ON THE BRINK OF A CHASM.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 3317, 8 September 1911, Page 3

ON THE BRINK OF A CHASM.

'(By L. T. Meade, author of “A Sou ! / of Ishmael.” etc.) CHAPTER XLV. “THAT'S MY SECRET '‘That’s right, and as it should be,’’ said old Mrs Ives in. an emphatic voice. “I likes to licaT a young lady stand up , for her good man. And how long is you wedded dear?” “Not long—not quite two months.” “Aye, these; are early days. You haven’t had your first quarrel, has you?” “No; why should I ever have a quarrel?” “Oh, they comes in the best intentifoned families—they’re certain to come. You’ll fret, and you’ll fume, and you’ll say hard things to one another, and you’ll get a little away froun each other, but if you’re sensible, miss, as I take you to be by that glint in your eyes, you’ll come together again;. Things will be all right if you’ll only use commons reuse and bear and forbear. That’s it, my dear young lady, Bear and forbear. That’s what I’d like to say to my darter, who’s lately married, but she- wouldn’t hear it from me.” “And why should slue not bear it from you, for it is excellent advice?” said Barbara. “But you say yo’re a stranger to these parts.” “I come from the next county, miss,” said Mrs Ives. “And you want to say something to S 3?” “I thought I’d call in;, for I’m sort of curious. Seems to me as I know your name.” “I daresay you have heard it before. The Pelhams of Pelham Towers are well kniewn.” “In their own county, no doubt,” said the old woman-, “but not in mine ; at least, not among the cottagers.” “Btu you have heard the name?” “Aye, and that’s my secret.” “You look rather fagged with your walk. You must come down to: the house with me and have something to eat. You don’t look too strong.” “But I am, my dear; I’m as throng as can be. I’ll be seventy my next birthday Come November I’ll have done my throe score years an ten, but dear heart-, their ain’t no failing about me. I’m a bit withered —ripe, I tells the child.” “Oh, you have a child. Is he your own.?” “Not he. He’s a little lad what lives with me. I call ’ini my owin child, for I’m fond of him. Yes, I’ll coane to 'ir.use with you if you like. I’d be glad of a bite and a. sup. Beer is wlrat I takes. I can’t abear tea—it’s washy stuff.” “You shall have a glass of beer and some cold meat. Come this way. ’ “But you were going for a ride on that wicked looking machine,” said the old woman. “Oh, the ride can keep,” returned Barbara. “I’ll come with you and make you comfortable.” As she spoke she turned the bicyslo and walked down, the long avenue by tlie little- woman’s side. “This is a powerful big place,” said Mrs Ives. “It is,” answered Barbara. “Your husband must be a rich man.” “He is, very.” “New, I wonder has you any other place to call your own?” ■ “I believe we have several.” “Dear heart! It seems too much tor a youin-g couple. You’ll be wore out with the responsibility of ’em, my deary. You’d (ha’ done a deal better to pray the prayer- of Agar and be satisfied with what lie asked, the Almighty for.” “I don’t remember what lie wanted at this moment,” replied Barbara with a smile. “Oh, my you ain’t been brought up proper on your Bible. ‘Give me neither poverty ribr riches,’ was Agar’s cry, ‘and feed me w-itli food from convenient for me.’ I often thought bow beautiful was bis words, and when I sees- the rich and great of the earth I says to myself, “Well, they’re not Agars. They .might ha’ been: Agars if they liked and gave' away some of their property to feed the starving, but they didn’t likeit and they ain’t got the blessing. My deary, I’d 1 like well to see that husband oif yours.” “If we meet him, I’ll introduce him to you.” “What’s his name, dear?” “Sir Prichard Pelham.” “Aye, that’s a pretty name; and you’re net married more than two months?” “No.” “I hope- you’ll be happy, Lady Pelham, and you has my best wishes. Oh, is this the house ?” They were tunning a corner of the avenue as the old woman spoke, and now the magnificent old pile, grey with age, appeared in view. Mrs Ives* dropped a succession- of curtseys with great rapidity. “It’s my* way of expressing any feelings,” she said, looking at Barbara. “It’s a magnificent place, and you must be proud of it.” ‘.‘Net -at all. Sometimes one feels both pleasure* and pain in- possessing a place of this sort.” “Oh, that’s because you’re* young to it.” said Mrs Ives. .“You’ll sbon* get accustomed, mark , my words. • Of course, only being wedded two* months, you naturally feel a bit strange. Perhaps afore you was married you was a poor girl like my Clary.” “Clara!” cried Barbara, in astonishment. “Cttara Ives! Do you mfeani to tell mo,” she cried* excitedly, “that

I you- are the- mother of Clara Ives, the

nurse?”

“Same, love, same. She’s my own true darter—a plain gill.”

‘And she’s married to Dr To bat?”

“Yes, my dear; like yours..v, she’s married riches —from poverty she lias come to great wealth.” “I was never exactly poor in that way,” said Barbara, u'lio- did net care to* have her past compared to that of Clara Ives .“But this is interesting!” she cried. “You are not like M:s Tarhot.”

“Oh, something the samp, my dear. I’ve* just them sort of crabbed notions; she was always a crabbed girl, but mortal clever. Weill, I was curicUs to see the place and now I’ve* seen it, and I’m pleased to have- had this talk with yen. Now, your husband, he don’t have your feelings do ho? He’s accustomed to wealth from his birth-, ain’t that so?” “Well, no, that’s the- curious part,’ said Barbara, who found herself confiding in this old woman, and not to the least minding the fact that she was doing so. “Dick, my dear husband, came in for the property unexpectedly.” “Indeed, that do sou-nd romantic. Was it , a sudden death, a shipwreck, a murder, or -anything o-f that sort?” “Oh, iiiiO, no, nothing like that—but it was very sad. Mr Pelham, as he was then-, was very poor, and lie loved me well, but we could not marry. Then. Iris dear ’ little cousin died—such a sweet boy—«nd Dick became Sir Richard Pelham.”

(To be continued.)