and hounds, and partridges and tennis-courts, while she was engaged in such unselfish and noble work. " But then," said he, looking at her, " there are not many like you." " What do you mean ?" she said. " Oh, I can't tell you to your face," he answered, gently ; and 2* 34 SABINA ZEMBEA. then an unaccustomed flush mantled in tlie pale and beautiful forehead ; and she turned quickly aside to get for him his lemon- juice and soda-water, which was the beverage allowed him at this time. On another occasion he said, " You know it's awfully good of you, Miss Zembra, to bother yourself about me, and to come and chat with me now and again, and yon so busy. But I have remorse of conscience. I have in- deed. I really must ask you not to let me take up so much of your time — there are so many others who have better claims." " Perhaps you forget how you came to be here at all," said Sa- bina. " Oh, but you must put that out of your head," he insisted. "You were in no way responsible for the accident. Anybody's dog would have brought about the same thing. Or, rather, it was ray own stupidity that did it, for I should have seen the little heap of gravel. Or rather — and this is the truth — it was a piece of pure bad luck. I've come a cropper many a time before; but this time, by pure bad luck, I chanced to hit the curb -stone. Well, why should you consider yourself responsible for that? However, you must not think me ungrateful for all your good- ness to me ; and I have been wondering whether you wouldn't let me take a little part in what you are doing. I mean," he added, with a touch of half-amused embarrassment, "you might bring me luck — that is, supposing Schiller were to win the Ship- ley Hall Handicap on Tuesday next, would you accept a ten-pound note for distribution among your poor people ?" " Oh yes, certainly, if you care to give it me," said Miss Zem- bra, promptly. She had long ago ceased to be squeamish about such matters. " It's rather a shabby offer, isn't it, to make it conditional ?" he continued. " But every loose farthing I've got I've put on that horse, and if I were out and about now I'd sell my boots, I be- lieve, and clap everything on ; for it's as good as a moral, so the duke says. And then there's the glory — you see, I own a sixth share in this horse — " Miss Zembra had taken up the evening paper; she wanted to know something about the animal that was perhaps to win ten pounds for her. " The Derby Meeting," he said. " The Shipley Hall Handicap." FEED FOSTER. 33 " Oh yes, here it is," she said. " Schiller, 4 to 1 against. That does not look promising, does it?" "Promising enough. I wish it was 20 to 1. I know the old horse will pull it off for us this time, though it isn't a big thing. "We can't all be dukes." " But with regard to the ten pounds, now," said Sabina, rather diffidently — " I am afraid I accepted heedlessly." "Oh, a bargain's a bargain," lie said, with much cheerfulness, "and I think you'll find by next Tuesday afternoon that Schiller has landed you that ten-pound note for your pensioners : the money might go a worse way." It may be said generally that he bore this imprisonment with really remarkable fortitude, the more so that when Sabina was absent the other members of the household did nothing at all to relieve his solitude. Lady Zembra was so kind as to make inqui- ries about him from day to day of the nurse; and Sir Anthony would ask an occasional question of the doctor ; but it was very clear that their solicitude was prompted solely by their desire to know when he was going away. In these circumstances Sabina did what she could to keep him amused, and gave him as much of her time as was possible ; and in tliis way she came to know his history, even from his boyhood's days, in a curiously intimate fashion. lie liked to talk ; he was grateful to so gentle and con- siderate a listener; for, indeed, in her attitude towards him there was an almost maternal kindliness and patience and sympathy. One would scarcely have remembered that, as a matter of fact, he was a couple of years older than she was. lie talked to her as if he knew she would pass no harsh judgment when he made confes- sion ; and also as if he was sure beforehand that she would like well enough to know all about his first pistol, and his adventures with his pony, and his bird-stuffing, and his various scrapes at school, and the gradual way in which in after-life he become asso- ciated with the sporting world. She got to understand all about his somewhat strained relations with his father, his dependence on his mother, and his abundant gratitude towards her; his gen- eral habits of life, his opinions of particular men, his manner of looking at the tricks of fickle Fortune. Moreover, through all this self-revelation there ran a vein of sarcasm that gave it piquancy. His judgment of people and things was shrewd and sharp; so was his judgment of himself; and there was a kind of innocent sat- 36 SABIXA ZEMBRA. urnine honesty about him that amused her and attracted her at the same time. " If I had broken my neck that time I pitched on the pave- ment," he said, on one occasion, " I suppose I should have had to give an account of myself. Well, I should just have said this: ' Lord, there are some would tell you I was a very good sort of fellow, but I know I've been rather a bad sort of fellow ; only, I ■was just what you made me.' " And it was hardly her business to point out to him that this theory of moral responsibility — or irresponsibility — was of a primitive and unworkable character. One thing, finally, was cer- tain, tliis man interested her; and Jane Wygrain had maintained that, so far, Sabina had never shown herself interested (in Janie's sense of the phrase) in any man. CHAPTER V. SER FEDERIGO'S FALCON. Naturally, Janie Wygram regarded with anything but favor the young man who was thus claiming so much of her beloved Sable's attention ; and her jealousy of him made her all the more determined that Sabina should go to Walter Lindsay's pai'ty. "But why should I go?" Sabina said, quite good-naturedly. " Some people are interested in such things, but I am not. Standing about among a lot of half-strangers, and trying to talk about things that are quite indifferent to you — " " Oh, but, Sabie, you don't know," her friend said. " It's not like that at Mr. Lindsay's. They're small parties, and there's no one asked wbo isn't either clever, or pretty, or remarkable in some wav ; and there is every kind of freedom and amusement and merriment. You will find no old people there at all, except mother, who is to play duenna for all of us." "No, no, Janie," Sabina said. "I should most likely be tired by that time of night, and you wouldn't want a kill-joy to come in among a lot of young folks amusing themselves." " But you can't help going, Sabie dear," her friend said, in- sidiously. SEE FEDERIGO'S FALCON. 37 "Indeed! And why ?" "Not when I tell you that you will confer a great kindness on several people, and on two in particular. That is enough reason for you, Sabie." Sabina laughed ; it was a dexterous piece of flattery. "But who are the two people in particular?" she asked. " Mr. Lindsay is the one, and I am the other." " Then I will go to please you," Sabina said, in her frank and generous way ; and forthwith the glad-hearted Janie made swift- ly for her own room to send a little note to Mr. Lindsay, inform- ing him of the joyful news. As the eventful evening drew near, the little Mrs. Wygram as- sumed a more and more important air; for she had undertaken to superintend the domestic arrangements for the young artist; and she was in all his secrets, and very earnest were their confab- ulations together. But one afternoon she came home looking rather puzzled. " Janie," she said to her daughter, " what is it about a falcon ?" "What falcon, mother?" "I don't understand at all; but twice to-day he has said the same thing. You see, I was remonstrating with him about his extravagance — and really the way he is going on is absurd. Oh, I assure you there is nothing in Covent Garden half good enough. I believe he would telegraph to the Brazils if there was time to get back the things. Well, I was saying how absurd it was, and that people did not expect such entertainments at a bachelor's house ; and then it was he said, ' I wish there was nothing left but my falcon.' And then again he said, ' But when is the falcon to be brought in ?' And when I asked him what falcon, he only laughed and turned to something else." " Mother," cried Janie, " don't you know ? Don't you know the old Italian story ?" The mother looked as puzzled as ever. " Why, it has been told a hundred times. It was about a young gentleman of Florence who wasted all his wealth in giving entertainments to please his lady-love ; but she did not care for him. She married some one else ; and he went away into the country, very poor, and having nothing left him but his pet fal- con. Then, by-and-by, she became a widow, and she was living in the country too ; and her little boy fell sick, and nothing 38 SABIXA ZEMBRA. ■would do but tliat he must have tlie falcon that he had seen fly- ing over the ncii;lil)oring garden. So she went with another lady to the house, and there was her former lover, and he was greatly distressed that there was nothing in the house he could have cooked for them, for she had said that she would eat something. Do you understand now, mother? lie bade his servant go quickly and strangle the falcon — the last of, all his possessions — and that was cooked and brought in and set before them. And then, of course, when the lady made her request about the falcon, he had to confess what he had done in order to entertain hev; and she was so much struck by his generosity that she fell in love with him and married him. Have you never heard the story ? The young gentleman's name was Federigo, and the lady's Monna Giovanna. And you may be sure that was what Mr. Lindsay meant, mother; and very certain I am that he would be content to part with everything he has, and to sacrifice pet falcon and everything else, if that would only win him his Monna Gio- vanna." "And who may she be?" the mother said, demurely. " Oh, of course you don't know, mother. It would never enter your head — not for a moment — that it was our Sabie who is Mr. Lindsay's Monna Giovanna?" " What fools men are !" the mother sighed. "They may or they may not be; I don't know," the daughter said, valiantly ; " but I do know that if I were a man I should consider myself a fool if I were not in love with Sabie." And at length the great evening arrived, and everything had been done that the most anxious consideration could think of; and all that was wanting now was the presence of Sabina to irradiate the feast. As a matter of fact, she and Mrs. Wygram and Janie came rather late. All the others had assembled, and were idling away the time in the studio, laughing and joking and examining the sketches ; but Walter Lindsay was in front of the house by himself, and rather nervously waiting. Then there was the noise of a cab, the gate-bell was rung, and the next moment he was outside and down through the little garden just in time to receive them. This was rather a dusky thoroughfare, and the yellow gas-lamps gave but little relief; but it seemed to him that when Sabina stepped out on to the pavement — so tall and queenly she was, and yet with such a frank and generous good-nature in SEE FEDERIGO'S FALCON. 39 her face — that there was some kind of moonlight around. He bad eyes only for her ; he was a little bewildered ; she seemed something radiant — here in the dusk. " It is very kind of you to come," he said ; but he did not know what he was saying. lie accompanied them into the house: could this beautiful creature know how great a favor she was conferring by merely stepping within the door? And she smiled so graciously on the little maid who asked them to go into the improvised cloak-room : did she know that that, too, was a kindness? — that she could so easily make friends with her winning looks and her gentle man- ner? But at this moment Janie Wygram hung back from her companions, and said to him, in a half-whisper, " Is the falcon being cooked ?" " There is no such luck for me," said he ; and then he added, quickly, "But do you think, now, that Miss Zembra could be prevailed upon to take away some little thing as a souvenir? There are all kinds of things in this studio. If you found her interested in any of them could you give me a hint? Anything, no matter what — anything in the house." " I don't know," said Miss Janie ; but she could not add an- other word then, for she had to follow her companions into the cloak-room. Forthwith he sent word to have supper served as soon as pos- sible ; and when these new guests reappeared he would have them remain in the drawing-room. He seemed to forget the others whom he had left in the studio. It was Sabina whom he wanted to look at these sketches and medallions and miniatures and what not; and so anxious was he to interest her, and so strangely did the magic of her presence affect him, that his fingers were not so steady as they might have been. " Why, your hand shakes," she said (for she was rather blunt- spoken on occasion). "What is it? Too much Arts Club at midnight?" It was a cruel speech, though it was not meant cruelly. How could he explain to her what it was that made his hand a trifle unsteady? Or how could he say to her that he would willingly never enter within the doors of the Arts Club again if she but expressed the slightest wish on the subject? "But your other friends, Mr. Lindsay?" said Mrs. Wygram, 40 SABINA ZEMBRA, •who considered herself responsible for the proper conduct of the proceedings. " Should we not go into the studio ?" "Oh no," said he. "They're all right. Borella is there; he will keep them lively enough." In fact, they could hear the sound of a piano in the distance. "That is another thing I wanted to warn you about. Miss Janie. Don't you keep insisting on encores. Borella is the best fellow in the world, but he is rather noisy, and he likes to monopolize the piano. Now, when he wants to go, let him go, and then we shall have a nice quiet evening by ourselves." Of course, Miss Janie knew very well it was about Sabina he was thinking ; perhaps she might not like too hilarious an even- ing ; for there was something grave and serious in her manner, even with all its gracious sweetness. Then came the butler (he was a butler only at night ; by day he was an old-man model, and favorably known throughout the studios for his prominent nose and shaggy eyebrows; it should be said, moreover, that his ability in both capacities was marked, and that he could decant a bottle of port just as well as he could pose as an ancient Highland cateran, or a scowling miser, or a smiling grandpapa) to say that supper was served ; and Mr. Lind- say escorted these three guests into the dining-room I It was a clever little scheme. " Miss Zembra," said he, " will you take this seat, if you please? Mrs. Wygram has been so kind as to offer to take the other end of the table — she can see that things are going on rightly — and — and the servants understand — " It was a clever little scheme ; for now, without fear of any mis- take. Miss Zembra would be seated next him, and on his right hand also ; and there awaiting her was the bouquet he liad him- self designed for her; while Mrs. Wygram, instead of being an- noyed at not finding herself in the place of honor, considered herself promoted to the position of mistress of the feast. Janie Wygram smiled to herself, but said nothing ; and with a light heart Walter Lindsay went away to summon his other guests from the studio. It was a pretty scene at that supper-table when they had all come in and taken their places — the shining silver and the Vene- tian glass ; the shaded candles shedding a soft roseate glow on the cover ; the abundant flowers ; the baskets of fruit ; the faces SER FEDEKIGO'S FALCON. 41 of the young men and maidens growing blither as the talk became more and more animated. And if there was a trifle too much noise in the neighborhood of the black-a-vised barytone — who was telling very, very old stories in half-intelligible English, and laughing boisterously at the same — well, that was all the more convenient for any of the quieter folk, who perhaps had their own little sentences (timid and hesitating, and hardly daring to say all that might be said) to communicate to each other in their small, separate sets. Walter Lindsay was not sorry to be able to mur- mur a word or two unheard by the general crowd, even if there was no particular secret to be conveyed; it was something that he could speak to Sabina, as it were, alone. And then she was look- ing so beautiful this evening — so calm and bland and compla- cent; and the gracious outline of her neck, as she bent forward a little to listen, was something to steal one's heart away. Her step- mother had said she was a dowdy in her dress. Well, on ordinary busy days she generally wore a tight-fitting gown of brownish- gray homespun, with a jacket to match ; and her brown felt bon- net was serviceable enough ; and if you had met her in Kensing- ton High Street, or in Cromwell Road, you would have thought little of the CQstume, though perhaps her stature and her gait, and the set of her head, might have attracted a brief notice. But to- night there was naturally something different. She wore a dress of pale-blue Indian silk, with a fichu of faintly yellow lace coming round the neck and bosom ; and for sole ornament, where the. fichu met the gown, there was a bunch of real forget-me-nots. Walter Lindsay looked at these from time to time. What falcon would he not have sacrificed to gain possession of any one of them ? And yet he had a little score to settle with her. If any other person had told him that he had a shaky hand, he would not have heeded much ; besides, such was not the case, for although he had the artist's temperament, and was exceedingly sensitive in many ways, his nerves were as sound as a bell. But that Sabina should have taunted him was too bad : and her reference to the Arts Club ! " Miss Zembra," he made bold to say (but still in that under- tone that he seemed to prefer), " what did you mean by saying that my hand shook ?" " Did I?" she said, and she looked up. And then something in his manner appeared to amuse her. " If I hurt your feelings I am very sorry." 42 SABIXA ZEMBRA, "What do you mean by too much Arts Club at midnight?" said he, for he was determined to clear himself of the charge, " I am a hospital nurse on occasion," she said, laughing. " I sup- pose I spoke professionally. But really I did not mean anything serious, Mr. Litidsay — oh, of course not." ■ " Oh, but I'm going to have it out with you," said he. "I want just to see whether you or I have the steadier hand — " " No, no ; if I apologize to you — " "But I want to see. Now, just you lift your wineglass, and I will hold up mine, and we will see who can let them come closest without actually touching." Well, she was good-natured ; they went through that little per- formance ; and certainly both their hands now seemed steady enough. " Can I do more than apologize ?" she said, as she put down her glass again. " I did not mean to offend you." "Offend me!" He looked at her; that was all. Meanwhile, the robust barytone had chanced to catch sight of that raising of glasses, and imagining that it was merely the re- vival of an old custom, he set to work at his end of the table, and presently there was a good deal of drinking of healths and clink- ing of glasses, with even an occasional " Stosst an / — setzt an ! — fertig ! — los !" It was in the midst of this hubbub of chatter and merriment that Mrs. Wygram found an opportunity of say- ing to her daughter, who happened to sit next her, " Janie, don't look up the table, but do you know what is going on ? I can tell you. Are you aware that your darling Sabina is showing herself as nothing else than an outrageous flirt?" "She is not, mother?" Janie said, indignantly. "She doesn't know what flirtation is!" " It's a remarkably good imitation of it, then, that is going on up there," said the little old lady, still with her eyes cast down. "I've never seen anything worse anywhere. Why, Mr. Lindsay has not said a word to a soul since we sat down to supper; he has eyes and ears for nobody but her !" "And whose fault is that?" said Janie; "that is his fault, not hers. Of course, she is kind to him, as she would be to any one sitting in his place. It's little you know about Sabie if you think that of her." SEE FEDERIGO'S FALCON". 43 " I can use ray eyes," said Mrs. Wygrara, " and they're older than yours, my girl." "You know you're only saying that to vex me, mother; and you can't do it. No, you can't; I know Sabie better than that." "At all events," the mother said, to close this underhand dis- cussion — " at all events, Mr. Lindsay is having one happy even- ing in his life." Nor was Mrs. Wygrara the only one who was casually observant of what was going on at the upper end of the table. A tall, rather good-looking fellow — a recently elected Associate he was, and very proud of his new honors — said to his neighbor, who was a lively little maiden with a roseate face, a piquant nose, and raven-black hair, " Who is the lady of the forget-rae-nots ?" She glanced up the table. " Oh, don't you know ? That is Miss Zembra — a daughter of Sir Anthony Zembra — the Parliament man, don't you know? Pretty, isn't she ?" " How long have Walter Lindsay and she known each other ?" he asked. There was some kind of significance in his tone. "I think for some time," said his companion. "But I believe she has never been in his house before. She doesn't care for such things — nursing babies and old women is more in her line. It's all very well, if they would only wash their faces." "Oh, they've known each other for some time?" "I believe so." "Oh, they've known each other for some time?" What did he mean by this repetition ? What he was trying to do, at all events, was to get his companion to raise her eyes to his, to ask what his meaning was; but she was a shrewd little lass, and knew better than to be drawn into any such under- standing. " Well, I suppose it's none of my business," he said, finally ; and that was a very sensible conclusion. And now did Walter Lindsay call down the blessings of Heaven on Borella's wildly matted head ; for the noisy barytone had taken to performing conjuring tricks, and the attention of every one at the table was directed towards hiin. And Sabina wished to look on also, for she loved anmsement as well as any 44 SABINA ZEMIiKA, one, when the chance was there ; but her companion would not let her. lie was sure she had had no supper at all. A little more wine, then? for she seemed to like the perfume of that golden-clear vino di Capri. He was so sorry she had had no sup- per. It was a shame that slie had come to his house merely to be starved ; perhaps she would never come ao;ain, after such treat- ment? Some fruit, then, just to show that she had not been quite neglected? Not a slice of pineapple, nor half a dozen grapes, even? Some strawberries, then? "Grapes and strawberries in the middle of March?" she said, with a smile. " Really, it is perfectly wicked." And then there was on his lips some wild reference to Ser Federigo's envied happiness in the destruction of his falcon ; but fortunately he did not go so far; he contented himself with engrossing her attention so that she could not see any of the conjuring; and he would have her tell him more of her experi- ences among the mudlarks down Lambeth way. Were they all so cynical ? And not so grateful to her as they might be? Was she not afraid of having her pocket picked? And that one of them who was her champion and chief confidant — could he be found out now by a stranger? AVould he like to have a good, substantial, mid-day dinner given him, and thereafter a boat, that he might sail on the ponds in Battersea Park, supposing that such amusement were permitted? Well, Sabina had a generous faculty of being pleased with whomsoever was talking to her for the moment; and he was her host, moreover ; and all the others were occupied with their own affairs ; so she had leisure to tell him about these and other things. And ever the glamour of her clear, soft hazel eyes was working him further and further woe. Her rounded, white arms were near him ; the dimple in her cheek showed when she laughed ; her beautiful brown hair was still more beautiful in the softened light. But these things were as nothing. It was her eyes he sought, and these were so friendly and pleased and benignant, that who would have accused them of working him woe? Nor did he care. He drank the sweet madness, the fell poison, with- out stint, and recklessly and joyously ; this night was to be at least one happy night in his life; he had Sabie all to himself, and he was drinking in her pleased glances and her smiles as if they were strong wine: the years to come, whatever there might be SER FEDEEIGO'S FALCON'. 45 in them, could never deprive bim of that gold and rose-tinted memory. At length the conjuring came to an end ; and it was Herr Bo- relia himself who suggested that they should go away into the studio to have a little music ; he had to leave soon, he explained. And then there was a fetching of wraps for the women-folk; and somehow Walter Lindsay managed to secure Sabina's long fur cloak; and be it was who put it round her shoulders, and would even insist that it was properly fastened at the throat, for the night was cold. When they went outside into the back garden, at the farther end of which was the studio, they found that the night skies had grown clearer, and stars were shining palely over- head. Sabina thought of the dark early morning in East London, and of her crossing from the nurse's dormitory to the wards: she was a little grave as the ghost-like procession passed along from the house through this weird gloom to the yellow light of the studio door. All within there, however, was brightness ; the gases and can- dles lit; the fire burning briskly ; the piano open ; plenty of mu- sic scattered everywhere. The great barytone set to work at once ; he was frank enough. He sung them " du, mein holder Abendstern," from " Tannhauser " — a young lady in spectacles accompanying him ; and then he himself sat down at the piano and sung, " Fern in die Welt, Weit, weit von dlr, Strahlot dein Bild Tief, tief in mir." One would scarcely have expected a man who had been so bois- terous and uproarious at supper to sing with so much feeling ; but the quality of his art was very fine indeed ; more than one young woman there was rather liimpy about the throat when he finished. Then, after he had sung one or two more things, and bade such as he knew good-night, and lighted a big cigar and gone away, the young folks began on their own account; and as there happened to be lying open a volume of old-fashioned glees and madrigals and duets, they were soon in the midst of these. It was a careless, happy-go-lucky scries of performances; when they broke down they turned over the page to the next one ; sometimes a new- comer would stroll along and give them a helping hand. But the 46 SABIXA ZEMBKA. young lady in spectacles knew her business, at all events ; and so in one way or another they got along, with laughter and jests thrown in. Now it was " Foresters, sound the cheerful horn," or " The chough and crow to roost are gone," or " Hark, the bonny Christ Church bells," or " Here's a health to all good lasses;" and again it was, " Chloe found Amyntas lying," or " Sigh no more, ladies ; ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever." All this while Walter Lindsay was seated on a sofa with Sa- bina as his sole companion. On coming into the studio he had perforce paid a little attention to bis other guests ; but once he had got them fairly started on this occupation, he had gone back to her — how could he help it ? And Sabina sat and listened, her hands folded, her eyes pleased ; she had the air of one looking on rather than of one participating; but surely it was with no un- kindly regard. " How pretty that is !" she said, rather wistfully, on one oc- casion. The tall, young Associate was at the piano; and it was his neighbor at supper who had now taken the place of the specta- cled young lady, and he was bending over the accompanist, so that their heads were very near together — his a fair chestnut brown, hers raven black. And they were singing — with a careless bass thrown in by a gentleman standing opposite the fire : " Tell me, shepherds, have you seen My Flora pass this way ?" " Yes, it is a pretty air," Walter Lindsay said. " Ah, but I did not mean that," Sabina said, in her low voice. " It is the picture that looks so pretty — the two young people to- gether — and singing — " And why, asked Lindsay of himself, should she look and speak so wistfully ? Was she not herself young and more beautiful than any ? Was she to be forever a spectator ? Did she regard herself as one cut off from the amusements, the associations, the hopes of young people? And where was the need of any such sacrifice ? ^^Tell wie," warbled the young lady at the piano ; "TV// mc/" roared the basso at the fireplace ; " Shepherds, have you seen .^" SER FEDERIGO'S FALCON". 47 strnclc in the young Associate, who had a very fair tenor voice ; but Lindsay did not heed them ; he was thinking of Sabina, and of her way of life, and of her future. And if he was bold enough to consider how easy it would be for her to give him one of those forget-me-nots? Well, if that wild fancy crossed his mind, it was but for a moment. He was far away from that, and he knew it. But why should he fret ? Sabina was here, and by his side ; and she was bland and smiling and kind, and ever he drank fresh draughts of bewildering gladness and madness from the shining beauty of her eyes. By this time the black-haired maiden at the piano had had enough of duets and glees. "Go and get up a dance," she said, in her imperative way, to her companion ; and as the young painter dutifully obeyed, she began to play the slow and gracious music of a minuet. How- ever, it was no minuet that was in the young lady's mind. She only wished in that way to introduce the idea of dancing. As soon as the easels and chairs and couches had been removed, and the young men were choosing their partners, she started off with "Sir Roger de Coverley," and that at a rattling pace. " Will you join them ?" Walter Lindsay said to his companion. " I think I would rather look on," Sabina answered. "Then give me the dance, and we will sit it out together," said he. She nodded and smiled ; that was more to her liking. "Will you give me them all on the same terms?" said he, quickly. " I don't wish to dance." But she did not answer this; she was looking on with interest at the formation of the two long lines. And so Lindsay and this fell enchantress weTe left together again; and as the wild romp in the middle of the floor went on, he was telling her all about his work and his plans for the sum- mer (in answer to her questions, of course), and he was describ- ing to her the secret sylvan haunts he knew, and the remote little inns he stayed f.t, and so forth ; and as all this naturally led up to his drawings and sketches, he took her away into a corner to show her a big portfolio of these. And meanwhile he was form- ing a dark design in his brain. When the " Sir Roger de Cover- ley " ended, he withdrew from her side for a moment. " Percy," he said to the tall young painter, " get up a cotillon." 48 SABIXA ZEIICKA. "Don't know how." "Oh yes, you do," was the hurried rejoinder. " Anybody will show you. Do, like a good fellow — and look sharp !" And tlien he was back at her side again. Now, in the corner where the portfolio was, there stood a triangular Chippendale cab- inet, filled with various kinds of bric-a-brac; and among these — and the gem of the collection — was a small chalice of rock-crystal, elaborately studded round with uncut stones of diverse colors. In itself it was a most beautiful thing; besides which it was ob- viously of great age and value. Sabina was looking in at these shelves with a woman's curiosity. "Do you know what that dance is?" he asked of her. She glanced over her shoulder carelessly. " No." " It is a cotillon," said he, rather breathlessly. " And you gave it me, you know." "Did I?" said she, with something of an amused look; what could it matter whether she had made this useless promise or not? " Oh yes, you did," he said, eagerly. " We are in it, if we choose. And do you know what the peculiarity of this dance is? — that you are allowed to make your partner a little present. Oh, I assure you it is so — and — and this is what I want you to accept from me." He opened the cabinet and took out the jewcl-bestudded wine- cup. Sabina rather shrunk back. "Oh no, oh no," she said. "You are very kind — but — but I have no place to keep such things — besides, I could not take it. Mr. Lindsay, please be kind enough not to ask me." Her eyes were earnest; and they could make him do anything. But he was unsatisfied and anxious and a little bit reckless, perhaps. " Then if you will not take, will you give ?" he made bold to say, but under his breath. " Miss Janie says that is more in your way. And if I ask a favor of you ? You will take this little cup: well, you could make it thirty times more valuable to me if you would drink something out of it. Will you?" She looked surprised, but not offended ; she did not quite un- derstand. " Why, what difference will that make ?" she said. But before SER FEDEEIGO'S FALCON. 49 she had finished the words he had gone away, over to a little buf- fet that Mrs. Wygrani was improvising for the dancers, and the next moment he had returned with a bottle of wine in his hand. He poured a little of the foaming fluid into the chalice, and of- fered it to her. " Is it a ceremony ?" Sabina asked, with a smile, and she toolc the chalice from him. " Yes, it is part of the dance," he answered, glad of any excuse that would obtain for him this gracious favor. "Do I say anything? Do I wish anything?" Sabina asked. "I will do the wishing," he answered, quickly; and then she raised the wine-cup to her lips and drank a little, and then gave it back to him. lie could only look his thanks. Mrs. Wygram's eyes had followed him across the room. "And what do you think of your Sabie now?" she exclaimed to her daughter, who was assisting hei'. " Just the same as ever — why ?" was Janie's answer. " You did not see what she did just now ?" " No." " Well, then, I'll tell you ; she drank out of that crystal wine- cup just to please him, I suppose, and he put it back in the cabinet !" " And why shouldn't she ?" said Janie, bravely. " To please Lim ? — very well. She would do that or anything else to please any man, woman, or child who happened to be there. Mother, what has set you all of a sudden against Sabie? You know it's just her universal kindness." " Kindness !" said the mother, with a gentle sarcasm. " Per- haps it is. But I have never seen a more abominable piece of flirtation in all my born days." And with that she went to bid the model-butler bring some more lemonade and seltzer-water; for the young lady at the piano had begun to play a wild High- land schottische, and Mrs. Wygrara had enough experience of these scratch parties to know what that meant. They kept up the merrymaking to a very early hour indeed; but after Sabina and the Wygrams had taken their departure, Lindsay did not seem to heed much what was going forward. And at last he was left alone in this big studio with the disjecta membra of the revels all around him ; and he sate him down to think over everything that had happened during that eventful 3 50 SABIXA ZEMBRA. evening, even to tlic smallest details, wLerever Sabina had been concerned. And so Scr Fcderi<:;o had not sacrificed his falcon, after all — thongh his offer of the jewelled chalice was a little tentative ef- fort in that direction. No; so far from his being poorer by her coming to his house, he was ever so much the richer : that was like Sabina, as the faithful Janie would have maintained. The whole of this big studio seemed saturated with the charm and wonder of her presence. Uere she had sate, her hands folded in her lap, talking to him in her softly modulated voice; there she had stood, her beautiful neck bent over the drawings and sketches, her praise and admiration frank and ready enough ; it was by the side of that easel she had taken the wine-cup — now a hundred times more precious to him than it had been before — into her gentle hand, and raised it, and touched the rim with her proudly cut lips, and given it him back with so gracious a smile. He was beginning to understand her now. If you said "Take!" her answer was " No ;" if you said " Give !" her answer was " Yes." But all through these visions and recalling of visions it was her eyes that chiefly he saw ; and they were regarding him some- how ; and always they were pleased and generous and benignant towards him. He made no effort to banish the memory of that look. CHAPTER VI. TO BRIGHTON. Sabina was nnused to late hours and late suppers. Next morn- ing she found herself less brisk than was her wont; and so, hav- ing despatched Janie Wygram on certain errands down in the Chelsea direction, she thought she would take a longer walk than usual, and go ronnd by Hyde Park on her way to Lancaster Gate. And very soon the fresh air revived her. It was one of those sudden spring-like days that occasionally show themselves in March; a bland south wind was blowing; the Serpentine was shimmering in silver; the pale- brown roads dividing the level breadths of greensward looked pleasant enough in the warm sun- light; and every leafless branch of the elms and maples was de- fined sharp and black against the blue sky. There was a kind TO BRIGHTON". 51 of happy murmur all around, and a look of life and animation among the nondescript crowd. Carriages rolled by with their occupants wrapped in their winter furs; nurse-maids were chat- ting as they pushed before them the somnolent perambulator; charming young horsewomen were walking side by side, and per- chance exchanging confidences about the last night's ball, chil- dren were calling, dogs scampering, sparrows twittering ; every- where there was life and motion and sound — and it was a sound as of gladness, somehow. And, of course, Sabina thought of the poor young fellow who was shut out from all this and kept a close prisoner there, and her heart was filled with pity for him ; and half unconsciously she walked as quickly as she could, so as to give him as soon as possible the solace of her companionship. It is true — though she did not like to confess it to herself — that she had begun to suspect of late that he was not quite so grateful for her society, and her efforts to amuse him, as he might be. He seemed to be very well content with the sporting papers, and with the less of- ficious conversation of the professional nurse. Perhaps, then, she — that is, Sabina — bored him somewhat? Perhaps he did not want to be bothered with the formality of talking to a young lady ? Perhaps he might even consider her a little bit of a nui- sance? Sabina did not like to dwell on these questions because they sounded like pique; and, of course, it did not matter to her whether he was grateful for her volunteered companionship or not. On this morning she found him in very gay spirits indeed ; a number of things contributing. First of all, Schiller had won the Shipley Hall Handicap on the previous Tuesday, and Mr. Fred Foster was now in ample funds; but this she knew, for she had been the gainer by that victory of ten pounds. Then, again, the horse that he had backed for the Lincolnshire Handicap, at 20 to 1 against, had quite suddenly risen in popular estimation, and was now first favorite, at 100 to 12 ; and here was a fine opportunity for a little business! But the chief and glorious news was that the doctor had consented to his removal, and arrangements were now being made for his being conveyed to Brighton. "Do you know Brighton, Miss Zerabra?" he said, eagerly. " Oh, I do, I can tell you ; I know it just down to the ground. I sha'n't want for amusement. You see, I'll have rooms in the 52 SABIXA ZEMBRA. King's Road; they're not very dear just now, and I can be wheeled out to the end of the West Pier like tlic other cripples, and read the papers, and listen to the band. Then there's a tele- graph office at the foot of the pier if one wants to do a little business. Then there's the tennis-court; they'll let me look on, I suppose. Then the billiard-rooms ; but I suppose they wouldn't like my hearse brought in there. When I can sport about in a Bath-chair, however, I know one shop where I shall be welcome enough. And then, the fellows I know are always running down to Brighton — to the Old Ship; I should hear what was going on ; they won't leave me out in the cold. I'm not likely to be tempted, like the ordinary stay-at-home backer, to try a system — " "A system?" she said, with inquiring eyebrows. " Well, a system is a machine for making it certain that you drop your money — that's all," he explained. " But why should I bore you with such things — you don't understand. And you seem a little bit tired this morning, Miss Zembra." She told him something of the festivities of the night before, and said that though they were mild enough, she was not used to them, and confessed to being a trifle fagged. " That kind of thing would not suit me at all," he said, frankly. " I like to keep myself fit all the way round — fit for a steeple- chase course, or a thousand up at billiards, or a pigeon-shoot, or anything. Now I'll tell you the kind of feast I like — a break- fast at Jem Reid's — Reid, the trainer, you know. Well, now, that is the prettiest thing that I have any acquaintance with ; Mrs. Reid, buxom and fresh as a daisy, at the head of the table ; an excellent breakfast; fried soles done to a turn; bacon crisp and hot from the fender, a devilled kidney or two, and the best coSee in the world. Then, as you're forging ahead, you may chance to glance out of the window, and there is a string of horses marching past on their way to the heath, and just as like as not you'll hear Mrs. Reid say, ' Well, I for one don't object to seeing the touts coming about; it shows they think we have some horses worth watching.' After a breakfast like, that, I'm fit for the day; I can do without anything else all day long; there's ney ver an ' sinking ' bothers me." " You ought to be very thankful you have such a constitution," Sabina said ; she could not help noticing the clearness of his com- plexion, where the sun-tan still lingered, and also the brilliant TO BRIGHTOX. 53 liqnidness of his eyes, which were like those of a school-boy in the briskest of health. "It's just luck," said he, in his usual saturnine fashion. "I happened to be born like that ! I might have been one of those miserable devils who can't go on for a couple of hours without a sherry-and-bitters. I don't blame them, but I'd rather be as I am." " And when do you go to Brighton ?" Sabina asked : it oc- curred to her then that the house would become strangely empty and uninteresting when he was gone. " As soon as my catafalque is got ready," he said, with cheer- ful good-humor. " And I shall be precious glad to get there. Not entirely on my own account — I'm afraid you must think me an awfully selfish brute, don't you ? — no, it's partly on account of the Mater. You see, as soon as I can date my letters from Brighton, she will be convinced that nothing very serious has happened. I have been mortally afraid of the old lady turning up in London, and getting alarmed when she found I wasn't in Bury Street. As for my father, I suppose he's disappointed that I haven't broken my neck. He has been prophesying these dozen years back that that would be the end of me ; and people like their prophecies to come off, you know." " It has been bad enough as it is," said Sabina, " but I am sure you have borne your imprisonment so far with very great cour- age. Most men would have fretted and complained, and found the forced idleness almost unendurable. I hope you will never have such an experience again ; but I must say you make an ad- mirable patient." Now, surely, here was an opportunity for him to show himself a little grateful to the young lady who had given him so much of her time and attention. It could have been easily done ; nay, was there not almost an invitation in what she had said? But he did not seem to take it that way. He humorously remarked that he hoped soon to be about again, but that he would take care not to challenge John Roberts, Jr., to play 3000 up for a considerable time to come. There were one or two questions of some delicacy arose ere he could take his departure for Brighton. "You know, Miss Zembra," he said, in his usual matter-of-fact way, " I am quite aware that your people have wished me at 64 BABINA ZEMBUA. Jericho ever since I came into the house, and I don't wish to be indebted to people who wish me at Jericho ; at the same time, I should be sorry to offend you by offering to pay for my board." " Please, we will not speak of it," said Sabina. " It's an awkward time of the year — if I could send them some game — " He saw that he only vexed her, and he dropped the subject, privately reserving to himself the right of bountifully tipping the servants, for he was in ample funds at the moment. Sabina, on her side, found herself quite unable to induce either her father or Lady Zembra to say a word of farewell to their un- bidden and unwelcome guest. She represented to them what a gross discourtesy this would be to a man who was distinctly a gentleman ; and that even common humanity demanded that they should be well-disposed to one who had suffered injury through a member of the family. But no; Sir Anthony, when he had said a thing, stuck to it; and he had declared he would have nothing whatsoever to do with this stranger; and Lady Zembra was only too glad to escape from bother by following the exam- ple of her lord. Sabina tried to make some little explanation and apology to Mr. Fred Foster himself ; but that young gentle- man only laughed good-naturedly, said he understood the whole situation, and that, in their position, he would have been precisely in the same state of mind. Both Janie Wygram and Sabina went to Victoria Station to see him off, and it was then that Janie saw him for the first time. "Ue does not seem much of an invalid," said Janie, aside, ob- serving his sun-browned complexion and clear blue eyes. "Poor fellow!" Sabina said; "just imagine what it must be for one who has led so active a life to be chained down like that. And the doctor says it may be months before he can walk about. I have never seen any one so patient and cheerful." "I should have thought he was quick-tempered by the color of his hair — carroty curls always go with a short temper," said Janie, who had not forgotten her grudge against this luckless young man. However, Sabina did not reply to this remark; for she had to step into the carriage to bid Mr. Foster good-by. " You won't forget to let me know how you get on at Brigh- ton ?" said she. BY THE SHANNON SHORE. 55 "Why should I bother you?" he said. "But I particularly wish to know, and as often as it is con- venient," she persisted. '"You can't imagine how glad I shall be when I hear that you are getting about again, and shaking off the last traces of that dreadful accident." "Oh, very well," said he. "But don't you bother about me. I shall soon be skipping about again like a two-year-old." " Good-by," she said, and she gave him her hand. "Good-by, Miss Zenibra," said he, and he added: "You know you've been awfully kind to me. I wish I knew how to repay you. If you were a man, I could." " Indeed ?" she said, lightly, for she guessed there was some small joke in his mind. " Yes, I could. I'd advise you to put every penny you have in the world on Cherry Blossom for the Grand National." The train was already moving; she had to step quickly back; and then she waved her hand to him from the platform. " Poor fellow !" she said, almost to herself, " half of his cheer- fulness is only pretence. He feels it more than he would have any one think." And Janie looked at her, with a curious glance; then they turned and left the station together, and in silence. CHAPTER VII. BY THE SHANNON SHORE. For ordinary lovesickncss there is no more prompt and effica- cious cure than marriage ; but for the heartache begotten of hope- less love, where is the cure ? It is a disease that people are for the most part ashamed of; they conceal it assiduously, and there- fore it may be assumed to be more prevalent than appears. Walter Lindsay, at all events, could find no cure, though he tried many. For he was inordinately vexed with himself that in walk- ing along High Street, Kensington, he could not see a tall woman in the distance without his heart leaping up with some wild hope that it might be Sabina. And why, each time that he went home, was there a great disappointment for him on finding there no letter from Janie Wygram, with some chance mention of 56 SABINA ZEMP.RA. Sabina in it? Janie Wygrain could not keep continually writing to him apropos of nothing. The most serious interests of his life were interfered with by this agony of vague unrest; his work was done now, not for the world, that was willing enough to welcome it, but that it might perchance win him a smile of Sabina's approval. And as for the hopelessness of his passion — well, he had not studied her every gesture and look, he had not listened to Janic's minute and intimate description of her ways of life, and her hopes and opinions and interests, all for nothing; and well he knew that marriage formed no part of Sabina's plans for the future. She was very kind to him — for she was kind to everybody; and if he were ill, he thought she might be sorry; and for the passing hour — as had happened the other evening — she would smile on him, and be generous and gracious and bland. But as for anything more? He knew he might as well think of going into the National Gallery and asking some fair- browed Madonna to step down from her frame, and take his hand, and go through the years of life with him. And then he would try to argue himself out of this insanity of love. He had set up an impossible ideal, he maintained, to himself. No woman could be so fine as that. Why should he bother his head about a phantom of his own creation ? Women were women ; he knew what they themselves said and wrote of one another; he was no longer a boy, imagining everything that wore a petticoat to be an angel. And then he would resolve to go again to Janie Wygram, and get to know something about the real Sabina, who must have her faults and weaknesses and vani- ties like other folk. Alas ! that was not of much avail. Janie quietly remarked that people might say what they liked about women in general ; it was none of her business ; but she knew what Sabina was; nay, more, she did not scruple to declare to him, as she had already declared to her mother, that, were she a man, she would consider herself a fool if she Avere not in love with Sabie. And so there was no hope for him that way either (not that he was so anxious to dethrone his idol, as he tried to per- suade iiimsclf that he was) ; and as Sabina haunted every moment of his life, and came between his every occupation and project and fancy, he began to think that something must be done. He would go away from this hateful Kensington and see whether some of this lovesickness could not be left behind. He would BY THE SHANNON SHORE. 57 seek out one of Lis favorite solitudes, and bury himself in that secret place, and devote himself to assiduous work, or assiduous recreation, he cared not Avhich. To leave London — to miss the chance of catching a glimpse of her — to miss the chance even of hearing her name mentioned in the talking of friends — was not pleasant; but to remain in London, suffering this useless torture, was intolerable. So one morning, and on a sudden impulse, he telegraphed over ~^a friend in the west of L'eland, asking whether a place could be foi.nd for him on a certain stretch of the Shan- non ; the answer bade him come forthwith, and that afternoon he packed up his sketching implements and fishing-rods, went down by the night mail to Holyhead, and was in Dublin in the morning. He had come either to work or to play ; there were to be no more foolish love-fancies. And so, as he sat in that railway- carriage, hour after hour, and was taken away across Ireland, he kept studying the ever-varying and yet monotonous features of the landscape, and the slowly changing effects of light. And lucky it was for him that he was a painter : anybody else would have found that solitary journey a somewhat dismal thing, and the melancholy April day not a little depressing. The leafless trees looked black and harsh amid the raw reds and greens of ploughed land and fallow ; and the long stretches of bog, with here and there a few cottages and stone walls and miserable en- closures, were not very cheerful under these cold and neutral- tinted skies. That is to say, the ordinary traveller would have found those skies neutral-tinted and characterless enough ; but this man was a painter, and he could find quite sufficient technical interest in regarding the softly shaded bulk and retreating per- spective of the larger masses of cloud, and in tracing here and there a tinge of golden-white among the pale, hopeless, and yet pearly and ethereal blues and grays. And during all this observa- tion, and studying of forms and tones and " values," he was de- termined that his heart should not go away wandering back to Kensington Square and Sabina Zembra. In the afternoon he reached his destination, a straggling little town on the banks of the Shannon, the swift-rushing waters of which noble river are here spanned by a long and many-arched bridge. He had telegraphed for rooms to the inn, where he was well known ; and having deposited his things there, and picked 3* 58 SAUINA ZEMBUA. out a handy little trout-rod, he walked down to the river, to have an hour's careless fishing and a general look round. This was a picturesque neighborhood into which he had come, but the after- noon was not favorable; what wind there was was easterly, and that had drunk the color out of the hills around, that loomed high and lurid as mountains through the mist. However, there was always the magnificent river, with its surging, rapid masses of white-tipped waves, and the pleasant sound of the rushing over the weir; while eventually a sort of coppery-red sunset broke through the pall of gray. But he was anxious about neither paint- ing nor fishing on this first evening; and so he idly walked back to the inn again, and to dinner, in the small sitting-room, where the faithful Nora had not forgotten to build for him a big fire of turf instead of coal. This Nora was an old friend of his ; and as she came and went during dinner, they had a little talking together. She was a large- limbed creature of a lass, with pretty soft eyes, and black liair that might have been more tidily kept, and hands that might have been more frequently washed. But she was friendly and obliging and pleasant-mannered, and her amiable disposition towards the young English artist was manifested in a hundred little ways. She it was who never neglected to fill his fiask before he started in the morning; and she was the last to wish him good-luck as he left; and she sent him very nice things for lunch ; and she was the first to congratulate him if the men appeared in the evening bring- ing a big salmon, or perhaps two, or perhaps three, with them ; and when he came home empty-handed the pretty Nora would say, almost with tears in her voice, "Well, it's sorry I am, sir; what a shame ye didn't get nothin' all the day long." " Alanna raachree," he called her, and " Mavourneen," and " Nora asthore," and a great many other things of the meaning of which he knew very little ; but Nora took all these with a placid good-humor, and her friendliness was always perfectly within bounds. " Sure, sir," she said to him this evening, as he was getting to the end of his dinner, " it's manny's the time we've been thinking you'd be bringing Mrs. Lindsay over wid ye, sir." "If you wait for that day, you'll wait all your life, Nora, my darling," he answered. " Ah, don't say that, sir !" responded Nora, cheerfully. " Sure there's plenty of pretty young ladies in London." BY THE SUANXOX SUOBE. 59 " I suppose there are," said he. And instantly something in his manner told the sharp-witted Nora that she had strnclv a wrong chord ; and she quickly changed tlie subject. " Will ye have any pudding, sir?" she asked. Here she could not go wrong. " What kind of a pudding is it, Nora?" " 'Tis an apple-poy, sir." "Oh yes, that'll do." And it may have fancifully occurred to him in his idle musings, as this gentle-manneied handmaiden came and went, that if Nora were only to brush her hair and wash her hands, and get nicely dressed and smartened up, she would make a very presentable bride ; and what if he were to induce her to go away to America — to the West, where lie would buy a farm, and they would lead a healthy, happy, matter-of-fact existence — so that he should forget his sorrows, and think of that hated Kensington no more? But no; that wou/d not do either. He might not find the forgetful- ness he was in search of. Besides, her hair — each time she came into the room he noticed it — was too dreadfully untidy. And then, again, it was just possible that the Lass of Limerick (this was another of the names he gave her) might not care to go. By-and-by, when Nora had removed the dinner things, and brought him some coffee and stirred up the peats, he was left quite alone, and he pulled in his chair to the blazing lire, and lit his pipe. So far he had done well. He had scarcely sent one backward thought towards London the whole day long. But now tliere was this to be considered. He had promised to paint for Sabina a replica of the water-color drawing she had chanced to admire; and he had understood from Janie that Miss Zembra was willing to accept the same. But replicas were more or less me- chanical things; besides, he had not the drawing here. Would it not be better, before setting seriously to work, that he should do some sketch for her of some actual living scene? A first fresh im- pression was always preferable. She had shown a little interest in asking him about the various remote corners that he went to ; here was one. Would she care for a sketch of the wide waters of the Shannon, the long bridge, the little straggling town, the old square-towered church, and overlooking all, the distant slopes and shoulders of tlie Slicve Bernagh liills? It would not be recalling 60 SABINA ZEMBRA. him to her recollection ; it would be redeeming a promise. And might he not write to Janie — now — and make the suggestion ? It was a pretty long letter that he wrote to Janie. And if at first he pretended that all his concern was about that picture ar- rangement, in the end he was quite candid, and even glad to make Janie once more his confidante. "The truth is," he wrote, " I came here to try to shake off cer- tain influences — or rather, one particular influence — that you are aware of, I dare say. And to you, who see so much of Miss Zem- bra, and know what she is, T am not ashamed to confess that it may be difficult; but I hope to succeed in the end; and then when this glamour of fascination has been got rid of, I hope to meet her on the more durable basis of friendship, if she will per- mit of that. Of course a young woman, and especially a beautiful young woman, may naturally distrust any such proposal ; but if ever the need should arise, she would find that it was no fair- weather friendship I had begged her to accept. It would not be merely while her physical beauty lasted that I should be at her service at any moment if trouble came. To me, Sabina (I may call her this in confidence, and you will burn this letter) will al- ways be beautiful, even when her eyes have lost that lustre that at present is just a little too bewildering for some unhappy mor- tals. You have helped me to understand what this is; and the friendship of such a splendid creature would mean more to me than I can well tell you. I suppose nothing else is possible. You say so ; and you ought to know. At the same time I am aware that you don't wish her to marry anybody ; and that, if it were a matter of advice, that is the advice you would give her. Now let me warn you, dear Miss Janie, that you have not seen very much of the world; and that to give advice in such a serious matter to any one involves a grave responsibility. It is all very well just now. Sabina is young and vigorous, self-confident in the audacity of her health and good spirits, and happy enough in shedding the bounty of her generous disposition upon all comers. But it cannot be always so. She cannot be always so. She might want a helping hand ; she is away from her family ; sickness might overtake her; she might get robbed of her good looks, which are an easy passport just now to everybody's favor. In any case, she must inevitably grow old. Is it wise to ask such a woman to face the coming years alone ? You know better than BY THE SHANNON SHORE. 61 any one how sensitive she is, though she pretends not to be; how eager she is that people should like her; how she seems to crave for sympathy and atfection. Well, I'm not going to rave about her any more, for you would think it was all special pleading; but you just be careful, dear Miss Janie, not to do any mischief where the life-long interests of your best and dearest friend are concerned. If she will go that way, it is well. Each human be- ing has his or her own ideal, I suppose. And anyhow, I'm going to try to banish all this mystification and glamour out of my head ; and when I come back to London, I hope to be able to understand what Sabina really is — and no doubt she is a great deal finer than any of my imaginings about her ; and you will help us to become good, true friends, and so make a satisfactory end of the whole matter. And I'm going to send your mother a salmon as soon as I catch one." It was a very sensible letter to be written by a man whose brains had got so thoroughly bewildered ; and no doubt at the moment he believed every word he had written. But as he sat there later on, staring into the fire, perhaps some other visions may have arisen before him — only, it is not necessary they should be put down here. Next morning he was all alert; the boatmen were waiting out- side; the long Castle Connel rods had been put together; Nora had filled his flask — just in case there might be occasion to drink "a tight line to your honor;" and prescntl}^ when he had bun- dled his sketching implements together, they were all on their •way down to the boat. This was a very excellent recreation for a landscape-painter (as well he knew before) ; for when once the coble, or "cot," was out in the midst of the wild-whirling waters, the men not only managed that, but the fishing as well ; trolling — " dragging," as they called it — with prawn and " killoch " and phantom minnow, or lashing the stream with a forty-yard line and a big gold and red and purple Shannon fly, as the occasion de- manded ; while he, if he chose, could sit idle, studying effects of light and color and form, or jotting these down in his book when he was so inclined. And then again, when the light was bad, or the part of the river they happened to be at uninteresting, he would get up and take the casting-rod and have a turn at the throwing ; and if the forty yards were now reduced to twenty-five, still that was not a bad line for an amateur to throw out clean. 62 SABINA ZEMBUA. On this particular morning he was less interested in the fishing than usual ; all his concern was to find something fine for the sketch he was to send Sabina. And how would that do now ? The built-up bank all ablaze with golden gorse ; above that a row of leafless trees against a sky of pale lurid blues and faint red grays; and underneath the bank, and all in front of him, the rushing, boiling, surging river; here and there straight, swift rapids; here and there masses of foam-crested waves ; and here and there a large circular eddy of black, oily-looking smooth water, on which were reflected, in wan and spectral fashion, the whitewashed walls of an old dilapidated mill. He looked at it again, this way and that, but it would not do. The east wind had withered the color out of the landscape; this furious river was too difiicult for a mere sketch ; he wanted a blue sky on the water instead of those reflections of gray and black. So he gave that up for the present and took the rod from Johnnie Ryan, and began to belabor the whirling currents with five-and-twenty yards of lino and a big " silver doctor." In the afternoon he was more fortunate. For although that weird haze still hung over the lurid blue hills and the ghostly landscape, and the sun, when the clouds slowly parted, showed himself a sphere of mottled, dusky gold, by-and-by, as the even- ing drew on, a beautiful piuky-gray light began to shine in the western heavens; and the stems and branches and twigs of the leafless trees grew to be of a rich, warm purple ; and the dark green of the grass on the bank and the deep yellow of the gorse became strangely intense and clear. "Put me ashore now, Johnnie," he said to the chief boatman. " Sure 'tis the best bit of the lake we're just coming to," Johnnie remonstrated. " Very well ; you fire away, and pick up a forty-pounder. I'm going ashore — look alive now !" And perhaps he was a little anxious as he began, and half for- getful of his own mastery of his craft. He was so anxious to justify himself in Sabina's eyes. She had not seen much of his work ; nor had any one, in fact. His Wigtonshire patrimony had relieved him from the necessity of laboring for the market ; and his reputation, which was distinct and marked, prevailed chiefly among artists themselves, who were wont to become very enthusiastic indeed about Walter Lindsay's drawings. Of course BY THE SHANNOX SHOKE, 63 there were those who decried his method, and called him an Im- pressionist, and the like. And he was an Impressionist of a kind ; but his Impressionism was of the higher order that refuses to deal with that which is unnecessary, not the Impressionism which is chiefly marked by a clever avoidance of ditiiculties. He began by being a Realist of the severest type ; for years he had labored, in Switzerland, in Sweden, in Holland, at patient and faithful studies of rocks and foliage and water and sky ; but gradually he had emancipated himself ; Nature was no longer his master and tyrant; he chose for himself; he left undone what he did not think worth doing, but what he did do was done with the reverence born of knowledge. Nature was his friend and com- panion, if no longer his master; and hitherto he had been well content to wander away by himself into any kind of a solitude, working sometimes, idling sometimes, but always more or less unconsciously studying. And if he was not scrupulous about detail, where he did put in detail it was right: he was none the worse a painter that he was also a skilled geologist, and that his herbarium was of his own collection, and bore record of many a toilsome pilgrimage. And now he began to pick up his courage again, for the effect proved lasting, and he was getting on. The beautiful ethereal rose-grays still dwelt in the higher heavens; the leafless trees grew even warmer in their purple, and the gorse-bushcs burned gold in the pallid shadow of the bank. He glanced at Johnnie Ryan from time to time, for Johnnie was fighting a salmon far- ther down the stream, and he wanted to see the end of that strug- gle. And then he wondered whether Sabina would care for this bit of a sketch. It was not of the chromo-lithographic kind ; it was not striking: moreover, a good deal of compromise was nec- essary even with what was before him. But he thought he could make something out of it ultimately — a tender kind of a thing ; not strong in color, perhaps, rather ethereal and delicate, but, if possible, luminous and fine. He hoped Sabina would like it. AVould she understand the reticence of it? Would she under- stand what had made him hold his hand somewhat? Of course, he could do the other thing if he chose. But it was something in the nature of a pearl that he wished to give to Sabina. He carried out the sketch as far as was possible in the circum- stances, until the rose-hue in the sky began to fade into dusk. 64 SABINA ZEMBRA. and then he bundled up his things, fairly well content. And Johnnie Ryan and his companion had got the salmon — a twenty- two-poiinder, and they were also well content. He let the two men go on before him ; and then, after sitting there a while, con- sidering what he could do further with the sketch, and perhaps thinking of one or two other things, he rose and walked slowly home by the river-bank, underneath a twilight made transparent by a single star. CHAPTER VIH. THE NEW FRIENDSHIP. Of a sudden all this was changed; for the next morning the wind was blowing freshly from the west, and the world was ablaze with color — rich and glowing and keen ; and from that moment forward every day as it went by was filled to overflowing with brisk work, and recreation quite as brisk. When he had done a sufficient quantity of the former, he fell upon the latter with might and main, and flogged those surging rapids of the Shan- non with a persistency and skill that won even the approval of Johnnie Ryan. And the evenings? — well, the evenings were given over now to the glorification of friendship. That was to be the future happiness. He would go back to London cured of the cruel madness of love, and ask that beautiful, high -gifted creature to give him of her companionship as far as that might be possible. He would prove the faith that was in him too. Others might try to woo and win her; he would be her friend, no matter what befell. He had heard of such things; and the situation might become fine in its way. And so he worked hard, and fished hard, and bade himself be of good cheer; he had ban- ished that morbid lovesickness by main force ; Sabina was to be his friend. There came a large envelope containing a couple of cards for the Private View of the Royal Academy. A week or two previ- ous he had received the honor of an invitation to be present at the banquet; this was an additional compliment, and highly pleased was he with both. But, of course, his first thought was of Sabina ; and as he guessed that old Mr. Wygram would as THE NEW FRIENDSHIP, 65 usual have received a similar couple of tickets (this was a friend- ly act on the part of the Academy towards one who was not now as prosperous as once he had been), and as he knew that Mrs. Wygram and Janie invariably made use of these, he at once tele- graphed to Miss Janie that he had a card for Miss Zembra, if she cared to go, and also begging her to fix the engagement. That meant, naturally, that he should escort the three ladies to Bur- lington House and show them round the rooms. But it was all in the way of friendship. Next morning he said casually to the Lass of Limerick, " Nora, what do you think, now, would be a nice present for a young lady ?" " Sure a sweetheart mightn't be amiss, sir," said Nora, demure- ly, as she was putting the eggs on the table. "Ah, you're too facetious, Nora, alanna, for one of your tender years. How about a salmon, now ? What if I were to send the young lady a salmon?" "She'd be mighty plazed, sir, I suppose," said Nora, as she was heaping some more turf on the fire. " But the fish ought to be of my own catching — don't you think so ?" "And maybe it's herself you'd rather be afther, sir, begging your pardon," said Nora, darting a glance at him from the door. " Nora," said he, gravely, " is that the fashion they have of talking in Limerick?" " It's the fashion they talk all over the wurruld, sir, when a young gentleman spakes about a young lady in that way — and tliat's the truth, sir," said Nora, as she smiled maliciously and disappeared into the passage. He was not to be deterred by the sarcasm of the Pride of Kil- dare (another of her names, by-the-way). This was a happy in- spiration, that he should send a salmon to Sabina. He did not stay to ask himself what she could do with it. Why, it was the right and privilege of every sportsman to make a present of game — salmon or venison or grouse, or whatever it might be — to whomsoever he chose, even to a stranger. Sabina would have the compliment; the Wygrams would have the fish. And surely tliis noble river, that he had made friends with, that he had come to know so well, that he had formed so great an affection for, would yield him a worthy prize? Anyhow, his colors and block 66 SABINA ZEMBRA, and camp-stool and sketching umbrella were all left unheeded in a corner; and he was busy with minnows and prawns and "Jock Scotts" and " Blue Doctors;" and forthwith he was on his way down to the coble with Johnnie Ryan and his mate. And what a day this was for idleness, whether afloat or ashore ! The spring seemed to have come upon them with a bound. The lilac and silver-white April skies were filled with blowing clouds ; and now there were dazzling floods of light, and again the gloom of a passing shower; the yellow gorse burned hot in the sun; there were blush-tinted anemones in the leafless woods, and prim- roses everywhere, and shy violets; the swallows were skimming and dipping and twittering. A robin sung loud and clear from the topmost twig of a hawthorn-bush. And then the splendid river, changing with every mood of the sky : at times sullen and dark under the heavy rain-clouds, and then again, when these had passed, and the heavens were bountifully flooding the world with light, this great mass of water became a mighty highway of flash- ing, vivid, intense cobalt blue, lying between these soft green meadows and that high bank, crowned with its golden furze, " Wo ought to get a fish to-day, Johnnie," he said, as he was flogging away at the water. " Bedad, and it's more than one we'll have before going home this night, your honor," was Johnnie's confident answer. Moreover, the prophecy came true, for that evening, as they went home through the dusk, the men had three very nice fish to carry, one of them weighing twenty-eight pounds; and it was the twenty-eight-pounder, of course, that was to go to Kensington Square, A twenty-eight-pound salmon ; a ticket for the Private View of the Academy ; a water-color drawing of a rose-gray evening over the beautiful river — these were the gifts he now had for Sabina; but they were not to show her that he was continually thinking of her; they were not to beg for her favor in any way ; they were merely to cement the new friendship. All the same, he began to wonder why Janie had not written. He watched the posts. He tormented himself with doubts. Perhaps he had been too bold. Perhaps Sabina was ill. To think of her — while here he was in this blowing April weather, with the spring flowers car- peting the wood, and the west winds redolent of the full-blos- somed gorse, and the great river shining back the deep blue of THE NEW FRIENDSHIP. 67 the young year's skies — to think of lier as perchance in a dull room in that gray Kensington Square, lying pale and wan, it might be, with white fingers limp on the coverlet! Why was he not in London, that he might go straight to Janie and ask? If Sabina were ill, however slightly, small messages from the outside world might vary the monotony of the sick-room — flowers and fruit and books, and an occasional word of remembrance and sym- pathy — these could do no harm. Then again he would argue himself out of this fear. Sabina was very busy. Janie, too, had many things to look after. Perhaps she was waiting to see wheth- er Sabina could definitely fix about the Private View, Neverthe- less, he came down-stairs early in the morning, lest there should be an envelope waiting for him on the breakfast -table. And sometimes he would leave the fishing just as the evening looked most promising, and wander back to the inn, hoping for an an- swer from Kensington Square. But all this anxiety, and needless alarm, and torturing speculation had nothing to do with love or lovesickness ; it was but part of the newly established friend- ship. Nora was a good-hearted lass, and shrewd withal ; and she had got to suspect that Mr. Lindsay was troubling himself about the non-arrival of a letter; so that one day when the afternoon post brought a little batch of correspondence for him, she straightway sought out a small shock-headed boy and sent him down with the parcel to the boat. The letter from Janie had come at last, and eagerly enough it was opened. She apologized for not having an- swered sooner, but said she had been extremely busy. The young gentleman who had met with the accident had left Lancaster Gate; following that, Sabina had many arrears of her own particular work to attack, and Janie had been helping her. And as he read on, remorse of conscience struck him. It appeared that his letter had very much distressed this tender soul. Any charge, however slight or remote, against her beloved Sabie was a cause of deep concern to her, and she had got it into her head that Mr. Lindsay was rather hinting that Sabina was impervious to the claims of friendship; and she considered this to be most especially ungrate- ful on his part. "Don't think me impertinent, dear Mr. Lindsay," she wrote, "but really I cannot help asking what you would like more. You •write as if you and Sabie were strangers; that you were coming 68 SABIXA ZKJjCRA. back to beg for a little friendship from ber ; and that is all you have to say in return for the way she treated you that night at your house ! Why, she just devoted herself to you the whole evening, and had scarcely a word or a look for any one else — so much so that it was remarked — and was as kind to you as an un- married girl could be. I think you want a little too much, if I must speak ray mind. If you think that Sabie is not already your friend, I can only say that you are very inuch mistaken; and friendship with Sabie means something. And she is very much interested in your work, as I know ; and when I told her where you were, among such beautiful things — well, I confess I was mean enough to say it was lucky for some folk that they could go away and live among green fields and spring flowers and woods, and all that, for we were walking through a horrid little lane over in Battersea — she was quite sharp with me, and said it was a very good thing some people could go away and bring us back reports how beautiful the world was, and give us pictures of it that we could look at again and again with delight, in the mid- dle of all our troubles and worry. Yes ; and she met the Presi- dent of the Academy at somebody's house the other evening, and he was saying very nice things about you, and she came home and repeated every one of them, and was very much pleased about it, and said how fine a thing it must be for one in your position to have such a career before him, and to have won such esteem al- ready from your own brothers in art. But that isn't friendship — oh no ! That is the carelessness of a stranger. However, I am not going to scold any more, for I don't know that there was not some make-believe in your letter. Only it does seem hard on Sa- bie. I suppose you don't know how kind she was to you that evening? Or how much attention do you expect, if I may speak frankly ? I wondered that none of the other gentlemen were jeal- ous of the way she devoted herself to you, both during supper and in the studio ; but I suppose they find girls like Miss Sadleir and Tottie Morrison more attractive? Well, they're welcome, so long as they leave me my Sabie. She told me you had offered her that beautiful old wine-cup, and she thought it was very kind of you ; but of course it would be of no use to her. Besides, 3'ou could not expect her to accept so valuable a gift. Mother, who -has very sharp eyes, says that something else happened just about that time. Do you know ? Of course, I would not ask Sabie for THE NEW FRIENDSHIP. 69 worlds. But did it happen ? That was not friendship, anyway ? And yet you seem to think that Sabie is not kind to you. He took her scolding manfully, and only wished for more. For it was very grateful to him to have it so hotly argued and proved, by one who ought to know, that Sabina held him in some little regard; and the references to that evening in the studio recalled an abundance of happiness, and he liked to be told that Sabina bad shown him so much favor. He read the scolding over and over again, and did not care whether he merited it or not; it was all about Sabina, and that was sufficient. But that chance remark about the lane in Battersea gave him a twinge of conscience. He could see the two girls trudging through those squalid thorough- fares, on their errands of kindness and help, the air fetid around them, the skies hidden away from them. While as for him, look at his surroundings at this moment ! The afternoon happened to be strangely still and peaceful — it was like an evening in summer. On the higher meadows lay a soft and mellow radiance, streaming over from the west; but down here the wide stream was in shad- ow ; and odd enough was the contrast between the turmoil of the water — with its sharp and sudden gleams of blue-black and silver- gray — and that peaceful golden landscape, and the pale, cloudless, overarching sky. Here and there a bird was singing; and ever there was the lulling rush of the river, a murmur filling the still evening air. And. then he thought of Battersea, and of Sabina, and of her generous defence of him ; and all he could say for himself was this — that if any of his transcripts of these peaceful and beautiful scenes on the Shannon had a trace of interest in her eyes, or could make a dull corner of the house in Kensington Square one whit the brighter, she was welcome to her choice of them, or to all of them put together. There was further good news for him in the postscript. " About the Private View of the Academy," Miss Wygram wrote, " Sabie says I am to thank you very much for remember- ing her, and she will be glad to go with us, if nothing unusual should happen." Now, here was a notable thing ; for though he was neither Ac- ademician nor Associate, he would be in a certain sense Sabina's liost on this occasion, and responsible for her being pleased and entertained. And what could he do? Was there no special fa- vor he could obtain for her ? Numbers of both Academicians and 70 SABINA ZEMBRA. Associates were among his most intimate friends : perhaps they could procure for him the use of some small room somewhere, so that Miss Zenibra and the little party he might make up could have lunch in peace and quiet, instead of among the lieated crowd ? Failing that (and it did not sound possible, somehow), by going early surely he could secure a table in the refreshment-room, up at the window-end? And who could prove himself a better guide to her as she went round the Galleries? For each year he was in the habit of sending in a little water-color, not to ask for public favor at all, but merely to gain for him a ticket for the Varnish- ing Day; and he would devote the whole of that day to a rapid survey of the Exhibition, so that, when Sabina started on her round of the rooms, he could take her without trouble and explo- ration to everything worth seeing. On Private View Day, as every one knows, the women-folks rather let themselves loose in the way of conspicuous attire. And if Sabina should come among them in her simple gown of plain brown homespun, with its black but- tons and frilled tight cuffs ! He hoped she would. It was the dress he used to look out for in Kensington High Street ; it was the dress that used to make bis heart leap — before the era of friendship had opened. And better than any extravagance of fashion, it seemed to suit the tall and lithe and graceful form. But for the consideration of these and other high-stirring proj- ects and fancies he wanted more freedom and the excitement of motion ; this coble amid the hurrying waters of the Shannon was all too narrow and confined ; so he surrendered his rod to Johnnie Ryan, got put ashore, and presently was walking rapidly along the unfrequented highway in the direction of Lough Derg. And what, he was asking himself, ought he to strive for, in order to prove himself worthy of this rare companionship that was to be his? how was he to win further favor in her eyes? Women, he understood, rather liked the society of famous men — of men who had "done something" and who were known to the world. Well, now, he had never striven for fame at all. He had striven to win the appreciation of his brother-artists, and he had succeeded in a most enviable degree ; but chiefly, it may be said, he worked for absolute love of the work itself. His Wigtonshire property rendered him independent of the dealers, and of any caprice of public fashion ; he did his work in his own way ; he could afford to linger over it, and produce his best ; and the ultimate fate of THE NEW FUIENDSniP. 71 it, or the effect it would have on his reputation, did not bother him much. But if women liked the society of famous men ^ Surely there was nothing unworthy in seeking the public approv- al, in doing something definite, in making his work perhaps a little more consecutive? He was walking near to the Shannon on tliis placid and golden evening. And it suddenly occurred to him that a series of drawings illustrative of the mighty river from its source away in the north down to its disappearance in the sea might show a certain coherence, and appeal to the public with more effect than any mere number of disconnected water-colors. It was a bold project, for the Shannon during its course of two hundred miles flows through almost every kind of country. He would have to face mountain scenery and lake scenery and gentle pastoral scenery ; and he would have to deal with the varied char- acter of the river itself, now widening out into such inland seas as Lough Ree and Lough Derg, again gliding swiftly by peaceful meadows, or wildly racing and chasing over the rocky barriers of Castle Connell. And then look at the result of these two or three years' labor; an exhibition room in Piccadilly or King Street — a Private View Day all to himself — Sabina making her appearance, along with the Wygrams, about four in the afternoon — Sabina, as ever, gracious and benignant and sniiliug-eyed. This newly formed friendship seemed to demand a good deal of reverie; and it is to be observed that not only did the figure of Sabina loom large and constant in these visions of the future, but also that the society and companionship he was arranging for her was very curiously limited. In fact, there did not appear to be any room for a third or a fourth person. The Wygrams, of course, did not count; they might be regarded merely as attend- ants upon Sabina; while as for any one else, there was no one else. Sabina and he were to be friends ; the outer world — espe- cially the male creatures of the outer world — might surround that distinctly limited circle if thoy chose — at a little distance. Now, friendship is not ordinarily so exclusive. But perhaps this was a new kind. " I'm afraid I'm very late for dinner, Nora, acushla," said lie, as he got back to the inn an hour and a half after the proper time. "Oh, well, sir," said Nora, good-naturedly, " we expect the gen- tlemen to come in at anny time. If it's bad luck they're having 12 SABINA ZEMBKA. with tlie fishino^, tliey come home, and if it's good luck they stay out. I sent you down your letters, sir." "Thank you kindly," said he. "I hope there was good news in them, sir," said Nora, as she was giving the last touch to the turf fire. " Indeed there was," he rejoined. " Well, it's glad I am of that, sir," said Nora, who had been forming her little guesses, "for sometimes a letter has a dale to say." " I'm going back to England on Monday." " Are ye, now, sir ? Well, that's a pity, to be sure ! — and Tim O'Connor declaring the weather was going to be splendid for the fishing." "Yes, I must be off; but some day or another I'll be coming back. No fear about that ; you're too good to rac over here." "And the next time you come, sir," said Nora, in her demure way, as she was leaving the room, " sure I hope ye'U not be com- ing alone." There w-as no particular need that he should go back on Mon- day ; but he knew that the art world of London was now enter- ing upon its annual period of excitement; the studios would all be a- murmuring, and the air surcharged with stories of rejec- tions, and rage at the hanging, and wonder at the good-luck of some folks in selling their pictures. Of course, he was interested in such things ; and it was natural he should return to London at such a time. As for any other reason, or subtle hope, or fascination ? — no, he answered himself, there was none. He was quite heart-whole now. Those weeks of hard work and hard ex- ercise and wholesome air on the shores of the Shannon had cured him of that hateful and febrile sadness that had made his life in London unendurable. He was going back to assiduous and hap- py labors in his studio ; and if by chance he were to meet Sabina in the street — down by Kensington Square, it might be, or Hyde Park Gate, or Cromwell Gardens — he would be able to take her hand without a tremor, and she should find nothing but friend- ship — placid and assured and abiding — in his eyes. BT THE SEA. 73 CHAPTER IX. BY THE SEA. But, in the mean time, Mrs. Wygram had fallen ill in a vagne kind of way ; lassitude, loss of appetite, and melancholy were the chief symptoms; and Sahina, taking the matter in liand in her rapid and practical fashion, had no difficulty in making a diag- nosis of the case. The ailment she declared to be Kensington Square; and the obvious cure — Brighton. " Janie," she said, "I will run down with your mother and see her put comfortably in a lodging, and stay with her as long as I can. Then you will look after my people from time to time; and if I'm wanted, it's merely a sixpenny telegram and I'm in London in an hour and a quarter. Even if I have to come up now and again, your mother won't feel very lonely when she knows I am coming back in the evening." " But why to Brighton, Sabie ?" said Janie, with a sudden and jealous alarm. " I'll tell you the reason — because it is so handy," was the an- swer. " Is Mr. Foster there ?" Sabina's face brightened. "Yes. Poor fellow, it will be quite a pleasure to see him, and try to cheer him up a bit. He is so good-natured, you know, Janie. When one looks back on tliat unhappy accident, it is with a good deal of remorse, and it isn't pleasant; but the mo- ment you see him he tries to make light of it, and to put you at your ease, and then you are glad that he takes it so courageously. And just think what it must be to one who has led so active and stirring a life — to be chained down like that. Why, it's dread- ful to think of ! People who are walking about, and going where they like, can't even imagine what that is. Then the want of society — the dull evenings — the wet days when lie is alone and in-doors — do you wonder that I should be sorry for him, and feel sometimes a little miserable about it all ?" "For my part," said Janie, somewhat coldly, " I don't sec why 4 74 SABINA ZEMBRA. you should feel miserable about it in any way whatever; an ac- cident may happen to any one. And I can't understand a bit the interest you take in him. Why, Sabie, he is the last man in the world I should have expected you to make friends with : a man who seems to have no aim in life but to amuse himself." "But you know, Janie, there are many people who don't even succeed in doing that," said Sabina, in her gentle way. These two were not in the habit of quarrelling. The end of it was that Sabina took Mrs. Wygrara down to Brighton, and got rooms for them both in a house in Regency Square. " I shall be such a dull companion for you, Sabie," the old lady said. "Don't you know any young people here?" "I don't know a soul in the place," Sabina answered, "except Mr. Foster, and he is another invalid. Fancy what a business I shall have in talking you both into something like light-hearted- ncss. But how am I to see him ? I want to see him ; and I know where he is living — in the crescent where the Grand Hotel is. But I suppose we could hardly call on him, could we, or send him a message that we are here?" "He is rather a stranger, isn't he?" said Mrs. Wygram, doubt- fully. "A stranger? Not a bit of it! You don't keep talking to any one day after day without getting to understand him pretty well ; and I seem to have known Mr. Foster all my life ; I have heard all about his school-days, and his home, and his people, and his pursuits. I assure you, there is an amount of frank egotism about him that is quite charming; and you know you should al- ways encourage people to talk about themselves — it's the subject that interests them most." " You have such a wonderful patience, Sabie, with old people and with young," said Mrs. Wygram, who had some acquaintance with the girl. " Oh, but that is just the way I take of amusing myself," said Sabina, lightly, "just as other people take to whist, or billiards, or horse-racing. Now tell me what is to be done. If yon knew Mr. Foster you could write and ask him to call — if the Bath-chair can be got into the house. But you don't know him. Well, suppose I were to send him a note like this: 'Young man, I'm old enough to be your mother ; so don't be ofiended if I ask you BY THE SEA, 75 to come along and hnve a cup of tea with Mrs. Wygram and myself.' " " You old enough to be bis motber, indeed 1" Mrs. Wygram cried. " How old is be, tben?" " Oh, I don't know," Sabina said, carelessly. " But tell me what we should do now. Or shall we go out for a little walk first, and decide so weighty a matter afterwards?" And as it turned out, the matter was decided for them, and that forthwith and in the simplest way. When they went out they naturally strolled down towards the pier; for the band was playing, and the wide promenade seemed a cheerful kind of place ; and about the very first person they saw there was Mr. Foster himself, whose chair was being slowly pulled along. His quick, clear eyes smiled a recognition at once; Sabina, in the frankest and friendliest way, went up and shook hands with him, and in- troduced him to Mrs. Wygram ; and there they remained, chat- ting, asking questions, and apparently very well pleased to have met once more. But Mrs. Wygram was not so well pleased. She had heard a good deal about Mr. Foster from Janie; and perhaps she had un- consciously imbibed a little of the jealousy with which Janie re- garded the young gentleman. Anyhow, she was distinctly of opinion — as she remained a trifling space apart, and only half listened to their conversation — that the manner of Mr. Foster towards Sabina was not right. It was a great deal too easy and familiar. Her beautiful Sabic, she considered, ought to be re- garded with a respectful adoration — especially by young men ; wliereas this person in the Bath-cliair looked at Sabina, and spoke to her, just as if she might have been anybody. In truth, Sabina appeared to be a good deal more pleased by this chance meeting than he was; she was interested, animated, smiling, and friendly ; while he glanced at her in a critical kind of way, and seemed in nowise sufficiently grateful for her condescension. "Well, did you do as I told you?" he said. "Did you 'go nap ' on Clierry Blossom for the Grand National ?" " No, I did not," she answered. " But I hope you won." "Oh, I don't call it winning; I call it getting back a little of my stolen property. And I did pretty well on the City and Sub- urban too," he added, cheerfully. "But," she said, " perha{).s I ought not to congratulate you on 76 SABINA ZEMBRA. winning; for, of course, that means that some one must have lost." " Oh, you needn't be sorry when the * bookies ' get cauglit ; they make a good enough thing of it in the end — be sure of that." "But some one must lose," said this patient disciple — and strange it was to Mrs. Wygram to hear Sabie talk about horse- racing. " Why, yes. The great bulk of the public lose, and must lose ; and why shouldn't they lose? They bet for fun, whether they know anything about the horses or not. Well, if you want your amusement, you've got to pay for it; and if your amusement is backing horses, you've got to pay for that too. You see, it isn't every one who can keep a yacht or a pack of hounds; but every one can back a horse — thanks to the noble swells who provide the animals. I consider it very disinterested on their part ; it isn't many of them who have made money over it. I know a good number of gallant sportsmen who have a fine display of gold cups on their dining-room sideboards, but who don't quite like to be asked how much they cost." " But still, to encourage general gambling in that way — " Sa- bina was going to protest, but he interrupted her with a laugh. " Oh yes, I know, Miss Zembra. It's very wicked and bad, and the grocer's apprentice who filches from his master's till in order to back a favorite will no doubt come to the gallows ; and it's very sad that people will go on risking their money on games of chance; but then, such is life." "We might try to make life a little better than we find it," she said, tentatively. Somehow he had not the air of one who would listen to words of wisdom. He looked at her and said, gravely, " I'm going to tell you something. Don't you forget it. If you can get anybody to give you ten to one against Macedon for the Two Thousand, just you take it — and you'll remember me with tears of gratitude." "You are incorrigible," she said; but she said it with a smile; for there was far more of good-humor than of argument in her composition, and she was pleased to find him so confident and self-reliant, and in such good spirits. They went out to the farther end of the pier, which he said BY THE SEA. 77 was his favorite retreat; for there, while he could command au uninterrupted view of the coast line all the way from Worthing Point out to the successive chalk headlands of Seaford and the Seven Sisters, the music near at hand was softened to the ear by the intervention of the glass screen. He could either listen to the band or read the morning newspaper and its guesses about the forth-coming race-meetings, or overlook the small boats row- ing below, or watch here and there a big steamer leaving an al- most stationary trail of smoke along the far horizon. And this particular morning, as it happened, was exceedingly bright and cheerful, a light west wind blowing, the clear green water glanc- ing in a myriad of diamonds of sunlight along each shimmering ripple ; here and there soft purple patches telling of the shadow of a cloud ; overhead a quite summer-like sky. Then there was much liveliness abroad: the last-delayed of the fishing -smacks coming in from the south-east ; the heavy-booted crews making their way home to bed ; the salesmen and packers getting off the boxes and barrels of mackerel and conger to the London market; holiday folks down on the shingle ; children paddling where the sand showed at low tide ; the boatmen and photographers and newsboys busy — a traffic brisker than usual for that time of the year visible in the King's Road. " Oh yes," he continued, as Sabina stood by the side of the Bath-chair, or leaned over the rails to watch the manoeuvring of a small sailing-boat below, " this is an excellent place : there is al- ways something going on, something to look at. I know all the girls — I mean by head-mark. It's quite nice to see the young things trying to make believe that it is summer already with their pretty bonnets and dresses. And you, Miss Zembra," he added, with no embarrassment at all, " aren't you going to take advan- tage of the sea-side? You know people allow themselves a little liberty when they come here — in the way of cosUnne, I mean. Pray, don't think me rude, but I should fancy, now, that a sailor's hat — a straw hat, you know, with a band of red silk, or some- thing of that kind — would become you very well, and be a little brighter for the sea-side. Don't you ?" The suggestion was no doubt made in simple friendliness, but Mrs. Wygram did not like it. " If you would care to see the prettiest dress Miss Zembra ever wore — to my thinking — I can show it to you." 78 SABINA ZEMBRA. She took from her pocket an envelope, and from the envelope a photograph. It was a pliotograph of Sabiiia in her hospital costume — a plain striped gown, a white cap and apron — the apron furnished with shoulder-straps, her nurse's implements slung by a silver chain from her girdle, a silver brooch — an anchor — at her neck. He glanced at the photograph and handed it back with a laugh. " I did not think they would have allowed you to wear any ornament," he said, still addressing Sabina, " but I see you wore the same brooch you are wearing now." "And you would not easily get Miss Zembra to part with that brooch," said the little old lady, proudly. " It was given her by some of the boys on board the Chichester — they subscribed among themselves — and that was what they sent her. At least," continued Mrs. Wygram (for she was determined that Mr. Foster should know there were other people who could appreciate Sabina, if he seemed so careless and indifferent) — " at least that was the story, and perhaps it is partly true. But I have my suspicions. I know that the only time I ever went down to see the Chichester there was a young officer there who went round the ship with us, and I noticed that he was particularly attentive to a young lady — I wouldn't mention names for the world. Aniit I wish to see it," she said, with mild persistence. "The water-color room is at the other end," he pointed out; for he did not wish Sabina to take this luckless little contribu- tion as in any way representative of his work. "Then you won't take me to see it?" Of course, this was a command, and forthwith they set about making their way through the now crowded rooms. And scant, indeed, was the recognition his friends obtained from him on that busy morning, for it seemed as if there were a hundred thousand things he liad to say to Sabina ; and that the time was all too short. And then was it not his duty to keep her amused and interested and pleased? He was her host, in a measure; he was responsible for her being entertained ; he would have ample op- portunities of talking with all those various friends and acquaint- ances after Sabina had gone away once more from London. " Why, you seem to know every one," she said to him, as they were making their slow progress through the galleries. And yet he had no wish to show her oflE — to proclaim their friendship, that is to say, before all these people. Far rather would he have had her go away into some quiet corner — into the room for architectural drawings, for example — and sit down there, so that he might recollect some of the hundred thousand things he had to tell her. He was not in any way anxious that these good folk should admire Sabina, or look at her pretty dress, or be struck by the proud and gracious set of her neck and shoul- ders, and the sweetness of her smile. He was far more anxious that she should not become tired, or indifferent, or bored ; and the hundred thousand things he had to tell her seemed to narrow themselves down in a dreadful way, or refused to be summoned altogether; so that he could only say to himself, "Well, I am a blatant idiot; but Sabina is so good-natured that she pretends to be pleased." The new friendship was progressing. Eventually they found the little picture ; it was a harmless kind of thing — merely a study of a black windmill and an up- lying field, golden with charlock, against an almost silver-white sky ; and when Sabina, out of kindness, would praise it, he rather 86 SABINA ZEMBRA. resented her approval, for he did not wish her to imagine that was how he always painted. " But you need not think that," she said. " I have seen so much of your work. And I am sure I did not half thank you for the beautiful drawing you sent me from the Shannon. I was so busy at the time. But I prize it none the less, I assure you ; do you know that I took it down to Brighton, and we have it hung up there — of course, to be brought away again when we leave ?" "Oh, did you?" he said; there was a kind of music in the air. And then he suddenly discovered that it was a quarter to one, and therefore time fcr lunch. " Do come, now," he said, " and we will get a quiet place to ourselves. I don't want to have you tired out. Besides, you must be hungry ; you left Brighton by the 9.45." "How do you know that?" she said, glancing at him. "You must have left then ; I looked at the time-table." And they did, as it happened, get a quiet corner for themselves in the luncheon-room ; and whether it was owing to some mys- terious subsidy or not, they appeared to be very well attended to, while people at the other tables were looking vacuously about them, or making impatient and fruitless appeals to over-harassed waiters. Curiously enough, too, Sabina sate at his right hand — where Mrs. Tremenheere should have been ; but perhaps that was an accident. And Janie was very pleased and happy ; and said, in an undertone, to Mrs. Tremenheere — for Mr. Lindsay had a good many things to say to Miss Zembra, so that these two were occupied — that never in all her life had she seen Sabie looking so beautiful. Janie was a kind-hearted creature, and talked to Mrs. Tremenheere without ceasing. And what did Lindsay say, now that she and he were together in this secluded nook, their shoulders almost touching, their heads not far apart, he humbly solicitous about the smallest details of the frugal little banquet he had provided for her? Well, it was all a lamentation over the fact that no ladies could be present, even as lookers-on, at the Academy dinner to which he was in- vited the following evening. "You see," he continued — and it was all addressed to Sabina — " the walls are covered to the roof with pictures — as many a poor wretch knows to his cost; and I suppose it would be im- AT THE ACADEMY. 87 possible to have a gallery for spectators. But it is a pity ; for there is no such sight to be seen anywhere else, or at any other time, in Great Britain. All England's greatest are there — her statesmen and poets and soldiers and lawyers and painters ; u stranger would think he had got among a lot of portraits out of the illustrated papers. It is an extraordinary assemblage of the brains and wealth of the country. Yes," he said, glancing at her, " I have no doubt you are asking yourself how I ever came to be in that gallery." " Indeed I was not," she said, warmly. " I asked myself the question," he continued, modestly, "when I looked round last year and found myself the only insignificant duffer at our particular table, for I'm not even a picture-buyer. But I have a good many friends in the Academy — I suppose that is it." " I should rather think it was meant as a recognition of your work," Sabina said, gently, "and I should be very proud of it if I were you." "However, as I was saying," he interposed, rather quickly, "it is an extraordinary sight; and then, you know, they keep the lights somewhat lowered during dinner — though you wouldn't think it, for the place is so brilliant — until the president has pro- posed the toast of the Queen's health ; and then, when he winds up with 'Your Royal Highnesses, my lords, and gentlemen — the Queen !' all of a sudden the lights are put at full blaze, and the effect is quite startling. You should see them all standing up — the Queen's ministers, the ex-ministers, judges, generals, bishops, academicians, and all — while the singers at the far end of the hall sing 'God save the Queen!' And to think that such an assem- blage is brought together every year in England ,• and that there should be no ladies to look on !" And why was he so miserable because there would be no gen- tle-eyed spectators of the following night's banquet? At the ban- quet of the previous year — the first to which he had been invited — the subject had not even occurred to him. "No," he continued, "nor do they ask any women-folk to the annual dinner of the Academy Club — at the Trafalgar at Green- wich. But that is less to be wondered at, for it is a kind of half- private affair; and there is a good deal of jollification going on — smoking and singing and speech-making. Oh, and very pretty it 88 SABIXA ZKMBKA. is at the bcjjinning of the evenirifj, if you happen to have a seat facini^ the big bay-window, and can watcli tlic red-sailed barges floating down on the yellow water. It's rather an early dinner, you know, though they keep it up late enough ; for when they get back to town, a lot of them — tiiose that aren't afraid of their wives — generally go down to Mackinnon's rooms, in Buckingham Street, to have a midnight palaver and a final pipe or two." "There seems to be a fair amount of merrymaking in the art world," Sabina observed. " At present there is," he said, rather apologetically, " because everybody is glad to have got finished with his year's work. And from now on to the Academy Conversazione, at the end of June, there won't be much painting done — among the landscapers, anyway — there will be a good deal of dining and dancing and lawn-tennis, and so on — but after the Conversazione the general dispersal will take place — away to Brittany and Spain and the Riviera ; or over to Holland, or up to Norway, or to the wilds of Connemara and Galway — each man wanting to have a place all to himself, of course, and growling if any one comes near him." "And where are you going?" she asked. " I ?" The question seemed to startle him. Perhaps he had made no definite plans. Or had some wild notion flashed into his brain that he would fain have that depend on Sabina's whereabouts? " I hardly know," he stammered. " I suppose you, too, will be going away from London, Miss Zembra?" He hardly looked up at her. "I think not," she said, simply, " unless Mrs. Wygram improves much more rapidly than she is doing at present. I will keep her at Brighton for some time, and I may as well make that my holi- day." "Do you mean that you will be in London all the autumn, when everybody else will be away ?" he asked, and he had grown suddenly thoughtful. "Your everybody else will be away, no doubt," she answered, smiling, " but my everybody else can't get away, unhappily. Yes; if I take a holiday now, I dare say I shall be in London through the autumn. But isn't it time we were returning to the pict- ures?" And he was not unwilling to take up his task again ; for he AT THE ACADEMY. 89 had been forming certain dark designs, Sabina was going down to Brighton by tlie 4.30 express; Mrs. Tremenheere and Janie wanted to wait to see the people arrive in the afternoon ; and it was Janie who considerately suggested that, if Sabina must really leave, perhaps Mr. Lindsay would be so kind as to see her as far as Victoria Station. Sabina protested that nothing of the sort was necessary. But Mr. Lindsay took little heed of the protest ; on the contrary, he rather hurried her through the remaining rooms in order that they should get away early. He was not sure that they would get a cab easily. The streets might be blocked. Wasn't St. James's Park torn up as usual ? The end of it all was that he and she together left the Academy when it was barely four o'clock. And to be in a hansom with Sabina — to be so close to her — to see her gloved hand resting on the little iron ledge — to have charge of her small travelling-bag — to be able to direct her atten- tion to this and that — to steal an occasional covert glance at the pale oval of her cheeks and her soft clear eyes ! Of course, he told the cabman to drive round by Hyde Park Corner and Gros- venor Place; and the trees in the Green Park were showing their foliage now ; and there was a breezy light in the May skies; and the crowd in Piccadilly and the continual string of carriages made up a picture sufficiently animated and cheerful. The new friend- ship had begun so delightfully ! Sabina was with hira, and with him alone; he had charge of her; there was none to interfere. And she was to be all by herself in London through the autumn — when still she might want and welcome a friend. And then, again, at Victoria Station a little judicious bribery procured him access to the platform ; and when he had procured for her a seat in the Pullman car, and purchased for her a vast assortment of magazines and illustrated papers, they had nearly a quarter of an hour in which to walk up and down. Alas ! that the time was so short — for he still seemed to have a hundred thousand things to say — and he wanted her to have some tea — and he was so sorry that the sleeve of her plush cloak had been somewhat marked by her driving in the hansom — and he even went the length of lightly smoothing out one or two of these creases. Because, you see, Janie was not there, and Sabina was accustomed to have some one wait on her and be kind to her. The hateful hands of the great clock kept creeping on, and at 90 SABINA ZEMBRA. length the guard came along with his warning. Sabina went in and took her scat. He kept by the window outside until the train began to move slowly away ; and then Sabina smiled her farowoll thanks to him, and presently he found himself standing on that wide, empty platform, alone. He did not go away quickly from Victoria Station ; no, he kept lingering about there, looking at the long platform where he and she had walked together. And when at length he set out for home, he went rather slowly and thoughtfully ; and, strange- ly enough, he chose his way by Cornwall Gardens and Victoria Road, and through Kensington Square. And then, again, he did not pursue a straight course ; he turned back a little in Kensing- ton High Street, and went into a florist's shop there, and rather idly looked about, and seemed more interested in the place than in the purchase he eventually made. The flowers he directed to be sent to Miss Janie Wygram ; but he did not send his card with them — he only meant that they should go to the dusky drawing-room where sometimes he had found Sabina in the by- gone days. But at last he got home, and into his studio. Somehow it seemed a very lonely and silent place, and he could not even think of work. Almost mechanically he threw off his coat and hat, and sate down to the piano, and began to let his fingers wander over the keys. And what were his fancies about? Well, they were not very sad, after all ; for he was thinking of August — and the great city very empty but for the presence of Sabina — and his being in London during that strange time — and sometimes seeing her. And what was the air that he was quite inadvertently — and somewhat slowly and absently — playing ? He did not himself notice how entirely inappropriate it was to the new friendship. " Parlatcle d'amor, o cari fior, Ditele die I'acloro, Ch' k il solo mio tesoro, Ditele cbe il mio cor lanjrue d'amor!" A FOBEBODINQ. 91 CHAPTER XL A FOREBODING. Sabina returned to Brighton, and to Mrs. W3'gram, and to long, idling, sunny mornings at the end of the West Pier in the society of Mr. Fred Foster. Mrs. Wygram looked on at this continual and ever-increasing intimacy with alarm which it was impossible for her to put into words. In her small way, too, she did what she could to avert the danger that she too clearly foresaw. But it was in vain that she hinted her preference for inland drives ; and she could not well insist, for it was Sabina who defrayed the cost of these amusements. And it was in vain that she tried to cultivate Sabina's interest in Mr. Lindsay: pointing out his name in the list of the guests at the Academy banquet; telling her how he had been included in the toast of the " Outsiders " at the Academy Club dinner at Greenwich, and that his speech in reply had produced the most favorable impres- sion; coming back again and again to inconsequent praise of the Shannon drawing they had hung up in their small sitting-room; and wondering if there was a possibility of his being descended from the high-sounding " Sir David Lindsay of the Mount, Lord Lion King at Arms." Sabina somehow seemed indifferent about Mr. Lindsay. She expressed no dissent when Mrs. Wygram insisted that he was so clever and handsome and popular and modest, and all the rest of it; nay, she would even admit that that was true, and that he was deserving of all good things ; but there an end. And Mrs. Wy- gram was afraid to express any more clearly her wishes — and her fears. Moreover, as time went on, she observed a remarkable altera- tion in Mr. Foster's manner towards Sabina; and it came about in this way. On the morning, after Sabina's return from Lon- don, they as usual strolled out to the end of the Pier ; and there, 92 SABINA ZEMBRA. sure enough, was the occupant of the Bath-chair, reading a pink- colored sporting paper, and apparently very well content with himself. "Ah, how do you do. Miss Zembra?" said he. "I was think- ing about you yesterday when you were in London." '" Indeed ?" "Yes. I chanced to fall in Avith one of the local magnates — an ex-mayor — who said I had met him somewhere or other, I forget where, and we had a pretty long chat together. Well, among other things, he was telling me about a fete and bazaar they mean to hold in the Pavilion Gardens to raise funds for — what was it? — I think some Convalescent Home attached to the Children's Hospital ; and that his wife had undertaken to get up a stall for the sale of flowers and bonbons, and so on. But the ex-mayoress, it appears, is a sensible woman. She says she wants to obtain the services of an exceedingly pretty young lady, who would be able to get plenty of money for the flowers from the young fellows about. Well, I told him I knew some one who answered that description, and who might possibly be induced to help." Now, this was Mr. Foster's ordinary manner towards Sabina; and bitterly and angrily did Mrs. Wygram resent it. Why should he talk to her so coolly and indifferently ? How dared he say to her face that she was a pretty young lady? What kind of a description was that of Sabina? Why, he almost as- sumed an air of patronage, said Mrs. Wygram to herself in her jealous wrath, this whipper-snapper, who was not worthy of hav- ing a single look of her beautiful Sabie bestowed on him. There was little difficulty in persuading Sabina to give her serv- ices in aid of the Children's Hospital; only she said to him, " You know, Mr. Foster, that charity has been defined as A asking B to help C. Now, I want to know what A is going to do this time?" "Who is A?" " You." " How am I A ?" "Because you ask me to do certain things for certain other people. But what are you going to do yourself?" " Well," said he, solemnly, " if my little speculation on the Two Thousand comes off all right, you won't find me behindhand. A FOREBODING. 93 No, no; you'll have one good customer, at all events. But what am I to do with the flowers when I've got them? I don't know anybody in this town, hardly." " What are you to do with them ? Give them back to me, and I will sell them over again," said Sabina, promptly. It did not seem to occur to him that he might present the flowers to Sabina herself ; perhaps he thought she was too matter- of-fact a young woman to care for such things. However, the date fixed for the bazaar was some way off yet ; and in the mean time they had got into a long spell of fine weather; and these two saw a good deal of each other, in the open air and the sunlight. Their meeting of a morning at the end of the Pier was almost an understood arrangement; and then in the golden afternoons they would pass into the greensward enclosure of Regency Square, or go round to the Pavilion Gar- dens, now becoming beautiful vi'ith flowers and the clear-tinted young summer foliage. And not only had Sabina got her sailor's hat, but she appeared to be much more particular about her cos- tume than had been her wont in London ; she made herself very neat and trim, and wore pretty things round her neck and at her wrists, and was most fastidious about the dressing of her hair. Mrs. Wygram ventured to make some little comment; and the girl only looked surprised — and said she supposed that it was idleness that made her attentive to such trifles. And very bright and cheerful and animated looked those Pa- vilion Gardens on the day set apart for the fete ; the umbrageous elms shimmering in their freshest green ; young maidens and children in summer costume strolling along the paths, or crossing the wide, smooth lawn ; two regimental bands playing alternately ; long strings of colored lamps already hung up for the evening il- lumination ; the white tents around the enclosure busy with vis- itors. Sabina's stall was almost entirely given up to flowers; and not only had she an abundant store of sprays and button-holes and bouquets, but also she had large masses of wallflower, daffo- dils, marsh-marigolds, and the like, on the chance of the alder- men's wives and daughters understanding the art of decorating their dining-rooms. The worthy ex-mayor and his wife, on whose behalf Sabina had undertaken the function of saleswoman, were most assiduous in bringing her customers; and she was not over- exacting with her prices ; sometimes people came back. Mrs. 94 SABINA ZEMERA. Wygram lent a helping hand. Mr. Foster was there, but made no undue profession of his acquaintance; whenever the tall, fair flower-girl was busy, he had his Bath-chair removed away under the elm-trees, and remained there listening to the band. And now occurred the incident which seemed to Mrs. Wygram (but perhaps she was unjustly jealous, owing to Janie's repeated warnings) to be the turning-point in Mr. Foster's attitude towards Sabina. There came into the enclosure two young fellows who seemed to be known to him ; they went up and spoke to him, and remained chatting. These were the first of Mr. Foster's friends that Sabina had seen ; and she was rather pleased to find that they were not of a horsy type. No ; they were merely a couple of tali, light -haired, healthy -complexioned, well-dressed English lads, whom one might associate with plenty of boating and cricket, but hardly with the turf. And presently she had a better opportunity of seeing what they were like ; for Mr, Foster brought them along to the stall. " Miss Zembra," said he, " I have brought you a couple of cus- tomers; but don't be too hard on them." Good-looking lads they were, she thought ; though the younger one was evidently very shy. He scarcely lifted his eyes to the beautiful, gracious flower-girl ; he selected the first little spray that came handy, and paid for it, and seemed rather glad to re- tire. The elder and taller of the two was not so timid; he ap- peared to be a little fastidious in his choice; and once or twice, when he asked her a question, he ventured to glance at her. " How much did you say this rose was ?" he asked. "Two shillings." *' Oh yes, I will take that, if you please." He put his fingers in his waistcoat-pocket and took out a couple of coins. " I am afraid," said he, rather bashfully, " that you will find them rather discolored ; but I hope you won't mind." And with that he put down two sovereigns on the board, and said " Good-morning," and raised his hat, and went away. "I beg your pardon — stay a moment!" Sabina instantly called to him. He turned and came back, looking somewhat confused. Sabina was not. She smiled towards him, and said, " You know I cannot give you any of the money back — they A FOREBODING. 95 never allow that at bazaars — but I will give you another rose, if you like." She picked out a white rose and handed it to him ; her eyes were very gracious. " I'm snre it's awfully kind of you," said he, blushing furiously ; and then he managed to stammer, " And — and, of course, it's this one I shall keep — I — I don't want the other one now." " Here is a pin if you wish to wear it," said Sabina. " Mrs. AVygram, will you fasten it?" (For Mrs. Wygram was outside the stall.) "Thank you, very, very much," said he; but it was to Sabina he said it, not to Mrs. Wygram. " Look here, Lionel," said Mr. Foster, somewhat sharply, " we'd better clear out — we're only blocking the way." And so the three friends went off, and were seen of Sabina no more that day. But by-and-by, when she got a favorable chance, Mrs. Wygram went round and inside the stall. She seemed vexed, and yet partly inclined to laugh as well. "Sabie," said she, " I don't know whether you know it or not, but I do believe you are the most atrocious flirt I ever saw in my life." " What do you mean ?" the girl said, not a little startled. " Why, the way you went on with that poor young fellow — giving him a rose — and looking ail kinds of things — you've sent him away with his head quite bewildered." "Oh, don't say that!" Sabina said, but still rather wondering. " Why, don't you understand ? — he gave me two sovereigns for a rose. Do you imagine boys of his age have so many sovereigns to spare — or would spend them that way if they had?" " He would have given you his boots and his gloves and his watch-chain after the way you looked at him !" Mrs. Wygram protested. " Oh, don't say that ! I thought it was very kind of him to give me so much towards my stall ; and of course I wanted to be civil to him. I hope I was," she added, boldly. " Oh yes, you were," Mrs. Wygram retorted. " You were very civil indeed — if that is what you call civility. I think that is what Janie calls it, too. No, she calls it kindness — she said it was only kindness when you sipped some wine out of Mr. Lindsay's chalice, so that he might put it back among his treasures." 96 SABINA ZEMBEA. For an instant or two she could not remember; then a slight color came to her face. " I did not think there was any harm," she said. " I suppose yon don't know that you have sent Mr. Foster away very angry ?" " Mr. Foster !" said Sabina, with her eyes wide — as if she wanted to know what Mr. Foster had to do with her. "But it's true; and if I am not mistaken, you won't find him back here again to-day !" Mrs. Wygram was not mistaken. Mr. Foster put in no further appearance. And it was not until the evening, when they were in the quietude of their own rooms, that Mrs. Wygram said, " Well, now, Sabie, I will tell you the truth. I really don't think you know how pretty your eyes are, and you do mischief without intending it. You need not look at men in so frank a way ; you should be a little more self-conscious and watchful. Why, you fairly blinded that young fellow this morning." " A school-boy !" said Sabina, but with her cheeks reddening a little ; " I wonder you could think of such a thing !" " Sabie, why will you go on persuading yourself that you are an old woman ?" the other exclaimed. " It's all those hospitals ! You've been so accustomed to take charge of people — to be good to them, and humor them, and be a kind of mother to them — that you forget you are a young woman, with remarkably beautiful eyes. And some day or another you will break a man's heart — that will be the end." "Oh, you need not talk such nonsense," said Sabina, proudly. Now, if Mr. Foster went away from the Pavilion Gardens in an- ger, he showed no trace of anything of the kind when they met as usual on the Pier next morning. And it was from that morn- ing that Mrs. Wygram (in her subsequent conversations with Ja- nie) professed to date the change in his manner towards Sabina. He no longer treated her with friendly indifference, varied now and again with a little jocose raillery ; beseemed more anxious to please her, and to win her favor. Those two Lionel lads happened to come down the Pier that morning; and of course they stopped to speak to him ; and they raised their hats to Sabina, who was standing by, and who graciously acknowledged that salutation. In the ordinary course of affairs Mr. Foster might fairly have in- troduced them by name to Miss Zembra — after their kindness of A FOREBODING. 97 the day before ; but he did nothing of the sort ; and they had perforce to go on rather lingeringly, as Mrs. Wygram imagined. That afternoon Mr. Foster sent Sabina some flowers. The next morning he told her he had taken a box at the theatre for that same evening, and that it would be very, very kind of her if she and Mrs. Wygram would come and keep him company. " But a Bath-chair — in a theatre ?" she said. "Oh, George and I will manage," he said, confidently. "If you come along in the eveuing, you will find me already in the box — box G it is : I should be very grateful to you if you would." And it seemed to her that it would be unfriendly to refuse. Here he was in a strange town, with hardly any society ; and he was bearing his banishment so heroically. And so she and Mrs. Wygram went, and found him comfortably ensconced in a large box commanding an easy view of the stage; and there was a lit- tle bouquet lying in readiness for each of the ladies. The piece ■was a merry one, played by an excellent London company ; and Sabina had not been in a theatre for many a day; and she had the natural and healthy laughter of a sehool-girh He had tea and coffee brought to them between the acts ; in short, he paid them every attention that was possible ; and when they finally got home, even Mrs. Wygram had to confess, not only that they had spent a most charming evening, but that Mr. Foster, when he chose, could make himself very pleasant and agreeable. Whether Mrs. Wygram entirely relished the change from Mr. Foster's half-supercilious indifference to his mood of eager and respectful amiability may perhaps be questioned ; but, at all events, it afforded her plenty of material for study and conjecture. One of its chief features was an almost continual wish on his part to be justifying himself and his ways of life in Sabina's eyes. Hitherto he seemed to care nothing for her opinion — he had even jocularly told her of one or two foolish love-affairs. But now he seemed anxious to stand well with her, and would make excuses for himself and his pursuits, and would even recall things she had said on former occasions that he might urge some plea of de- fence. "No, I am not a great reader," he said, one morning, apropos of nothing at all. " It's men and women who interest me most—" " Next to horses ?" Sabina suggested, with a smile. 5 98 SABIXA ZEMBKA. "Now, tliat isn't fair, Miss Zerabra; but you're always hard on me of late — I don't know why. And I was going to tell you about my reading; if I were compelled to have only two books, I would choose Chaucer and Shakespeare, and that is, again, just because they show me men and women. I don't like conundrums in literature, or wire-drawing, or fog; life isn't long enough to bo spent in finding things out — just because the fellow won't speak plain. And then, after all, real men and women are just as inter- esting to me as those I find in books. When I am going about the streets here I find continual amusement and surprise and oc- cupation." " I am very glad of that," Sabina said, in an undertone, so as not to interrupt him. "Out at the end of the Chain Pier is a splendid place," he continued. "Sometimes I go there when I have missed you here; and you see a good deal of human nature about. Some- times very pretty, too. Why, is there anything prettier than to see a young girl — I mean one of those spindle-shanked creatures of twelve or thirteen, with a straw liat and long hair, and big clear eyes — ^^is there anything prettier than to see her pet an old lady — an old lady as ugly as the mischief, most likely, fluffy black clothes, and glass bugles in her bonnet? Yes, and tease her, too ; and then put her arm round her and coax her into good- humor again? Or you'll see a purple-faced old sportsman — a real Punjaub jungle-cock — devilled-kidneys-for-breakfast sort of fellow — kind of chap would send blue thunder through his club if his chop were underdone, or overdone, or late by thirty seconds — you'll sec him come walking out with a sickly-white girl in a long couch, and he'll hold the sunshade over her, or read the news- papers to her, and be just like a nurse to her. Then the lads and boys — and sometimes old men — at the fishing. Well, I like to see them at it ; they've the true instinct, and they're very earnest about it, though I never see them get anything but a reckless lit- tle flounder or an eel. Spooners are not very interesting." " I beg your pardon ?" said she, innocently. "Lovers,! should sa}'. Well, they're not very interesting; they look so foolish when you chance on them. Besides, it isn't fair; they should be let alone. But I'll tell you what is very funny ; to go round the churches on Sunday morning after serv- ice has begun ; and you generally find outside one or two ofia- A FOREBODING. 99 cials — sometimes a man, sometimes a woman — and they have the most curiously indifferent air on their faces. They look at the sky, they look down the street; they seem to say, * Weil, we've done our part of the business ; we've shut him up with his au- dience ; he has got to get through the rest of the performance now.' " " But a church is not a theatre," Sabina said, gently. "Not all of them," he said; and then, fearing to have got on dangerous ground, he pointed out to her that these Sunday morn- ing perambulations were almost a necessity in his case, as he did not like going inside in his Bath-chair. And so this continual association and intimacy went on ; and Sabina was very kind to hiol (as she was to every one, Janie ■would have said) ; and there was distinctly no indifference on his part. One afternoon he was in having tea with them. " I have a little surprise for you," he said to Sabina. " Indeed 1" " My father and mother are coming to London next week, and purpose running down here for a day or two. I hope you will let me introduce them to you ; they would be so very much pleased." Of course she said it was she who would be pleased ; but Mrs. Wygram was struck with a sudden dismay. " Do you know what he is doing now ?" she instantly wrote off to Janie. " He is bringing his father and mother from Bucking- hamshire that Sabie may be introduced to them as his future wife. I am sure of it — I am sure that is what he means. Well, I have held my tongue all this while, but I cannot do so any longer ; I must tell the girl what she is bringing on herself. Yes, this very night I will. But I wish you were here, Janie. I am not very strong just now; and I am all of a tremble when I think of it. Still, what would not one do for Sabie? And I know she is too kind-hearted to take it amiss." 100 SABINA ZEMBRA. CHAPTER XII. FLIGHT, But it was a long time before the little woman could screw up her courage; and even at the last moment she fah'ly jibbed and bolted. Late that night Sabina was in her own room, and lei- surely getting ready for bed ; she wore a dressing-gown of pale- blue and white, and heavy masse* of her golden-brown hair fell loose-flowing and free over her shoulders and down to and below her waist. " Dear Sabie," said Mrs. Wygrara (though this was not in the least what she wanted to say), " I would give a hundred pounds, if I had it, that Walter Lindsay could see you as you are now." " Mrs. Wygram !" Sabina exclaimed — but there was not much of ferocity in her virgin pride. " It would be something for an artist to dream of all his life long," Mrs. Wygram continued, recklessly. " Do you know, Sa- bie, you are the only woman I have ever seen who reminds me of Rossetti's 'Blessed Damozel.' You remember? — " ' Her hair that lay along her back Was yellow like ripe coru.' " " I thought my hair was brown," Sabina said, quietly. " How- ever, it is not of much consequence. I have no wish to become an artist's model. Besides, you forget that Mr. Lindsay is a land- scape-painter." " But surely you know how wonderful he is in catching like- nesses !" the other said. " Why, the portraits he did of Mrs. Secley's boys were quite marvellous. Oh yes ; there's no reason in the world why he should not do a figure subject. And I know he was thinking of it. Yes, I know; for I have the scrap of paper he gave Janie, with the quotation for the picture. I be- lieve I have it now." She pulled out her purse, and eventually found the little bit of writincr. Sabina read the lines aloud : FLIGHT. 101 "See where she sits upon the grassy green (0 seemlj' sight !) Yclad in scarlet, lilce a maiden queen, And ermines white; Upon her head a crimson coronet, With damask roses and dalfodiliies set." " Yes, it sounds picturesque," Sabina said, in her placid way. "And whom is he going to paint like that?" "You." "Dear Mrs. Wygram, are you out of your mind ?" , " But it's true, lie wanted to know whether you would sit to him. Oh, he was so anxious about it, but quite afraid to ask you. Yes; and he said if only Janie could induce you to sit to him, he would do a pencil drawing of you, and give it to Janie and me — as a kind of bribe, I suppose," " I wonder, now," said Sabina, laughing, " how many portraits of me you would like to have in Kensington Square." " Don't you think we shall be glad to have them, Sabie, when you are no longer there yourself ?" And behold ! here was her chance, come quite unexpectedly ; and she was bound to face it. Hardly aware of what she was do- ing, she put her trembling fingers on the girl's arm ; and piteous indeed was her tone. " Dearest Sabie, don't be angry ! No, you won't be angry — but I must speak to you — I can't stand by and not say a word — you know I love you, and I am sure we shall always be friends — " "Now, what is this all about?" Sabina said, gently, for she could see how agitated the little woman was. "Don't you know, then, why Mr. Foster has sent for his father and mother to come to Brighton ? Can't you guess ? Sabie, it is to introduce you to them as their future daughter-in-law." For the briefest moment the girl seemed to draw herself up to her full height, and there was a proud look about her lips; but that instantly disappeared. She put her hand on the trembling hand of her companion, and patted it affectionately. " My dear friend," she said, with a smile, " I see I must put you back on your quinine, and insist on the port-wine at lunch. Your nerves are all wrong — why, you are fluttering at this moment like a caught rabbit — and you let all kinds of ridiculous fancies get into your brain." 102 SAKINA ZEMBBA. " They are not ridiculous fancies, Sabie ! Why will you be so blind ? But it all comes from the same thing: you will go on im- agining yourself to be an elderly woman — whose business is to pet people and take care of them — whereas the truth is that you are a very dangerously attractive young woman ; and I tell you that men don't understand a young woman looking at them in that frank way. In the case of a young married woman it might be diScrent— " "There again !" said Sabina, with an air of resignation ; " you have to[d me all that before, dear Mrs.Wygram ; and I don't for- get that you accused me of tlirtation merely because I gave that pretty, yellow-haired boy a rose in exchange for two sovereigns." "Yes; and if that young man is heart-whole at this moment, I am very much mistaken," Mrs. Wygram retorted. " Why, don't you see how he is always hanging about, just for the chance of saying a word to Mr. Foster, and so being allowed to raise his hat to you ?" " Poor, innocent young thing !" " Sabie, if you choose to act like a flirt, don't talk like one !" said Mrs. Wygram, sharply. Sabina looked at her. " No," she said, " you can't make me quarrel with you — I won't do it. For I know you are out of sorts ; and I know you mean to be kind ; so I can only say that you are quite mistaken. Why, the idea ! Mr. Foster and I have been excellent friends, simply be- cause I know that no nonsense of that kind would ever enter his head." "But hasn't it? I am very much mistaken if it has not," Mrs. Wygram persisted. " Sabie, you don't know what an amount of encouragement you have given him. And encouragement from you! I tell you, you don't know your own value. Why should you defer to his opinions — you who have a hundred times as much brains as he has? And why should a beautiful young wom- an like you wear things that you think will please him ? — oh, but you do, whether you are conscious of it or not. And why should you be interested in stories of race-courses and regattas and crick- et? and be entertained with accounts of what happened to him when he was a school-boy — as if his life, and every moment of it. Lad been of the utmost value?" " Poor Mr. Foster !" Sabina interposed. " There's no one to FLIGHT. 103 say a good word for him. If it's in London, it's Janie who keeps saying bitter things about him ; and if it's in Brighton, it's yon. Wliat has he done to deserve it all — except to be unfortunate ? And they used always to say that women had some sympathy for people who were unfortunate ; but that was in the old days, I suppose." "You can't deceive me, Sabie, though you may be able to de- ceive yourself." " Can't I ? Well, at all events, I can put you to bed ; and that's what I am going to do now ; for I won't have any of my patients sitting up and talking past midnight." However, this warning and appeal were not without a certain effect ; for, naturally, a young woman feels somewhat alarmed when she is told that her manner of regarding men is a trifle too audacious. Sabina brazened it out before Mrs.Wygram ; but in- wardly she was resolved to be a good deal more circumspect. And she wanted to know what it was in Mr. Foster's relations with her that had prompted these wild surmises. Accordingly, next day, she kept her eyes observant. But what could she see except that he was rather more respectful towards her tlian he used to be? He did not laugh at her now, nor tease her, nor hint that she was being imposed upon by the poor peo- ple she befriended. No ; he was rather sympathetic in that di- rection ; only he said he did not like the idea of her going about alone — or with such an insufficient protector as Janie. Indeed, he chose to insist upon this point; though, of course, it was not for a cripple in a Bath-chair to oifer to become her. guard and cham- pion and ally. She observed, also, that the stories he told her — and he had al- ways an abundant stock of them, chiefly in connection with the history of the turf — were, for the most part, not humorous or sar- castic as formerly, but rather tragic and romantic ; and that ho seemed to have a warm admiration for Miss Dorothy Vernon and her gay enterprise. On the other hand, how could she suspect him of talking with a purpose when such an incident as the fol- lowing occurred? They were on the Chain Pier together. He was relating to her the sad history of the fourth Manjuis of Hast- ings, and the reckless struggles of that luckless lad to retrieve his fortunes. Suddenly there was a considerable commotion among the few idlers on the Pier; one of the anglers had hooked a large 104 SABINA ZBMBRA. bass; you could sec the fisli in the clear green water below — tug- ging and plunging, and shooting this way and that; and there was a frantic calling for the landing-net. From that instant the Marquis of Hastings and Miss Dorothy Vernon and Miss Sabina Zembra were alike forgotten. He took no more notice of his com- panion. And when, at last, amid the general rejoicing, the big fish had been hoisted up in the landing-net, and carried oflE to the weighing-machine, and found to scale just over eight pounds, and when the prevailing excitement had quieted down, Sabina had gently to remind him that he had broken off in the midst of a story, and then he could not in the least recollect at what point. Sabina said to herself that it was impossible she could wholly en- gross his attention when she was so easily dispossessed by an eight-pound fish. " Sabie," said Mrs. Wygram, that evening, " do you know that you behaved yourself a little better to-day ?" " I am glad you approve," Sabina answered. " But it is none the pleasanter to have to be continually on the watch with one's friends." " Friendship between a young man and a pretty girl," observed Mrs. Wygram, sententiously, " is all very well in its way, but it wants to have its limits pretty clearly defined. And I think he understands now. He noticed the change in your manner — I could see that he did. And perhaps he is beginning to think that he was a little premature in sending for his father and mother." " What nonsense you talk !" said Sabina, bluntly. " I tell you, the coming of his father and mother to Brighton has no more to do with me than with the man in the moon." " We will see." " If I thought such folly were possible, I would go up to Lon- don this very evening and send Janie down in my stead. I'm afraid I shall have to do that very soon in any case." " But, Sabie, I shall have to go back home too." "You? Not you! Yon won't be allowed to come home un- til you are ever so much stronger. Janie will take mv place lierc." " And what will Mr. Foster do when you are gone, Sabie?" Sabina was too proud to reply. But this placid and equable and eventless life was far too FLIGHT. 105 pleasant to last. Mr. Fred Foster's father and mother arrived in due course, and were installed in the rooms he had provided for them ; and the same afternoon he brought them along to call on Mrs. Wygram and Sabina. He seemed a little anxious and nerv- ous. But if he was at all concerned about the impression likely to be produced on the old lady by the young girl, or vice versa, he must have been speedily reassured. At the very first glance — while as yet this tall, thin, elegant -looking woman, with the short white curls and apple-tinted cheeks and soft gray eyes, had hardly entered the room — Sabina had formed a liking for her; and that was only confirmed by the singular air of refinement and graciousness of manner that seemed to surround her as she came forward. And on her side ? She took the girl's hand in hers, and held it ; apparently, she was unable to utter a word ; but as she read all that that clear, beautiful, youthful face had to say to her, her eyes quickly filled with tears. Sabina was frightened — she scarcely knew why; she managed to say a few common- place words of welcome, and then she turned to give a similar greeting to the old gentleman. As for him, it was pretty evi- dent that he considered the whole proceeding a bore. As soon as he decently could, he withdrew from the lot of them, and went to the window, and stared out there with his hands behind him, over the tails of his highly respectable black frock-coat. But the old lady was sitting next Sabina, and had drawn her chair very close ; and she seemed unable to keep her eyes — which ■were kind and affectionate eyes — away from the girl. And she said that she knew her quite well already, so much had Fred written home about her ; and how was she to thank Miss Zembra for all her goodness to him when he was shut up a prisoner in Lancaster Gate? — and how fortunate it was for him to have had so much of her companionship during his stay at the sea-side. There was a great deal to talk about; but all through it the old lady's glances were gently scrutinizing the various points of the girl's appearance, and her costume too — the beautiful line of the neck and shoulders, her hair, the trimness of her cuffs, the neat- ness of her brooch and collar, the slender, tapering, but large hand, the gracious arch of the eyebrow ; and the more that old Mrs. Foster looked, the more and more did pleasure sit beaming upon her own face. Once or twice she touched Sabina's arm; and her fingers seemed to linger there. She followed her every 5* 106 SABINA ZEMBRA. word ea<^erly ; she laughed when there was the least occasion ; delight and tenderness shone in the soft gray eyes. The old gentleman came back from the window, and rather brusquely remarked that it was a pity to waste so fine an after- noon within - doors, as he had never seen Brighton, and there seemed to be plenty to see. His wife rose reluctantly. And now she held Sabina by both hands, and seemed loath to leave her. " Good-by, dear," she said, and still she held her hands a little; and then, with an impulse of affection, she kissed the girl — kissed her on both cheeks — and said good-by again, and went away. When they had gone, Sabina walked once or twice up and down the room, in a curiously agitated manner, and then came back. " Mrs. Wygram, tell me — tell me what I have said or done ! — oh, you may say any harm of me you like ! — but have I done or said anything wrong? — what do they mean?" Mrs. Wygram was not one to seek a cheap triumph. "I think it is quite clear they came to Brighton to make your acquaintance, Sabie," she said, gently. " Yes, but why ? Why did she kiss me like that ? — a stranger ! Why did she talk about their home in Buckinghamshire, as if she expected me to be there at any time?" And then Sabina's cheeks reddened angrily. " What has Mr, Foster been saying about me to them ? What right has he to speak about me ? If I have done anything — if I have done anything I should not have done — I — I will apologize — but they have no right — they have no right — to speak about me." And here she burst out crying, which was a very unusual thing for her to do ; and of course the next moment Mrs. Wygram's arms were round the girl's neck, and she was being soothed and pacified with all kinds of endearing phrases. " Sabie darling, be sure he said nothing about you but what was perfectly kind — perhaps too kind. And if there has been any mistake it can easily be put right. Perhaps the mistake is ours — I hope it is. You see, you do make people affectionate tow- ards you. Perhaps she did not mean anything." "Anyway," Sabina said, quickly, "I am going up to London to-night." " You cannot do that !" her friend said, instantly. " Why, it would be a confession ! It would look as if you were ashamed, rLIGIIT. lO*/ and had run away !" And then the little woman's courage rose. "And what has my beautiful Sabie to be ashamed of? I say — nothing! Haven't I been with you all the time? Let them come to me if they like — but you are not going to run away for anybody." All doubts, however, as to the meaning of the old people's visit to Brighton were set at rest next morning. Mrs. Foster called about eleven, and asked to be allowed to see Sabina alone. Mrs. Wygram went up-stairs. And very gently and skilfully and affectionately did this am- bassador disclose her mission. Her " poor boy," as she called him, had something of great importance to say to Sabina, but in his present crippled state he had never a chance of seeing her by herself, and would she take it amiss if he had asked his mother to come and plead for him. "And for myself, dear," said this soft-voiced diplomatist, " if you knew how proud I should be to call you my daughter !" Sabina had grown very wliite. "Dear child, are you ill?" the other exclaimed; "shall I get you some water?" "No, no, no," the girl said, and she was striving to be quite calm. " I am very, very sorry, but there has been some mistake. I feared it. After you came ycsteixlay I asked Mrs. Wygram if I had done anything — " " It's not what you have done, it's what you are," the old lady said, and she took the girl's hand. " You are pretty and you are good ; can you wonder at the rest?" Sabina withdrew her hand. " I see you are afraid of me," Mrs. Foster said, smiling. " Per- haps it was foolish of the boy to send me here to do his wooing for him. You think I should make a harsh mother-in-law to you." " I am sure you will be very kind to whoever your son marries," Sabina managed to say, and with truth she said it. "Then may I tell him that when he can come and speak for himself there will be some hope for him ? I think he would be satisfied even with that." " Oh no, no, no; say anything but that!" Sabina said, but she seemed scarcely to understand the meaning of her words. "No, no, that is impossible. It was not that I was thinking of. Tell 108 SABIXA ZEMBRA. him I am so very sorry for this dreadful mistake. I hope I was not — too — thoughtless ; but yes, I suppose that was it ; and now ■what can I do? I ain very, very sorry — tell him I hope he will forgive me — " " I see I distress you," the old lady said, and she rose from her chair. "But remember you have only refused me, you have not refused him. Perhaps it was my rude way of asking, and he niav be more successful; and no one, no one would be happier than I, should that time ever come, my dear." She kissed her again before she left. " Remember that, my dear, I shall be a proud woman if ever I have to call you my daughter." Sabina went hurriedly to Mrs. "Wygram. She was very pale, but apparently quite business-like and collected. " What you said has come true. I am going up to London, and I will send Janie down to-night. I could not bear to meet them again." "But, Sabie," Mrs. Wygram protested, for she could guess what underlay this forced quietude of manner, "you are going away with a quite exaggerated notion of what has happened !" " I am not. Well, perhaps I don't understand yet all that has happened. But I wish I had taken your warning earlier. I did not know." Sabina arrived in Kensington Square between three and four, and bade Janie pack up and get away to Brighton as quickly as possible. But something in her look, and perhaps also in her coming to town so unexpectedly, awoke Janie's suspicions. "What is the matter? Sabie — Sabie, you have not promised to marry Mr. Foster?" Tliorc was a pry of appeal in her voice. " I have refused him," was Sabina's answer. " And I have covered myself with shame. But I hardly understand all that has happened, and — and — don't ask me any more, Janie." Janie's preparations for her departure were necessarily hurried, but still she could think of her friend. Now, Walter Lindsay, not content with sending Sabina a sketch from the Sliannon, had also painted a small replica of the landscape she had admired in his studio, and in her absence had forwarded it to Kensington Square. It was now lying in the parlor. Amid all her hurry Janie found time to go and get hold of that little picture, and REPENTANCE. 109 carry it swiftly and stealthily up to Sabina's room, where she placed it in a prominent position on the mantle-shelf. It would be the first thing Sabina must see when she opened the door. CHAPTER XIII. REPENTANCE. It is hardly to be imagined that a beautiful and healthy young woman should have attained to the age of five-and-twenty with- out experiencing, at some time or other, and especially in her earlier years, certain tender preferences for members of the op- posite sex ; but these love-fancies, if they may be so called, had in Sabina's case been quickly absorbed in the cares and active interests of a particularly busy existence. Her character was robust and independent ; she had little time for sentimental mus- ings. Marriage had never entered into her scheme of life. Then she had seen one after another of her companions retire into the realm of matronhood, leaving her pretty much alone; and she had to deal with an ever-increasing amount of business about training-ships, convalescent homes, philanthropic societies, and the like ; and it is quite probable, as Mrs. Wygram maintained, that these occupations of hers, and the almost maternal authority she had frequently to exercise in the households of the poor and sickly and indigent, had taught her a certain brusqueness and directness of manner as of one who was too much engaged with the practical needs of the world around her to pay much atten- tion to the refinements of etiquette. But when Mrs. Wygram plainly accused her of being a downright flirt, Sabina was entire- ly startled out of her self-complacency ; and when, closely follow- ing upon that, Mr. Foster made her an indirect offer of marriage, thereby incurring the pain and mortification of a refusal, there was no end to her self-reproach. It was true, then, that she had acted with an indiscretion visible to all on-Iookers? It was true that she had encouraged him to believe she was willing to be his wife? What would he think of her? What would his mother think of her? She recalled the patient and gentle grace and dignity of the old lady, the evident and affectionate hope that was in all her words and looks; hur promises of kindness; and 110 SABINA ZEMBEA. she could imagine the mother goini^ back to the son and break- ing the truth to him in her delicately considerate fashion. Well, there was one woman who had never deceived him. "The only son of his mother," he would at least retain his faith in her — the faith that he was so openly proud of. And he w'ould forget that he had ever been trifled with by a flirt. Now Sabina never did a more foolish thing in her life than when she came away from Brighton. Had she remained there, her remorse and self-abasement would have been largely mitigated. She would have discovered that Mr. Foster's grief over his disap- pointment was not of a crushing nature. He was annoyed, it is true; but he was annoyed chiefly by the grumblings of his fa- ther, who considered that he had been dragged away hither on a fool's-errand. Mr. Fred Foster was of a cheerful teniperament ; despondency was not much in his way, "We haven't pulled it off this time, mother," said he, " but wait till you see me on my legs again. You could hardly expect a high-stepper like that to get matched with a broken-down old cripple in a paddock." " If I live to see you married to a girl like Miss Zembra, Fred- die," said the gentle mother, " I shall be happy. A girl like that would have a good influence over you ; you would give up your wild life. And I am sure your father and I would be glad to let you have the old house ; we could do very well at Crookfield." " You need not count on me. I should be no such fool," the elder Mr. Foster remarked, with some point. Mr. Fred Foster chose to ignore this chance observation. "Oh, don't you make any mistake, mother; Miss Zembra isn't a prig at all. She is just as fond of fun as anybody ; only she has never had a chance. Why, she herself told me how well she liked looking on at some dancing there was at an artist-fellow's house — I forget the name — and she said it was quite fine to see a lot of young people — that's the way she talks, you know — romping about and dajicing the Highland schottische and enjoy- ing themselves without restraint. Oh, there's nothing of the stuck-up school-miss about her, I can assure you." " I do not think I should like to see Miss Zembra dancing the Highland schottische," the old lady said, quietly, " though I hard- ly know why." " No, no," said he, with a laugh, " nothing less dignified than REPENTANCE. Ill the minuet in Ariadne. Well, I don't know that I should care to see her romping about either. But I'll tell you what I should like to see — I should like to see her drive a dog-cart up to Ascot Heath, two ponies tandem; wouldn't that be something like the thing? And on the lawn, mother — just think of her on the lawn — vvhy, there isn't one of them would be in it with her! Think of her figure — I tell you there's not one of the women would be in it with her — except, perhaps, Lady , and she doesn't go to race meet- ings any more since that thing happened. Well, do you know, mother, I don't think you would grumble at a little extravagance. A good figure wants good style — and the fashions have to be paid for—" " My dear," said the old lady, with the least touch of remon- strance in her placid voice, "you speak very confidently." " Oil," said he, lightly, " that is a fancy picture, you know. But I am not so sure it won't come off. Of course, I have re- ceived my snub, and must grin and bear it ; but while there's life there's hope." Sabina had but little idea that he was accepting the situation in this cheerful frame of mind ; and she was alone in London ; and she was very miserable. For she had a vague conviction that some kind of calamity had occurred, for which she was mainly responsible ; and her wrong-doing was none the less dis- tressing that it was so hard to define. She kept thinking and thinking over it; wondering what Mrs. Wygram was saying to Janie about it; hoping that Mr. Foster was not too deeply of- fended with her. Had she sent him sufficient assurance of her sorrow over this hapless mistake? Would it not have been kinder if she had seen him — to say a word of good-by ? And the beautiful and gentle old lady who had asked her in so pleas- ing a way to become her daughter — ought she not to sit do-wn and write to her and make some excuses for her running away ? Sabina was very busy on these first days of her return to Lon- don ; but she went about her duties with a preoccupied air. It struck even herself that slie had less self-confidence somehow in addressing people — even those best known to her and most de- pendent on her. But she guessed that might be the effect of her long holiday ; she had come back strange to her work ; she had not fallen into tlie way of it yet. Either Mrs. Wygram or her daughter wrote to their beloved 112 SABINA ZEMBRA. Sabie every day. This was professedly a medical report ; but of course it contained all the news of their uneventful life at the sea- side. And it seemed unaccountable to Sabina that neither of them should ever make the least mention of Mr. Foster. Why she wished to hear about him she did not ask herself; but each letter that came from Brighton she opened quickly, and each time there was an undefined feeling of disappointment that never a word was said about him. About the mother and father she had heard ; the old people had left a couple of days or so after her departure — Mrs. Foster calling at Regency Square and leaving some very affectionate messages for Miss Zenibra. But never the least allusion to the young man ; and Sabina, though writing ev- ery other day, somehow did not choose to ask. The reason why Janie had nothing to say about Mr. Foster was simply this: she had learned from her mother what were his principal haunts, and she took care that her mother and herself should keep away from these. They never went out to the end of the West Pier, nor to the end of the Chain Pier ; and they seldom went into the Old Steyne Enclosures or the Pavilion Gar- dens. For Janie's vague dislike for the young man had developed into something like hatred when she heard that he had attempted to carry off Sabina from them; and that attempt having been fortunately frustrated, she was resolved that it would not be through her mother and herself that any communications should be resumed. And she was delighted to see that Sabina never even mentioned his name. She had feared the worst from the curious interest that Sabina seemed to take in the character and fortunes of the stranger whom chance had thrown in her way. But that was all over now. He had been sent about his busi- ness. Sabina was back in London, and sooner or later Walter Lindsay would be calling in at Kensington Square to see Mr. Wygiam. Brighton is a small place ; Janie was caught at last. Her mother had lain down for a while after lunch ; the daughter had come out for a bit of a stroll, and had wandered down to the sea- front, where she took a seat on one of the benches. A passing Bath-chair was stopped for a moment just as it reached her. " I beg your pardon, Miss Wygram, but I'm afraid you've for- gotten me." She thought it was an intolerable piece of effrontery that he EEPENTANCE. 113 should speak to her, after what had happened, but she could not be positively rude. " How do you do, Mr. Foster ?" she said, and she gave him her hand for a moment. " I hope you are g-ctting on well." "Oh yes, very well," he said, clieerfuliy. "I can move about a little now, in-doors. I think the Derby week will sec me on my legs again. And how is Miss Zembra? I suppose you have heard from her." And then it flashed upon her that he was assuming she knew nothing of what had occurred ; for how else could he dare to talk about Sabina in this free-and-easy fashion? "Oh yes, I hear from her frequently; she is very well, I be- lieve. What a pleasant afternoon for going about !" If that was not an intimation to him that he might move on she did not know what was. But he remained. " I have found it very difEerent since she left," said he, with a rueful smile. " Very different, indeed. I had no idea we had been such constant companions until she left. Brighton seems quite deserted now. You see, you get into the habit of meeting people in a place like this, one day being just like the day before it; and you don't notice, perhaps, how much you are thrown to- gether. But you find out when they leave." "Yes?" said Janie — which was rather cold encouragement. "And I'm awfully sorry she went away so hurriedly," he con- tinued (and Janie wished he would not stare at her so uncom- promisingly with his clear, hard, blue eyes), "I don't mind tell- ing you there was a kind of — kind of — well, something happened that might have admitted of some explanation if only she had not gone away so abruptly, I was awfully sorry — if I could have seen her for merely a couple of minutes I could have explained u lot. Yes ; and there's another thing I wanted to say to her be- fore she went back to London — well, it was talked about occa- sionally here — but I wanted to impress it on her — don't you think she ought to look about for some male companion — I suppose she could not aiford a secretary? — but some male companion anyway, to go with her through all those places?" " Miss Zembra," said Janie, distantly (for she was not going to call her "Sabie" to him), "only goes to places where she is known ; besides, she can take care of herself." " Oh, I do not mean in that way," he said, and he accepted her 114 6ABINA ZEMBRA. repellent attitude with much good-nature ; perhaps he did not no- tice it. " I mean in the way of her getting sharped. I imagine she is imposed on by a whole crowd of cringing, fawning, sneak- ing wretches. If a man were to go with her he would let a little dayliglit into the whole affair." " You think he would get to know more about those people than she could?" Janic asked, "I suppose you are not aware, then, that Miss Zembra is a member of the Charity Organization Society ?" " But she is a woman." " A woman may have as sharp eyes as a man." " But she is sure to have a softer heart — and that's where the trouble comes in." Janie remained obdurate. Even that little bit of adroit flattery had no effect on her. And Mr. Foster, seeing that she was not in- clined for further conversation, left a friendly message for her mother and passed on. That evening's despatch to Sabina could not well omit all men- tion of this interview ; but Janie had no scruples whatever about sending a distinctly garbled version. " He seemed as cheerful and complacent as you could wish," slie wrote, among other things, " and put all the blame on you for having gone away so hurriedly. Everything could have been put right by an explanation. 1 suppose he means he could have ex- plained why it was absolutely necessary you should become his wife. And he was kind enough to say that Brighton felt quite lonely now that you had gone, and that he had no idea you and he had been so much together. I suppose because he had not taken the trouble to notice," This letter — the animus of which she well understood and could discard — set Sabie still further wondering. What explana- tion could he mean ? And so he had been looking back over their companionship together; and perhaps valuing it a little? And she was glad that he was putting so brave a face on his dis- a])pointment; for she assumed that there must have been some disappointment: a man does not ask a woman to be his wife without having seriously thought it over, and laid far-reaching plans and cherished hopes that he is anxious to have fulfilled. And of course so important a choice is a great honor to confer upon any girl, and one not lightly or ungratefully to be thrown REPENTANCE. 115 aside. What explanation was it? she asked herself again and again. Slie knew that he was not a sentimental person ; but then neither was she herself; perhaps she ought to have waited, and listened to what he had to say, and been less discourteous in her summary refusal. It may have been this continual questioning of herself that caused Sabina, one afternoon as slie was going down through Kensington Square, to pass Walter Lindsay without recognition. He had not been so blind. He had seen her a long viay off ; and it was as if something had suddenly grasped his heart and made it cease to beat. He did not know she had returned to London. He was not prepared. The calm and equable friend- ship he had promised himself was not ther® with its quieting in- fluence ; and he only knew that the sight of Sabina advancing towards him — the real Sabina — here in Kensington Square — in Kensington Square that he had peopled so often with ghosts and visions of her — this actual thing bewildered liim out of his senses, and he could not think what he was to say to her. How was he to account for her being in Kensington Square at all? Was some one ill, that she had so suddenly come back ? She would be startled and displeased at confronting him so unexpect- edly. Sabina came along, all unheeding. She was not looking at any one whom she might meet; her eyes were absorbed. And when she passed him, he was still silent, almost fearing to disturb her; but the next moment something within him took control of him, and he advanced a quick step or two. " Miss Zembra !" She turned with a little start, but the moment she saw who it was, there was a quick outshining of friendliness from the beauti- ful eyes and a pleasant smile of welcome. She had been much harassed and worried those last few days ; she had been almost alone; here was an old friend who had been kind to her many a time. And she did not know that she allowed him to retain her hand while they were mutually asking and answering ihe usual preliminary questions (perhaps he did not know it either), and she took no pains to conceal the pleasure with which she recog- nized him ; and her eyes met his with a frankness that took no thought of consequences. In short, during these few seconds her conduct was abominable, Mrs. Wygram would have said ; but Mrs. 116 SABINA ZKMBRA. Wygram was altogether forgotten in the surprise and gladness of this unexpected meeting. " You are going down that way ?" he said, looking towards the end of tlie square. " Yes ; I am going down to Cornwall Gardens. It is not often I pay afternoon calls ; but I am to meet an old admiral who has been of great service to me several times, and I shall have plenty of opportunity to thank him — that is, to beg for future favors." " May I walk as far with you ?" " If yon like," she said, without hesitation — " if it is not out of your way." And here he was actually walking side by side with Sabina along the Kensingt(^n Square pavement, as many and many a time he had vainly imagined and pictured to himself. And what a tragic thing that he could only talk to her about trivial matters — about Brighton lodging-houses, and the crowds at South Ken- sington of an evening, and the various gossip of the studios — when all tlie time he was dying to tell her of the newly estab- lished relationship, the unalterable and perfect friendship that was to last between these two for ever and ever and evermore. Of course he could not tell her, for she knew of no other relation- ship — and had probably never dreamed of any ; and so he had to pretend to be eagerly interested in training-ships and the like; while all the pleasant and amusing things he had been storing up for her during these many weeks had gone clean out of his head. No matter; Sabina was about as close to him as she had been in the hansom ; and he was keeping step with her as well as he could, and bending towards her a little, so that he could listen to her the more easily, and sometimes he succeeded in making her laugh, and her laugh was pleasant to hear. And he knew that for him thenceforth this Victoria Road would be a blessed thor- oughfare; he and she together had passed underneath the over- hanging trees of those front gardens ; for him, at least, the place would be forever haunted. Nor even when she had passed within the hated portals of that house in Cornwall Gardens was he likely to quit the neighborhood so long as she was there. Of course, he could not wait and offer to escort her back home again, if she was going home ; that would have been too significant; but he could linger unobserved until she came out, and have at least a last glimpse of her. And that REPENTANCE. 117 was all lie obtained ; for on Sabina's coming- out of the house she took the first cab she saw, and was driven away he knew not whither. But he was happy enoug-h ; nay, his heart was filled with re- joicing. Nor would he go northward by Victoria Road and Ken- sington Square; the way they had come seemed to him still rich with the glory of her presence ; he would not go and see how empty the thoroughfares looked. No, he went away in another direction altogether; and eventually, after many aimless turnings and wanderings, found himself, towards seven o'clock, out in the Addison Road neighborhood, and at the door of the studio of an old chum of his. This Willie Meteyard was rather celebrated in his way as hav- ing been an unconscionable number of times on the very edge of being elected to the Academy, and failing at the last moment through some unexpected combination ; but he took these disap- pointments very equably, and worked away at his pictures of Irish peasant life with an assiduity which brought him a fair amount of fame and the dealers a large amount of money. He was a bachelor, and he was sitting down to a bachelor dinner when Wal- ter Lindsay entered. Artists, as a rule, are not over-exacting in their needs; there was soon another plate on the table. "What are you going to do to-night, Willie?" the visitor asked. " I'm going with those Mowbray girls and their mother to the theatre." "You'll have to dress and get away immediately, I suppose?" " Yes." " W'hat a nuisance ! You'd much better stop where you arc, and we'll go into the studio and have a pipe and some music." Now, Mr. Meteyard was nuich fonder of music than of the thea- tre ; and he knew that when Lindsay got into the vein he played very well indeed, and with quite unusual feeling; besides, Lindsay was an old friend, and the Mowbrays were mere acquaintances ; and the promise was not a very definite one ; and there was a large party going to the theatre, and he would not be missed. Finally, he wanted to stop — and he stopped. The evening passed pleasantly enough, though by degrees the two friends ceased from music, and took mostly to smoking and lounging and chatting in the comfortable, hushed studio. And, 118 SABINA ZEMBRA, of course, Walter Lindsay had but one subject, to wliich he re- turned again and again by many subterfuges ; and tliat subject, of course, was the beautiful nature and disposition of Miss Zem- bra, and the ennobling effect of an assured friendship with such a woman ; the influence it must have on one's character, and on one's work, too, making it sincere and earnest and of a lofty aim — all of which Willie Meteyard had heard a few times before. At last he said, " Look here, Walter, my good fellow, let's have an end of this. It's no use your trying to humbug me. All your talk about friendship is pure idiocy. I tell you I believe what you say of the girl — I suppose it's all true. But I tell you this as well — and it's as plain as a pikestaff to every one but yourself — I tell you, you're just madly in love with her." CHAPTER XIV. A ROSE-DECORATED BALL. To name a thing is uothing; other people might call it love, if they liked ; he was content to regard it as a beautiful and ideal friendship ; and he could have wished that this was the fourteenth century, and London, Florence ; and that a certain chosen band of charming ladies and young gentlemen might retire to a small and fair domain without the city, there to walk in cool gardens and fragrant meadows, singing songs and telling stories, weaving gar- lands of flowers, and dancing to the dulcet strains of lute and viol — all to show to the world that perfect and frank good-comrade- ship might innocently and advantageously exist between unmar- ried men and maidens. In the mean time, he was neither in Flor- ence nor in the fourteenth century ; and, indeed, he was too much occupied with the one and sole and consuming question as to how he should manage to see Sabina again to waste much thinking over impracticabilities. But afternoon calls were useless, for Sabina was rarely at home in the daytime; haunting the neighborhood of Kensington Square was tantalizing beyond endurance; and not until Mrs. Wvgram came back from Brighton could he hope for an invitation to A ROSE-DECORATED BALL. 119 spend an evening with them. Was there no othei* way? For this constant desire to meet her again — if only for a few min- utes, just to see how she was looking, and hear her voice — ban- ished every other thought and fancy from his brain ; and he neg- lected his work, and his ordinary companions had but little interest for him ; and London became at once a delight and a torture to him — knowing, as he did, that Sabina was somewhere within the vast extent of it; and from morning till night he kept vainly guessing at her probable whereabouts. All this was friendship of a very exalted and devoted character, he knew ; still, it was friend- ship. One afternoon he went down to the house of a famous Acad- emician, and found the mistress of the mansion at home. There were a few visitors present, and when they rose to leave he re- mained ; he wanted to have a little private conversation with Mrs. Mellord. " Why," said he, when they had gone, "from what I hear, the whole of London is coming to you on the 22d?" "Oh no, no — only a few friends," she said (all hostesses say the like). " We shall be very quiet — don't you be frightened away — " " Oh, I am coming, of course," he said. "*! have got some pretty women," she observed, encouragingly (and she herself was charming enough, both in appearance and manner). " You always do have pretty women at your house," he said. " Don't you know that other people are a little bit jealous ? How do you manage it? They're not too fond of shining side by side. They like to be solitary stars. Well, now — eh — I wanted to ask you if you had sent a card to the Wygrams ?" "The Wygrams?" she repeated, with the least touch of sur- prise. " I don't think I did, then." " Oh, but you ought," he made bold to say (for he was on very friendly terms with this pretty Mrs. Mellord). "Oh yes, you must — a kindness, you know — auld lang syne — " " I should hardly have thought it was in their way," she said, still looking rather puzzled. And then something seemed to strike her, and she regarded the young man with shrewd and de- murely smiling eyes. "I suppose you mean that Miss Zera bra should be included ?" 120 SABIXA ZEMBRA. "Miss Zembra?"hc answered, and he took up an Egyptian scent-burner and affected to be deeply interested in the potter's handiwork. " Well, yes ; I understand she is still living with them. I don't know that she would care to come — probably not. She would want some persuasion, I suppose, if you were kind enough to ask her. However, if you want another pretty woman, there is one. Of course, as I say, she would have to be persuaded — she doesn't often go out — but you could tell her, for example, that she ought to go out from time to time — seeing how rich people enjoy and amuse themselves should sharpen her sympathy ■with those poor people she works among — you might put it that way, if you thought it worth while asking her." Mrs. Mellord burst out laughing. " Do you know, Mr. Lindsay, that you are a very admirable actor ? Of course, it is not you who want Miss Zeinbra to be here on the 22d. Oli no. And your air of indifference — excellent! Do you think I have heard nothing? — with all the town talking about your infatuation for Miss Sabina !" lie reddened to the temples. " I was not aware there were so many idiots in the world." "Don't be angry," said his friend, placidly ; "they might have coupled your name with a plainer girl. Now let us understand each other. Supposing I go to Miss Zembra and talk her over, and get her to come here, perliaps you would like to take her in to supper ?" lie looked up quickly, bat she did not give him time to speak. " I suppose you would not object. Well, then, everybody says that Ilerr Borella is a great chum of yours. I saw him the other night, and he refused to come to me on the 22d — the flimsiest excuse you ever heard : do you think you can induce him to change his mind?" " I know I can." " And will you get him to sing?" " Certainly." " For, don't you see, I am not going to sacrifice the whole night to you boys and girls. I must have some little amusement for the elderly people, and I am going to have distinct intervals be- tween the dances, and have music — songs, I mean, for no one listens to anything else. Well, then, I have got Madame Secchi A KOSE-DECORATED BALL. 121 and Angelica Russell and Isidore, and one or two others, and I want 3'oiir friend Borella as well." " 01), that's all right," he said, promptly. " You really think you will get him to sing for me?" " I'll make him sing." " Because," said pretty Mrs. Mellord, gravely — and she regarded the young man with eyes that meant a good deal — "in that case I think, out of sheer gratitude, I must do my best to persuade Miss Zembra." The 22d was a long way off yet, however; and in the interval the Wygrams came home from Brighton. During this time he encountered the sympathetic Janie occasionally, but saw very little of Sabina, who was busy with her multifarious duties ; so that all the more he looked forward to the evening on which he was to meet her at Mrs. Mellord's, and always with the tacit assumption that he was to have the monopoly of her society on that occasion. Had it not been so at his own house on that memorable night? Sabina was his companion all the way through; at supper she had sat on his right hand, and talked almost exclusively to him ; in the studio the others were free to dance, or listen to music, or amuse themselves as they chose : Sabina and he were apart, and together. And as it was then, so it would be now ; for who else had such a claim on her ? And at last came the night of the ball, and it was the very height of the London season ; and as carriage after carriage drove up to Mrs. Mellord's house, the crowd on the pavement had more or less distant glimpses of very distinguished people indeed — a generally recognized face causing a little murmur of comment — and of the less-known womenfolk who stepped along under the awning in the lightest and palest of summer cloaks and hoods. And pleasant it was on this hot June night to pass into the spa- cious hall of white and black marble; and fresh and cool looked the tall ferns that went all the way round the walls ; and there was a grateful flashing of the central fountain, where a ghost-white alabaster swan floated motionless in the middle of a miniature lake. But from the hall upward and onward there was no deco- ration but roses. Ropes of roses adorned the staircase ; festoons of roses hung above the doors ; masses of roses gave color to the pale-gold ballroom ; and on the supper-table — as yet concealed from the public eye — lay a bed of red roses from end to end. 6 122 SABINA ZEMBRA. Everywhere there was a scent of roses, and a sound of music, too, for tlie dancing had begun ; and pretty Mrs. Mellord, at the head of the staircase, was already becoming anxious that the people should disperse a little, and not crowd so obstinately round the ballroom door. Walter Lindsay was not in that ballroom. No ; he was in the spacious hall below, lounging about with Willie Meteyard, and pretending to listen to him. The subject of their talk was etch- ing, ordinarily a sufficiently attractive topic for most artists ; and Meteyard was most enthusiastic about a wonder-working press he had just purchased. Somehow or other, however, Walter Lind- say's attention was but intermittent. He looked anxious. He kept glancing towards the wide-open door-way, and to the brill- iant crowd that came slowly pouring in. And at last, with a sudden " See you by-and-by," he abruptly left his companion and made for a certain small group that had just arrived. Sabina (so tall she seemed ; and to him she appeared to be en- veloped in a cloud of white gauze — but that was because he had no eyes for anything but her face and the possible look of wel- come he might find there) was apparently a little surprised to meet him. " In London still ?" she said, in her direct way. " Why are you not in the country at work?" He stammered some excuse. " And you might well ask what brings us here," she added, ■with a smile ; " but Janie wanted to see the roses." They passed into the cloak-room. He was very nervous while awaiting them. He wanted to get possession of Sabina from the first — to establish a right of companionship that no one could interfere with. And what if they were to be separated on the crowded staircase, or if she were to be snatched away from hitn on her entrance to the rooms above? It suddenly occurred to him that he was, in a manner, helpless. In his own home, with Sabina as his guest, he could do what he liked. He could choose her seat for her, take her hither and thither, and generally assume charge of her. But here, in another person's house, he had no such control ; all sorts of untoward accidents might happen ; wild beasts (in the shape of strangers wanting introductions) would be waiting up -stairs to devour her. And what had he come for if Sabina were to be spirited away ? A KOSE-DECOEATED BALL. 123 However, when the women reappeared, it was very evident that Sabina had no intention of ignoring the claims of old friendship. She came forward to him quite frankly ; appeared to take it for granted he was waiting for them, and went up the staircase with him, these two together, and Janie looking on with marked approval. " I wish Mr. Foster could see them now," she said, in an un- dertone, to her mother. " You know," Sabina said to her companion, " we are going away quite early. I cannot have all the good that Brighton did to Mrs. Wygram undone again. Wasn't it kind of her to take all the trouble about bringing ws here to-night? But Janie was so anxious to see the pretty rooms; and then Mrs. Mcllord is a very persuasive woman — when she sets her mind on a thing — " "Oh," said he, "I will take you where yon will see everything without getting crushed. I know you don't care much about dancing. Miss Zembra, and I don't either; why, I detest it — in this hot weather — in a crowd — " But they were now arrived at the head of the staircase. Mrs. Mellord was not much surprised to find Walter Lindsay appear at the same time with Miss Zembra ; and she gave both of them, and the Wygrams, a pleasant greeting, only she took occasion, as she pressed Mr. Lindsay's hand sliglitly, to say, " Borella is here, and has already sung twice. You are a very good boy." Now as Walter Lindsay was familiar with this house, and as all the rooms on this floor were en suite, he found no difficulty in taking his little party by a roundabout way to a corner where they could have a commanding view. And a very pretty sight it was; the pale-hued walls, the brilliant lights, the masses and ropes and festoons of roses; young English girls showing further roses in their cheeks, their eyes vivid with the animation of a waltz ; dowagers gorgeous in velvet and satin and diamonds ; here and there in the "general circle," if one may use the phrase, the re- splendent costume of a dusky Indian Prince, or the quieter gar- ments of a group of Chinese officials looking on with impassive stare. Perhaps, indeed, the "general circle" was more interest- ing to the ordinary observer than the industrious young men and maidens who were engaged in the active business of the evening; for there were many famous folk here ; and, luckily for Lindsay's 124 SABINA ZEMBRA. companions, his acquaintance was not confined to mere painters and poets, and people of that kind. However, they were not suf- fered to remain long in this quiet corner. The son of the house had espied them ; a quadrille was being formed ; he brought along a partner, and introduced him to Janie. Janie was a good girl, and told no lie ; only she threw a little despairing glance towards Sabina. " Won't you come in, Sabie ?" she said. " Will you ?" said Walter Lindsay, quickly. *' Oh yes," was the placid answer. And so before he knew what he was about he found himself engaged to dance with Sabina; and quite inadvertently he took lier hand so as to put her in proper position, and his heart was beating pretty quickly, and the music that had now begun made a fervor in his brain, so that the little speeches he made to her were rather incoherent. Fortunately, they were " sides," and in the period of waiting Sabina looked on calm and bland and smil- ing. When it came to their turn she went through the various evolutions with a simplicity and ease and grace that entirely sur- prised him, and wrought him a more deadly woe than ever. Was it her beautiful figure, then, that caused her slightest movement to appear so fine and finished ? and then she was so gentle and dignified in her self-possession, and Janie's eyes, as he could see, were full of admiring pride ; she seemed to be saying, " Is not our beautiful Sabie perfect in everything she does?" And, of course, he pretended to have forgotten the figures in order to have information given him in an undertone ; and he rather lin- gered in letting go her hand when they returned to their places, and he, too, spoke to her in an undertone, as if to shut away the outer world. But alas! this close companionship could not last forever; the music and the dancing ceased, and he had to take her back to Mrs. Wygram. It was Perdita he was thinking of, and Florizel's speech to her: "What you do still betters what is done. . . . When you do dance, I wish you a wave o' the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that." Only this was rather a tall and stately Perdita, though her manner was gracious enough. Madame Secchi was now singing the Casta Diva air from " Norma," but he did not listen attentively ; he was busy with the fear that that officious young Mellord would presently be bringing along some partner and stealing Sabina away from him. A ROSE-DECORATED BALL. 125 And he was resolved that no such thing should occur. So lie charged them not to move from their present position, and slipped away through the crowd, and reached his hostess. " Mrs. Mellord," said he, " are you going to be awfully good to nie ?" " I always am," was the prompt reply. " Yes ; but this time especially ?" "What is it?" " Miss Zembra and the Wygrams are not going to stay late, and I want to show them the supper-room ; I've heard about the roses. May I take them in ?" " The candles are not lit yet." " Oh, but there will be some kind of light." " Very well, then." And then she looked at him with laughing but friendly eyes. " Promise to be grateful to me all your life. I will let you give them supper now, if you can find any." " No— may I ?" "But get the servants to put the table straight — don't forget that." And right gladly and swiftly lie went back to his friends; the music had not yet finished ; Sabina was still there. " Come along," said he ; " I am commissioned by Mrs. Mellord to take you into the supper-room — before any one else goes in — come along !" And then he bundled them away, and guided them across the upper hall, and opened the ponderous rosewood door, and ushered them into this long, dimly lit chamber. But even these few lamps showed what a beautiful room it was — the abundance of flowers, the silver candelabra, the crystal and china, making the table very pretty indeed. Then it was cool and quiet and mys- terious ; there was no servant of any kind near ; they were as children who had stolen into some forbidden place. Of course the womenfolk would not hear of his attempting to get them an}'^ supper. Would he disarrange that beautiful table ? They could get some refreshment, if they wanted any, in the other room. Then said Janie, " Mother, Sabie is tired after her long day's work. Let her stop here — in the cool. We will go back and look at the dan- cing." Sabina was nothing loath ; tliis room was indeed much less hot 126 SABINA ZEMBRA, than the others; he had got her a comfortable chair; and, -when she had time, she enjoyed hiziness luxuriously. What did she talk to him about? It seemed a matter of little concern to her. He was all eagerness to interest her — about a dozen different sub- jects; but she answered as if the mysterious lights, and the cool atmosphere, and the scent of the roses were enough for her. She lay a little back in her chair; the solitary diamond in the slender necklace round her throat flashed from time to time; she never raised her eyes to his; she seemed content — and blandly indif- ferent. But there was a growing wildness in his brain ; at any moment she might carelessly rise and signify her wish to return to the ballroom ; and he could not control her going. He took a rose from the bed of roses. "Miss Zcmbra, will you give me this rose?" he said, in rather a low voice. In an instant she seemed to be startled into half-consciousness, and to recollect where she was — and what Mrs. Wygrara would probably say of her. The next moment she had risen and taken the rose and placed it gently back on the table. "We must not rob Mrs. Mellord," she said, v.ith perfect quie- tude. "And now shall we go back?" " I would wait ten years to get that rose from you," he said, for this madness was still in his brain. Perhaps she did not hear. She preceded him calmly to the door, and there, indeed, she lingered for half a second until he rejoined her; and together, as if nothing had happened, they re- turned to the Wygrams. But he was very pale; and all this thing around him was phantasmal — the din and splendor were alike bewildering; he looked on, but his eyes were blind. Sabina began to question Mrs. W^ygram about going, and this somewhat recalled him to himself. Nay, she spoke to him too, and with no studied coldness, but rather with a certain timidity. Had she heard, and yot was not angry ? Or was it that she was too gentle to be angry ? She would rather pretend not to have heard at all. Very soon the Wygrams and Sabina left, and for him the rose- scented ball was over, lie returned no more to those brilliant rooms, with their blazing candelabra, and beautiful dresses, and gay music. He put on his thin summer overcoat, and went away AN ALLIANCE. 127 listlessly — and yet with a kind of excitement in his brain — through the dim gas-lit streets — down by Gloucester Road, and Cornwali Gardens, and back by Victoria Road, and so, and stealthily, through Kensington Square. The lights were already out in the well- known house. And then he wandered away up in the Notting Ilill direction, until he reached his own home ; and there he went into the studio, and turned up the gas, and threw off his coat, and sat down. What had happened? And right well he knew; no further disguise or pretence was possible now ; his inmost soul had spoken — to himself, if not to her. CHAPTER XV. AN ALLIANCE. One morning Sabina and Janie were engaged on an errand in Richmond Road, Old Brompton, when a hansom cab that had come rattling along behind them was pulled up, and the occupant stepped out. Sabina happened to turn her head. " Mr. Foster !" And, indeed, it was Mr. Foster — brisk, smiling, complacent; very smartly dressed and gloved, too, though the tall hat made him look a little bit unfamiliar. "This is a stroke of luck," said he. "I was driving down to the sports at Lillie Bridge, little expecting to have this pleasure." " Oh, but you can't tell how glad I am to see you able to get about again," she said, with great earnestness. " Indeed, indeed, I am very glad !" " There is not much to boast of yet," he said, lightly. " I don't think I should like to back myself to run the Open Quarter Mile in forty-eight seconds. That was done on Saturday, at this very place. But we are getting on. And at any rate, a hansom is more comfortable than a Bath-chair. I am just making the fort- unes of the London cabbies at present. Well, now, I won't detain you, for I saw you were walking quickly ; but I want you to tell me if I may call at Kensington Square — to make your acquaint- ance, you know." "To make my acquaintance?" she repeated; she did not un- derstand. 128 SABINA ZEMBRA. " Why, yes," lie continued, cheerfully. "You've only known me as a cripple — in a Bath-chair and a pot hat. I want to intro- duce myself in a new character. May I come to see you — and Mrs. ^Yygl■am ?" " I am sure we shall be very pleased indeed," Sabina answered, with evident sincerity. "Why, you don't understand — it is like getting well one's self to see you as you are now. Don't you feel very happy about it ? I do." Her sympathy was exceedingly frank, and her pleasure on wit- nessing this transformation obvious enough. Indeed, in her sur- prise and gratification over this sudden encounter, she had entire- ly forgotten the little tentative embassy that Mr. Foster's mother had undertaken, and when he asked her to say on which day he might call at Kensington Square, she instantly named the follow- ing afternoon. "Sabie," her companion remonstrated, "you will be at the Charity Organization !" " I shall be home by half-past five," was the answer, " and very glad of a cup of tea — because sometimes the proceedings are not quite unanimous." "What!" Mr. Foster struck in. "You don't mean to say that those good people have an occasional bickering ? Well, I should like to be there — to lend you a helping hand." Sabina laughed. " What is the matter?" he asked, innocently. "I think you would make a strange figure at a meeting of the Charity Organization Society," she remarked. "I've got an English tongue in my head — I could speak my mind," he said, bluntly. " However, I see you want to be off. To-morrow at half-past five, then." And he got into the hansom again and drove away, while they turned out of this thoroughfare and made for the Fulham Road. As they were going through the Boltons, Sabina said, "I am so glad we met him. I feel quite happy about it." " I don't see why his recovering from an accident should be of so much importance to you," Janie said, rather coldly, " You forget that I was mainly the cause of the accident," Sa- bina answered, but in her gentle way. " We will not discuss that, for we are not likely to agree." And then Janie added, sharply, " And look at the way he occupies AN ALLIANCE. 129 his time, now that he can get about again — driving in hansoms to places of amusement — his onl}' thought for himself. Why, Sa- bie, I can't understand the interest you take in that man. There never were two human beings so entirely dissimilar in everything. When I think of the life he leads — sports and pleasures and pas- times from week's end to week's end ; and the life that you lead — working hard, and all for other people — " " Janie, Janie," Sabina said, with a laugh, " why will you be so violently prejudiced ? Haven't I told you a hundred times that what is right for one person is not necessarily right for every one? Different people have different hobbies; and I happen to have mine. Do you think, if I could ride like Mr. Foster, and play cricket, and so on, I should not be intensely interested in those things ?" "Oh yes," said Janie, with cutting irony. "I can quite im- agine Sabina Zembra a champion slayer of pigeons. Two to one, bar one. That's just like yon, Sabie !" When Mr. Fred Foster called at Kensington Square the follow- ing afternoon he was even more scrupulously neat in his attire; and the slight lameness from which he still suffered served as an excuse for the display of a walking-stick, the head of which was of elaborately carved jade. There was no embarrassment about him over this his first visit to the house ; he was most pleasant to Mrs. Wygram (Janie had gone out) ; he was anxious to hear from Sabina of the proceedings at the Charitable Organization Society ; and he facetiously remarked that, although he had intended to in- troduce himself as a new acquaintance, it was impossible to keep up the pretence — he preferred to acknowledge that he had fallen among old friends. " Well, you know," he said, " the memory of a lioliday place and the time you spent there is always far finer than the thing itself, and fortunately so. Don't you ever think of those morn- ings at Brighton, Miss Zembra — out at the end of the Pier, you know ; the fresh wind, and clear skies, and the music ; the young people about; and you beginning to think that when hinch-time comes along you will be quite ready? Very jolly mornings they were, weren't they ? And when you look back at them they seem very bright somehow — a poetical halo, I suppose? And that," lie continued, warming to his subject, for he was evidently bent on making a good impression, in his self-complacent way — " that is 6* 130 SABINA ZEMBRA. what I should like to have in my composition — just enough poetry to make things look a little better than they are. It's no great harm to go on thinking all your geese are swans, so long as you don't find it out. Of course, I shouldn't want to have as much poetry as would drive one into publishing it, and running the racket of the critics, and becoming miserable if the public wouldn't look at you. Oh no ; I should like to be able to take a fairly roseate view of things, but for my own use ; I shouldn't care a rap what other people thought of them. As for writing real poetry, now — well, I don't know — I suppose it may be interesting to be a famous person — in your own lifetime, I mean — people stare at you, if that is any good to you — but beyond that what is there in fame ? I don't see that it would be of any advantage to me that people should remember my name two hundred years after my death." His apologia pro vita sua would sometimes come in thus in the most unexpected fashion ; but indeed it was unnecessary, for Sa- bina had a wide experience of diverse modes of life, and she was tolerant to a degree. If he seemed to spend a good deal of his time up at Lord's and at the Oval, why should he not, on those pleasant summer afternoons ? He was harming no one, as far as she knew. He did not overstay his welcome ; and it was clear that on this first visit he had managed to somewhat mitigate Mrs. Wygram's prejudice against him ; for it was with no great asperity that she said, when he had gone, " Sabie, don't you think it just a little awkward that Mr. Foster should come here?" " Why, then?" the girl said, with some surprise. " Well, you know it is not such a long time since he asked you to be his wife — indirectly, at least. And a refusal is supposed to mean something. I should not wonder, now, if you encourage him to call, and receive him in that frank way you have with ev- erybody, he may begin to imagine that you would not be sorry if he repeated his offer." Sabina reddened a little, but she said, "Dear Mrs. Wygrara, you must not put such fancies into inno- cent people's heads. I am sure he is thinking of no such thing. He is as busy in his own way as I am in mine ; especially now that he can get about again." AN ALLIANCE. 131 Busy as lie was, however, Mr. Foster found time to pay several visits to Kensington Square ; and he was very straightforward in asking Sabina when she was likely to be found at home. lie seemed exceedingly desirous of establishing affectionate relations between her and the old lady in Buckinghamshire. One day he brought with him a magnificent basket of strawberries. "This is a little present from my mother, Miss Zerabra," ho said, "and she wants you to know that they are her own growing — of course she is rather proud of them." " That is very kind, I am sure," Sabina said. "Will you give her my best thanks, and say how good it was of her to think of me?" " If you wouldn't mind sending her a note yourself, Miss Zem- bra?" he suggested. " It would please her so much." "Oh yes, I will," Sabina said at once; "give me the address." And so the brief note was written and despatched to Bucking- hamshire. Of course, it needed no reply ; but, all the same, the re- ply came, in the shape of a very long and affectionate letter, in which the old lady ventured to hope that she had done no harm by a certain indiscreet disclosure made at Brighton. Moreover, enclosed in the letter was a photograph of the garden where the strawberries were grown, with Mrs. Foster seated in an arm-chair, and the old gentleman, scissors in hand, standing at the door of the vine-houses. It was a pretty and peaceful-looking picture; and Sabina, in acknowledging the receipt, said so. What, then, should arrive — even by return of post — but an invitation — a gen- eral invitation — to Sabina to come down to this peaceful retreat whenever she felt tired, or ill, or depressed, with abundant assur- ances that she would be treated with the most considerate care. A more than friendly letter, nicely worded ; and Mr. Fred Foster was good enough to indorse that invitation eagerly, and to say the old lady's heart would just be filled with joy if Miss Zenibra would take her at her word, and go down to see her when the opportu- nity arose. Another point that he went back upon again and again was the necessity of Miss Zcmbra introducing a little more amuse- ment into her life. He had nothing to say against the self-ap- pointed labors that she had devoted herself to; only that she •was too assiduous. All work and no play, he insisted, was the right thing for no one; and he appealed to Mrs.Wygrain. Why 132 SABINA ZEMBRA. should not Miss Zembra have gone up to see the Eton vs. Harrow match at Lord's ? — for indeed he had been desirous of escorting the whole party thither. "But I find my amusement in my work, such as it is," Sabina said, good-naturedly. " I dou't know that I should care to sit and look on at a number of boys knocking a ball about. Perhaps I might, though. Young English lads, healthy and well-built and active, are always nice to look at. And that reminds me, I am going down to see my boys on the Arethusa and Chichester next Wednesday ; it is the annual inspection. Now, is not that a sufficient holiday, Mr. Foster ? And I am going with a clear conscience ; I shall not have to drag either Mrs. Wygram or Janie with me; Mrs. Tremenheere is going, and I have merely to pick her up at Charing Cross Pier. Now, is not that enough of a holiday? A pleasant sail down the river, luncheon on board the Arethusa, w^atching the boys go through their drill, presenting the prizes, and then back to town." And not only did Mr. Fred Foster express approval, but also he was curious to learn further and minute details about this pro- jected excursion. What was the institution ? Who were the managers? Who were likely to be there on Wednesday? How were invitations come at ? " You know," said he, " if my little arrangement about the Leicestershire Cup comes oS I shall become a subscriber." " I think we'd rather have the money now," Sabina said, " and then you won't risk losing it." " But it's out of the profits — if any — that the subscription would come," he then explained. Soon, however, he was to be of assistance to her in a more im- mediate way. One evening, about half-past six, he strolled along to Kensington Square, on the off-chance that she had returned home somewhat before dinner-time ; a message from the old lady in Buckinghamshire was the ostensible excuse for his calling. He had scarcely entered the square than he perceived her at the far- ther corner of it, coming north ; so he leisurely went on to meet her. " Oh," Mr. Foster, I am glad to see you," she said, in her frank way; " I want to see if you can give me some help." " You may be sure I will if I can," he said, cheerfully. "It's rather a sad story," she said, plunging into the matter at AN ALLIANCE. 133 once. " A poor widow I know has an only son, a lad about fif- teen, and he has got into trouble. It isn't merely the loss of his wages for the moment — though that is something to her — it is his future, and the difBculty of getting another situation for him, that is worrying the poor woman. This is how it happened : He is employed in a livery-stable keeper's place down in Earl's Court, lie had to take a whip into the clerk's office to leave it there. Well, a customer had been paying a bill, and the change was two shillings ; but he had neglected to pick up the change, and he and the clerk came to the door of the office, for they were talking together. The boy goes past them into the office to leave the whip ; he sees the florin lying on the counter; the temptation is too great — he slips it into his pocket. Then the man remem- bers he has not picked up his change ; turns, and finds it is gone ; the boy is challenged, and at once gives up the florin. Well, of course, there is no excuse ; but, of course, most people have done things they are sorry for; and I am certain this boy has nothing of the inborn thief in him — it was a sudden temptation, and he gave way. There was a talk of prosecution ; 1 went to his mas- ter, and he consented to stop that, only he insisted on dismissing the lad ; so that there he is now, without a situation and without a character or reference. Can you get some kind-hearted man to overlook this one slip and give the boy another trial ?" She had an admirably business-like way of putting a case; perhaps she was used to it. As for Fred Foster, he paused ; had he not always been telling her that she needed a man's shrewd- ness and firmness to assist her — that she was always running, the risk of being imposed upon ? " If I could see the lad," said he, *' I think I could tell by the look of him whether his story will wash." " Oh, but he confesses 1" " Well, I could tell whether I should care to ask somebody to give him a fresh start." "Would you mind coming and seeing him now?" she said, promptly. "His mother lives not ten minutes' walk from here, and he is at home just now, I know." " But if you are kept late for dinner ?" "Oh, that is nothing," she said, cheerfully. "They never wait for me ; that's all right." So they set out — she walking at a studiously moderate pace ; 134 SABINA ZEMBRA, and he seemed a little proud and pleased to have so fair a com- panion. And how did he entertain her ? Well, there had been a smoking concert at Mildenhull, in Suffolk, given by certain "bookies" to their friends, who were at the Newmarket race meeting; and he had been present on this particularly festive occasion ; and he gave her a fairly vivid and humorous account of the evening. He was very honest: he never sought to conceal anything about himself or his companions, and they seemed to have been pretty gay at the White Hart Hotel. In the middle of the story Sabina bowed to some one passing, and Mr. Foster, raising his hat, as in duty bound, merely glanced at the stranger. " That is Mr. Lindsay, the artist whom I have spoken to you about," said Sabina. " Oh, indeed," he said, indifferently. " An odd-looking creat- ure — gaunt, white-faced, and black-haired — seems to have come out of Byron's poems — those artists always do like to look sin- gular." " But you must not say anything like that about Mr. Lindsay," said Sabina, gently, " for he is a particular friend of mine — of ours." When they reached the widow woman's scantily furnished lodgings the peccant youth seemed almost paralyzed with fear; he imagined that this appearance of a stranger could only mean prosecution, with its unknown horrors. But Fred Foster speedily reassured him. After a sharp scanning of the boy's face, he said, " Look here, my lad, you've had a narrow escape, and I hope it will be a warning to you all your life. This lady has told me the whole story ; and I think I can get you a situation, where you will have a fair trial — only it will be out of town — " "Oh, he will not mind that, sir," the mother interposed, quick- ly, " if only he can get another chance. Poor lad, he feels it awful, sir." " Well, if you mean to keep on the square," he said, still ad- dressing the boy, " I'll see what I can do. Get your kit together, and meet me at Victoria Station to-morrow morning at 10.40. Will you remember?" " Yes, sir." " I will take you down to Epsom, and get you a place there, where nothing will be known of what has happened. The rest is for yourself; you will have a fair chance of getting on." AN ALLIANCE. 135 " Yes, sir — thank you, sir." The boy was too frightened to say more. " Well, now, that is very kind of you to take so much trouble," Sabina £aid, when they were come out again. "To go away down to Epsom — " " Don't give me unnecessary credit, Miss Zembra," he said at once. " Going down to Epsom never comes amiss to me — I can always put in a day in that quarter, sometimes to my own advan- tage. And I will get your stable-boy a place easily enough ; poor young devil, he seems frightened out of his wits. I suppose his mother has been nagging at him. What a fearful thing it would be if everything was to be treasured up against us, and no for- giveness possible. I don't mean you," he added, hastily — " I was talking about men. And — and — did I tell you how we wound up the evening at Mildenhall ?" Sabina thought he had not ; and so — he discoursing the while on these pretty goings-on — they walked equably back to Kensing- ton Square. It was only a day or two after this occurrence that Walter Lindsay happened to meet Janie Wygram, who with her mother had gone to pay an afternoon call at an artist's house. Wander- ing about the big studio, as all of them did, lie had little difficulty in getting the chance of saying a few words to Janie by herself. " I suppose," he said, rather diffidently, " that it was the Mr. Foster you told me of whom I saw walking with Miss Zembra the other day ?" Janie instantly turned her sympathetic and troubled eyes tow- ards him, and then lowered them. " I did not know you had seen them," she said. " But no doubt it was Mr. Foster. Sabie told me he had gone with her to see some people she's interested in. AVcll, what do you think of him ?" She hoped he would say something bitter and savage. " I only caught a moment's glimpse of him," he answered, evasively. " He goes a good deal to Kensington Square ?" lie endeavored to speak in an indifferent way ; but Janie was not deceived. " Yes, he has been there several times of late ;" and tlicrc was a little touch of indignation in her tone as she added, "And do you know how he has acquired such an influence over Sabie? 136 SABINA ZEMBRA. Well, I'll tell you — it's his impudence — pure impudence. Sabie has never been treated in that free-and-easy way before ; and she doesn't understand it, and gets bewildered, and tliinks there must be something in him because he is cool and complacent and mas- terful towards her. And to think that Sabie — a girl like Sabie — should be imposed upon by pure impudence !" But Janie Wygrara could scarcely be regarded as a dispassion- ate judge. CHAPTER XVI. A BETROTHAL. Among decorous people it is considered that an unmarried young lady should not drive alone in a hansom ; but Sabina was a very busy woman, and besides, she considered herself elderly ; so it was in a hansom that on this brilliant July morning she drove along to Charing Cross Pier. Almost at the same moment Mrs. Tremenheere arrived in her carriage ; and the two ladies ■went down to the special steamer that was awaiting the party. As they stepped on board, the first person to come forward and greet Sabina was Mr. Fred Foster. Now Mr. Foster, though his sympathies in certain directions were distinctly limited, had a good deal of natural sagacity ; and instantly he saw — from the look of surprise, or more than sur- prise, in Sabina's face — that in planning this artful little strata- gem he had made a mistake. And as quickly as he could he made his apology. " I did not know until last night," he said, " that I had secured an invitation ; for I have been down in Buckinghamshire — my first trip there since — since the little accident. And you have told me so much about these training-ships, Miss Zembra — I thought it would be a good opportunity — I was very glad when I found I was to have the chance of seeing them." Sabina somewhat formally introduced him to Mrs. Tremen- heere ; and he was very humble and civil in getting them seats where the awning would shelter them from the sun ; and there was no suggestion in his manner that he had come hither with any dark design. Moreover, Sabina was not one quick to take offence ; perhaps it was really his interest in the Arethusa and A BETROTHAL. 137 the Chichester that had prompted his coming ; and if so, did not he deserve a little encouragement and friendliness ? He did not in any way whatever seek to thrust his society on the two ladies. But he was within call. And as Mrs. Tremenheere was devoting her whole and rapt attention to the Bisiiop of Sudbury — who was discoursing to her of the iniquity of spending money on or- chids — Fred Foster came gradually to be Sabina's attendant and companion, when no one else claimed her. It was a very pleasant sail down the river: flags flying, a juve- nile brass band playing from time to time in the forward part of the steamer, the lads on the training-ships that they passed giving them a hearty cheer as they went by. " If helping in a good work were always as enjoyable as this, there would be lots at it. I feel very virtuous indeed," he re- marked, cheerfully. " I feel very serious," was her rejoinder, " for they have fixed on me to give away the prizes ; and though I get on very well among the boys when they are by themselves, I don't like having a lot of spectators looking on." " I wish I could be of any assistance to you," he said (and Mrs. Tremenheere was entirely given over to her dear bishop ; he could address himself directly, if modestly and respectfully, to Sa- bina's eyes). "I feel myself such a useless creature in the world whenever I meet you. Ah, I wish you heard my mother speak of you. Miss Zembra. It was Miss Zembra this and Miss Zembra that, all the time I was down. I think she would consent to be ill if she thought you would come and tend her a little. She was talking about a poor woman — an imaginary woman — lying sick and hopeless and friendless; and she said that to such a poor creature, when you went into the room, your face must ap- pear to be the face of an angel. And she hasn't forgotten your promise to go and see her — " Sabina looked up in surprise. " Perhaps there wasn't quite a promise," he said, quickly, " but I fancy that in her case the wish was father to the thought. Oh yes ; and she has settled upon the room that you are to have when yon go down — it is a curious little box, all by itself; but it overlooks the garden, and it is very quiet, and she says you will be so much the better for absolute rest and quiet after your hard work in London." 138 SABIXA ZEMBRA. *' I am sure she is very kind," Sabina was bound to say. ** I hadn't quite such a good time with the Pater," her com- panion continued, with a rueful smile. " No, he was rather rough on me. He did not think much of my invention as likely to increase the sum of human happiness." A glance of inquiry asked him to explain. "Oh, didn't I tell you? Did you not hear of my invention?" he said. *' Well, it was in this way. You see, after you left Brighton, it was pretty slow down there for mc, and I had to do a good deal of steady thinking all by myself. And then it was that an idea occurred to me which will enable me to go down to the latest ages as a benefactor of mankind. You know how awk- ward it is for a lady, when she is riding alone in the country, to mount her horse by herself — supposing she has to get down to tighten the girths — and there is no stile or gate handy. Well, now, my invention is a small ladder of rope that can easily be folded up and fastened to the saddle, and there she is, independ- ent ! She has neither to trust herself to the clumsiness of some country lout nor walk along to the nearest cottage for the loan of a chair; she can get down or up for herself, as she pleases. And, would you believe it, the Pater saw nothing in that idea to add to the gayety of nations; and when I talked to him about Galileo, and Sir Walter Raleigh, and George Stephenson, he used the most reprehensible language. Great discoveries are always treated like that. It isn't until after we are dead that the public find out how much they owe to us." " I am afraid you try the old gentleman's patience a little ?" she said, venturing to look np at him. " But what am I to do ?" he said. " Begin and work some of those farms? I could not make as much out of them as the pres- ent tenants, and they're all skating on the edge of bankruptcy. He thinks I ought to do something, and I want to know what I am to do." " Are there no beggars at your gate ?" Sabina said, gently. " There are," he answered, with cheerful promptitude ; " and what's more, there will be beggars all over the place if farming doesn't become more profitable. But don't say anything against me this time, Miss Zembra. Surely Fm engaged in a good and charitable work at the present moment. Fm actually going down to have luncheon on board the Arethusa.'''' A BETROTHAL. 139 And this sardonic self-depreciation of his pleased SabinA a good deal more than any affected interest or other hypocrisy ; he seemed to be constantly saying to her, " Well, I'm not much of a fellow, but you are very good-natured — you won't be too hard." A right brave sight was that that met their eyes when they reached their destination ; for the yards of the great vessel were manned by near a thousand lads and boys; and loud and long was the cheering that greeted the visitors. And then, when they had got on board and began to look round the ship, it was but natural that Mr. Foster should remain with the small party whom he had accompanied on the way down ; and therefore, when the crowd went below for lunch, he assumed the right of attending upon the two ladies, and very assiduously and cheerfully did he execute the task. Mrs. Tremenheere was rather pleased with the young man. And she was interested in him ; for she had heard of the accident, and of Sabina's care of him subsequently. She thought he was rather good-looking, and distinctly well dressed, and if he carried his frankness of manner to the verge of a certain cool audacity, she reflected that Sabina and he had been thrown so much into each other's society that now he probably regarded her in the light of an old friend. After lunch the visitors went on deck again, and the business of the day began. Very proud, indeed, was Sabina over the smart and seaman-like way in which the lads went through their drill ; and she spied out here and there among them a particular favorite of her own ; and what officer could check the return glances of recognition ? Of course, she wore the silver anchor at her neck. And she was as pleased at the proficiency of these young sailors as if she had trained them all herself; and she was glad that the people clapped their hands when something particularly prompt was done ; and she made bold to ask Mr. Foster if the country should not be grateful to an institution that took the neglected boys of London and turned them into fine, smart, healthy-looking, bright-eyed fellows of whom England might one day be in urgent need. Then came her own share in the programme — the distri- bution of the prizes and medals; and as each blushing recipient came forward — the best swimmer, the most popular boy, the smartest lad aloft, and so forth — Sabina managed to say a kindly word or two to him as she put the j)rize into his hand or pitmed the medal on his breast. And, of course, Mr. Foster was at her 140 SABINA ZEMBKA. side all this time, and perhaps his little underhand jokes rather tended to give her confidence; anyhow, her tinkers did not tremble much as she pinned on the medals ; and her eyes — that could express approval very well, indeed — said as much as her words. "Bravo, Johnny; you've done it again," she said to one of the prize-winners ; and she turned to Fred Foster : " That is one of my own boys." Indeed, Sabina was so highly pleased with the success of the whole of the day's performance that, when they had seen the last of the boat-racing, and were returning to town again on board the steamer, she was in a far more animated mood than Mr. Foster had ever seen before; and she was particularly gracious to him- self. He had been her companion, in a way ; he had stood by her through that public ceremony ; and now tliat it was all over, it was comfortable to sit here in idleness, and listen to his half- facetious comments about men and things. And what should hinder him from taking up that same subject he had been harping on so much of late, and giving it a more immediate and personal application? An early opportunity arrived. Mrs. Tremenheere went below to have some tea, her bishop accompanying her. Sa- bina did not care for any ; she preferred to remain on deck. And then it was that Fred Foster renewed his prayer that Sabina should not give herself so wholly up to these charitable labors of hers — that she should introduce a little amusement into her life. It was a roundabout way of placing an offer of marriage before a young lady ; but it was not an unskilful one. There was no startling suddenness about it. Sabina found herself listening to an argument that seemed to be pervaded by sound common-sense. All work and no play, he said, was just as bad as all play and no work : the first was her case, the second his ; wouldn't it be a bet- ter and wholesomer arrangement if he could share her work, and she take some part in his amusements? It was quite gradually that slie came to understand what he meant — that they should join their two lives so as to arrive at this fair compromise between pleasure and duty ; and she listened with her eyes cast down, and with many rapid fancies running through her head. There was not much sentiment expressed in this proposal ; but then she did not consider herself a sentimental person. Was there not, on the other hand, instead of sentiment, a certain reasonableness and fit- ness ? More than once she had found herself in need of a man's A BETROTHAL. 141 support and guidance, while (for there was no austerity in her nature) a little holiday-making now and again might gladden life up somewhat. She listened in silence, perhaps afraid to under- stand his meaning too clearly ; but presently his speech became plain enough. " You know my mother went to see you at Brighton, Miss Zembra," he said, and his eyes were fixed on the deck, and he spoke in an undertone, for there were many people about. " That was foolish on my part. An ambassador is no good. And even here — when I have the chance — I can only say bits of things. But I have been thinking it over a good deal, and a partnership between us seems reasonable ; and, of course, that partnership could only mean marriage. I ought to tell you what I think of you; but I can't praise you to your face ; besides, Mrs. Tremenheere may be up again any minute. But I think we might have ' a real good time,' as the Yankees say ; and I should be tremendously in- terested in all you are doing, and lend you a hand when there was a chance ; and then, when you are over-fagged and deserve a day's holiday-making, you might leave me to engineer that with a fair amount of confidence. I would live anywhere you liked ; I haven't many friends in London ; and you don't seem to go out much ; when we went pleasuring, it would be in the country. There's Goodwood, now : wouldn't it be fine to get you away from those slums and run down to Brighton for a week, and get hold of a dog-cart and a stout little cob ? There's the Mater, too — wouldn't she welcome you ? And if you want quiet, that's the place ; and shouldn't I be willing to play good boy then ? Sabina — is it to be ' Yes ?' " She looked up for a second, timid and hesitating. "No," he said, quickly, "if you are afraid to say 'Yes' on so short a notice, say nothing. Think over it. Will you ?" She nodded slightly, with her eyes still cast down. And then he said, eagerly, "But this you must promise — to take no one into your confi- dence. Will you promise to make your decision yourself? Oh, I know what will happen if you take advice. Your people at Lancaster Gate hate the sight of me. I don't wonder at it, and I don't resent it. Perhaps I shouldn't myself like having anybody planked in my house like that. If you ask them, they will say no — I am certain of it ; and I don't see that they take such care 142 SABINA ZEMBRA. of you that you should be particular about asking their permission or advice. And as for the Wygrains, they would say the same thing, for they are very fond of you, and they are jealous, and would be angry at any one taking you away from them. But never mind that. AVhen it was all over I should soon be able to pacify them. Now, will you promise me so much — that you will form your judgment entirely by yourself?" She was understood to assent; he could hardly hear her speak. "And that you will make it 'Yes' if you can?" he pleaded. "Sabina, tliat is not too much to ask?" Whether it was or not was of little consequence, for at this moment Mrs. Tremenheere made her appearance on deck ; and the bishop, coming along, would insist on carrying Sabina away to have some tea or something of the kind. Nor did Mr. Foster have another opportunity of speaking pri- vately with her during the rest of the way up the river; but as they were going ashore at Charing Cross, where Sabina was to embark in Mrs. Tremenheere's barouche, and be driven home that way, he managed to say to her, " Will you send me a message to-morrow?" And as they shook hands at the door of the carriage, she said to him — but with averted eyes, " Yes ; to-morrow." It was not a long time in which to form a decision which would affect the whole of her life; and yet it cannot be said that she spent an agonizing night of doubt and dread. For one thing, she was no timid young creature of seventeen, driven out of her wits by the discovery that Charlie had stolen unawares into her heart, confronted by the awfulness of having to break her prom- ise to poor Tommy, and conscious at the same time of certain secret and pronounced flirtations with Frank, that had no doubt awakened certain hopes in his mind, and that it would be remark- ably difficult to explain away. Nor was there any wild passion in the matter. Sabina was twenty-five; she had seen too much of the real trouble of the world to care about indulging in ro- mantic imaginary woes; life had been serious vi'ith her. Perhaps, indeed, a trifle too serious. For it was a cheerful prospect, on the whole, that Fred Foster had opened out before her. She was to have his advice and aid in time of difficulty; she was to have his blithe companionship when they thought fit to snatch a holi- A BETEOTHAL. 143 day. There was a kind of happy-go-lucky self-reliance about him which was in itself assuring; he seemed very certain that the projected partnership would work well ; she did not think it would be so much amiss if on occasion they left overcrowded lanes and alleys for a pleasant drive to Goodwood. Nor had she any fear about forming a decision for herself ; for she had for long been accustomed to manage her own affairs. And well she knew that he had spoken truth in warning her as to the consequences of her seeking counsel either from her own people or from the Wygrams. Neither the one nor the other knew Fred Foster as she did ; they were governed by a violent prejudice against him ; it would not be honest advice she would get, but an expression of ill-will. And was it not a pity to see this young fellow, who had many good qualities about him, left to drift uselessly about the world ? His income, she knew, was not very large ; indeed, he was almost entirely dependent upon his mother; still, it might be better employed than in backing horses. Her income and his together would enable them to live very comfortably in a moderate way, and also permit her to con- tinue her works of charity as well as to have a little amusement now and again, according to his projected plan. His mother would be kind to her, she knew. Altogether, looking at the matter from every possible point of view, it not only looked reasonable and practicable, but also attractive in many ways; and as for Fred Foster himself, surely it was affection that had prompt- ed his offer (for she had no fortune) ; then she liked his frank- ness, and his sardonic self-criticism, and also the quiet audacity •with which he sought to get the best of everything within his reach; and she made no doubt that a man like this, who was rather given to belittling himself, would in the end turn out more trustworthy than a man who was eager to show himself off to the best advantage. And yet it is no light matter for a young woman to sign away the days of her freedom and maidenhood ; and next morning the letter that was to deliver Sabina into slavery — into partnership, he called it — was written many times over before she could con- sider it even passable. And when she came down-stairs to break- fast, she was somewhat self-conscious, and rather avoided meeting Janie's eye. "Are you tired, Sabie dear, after your trip to Greenhithe?" said Mrs. Wygram, noticing that she was rather silent. 144 SABINA ZEMBRA. "No, no, not at all," the girl said, and some slight color came unwittingly into the pale, calm, beautiful face, " Why, it was a holiday — I think we all enjoyed it very much." By-and-by Sabina had to set forth on the business of the day, and this time she was going alone. But before leaving the house she sought out Janie, and took her into the drawing-room, where there was no one but themselves. She had her hand on Janie's arm. " Janie, dear, I have a secret to tell you." Her eyes were smiling, her cheeks rose-tinted ; she was hesitat- ing and timid — and then she suddenly made a step forward and kissed Janie, and put her head close to her head. " Janie, be kind to me — don't be vexed — I — I am engaged to be married." Janie withdrew herself from that embrace, her surprise was so great. " You, Sabie ?" she managed to say. " But— but— to whom ?" " To Mr. Foster," was the answer, given in a kind of doubtful tone. " Oh, Sabie, what have you done !" the girl cried ; and there was anguish in the cry, and her face had grown suddenly pale. "Oh, what have you done, Sabie — when — when there was one man in all the world who really loved you — " Janie had stepped back, white-faced and frightened. " Yes, and you knew it — you knew it — and now you have broken his heart !" "You must not talk such nonsense," said Sabina, somewhat proudly. " And we will not mention the subject again until you have come back to your senses." And therewith she turned and went from the room, leaving poor Janie entirely overcome ; for not only was she aware that an aw- ful calamity had occurred — and to her beloved Sabie — but also she had quarrelled with her nearest and dearest friend. PREPARATIONS. 145 CHAPTER XVII. PREPARATIONS. In these days of strict governance one would hardly expect to find in Kensington High Street a well-conducted young lady vainly endeavoring to repress her sobs, and occasionally and fur- tively wiping a tear-drop away from her wet eyelashes. Yet such was Janie Wygram's condition on this July morning ; and she had not quite recovered her self-control even when she had got up to Netting Hill. But she had grown reckless in this sudden grief tliat had come upon her; and she longed for consolation — which is sometimes to be found in the imparting of news to a faithful friend; and it was with no hesitation at all that she rang the bell of Walter Lindsay's house, and asked if he was at home. He was at home. He was in the studio, she was informed. Was he alone? Only a model with him. But Janie had lived much among painters; she knew that models form the telephonic system of the art world ; and this communication she had to make to Walter Lindsay was not meant for alien ears. So she sent a message to him, and awaited him in the drawing-room. Presently she heard a step, and her heart sunk within her. She knew not how to meet him. And even as he came forward to greet her — a little surprised he was, but certainly pleased by this unexpected visit — she could not help thinking, with a heavy heart, that it was this man, so distinguished-looking, so generous of nat- ure, so courteous and gentle in all ways, that Sabina had thrown over — for whom ? She stole another glance at him, and essayed to speak, but in vain. Then he noticed that she had been crying, and instantly he took her hand again, and his face was full of a quick concern. " What is it? What has happened ?" he said. " I — I came to tell you," said Janie, striving not to give way. *' Sabie — Sabie is engaged to be married." Quito involuntarily he dropped her hand. She did not dare to 7 146 SABIXA ZEMBRA. look at his face. Indeed, her eyes were all wet and blind ; she had enough to do with her own trouble. As for him — They say that a drowning man sees all the back- ward years at a glance. He seemed to see all his future years — stretching on and on — gray, barren, hopeless, solitary. That was but for a moment. " I suppose — it is — to that Mr. Foster?" he said, in a voice that was apparently quite calm. "Oh yes," said Janie, in a half -hysterical fashion. "And I have been afraid of it all along ! They were together always at Brighton — I heard it from mother — and Sabie is so strange — she lets herself be talked over — especially if you ask anything from her — and I suppose that — that contemptible horse-jockey has ap- pealed to her sympathy, and she has taken pity on him." "Janie," Walter Lindsay said, gravely, "don't you think it would be wiser if you tried to make the best of what has hap- pened ?" " But it was you I wanted her to marry, if ever she married any one," Janie broke out afresh. " We all wanted it. If Sa- bie had only done that — " " But what is the use of speaking of it ?" he gently remonstrat- ed — and she was so much occupied with her own sorrow that she did not notice how gray his face had become all this while, how haunted and absent his eyes. " You know that was never pos- sible." "No, I suppose it was not," she said, in a kind of despair. " I suppose it was never possible. You were too well off — too happy ; and — and — and every one making much of you. She used al- ways to talk of you as being so fortunate, having such a great ca- reer before you. It was always work she thought of; she never let sentiment, affection, come in — unless it was about poor people. Yes," added Janie, bitterly, " you were always too well off for Sabie. But if you had been a miserable, insignificant, conceited, contemptible creature, like this horse-jockey — " "Janie," he said, with a touch of authority, "you are acting very foolishly. You are letting your disappointment become a craze; and it will be all the more difficult for you to remain on good terms with Mr. Foster if you nurse this silly anger against him." " On good terms with him ?" she said, scornfully. PEEPARATIONS. 147 " For Sabina's — for Miss Zembra's sake." "But Sabie has gone away fcom me now !" Janie cried. "Sa- ble, who was my friend — " " She is your friend," he said, quietly. " Now, sit down and tell me how all this came about, and how you heard of it." Janie sat down obediently ; but how was she to tell him of the arguments and persuasions that Fred Foster had used in winning over Sabina? Janie knew nothing of all these; but she had formed her own theories and guesses, and it was these that she now placed before him, Walter Lindsay in vain endeavoring to mitigate the malice of her insinuations. And as for Foster's mo- tives in seeking to make Sabina his wife, she could make them out too. Sabina was a very pretty woman ; and, for a year or two, until he got tired of her, she would do him credit when he drove her to a race-course. Then there was her three hundred pounds a year. Sabina, Janie explained, was very frank in dis- cussing her financial position, when charitable projects were be- ing considered ; of course, Mr. Foster must have learned what her allowance from her father was. And would not the three hun- dred pounds be a handy addition to his income, and enable liini to bet a little more on horses and greyhounds? Besides that (Janie contended), he was of course expecting a rich man like Sir Anthony Zembra to give his daughter a handsome marriage-por- tion. Where would that go ? In gambling, of course. And then ? Poor Sabie ! " No, no, no !" he said, " I will not hoar anything of the kind. These are only Cassandra prophecies. Depend upon it, a woman like Miss Zembra could not make such a mistake in her choice; there must be something finer and better than that in him; re- member, she knows so much more about him than you do. And you are going to be reconciled to him — that is what you have got to do ; and both you and I, whatever happens, will remain Miss Zembra's fast friends; and I, for one, I — I wish her a very happy marriage 1" She raised her eyes to his face. There was not much gaycty there, but a serious wistfulness, rather; and his look, which was directed to the window, was thoughtful and absent. And for the life of her — regarding him thus — she could not help repeating what she had said before as to what she had sketched out as Sa- bina's future. 148 SABINA ZEMBRA. "No, I think none of us were anxious that Sabie should marry ; she was so good and perfect and beautiful that we all wished to have a share in her, and to have a little of her kindness and at- tention ; but if she was to marry, it should have been you ; indeed, indeed, that would have reconciled us all to it." " But it is of no use talking of that now," said he, gently put- ting away the subject. " No, dear Miss Janie, what you have to do now is to think of what is best for her. As for me, I don't pity myself overmuch. Surely no harm can come to any one through having known a good woman. Anything more than her friendship was never possible, but I had that for a time, and I will remember it all my life, I hope. Now, give me your prom- ise." "What?" "That you will do everything you can for Miss Zerabra, and, as the first thing, that you will receive her future husband as she would like to have him received." " No, I can't promise that," she said, stubbornly. " And what is the value, then, of your affection for your Sabie, as you call her?" "You ask too rnuch — you ask too much!" she exclaimed; and the tears were like to come into her eyes again; but she rose, as if to go away. And then she said, reUictantly, " Well, I — I know what you say is right. It isn't everybody who is so unselfish as you. Perhaps, some time later on, I will try; and I hope that what you say will come true, and that there is a chance of Sable's being happy. But I should have been happier if she had made another choice." " Remember," he said to her at the door, and as she turned to him for a moment she thought there was something in the grave, sad face she had never seen there before, an inexpressible gentle- ness and tenderness, as it were — "remember," he said, as his last word to her, " that you are Miss Zembra's friend, and may be of great help to her. There are some who would be proud to be in that position." AVell, if Sabina, at this crisis of her life, was to have the good- will and aid and sympathy of her friends, it was more than she was likely to receive from her relatives. Of course, she said to Fred Foster, she must go and tell her father of her engagement. " As for that," remarked Mr. Foster, in his cheerful manner, PREPARATIONS. 149 " if there's going to be any kind of a row, you'd bettor let mc do it. Oh, I don't mind. I have an impression tliat your father isn't very fond of me ; and if he wants to say so, or to say any- thing nasty about our engagement, I am willing to stand the racket. Bless you, it's wonderful how little words can hurt you, if you look at them the right way. They're only air; air can't hurt you. I've seen a woman's lips turn white because of a little remark ad