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-

-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SALOME'S BURDEN ***

-

-Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

-

-[Illustration: SALOME'S FRESH, SWEET VOICE RANG CLEARLY

- THROUGH THE DIM CHURCH.]

-

-

-

-                           SALOME'S BURDEN

-

-                                 OR

-

-                      THE SHADOW ON THE HOMES

-

-

-                                 BY

-

-                         ELEANORA H. STOOKE

-

-

-                             AUTHOR OF

-               "MOUSIE; OR, COUSIN ROBERT'S TREASURE,"

-          "A LITTLE TOWN MOUSE," "SIR RICHARD'S GRANDSON,"

-                   "LITTLE MAID MARIGOLD." ETC.

-

-

-                     WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS

-

-

-

-                              LONDON

-                    S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO., LTD.

-                              E.C. 4.

-

-

-

-                     Made in Great Britain

-

-

-

-                            CONTENTS.

-

-CHAPTER

-

-    I. SALOME'S TROUBLE

-

-   II. NEW ACQUAINTANCES

-

-  III. THE FOWLERS AT HOME

-

-   IV. "ABIDE WITH ME"

-

-    V. SALOME'S HUMILIATION

-

-   VI. PERFECTLY HAPPY

-

-  VII. AN AFTERNOON'S OUTING

-

- VIII. AN AWFUL THING

-

-   IX. THE BLOW FALLS

-

-    X. MR. FOWLER'S RETURN

-

-   XI. JOSIAH AT HIS WORST

-

-  XII. A BRIEF REPENTANCE

-

- XIII. MRS. FOWLER AND SALOME

-

-  XIV. A STORMY NIGHT

-

-   XV. TROUBLE AT GREYSTONE

-

-  XVI. DAYS OF SICKNESS

-

- XVII. THE SHADOW LIFTED

-

-XVIII. HAPPIER DAYS

-

-

-

-                           Salome's Burden.

-

-CHAPTER I.

-

-Salome's Trouble.

-

-IT was summer time. The day had been oppressively hot; but now, as the

-sun disappeared like a ball of fire beyond the broad Atlantic, a cool

-breeze sprang up, and the inhabitants of the fishing village of Yelton

-came to their cottage doors and gossiped with each other, as they

-enjoyed the fresh evening air.

-

-Yelton was a small, straggling village on the north coast of Cornwall.

-It owned but two houses of importance—the Vicarage, a roomy old

-dwelling, which stood in its own grounds close to the church; and

-"Greystone," a substantial modern residence on a slight eminence

-beyond the village, overlooking the sea. The fishermen's cottages were

-thatched, and picturesque in appearance, having little gardens in front

-where hardy flowers flourished; these gardens were a-bloom with roses

-and carnations on this peaceful June evening, and the showiest of them

-all was one which, though nearer the sea than the others, yet presented

-the neatest appearance of the lot. This was Salome Petherick's garden,

-and Salome was a cripple girl of fourteen, who lived with her father,

-Josiah Petherick, in the cottage at the end of the village, close to

-the sea.

-

-Salome had been lame from birth, and could not walk at all without her

-crutches; with their help, however, she could move about nimbly enough.

-Many a happy hour did she spend in her garden whilst Josiah was out in

-his fishing boat. She was contented then, as she always was when her

-father was on the broad sea, for she felt he was in God's keeping, and

-away from the drink, which, alas! was becoming the curse of his life.

-Josiah Petherick was a brave man physically, but he was a moral coward.

-He would risk his life at any hour—indeed, he had often done so—for

-the sake of a fellow-creature in peril. He was fearless on the sea,

-though it had robbed him of relations and friends in the past, and if

-help was wanted for any dangerous enterprise, he was always the first

-to be called upon; but, nevertheless, there was no greater coward in

-Yelton, than Josiah Petherick on occasions. He had lost his wife, to

-whom he had been much attached, five years previously; and, left alone

-with his only child, poor little lame Salome, who had been anything but

-a congenial companion for him, he had sought amusement for his leisure

-hours at the "Crab and Cockle," as the village inn was called, and

-there had acquired the habit of drinking to excess.

-

-As Salome stood leaning on her crutches at the garden gate on this

-beautiful summer evening, her face wore a very serious expression,

-for she knew her father was at the "Crab and Cockle," and longed for,

-yet dreaded, his return. She was a small, slight girl, brown-haired

-and brown-eyed, with a clear, brunette complexion, which was somewhat

-sun-burnt, for she spent most of her spare time in the open air. Having

-passed the requisite standard, she had left school, and now did all

-the work of her father's cottage unaided, besides attending to her

-flowers; and Josiah Petherick was wont to declare that no man in Yelton

-had a more capable housekeeper. The neighbours marvelled that it was

-so, for they had not thought the lame girl, who had been decidedly

-cross-grained and selfish during her mother's lifetime, would grow up

-so helpful; but Mrs. Petherick's death had wrought a great change in

-Salome, who had promised faithfully "to look after poor father" in the

-years to come. Salome had endeavoured to be as good as her word; but

-her influence over her father had not proved strong enough to keep him

-in the straight path; and many an evening saw him ramble home from the

-"Crab and Cockle" in a condition of helpless intoxication.

-

-"Enjoying the cool breeze, Salome?"

-

-Salome, whose wistful, brown eyes had been turned in the direction

-of a row of cottages at some distance, outside one of which hung a

-sign-board representing on its varnished surface a gigantic crab and

-a minute cockle, started at the sound of a voice addressing her, but

-smiled brightly as she saw Mr. Amyatt, the vicar of the parish. He was

-an elderly man, with iron-grey hair, stooping shoulders, and a thin,

-clean-shaven face.

-

-Ten years previously, he had accepted the living of Yelton, when,

-broken down in health, he had been forced to resign his arduous

-duties in the large manufacturing town where he had laboured long and

-faithfully. And the fisher-folk had grown to love and respect him,

-though he never overlooked their failings or hesitated to reprove their

-faults.

-

-"I am waiting for father," Salome answered frankly. "His supper is

-ready for him, and I am afraid it will spoil if he does not come soon.

-It is a beautiful evening, is it not, sir?"

-

-"Very beautiful. I have been on the beach for the last two hours. How

-well your carnations are doing, Salome. Ah, they always flourish best

-by the sea."

-

-"Please let me give you some," the little girl said eagerly. "Oh, I

-don't mind picking them in the least. I should like you to have them."

-And moving about with agility on her crutches, she gathered some of the

-choicest blooms and presented them to Mr. Amyatt.

-

-"Thank you, Salome. They are lovely. I have none to be compared to them

-in the Vicarage gardens. You are a born gardener. But what is amiss,

-child?"

-

-"Nothing, sir; at least, nothing more than usual. I am anxious about

-father." She paused for a moment, a painful blush spreading over her

-face, then continued, "He spends more time than ever at the 'Crab and

-Cockle;' he's rarely home of an evening now, and when he returns, he's

-sometimes so—so violent! He used not to be that."

-

-The Vicar looked grave and sorry, He pondered the situation in silence

-for a few minutes ere he responded, "You must have patience, Salome;

-and do not reproach him, my dear. Reproaches never do any good, and

-it's worse than useless remonstrating with a man who is not sober."

-

-"But what can I do, sir?" she cried distressfully. "Oh, you cannot

-imagine what a trouble it is to me!"

-

-"I think I can; but you must not lose heart. Prayer and patience work

-wonders. Ask God to show your father his sin in its true light—"

-

-"I have asked Him so often," Salome interposed, "and father gets worse

-instead of better. It's not as though he had an unhappy home. Oh, Mr.

-Amyatt, it's so dreadful for me! I never have a moment's peace of mind

-unless I know father is out fishing. He isn't a bad father, he doesn't

-mean to be unkind; but when he's been drinking, he doesn't mind what he

-says or does."

-

-"Poor child," said the Vicar softly, glancing at her with great

-compassion.

-

-"Do you think, if you spoke to him—" Salome began in a hesitating

-manner.

-

-"I have already done so several times; but though he listened to

-me respectfully, I saw my words made no impression on him. I will,

-however, try to find a favourable opportunity for remonstrating with

-him again. Cheer up, my dear child. You have a very heavy cross to

-bear, but you have not to carry it alone, you know. God will help you,

-if you will let Him."

-

-"Yes," Salome agreed, her face brightening. "I try to remember that,

-but, though indeed I do love God, sometimes He seems so far away."

-

-"He is ever near, Salome. 'The eternal God is thy refuge, and

-underneath are the everlasting arms.' The everlasting arms are of

-unfailing strength and tenderness. See! Is not that your father coming?"

-

-Salome assented, and watched the approaching figure with anxious

-scrutiny.

-

-Josiah Petherick was a tall, strong man, in the prime of life, a

-picture of robust health and strength; he was brown-haired and

-brown-eyed, like his daughter, and his complexion was tanned to a fine

-brick-red hue. He liked the Vicar, though he considered him rather

-too quick in interfering in other people's affairs, so he smiled

-good-humouredly when he found him with Salome at the garden gate.

-

-"Good evening, Petherick," said Mr. Amyatt briskly, his keen eyes

-noticing that, though Josiah had doubtless been drinking, he was very

-far from being intoxicated at present; "you perceive I've been robbing

-your garden," and he held up the carnation blooms.

-

-"'Tis my little maid's garden, sir," was the response, "an' I know well

-you're welcome to take what flowers you please. What a hot day it's

-been, to be sure!"

-

-"Yes; but pleasanter out of doors than in the bar of the 'Crab and

-Cockle,' I expect," Mr. Amyatt answered meaningly.

-

-"'Tis thirsty weather," Josiah said with a smile; "don't you find it

-so, sir?"

-

-"Yes, indeed I do! But I don't take beer to quench my thirst. Beer's

-heating, and makes you hotter and thirstier, too. If you were a

-teetotaler like me, you wouldn't feel the heat quite so much."

-

-"That's as it may be, sir. I can't argue the point; but I hold that a

-glass of good, sound beer don't hurt anyone."

-

-Salome had retired into the cottage, remarking which fact, the Vicar

-seized the opportunity and spoke plainly.

-

-"Look here, Petherick," he said, "if you'd lived my life, you'd be a

-teetotaler like me—at least, I hope you would. The big town in which

-I worked so long owed most of its vice and misery to drink. I was in

-daily contact there with men and women lower than brute beasts on

-account of the drink you uphold—men and women who would sell their own

-and their children's clothes, and allow their offspring to go hungry

-and almost naked, that they might obtain the vile poison for which they

-were bartering their immortal souls. I made up my mind there, that

-drink was our nation's greatest curse; and here, in this quiet village,

-I see no reason to make me change my opinion, and allow that a glass of

-'good, sound beer,' as you call your favourite beverage, doesn't hurt

-anyone. Your one glass leads to more, and the result? You become unlike

-yourself, rough and threatening in your manner, unkind to your little

-daughter whom I am certain you dearly love, and whose chief aim in life

-is to make your home a happy one. I wish you would make up your mind,

-Petherick, never to enter the doors of the 'Crab and Cockle' again."

-

-"Why, sir, to hear you talk one would think I was drunk," Josiah cried,

-aggrievedly.

-

-"You are not that at this minute, I admit, but you have been drinking;

-and if you don't pull up in time, and turn over a new leaf, you'll

-go from bad to worse. Now, I've had my say, and have finished. Your

-supper's waiting, I know, so I'll bid you good evening."

-

-"Good evening, sir," Josiah responded rather shamefacedly, for in his

-heart, he acknowledged every word Mr. Amyatt had spoken to be truth.

-

-He watched the Vicar out of sight, then entered the cottage and sat

-down at the kitchen table to his supper of fried eggs and bacon.

-

-"I hope the eggs are not spoilt," Salome remarked. "But they've been

-cooked nearly half-an-hour, and I'm afraid they're rather hard, for I

-had to keep them warm in the oven."

-

-"Never mind, my dear," he returned. "If they're hard it's my fault, I

-ought to have been here before. By the way, I've brought you a piece of

-news."

-

-"Have you, father?" she said with a smile.

-

-"Yes. Greystone is taken by a rich gentleman from London, and he

-and his family are expected to arrive to-night. The house has been

-furnished in grand style, so I'm told."

-

-"Did you hear the gentleman's name?" Salome asked, looking interested,

-for Greystone had been untenanted for some time. The house had

-been built by a speculative builder, but it had not proved a good

-speculation, as, beautifully situated though it was, it was very

-lonely. "I wonder if Mr. Amyatt knew," she added reflectively, as her

-father shook his head.

-

-"Mr. Amyatt is a very nice man in his way," Josiah remarked, "an'

-I shall never forget how kind he was when your poor mother died,

-but he don't know how to mind his own business. If he likes to be a

-teetotaler, let him be one. If I enjoy my drops o' beer 'long with my

-friends at the 'Crab an' Cockle,' that's naught to do with him." And

-having finished his supper, he pushed away his plate, rose from the

-table, and strode out into the garden.

-

-Salome stayed to wash up the supper things, then went into the garden

-too, but by that time her father was nowhere to be seen. Hurrying to

-the gate, she caught sight of his stalwart figure disappearing in the

-distance, and knew that he was making his way to the inn again. She

-stood leaning against the garden gate, sore at heart, until a chill

-mist from the sea crept upwards and surrounded her; then she retreated

-into the cottage and waited patiently, listening to the ticking of the

-tall, eight-day clock in the kitchen. She knew her father would not

-return till the doors of the inn were shut for the night.

-

-At last she heard the click of the garden gate, and a minute later

-Josiah Petherick stumbled up the path, and, leaving the cottage door

-unlocked, crawled upstairs to his bedroom, muttering to himself as he

-went. Salome waited till everything was still, then she rose, locked

-the door, and swung herself, step by step, by the aid of her crutches,

-up the stairs.

-

-Before going to her own room, she peeped cautiously into her father's,

-which was flooded with moonlight, the blind being up; and a sob broke

-from her lips at the sight which met her eyes. The man had thrown

-himself, fully dressed as he was, upon the bed, and had already sunk

-into a heavy, drunken slumber. Salome stood looking at him, the tears

-running down her cheeks, mingled love and indignation in her aching

-heart. Then the love overcame all else, and she sank on her knees by

-her father's side, and prayed earnestly for him who was unfit to pray

-for himself, whilst the words the Vicar had spoken to her that evening—

-

-   "'The eternal God is thy refuge,

-     and underneath are the everlasting arms.'"

-

-—recurred to her memory, and fell like balm upon her sorrowful spirit.

-And she felt that she did not bear her trouble alone.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER II.

-

-New Acquaintances.

-

-WHEN Josiah Petherick came downstairs to breakfast on the following

-morning, his face wore a furtive, sullen expression, as though he

-expected to be taken to task for his behaviour of the night before.

-On previous occasions, Salome had, by tears and sorrowing words,

-reproached him for his unmanly conduct; but this morning she was

-perfectly composed, and the meal was eaten almost in silence.

-Afterwards, Josiah informed his little daughter that he should probably

-be away all day mackerel fishing, and went off in the direction of the

-beach. There was a fresh breeze blowing, and he looked forward to a

-successful day's work.

-

-Salome moved about the cottage with a very heavy heart. On account of

-her affliction, it took her longer than it would have most people to

-get over her household duties, so that it was past noon before she

-had everything ship-shape, and was at leisure. Then she put on a pink

-sun-bonnet, and went into the garden to look at her flowers, pulling

-weeds here and there, until the sounds of shrill cries made her hurry

-to the garden gate to ascertain what was going on outside.

-

-Salome stood gazing in astonishment at the scene which met her eyes.

-A boy of about six years old was lying on the ground, kicking and

-shrieking with passion, whilst a young woman was bending over him,

-trying to induce him to get up. At a short distance, a pretty little

-girl, apparently about Salome's own age, was looking on, and laughing,

-as though greatly amused.

-

-"Gerald, get up! Do get up, there's a good boy!" implored the young

-woman. "Dear, dear, what a temper you're in. You 're simply ruining

-that nice new sailor's suit of yours, lying there in the dust. Oh,

-Margaret—" and she turned to the little girl—"do try to induce your

-brother to be reasonable."

-

-"I couldn't do that, Miss Conway," was the laughing response, "for

-Gerald never was reasonable yet. Look at him now, his face crimson with

-passion. He's like a mad thing, and deserves to be whipped. He—"

-

-She stopped suddenly, noticing Salome at the garden gate. The boy,

-catching sight of the lame girl at that moment too, abruptly ceased his

-cries, and, as though ashamed of himself, rose to his feet, and stood

-staring at her. He was a fine, handsome little fellow, with dark-blue

-eyes and fair curly hair; but, as Salome afterwards learnt, he was a

-spoilt child, and as disagreeable as spoilt children always are. His

-sister, who was like him in appearance, was a bright-looking little

-girl; and her laughing face softened into sympathy as her eyes rested

-on Salome's crutches.

-

-"I am afraid my brother's naughty temper has shocked you," she said.

-"He likes to have his own way, and wanted to spend a longer time on the

-beach instead of going home. We have been on the beach all the morning

-with Miss Conway—this lady, who is our governess. What a pretty garden

-you have. We noticed it as we passed just now—didn't we, Miss Conway?"

-

-Miss Conway assented, smiling very kindly at Salome.

-

-"I had no idea flowers would flourish so close to the sea," she

-remarked. "It is to be hoped the Greystone gardens will prove equally

-productive."

-

-"Oh, are you—do you live at Greystone?" Salome questioned, much

-interested in the strangers.

-

-"Yes," nodded the little girl, "we arrived last night. My father, Mr.

-Fowler, has taken the house on a three years' lease. My mother is very

-delicate; she has been very ill, and the doctors say the north coast of

-Cornwall will suit her."

-

-"Let me see your garden," said the little boy imperatively, coming

-close to the gate, and peering between the bars.

-

-"You should say 'please,' Gerald," his governess reminded him

-reprovingly.

-

-Salome invited them all to enter, and when they had admired the

-flowers, Miss Conway asked if she might rest a few minutes on the

-seat under the porch. She was a delicate-looking young woman, and

-the tussle she had had with her unruly pupil had upset her. Gerald,

-however, was quite contented now, watching a bee labouring from flower

-to flower with its load of honey. His sister, Margaret, sat down by the

-governess' side, whilst Salome, leaning on her crutches, watched them

-shyly. There was a little flush of excitement on her cheeks, for it was

-an unusual experience for her to converse with strangers.

-

-"Who lives here with you, my dear?" Miss Conway inquired.

-

-"Only my father, miss. Mother died five years ago. Father's a

-fisherman; his name's Josiah Petherick, and I'm called Salome."

-

-"What a quaint, pretty name," Margaret exclaimed. "And you have you no

-sisters or brothers?"

-

-Salome shook her head.

-

-"Have you—have you always been lame?" Miss Conway questioned.

-

-"Yes, miss, always. I can't get about without my crutches."

-

-"How dreadful!" Margaret cried with ready sympathy. "Oh, I am, sorry

-for you."

-

-Salome looked gratefully at the speaker, and smiled as she made answer,

-"You see, miss, I'm accustomed to being a cripple. Often and often I've

-wished my legs were straight and strong like other people's, but as

-they are not, I must just make the best of them. Mr. Amyatt says—"

-

-"Who is Mr. Amyatt?" Miss Conway interposed.

-

-"Our Vicar, miss. He lives in that big house near the church. He's such

-a good, kind gentleman, you'll be sure to like him."

-

-"Well, what does he say?" Miss Conway inquired with a smile.

-

-"That God made me lame for some good purpose. I think myself He did it

-because I should stay at home, and keep house for father," Salome said

-simply. "Perhaps if I was able to get about like other people, I might

-neglect father, and be tempted—"

-

-She had been about to say "be tempted to leave him," but had stopped

-suddenly, remembering that the strangers knew nothing of her father;

-and she earnestly hoped they would never understand how miserable he

-made her at times.

-

-"As it is," she proceeded, "I do all the housework—I can take as long

-as I please about it, you know—and I attend to my flowers besides."

-

-"And have you always lived here?" Margaret asked.

-

-"Yes, miss, I was born in this cottage."

-

-"Doesn't the sea make you mournful in the winter?"

-

-"Oh, no! It's grand then, sometimes. The waves look like great

-mountains of foam. This is a very wild coast."

-

-"So I have heard," Miss Conway replied. "I should like to see a storm,

-if no ship was in danger. I suppose you never saw a wreck?"

-

-"Yes," said Salome with a shudder; "only last autumn a coasting vessel

-ran ashore on the rocks, and the crew was lost. You will notice in the

-churchyard many graves of people who have been drowned."

-

-"We have always lived in London until now," Margaret explained, "so

-we shall find life in the country a great change. I don't know that I

-shall dislike it during the summer, and Gerald is simply delighted with

-the beach; I expect he'll insist on going there every day, so you'll

-often see us passing here. Gerald generally gets his own way, doesn't

-he, Miss Conway?"

-

-"Yes," the governess admitted gravely, looking rather serious.

-

-"My mother spoils him," Margaret continued. "Oh, you needn't look at me

-like that, Miss Conway, for you know it's true."

-

-At that moment Gerald ran up to them. He was in high good-humour, for

-he was charmed with Salome's garden; but his face clouded immediately

-when Miss Conway remarked it was time for them to go home.

-

-"No, no," he pouted, "don't go yet, Miss Conway. Stay a little longer."

-

-"But if we do, we shall be late for luncheon, and then your father will

-be displeased."

-

-"You shall have this rose to take home with you," Salome said, in order

-to propitiate the child, and prevent a disturbance. She gathered, as

-she spoke, a beautiful pink moss-rose, and offered it to him. "Wouldn't

-you like to give it to your mother?" she suggested, as he accepted her

-gift with evident pleasure.

-

-"No," Gerald rejoined, "I shan't give it to mother, I shall keep it for

-myself."

-

-His sister laughed at this selfish speech; but the governess' face

-saddened as she took her younger pupil by the hand, and after a kind

-good-bye to Salome, led him away.

-

-"May I come and see you again?" Margaret asked as she lingered at the

-gate.

-

-"Oh, please do, miss," was the eager reply. "I should be so glad if you

-would. I really am very lonely sometimes."

-

-"So am I," the other little girl confessed with a sigh; and for the

-first time Salome noticed a look of discontent on her pretty face. The

-expression was gone in a minute, however, and with a smiling farewell

-Margaret Fowler hastened after her governess and Gerald.

-

-These new acquaintances gave Salome plenty of food for thought; and

-when her father returned in the afternoon she greeted him cheerfully,

-and told him that the family had arrived at Greystone. He was in good

-spirits, having caught a nice lot of mackerel; and acting on his

-daughter's suggestion, he selected some of the finest, and started for

-Greystone to see if he could not sell them there. Meanwhile, Salome

-laid the tea cloth, and got the kettle boiling. In the course of

-half-an-hour her father returned, having sold his fish.

-

-"I saw the cook," he informed Salome, "and she said any time I have

-choice fish to sell, she can do business with me. It seems she manages

-everything in the kitchen; she told me the mistress doesn't know what

-there's to be for dinner till it's brought to table."

-

-"How strange!" Salome cried. "But I forgot, Mrs. Fowler has been ill,

-so perhaps she is too great an invalid to attend to anything herself."

-

-"I don't know about that, I'm sure. It's likely to be better for us,

-Salome, now Greystone is occupied. Why, you're quite a business woman,

-my dear! I should never have thought of taking those mackerel up there,

-but for you. I should have let Sam Putt have the lot, as usual."

-

-Sam Putt was the owner of a pony and cart. He lived in the village,

-and often purchased fish, which he conveyed to a neighbouring town for

-sale, hawking it from door to door.

-

-Josiah continued to converse amicably during tea-time; and afterwards

-he went into the garden, and turned up a patch of ground in readiness

-for the reception of winter greens. To Salome's intense relief, he did

-not go to the "Crab and Cockle" that evening; but, instead, as soon as

-he had finished his gardening, suggested taking her for a sail.

-

-"Oh, father, how delightful!" she cried, her face flushing with

-pleasure. "Oh, I haven't been on the water for weeks! It will be such a

-treat!"

-

-So father and daughter spent the long summer evening on the sea, much

-to the contentment of both; and the sun had set before they returned to

-Yelton.

-

-Salome chatted merrily as, their boat safely moored, she followed her

-father up the shingly beach; but on reaching their garden gate, Josiah

-paused, glancing towards the swinging sign-board outside the "Crab and

-Cockle," still visible in the gathering dusk.

-

-In a moment, Salome read his thoughts, and cried involuntarily, "Oh,

-father, not to-night! Not to-night!"

-

-"What do you mean, child?" he asked with a decided show of displeasure

-in face and tone.

-

-"I mean, I want you to stay at home with me to-night, father! Do, dear

-father, to please me! I—I can't bear to see you as—as you are sometimes

-when you come back from the 'Crab and Cockle'! Oh, father, if you would

-only give up the drink how happy we should be!"

-

-"How foolishly you talk!" he cried irritably. "It is not seemly for a

-child to dictate to her father!"

-

-"Oh, father, I mean no harm! You know I love you dearly! It's supper

-time. Aren't you hungry? I'm sure I am."

-

-Josiah admitted he was, too, and followed his daughter into the

-cottage. He did not leave it again that night, for his good angel

-proved too strong for him; and when he kissed his little daughter at

-bedtime, his manner was unusually gentle, whilst the words he uttered

-sent her to rest with a very happy heart: "God bless you, child! I

-don't know what I should be but for you, Salome. You grow more like

-your dear mother every day you live."

-

-

-

-CHAPTER III.

-

-The Fowlers at Home.

-

-"PULL down the blind, Margaret. The sun is streaming right into my

-eyes."

-

-The speaker, Mrs. Fowler, was lying on a sofa in the handsomely

-furnished drawing-room at Greystone. She was a young-looking,

-very pretty woman, with fair hair and blue eyes; and she was most

-fashionably dressed. One would have thought her possessed of everything

-that heart could desire, but the lines of her face were discontented

-ones, and the tone of her voice was decidedly fretful. The only

-occupant of the room besides herself was her little daughter, who put

-down the book she had been reading, and going to the window, obediently

-lowered the blind.

-

-"There," she said, "that's better, isn't it? I won't pull the blind

-down altogether, mother, for that would keep out the fresh air, and you

-know the doctors said the sea breeze would be your best tonic. I do

-think this is a lovely place, don't you?"

-

-Mrs. Fowler agreed indifferently; and her little daughter continued,

-"Such a beautiful view we have right over the sea. And doesn't the

-village look pretty, and the old grey church? There are such a quantity

-of jackdaws in the tower. Mother, do you know, from my bedroom window,

-I can see the cottage where that poor lame girl lives? When you are

-strong enough, I'll take you to visit Salome."

-

-"I don't want to see her, Margaret. I don't like looking at deformed

-people, and I cannot think why you should feel so much interest in this

-Salome."

-

-"I have seen her several times now, and I like her so much. The Vicar

-has told me a lot about her, too. She lost her mother five years ago,

-poor girl!"

-

-Margaret paused, and glanced a trifle wistfully at the daintily-clad

-figure on the sofa, wondering if she was lame like Salome, whether

-her mother would cease to care for her altogether. Mrs. Fowler never

-evinced much affection for her daughter, whatever her feelings may have

-been, though she was pleased that she was growing up a pretty little

-girl, and took an interest in dressing her becomingly. But Gerald was

-her favourite of the two children, and upon him she lavished most of

-her love. She was fond of her husband, though she stood in awe of him.

-He was kind and attentive to her, but often grew impatient at the

-persistent way in which she indulged their little son.

-

-Mrs. Fowler had led a gay life in London for many years; but latterly,

-she had been in very indifferent health, and after an attack of severe

-illness, which had left her nerves in a shattered condition, Mr. Fowler

-had insisted on shutting up their house in town, and settling in the

-country. He had accordingly taken Greystone, and dismissing their old

-servants had engaged new ones, who received their orders from himself

-instead of from their mistress.

-

-During the first few weeks of her residence at Greystone, Mrs. Fowler

-had indeed been too ill to superintend the household; and though

-she was now better, she was far from strong, and was glad not to be

-troubled about anything. Margaret was very sorry for her mother, whose

-sufferings were apparent to everyone, for she started at the slightest

-unexpected sound, and the least worry brought on the most distressing

-headache.

-

-"Would you like me to read to you, mother?" the little girl inquired.

-

-"No, thank you, Margaret. What is the time?"

-

-"Half-past three."

-

-"Where is Gerald?"

-

-"Miss Conway has taken him down to the beach; she promised him this

-morning he should go, if he was good and attentive during lesson time.

-He likes talking to the fishermen."

-

-"Dear child! I hope they will not teach him to use bad language, though

-I expect they are a rough set."

-

-"I don't think so, mother. Mr. Amyatt says they are mostly sober,

-God-fearing men; of course, there are exceptions—Salome Petherick's

-father, for instance, often gets intoxicated, and it is a terrible

-trouble to her."

-

-"Does she complain of him to you?" Mrs. Fowler queried.

-

-"Oh, no, mother! It was Mr. Amyatt who told me. We were talking of

-Salome, and he said her father was very violent at times, quite cruel

-to her, in fact. Do you know, I think father's right, and that it's

-best to have nothing whatever to do with drink."

-

-Lately, since the Fowlers had left London, Mr. Fowler had laid down a

-rule that no intoxicating liquors of any description were to be brought

-into the house. He had become a teetotaler himself, for very good

-reasons, and had insisted on the members of his household following

-suit. No one had objected to this except Mrs. Fowler, and now she

-answered her little daughter in a tone of irritability.

-

-"Don't talk nonsense, child! I believe a glass of wine would do me good

-at this minute, and steady my nerves, only your father won't allow it!

-I haven't patience to speak of this new fad of his without getting

-cross. There, don't look at me so reproachfully. Of course what your

-father does is right in your eyes! Here, feel my pulse, child, and

-you'll know what a wreck I am!"

-

-Margaret complied, and laid her cool fingers on her mother's wrist. The

-pulse was weak and fluttering, and the little girl's heart filled with

-sympathy.

-

-"Poor mother," she said tenderly, kissing Mrs. Fowler's flushed cheek,

-and noticing her eyes were full of tears. "Shall I ring and order tea?

-It's rather early, but no doubt a nice cup of tea would do you good."

-

-"No, no! It's much too hot for tea!" And Mrs. Fowler made a gesture

-indicative of distaste, then broke into a flood of tears.

-

-Margaret soothed her mother as best she could; and presently, much to

-her satisfaction, the invalid grew composed and fell asleep. She was

-subject to these hysterical outbursts, and as Margaret bent anxiously

-over her, she noted how thin she had become, how hectic was the flush

-on her cheeks, and how dark-rimmed were her eyes.

-

-"She does indeed look very ill," the little girl thought sadly. "I

-wonder if she is right, and that some wine would do her good, and make

-her stronger; if so, it seems hard she should not have it. I'll go and

-speak to father at once."

-

-To think was to act with Margaret. She stole noiselessly out of the

-drawing-room, and went in search of her father. He was not in the

-house, but a servant informed her he was in the garden, and there she

-found him, reclining in a swing-chair, beneath the shade of a lilac

-tree. He threw aside the magazine he was reading as she approached, and

-greeted her with a welcoming smile.

-

-Mr. Fowler was a tall, dark man, several years older than his wife;

-his face was a strong one, and determined in expression, but his keen,

-deep-set eyes were wont to look kindly, and he certainly had the

-appearance of a person to be trusted.

-

-"Is anything wrong, my dear?" he inquired quickly, noticing that she

-looked depressed. "Where is your mother?"

-

-"Asleep in the drawing-room, father. She has had one of her crying fits

-again, and that exhausted her, I think. She seems very poorly, and

-low-spirited, doesn't she?"

-

-"Yes; but she is better—decidedly better than she was a few weeks ago.

-I have every hope that, ere many months have passed, she will be quite

-well again. There is no cause for you to look so anxious, child."

-

-"But she is so weak and nervous!" Margaret cried distressfully. "I was

-wondering if she had some wine—"

-

-The little girl paused, startled by the look of anger which flashed

-across her father's face. He made a movement as though to rise from the

-chair, then changed his intention, and curtly bade her finish what she

-had been about to say.

-

-"It was only that I was wondering if she had some wine, whether it

-might not do her good," Margaret proceeded timidly. "She told me

-herself she thought it would, and if so—you know, father, you used to

-take wine yourself, and—"

-

-"Did your mother send you to me on this mission?" he interrupted

-sternly.

-

-"No. I came of my own accord."

-

-"I am glad to hear that. But I cannot give my consent to your mother's

-taking wine, or stimulants of any kind; they would be harmful for her,

-the doctors agree upon that point. You have reminded me that I once

-drank wine myself, Margaret. I bitterly regret ever having done so."

-

-"Why?" she asked wonderingly, impressed by the solemnity of his tone.

-Then her thoughts flew to Salome Petherick's father, and she cried,

-"But, father, you never drank too much!"

-

-"I was never tempted to drink to excess, for I had no craving for

-stimulants. It is small credit to me that I was always a sober man;

-but people are differently constituted, and my example may have

-caused others to contract habits of intemperance. The Vicar here is a

-teetotaler from principle. He tells me that the force of example is

-stronger than any amount of preaching. Lately, I have had cause to

-consider this matter very seriously, and I am determined that never,

-with my permission, shall any intoxicating liquors be brought inside

-my doors. The servants understand this: I should instantly dismiss

-one who set my rule at defiance. As to your mother—" he paused a

-moment in hesitation, the expression of his countenance troubled, then

-continued—"she is weak, and still very far from well, but, in her heart

-of hearts, she knows I am right. Do not tell her you have broached this

-subject to me. Come, let us go and see if she is still asleep."

-

-"You are not angry with me, father?" Margaret asked, as she followed

-him into the house.

-

-"No, no! I am not, indeed!"

-

-Mrs. Fowler awoke with a start as her husband and little daughter

-entered the drawing-room. Mr. Fowler immediately rang for tea, and when

-it was brought, Margaret poured it out. At first, Mrs. Fowler would not

-touch it, but finally, to please the others, drank a cupful, and felt

-refreshed. A few minutes later, Mr. Amyatt was shown into the room,

-and she brightened up and grew quite animated. Margaret and her father

-exchanged pleased glances, delighted at the interest the invalid was

-evincing in the conversation.

-

-"I think I shall soon be well enough to go to church on Sundays," Mrs.

-Fowler informed the Vicar. "My husband tells me you have a very good

-choir."

-

-"Yes, that is so," Mr. Amyatt replied. "We are decidedly primitive in

-our ways at Yelton, and have several women in our choir, notably Salome

-Petherick, the lame girl with whom your daughter has already become

-acquainted."

-

-"Oh, yes. Margaret has been telling me about her. She sings in the

-choir, does she?"

-

-"Yes. She has a beautiful voice, as clear and fresh as a bird's! I

-train the choir myself, for our organist comes from N—, a neighbouring

-town, several miles distant."

-

-"By the way," said Mrs. Fowler with a smiling glance at Margaret, "my

-little girl is very desirous of learning to play the organ, and her

-governess would teach her, if you would allow her to practise on the

-organ in the church. Would there be any objection to that plan, Mr.

-Amyatt?"

-

-"None whatever," was the prompt reply.

-

-"Oh, thank you!" Margaret cried delightedly.

-

-"You will have to employ Gerald to blow for you," Mr. Fowler remarked

-with a smile.

-

-"I am sure he will not do that!" the little girl exclaimed. "He is far

-too disobliging."

-

-"Margaret, how hard you are on your brother," Mrs. Fowler said

-reproachfully.

-

-"Am I? I don't mean to be. Oh, here he is!"

-

-Gerald came into the room with his hat on his head, but meeting his

-father's eyes, removed it instantly. After he had shaken hands with the

-Vicar, his mother called him to her, pushed back his fair locks from

-his forehead, and made him sit by her side on the sofa whilst she plied

-him with sweet cakes. He was her darling, and she indulged him to his

-bent. When the governess entered the room, having removed her hat and

-gloves, there were no sweet cakes left. Mr. Fowler rang the bell for

-more, and upon the parlour-maid bringing a fresh supply, declined to

-allow Gerald to partake of them, at which the spoilt boy pouted and

-sulked, and his mother threw reproachful glances at her husband.

-

-Mr. Amyatt watched the scene in silence, wondering how anyone could

-allow affection to overcome judgment, as Mrs. Fowler had evidently

-done, as far as her little son was concerned, and marvelling that Mr.

-Fowler did not order the disagreeable child out of the room. When the

-Vicar rose to go, his host accompanied him as far as the garden gate,

-and they stood there talking some while before, at last, the Vicar said

-good-bye, and started down the hill towards the village.

-

-The Fowlers had now been several weeks in residence at Greystone,

-but, up to the present, Mr. Amyatt had been their only visitor. Mrs.

-Fowler had not been outside the grounds surrounding the house yet,

-but talked of going down to the beach the first day she felt strong

-enough to attempt the walk. The children, however, had made several

-acquaintances among the fisher-folk, and a great liking had sprung

-up between Margaret and Salome Petherick, for, though one was a rich

-man's daughter and the other only a poor fisherman's child, they found

-they had much in common, and, wide apart though they were to outward

-appearances, they bade fair to become real friends.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER IV.

-

-"Abide with Me."

-

-THE Fowlers had been six weeks at Greystone, when, one evening towards

-the end of July, Mrs. Fowler, who was daily improving in health,

-accompanied Margaret and Miss Conway to the church, and wandered about

-the ancient building, reading the inscriptions on the monuments, whilst

-her little daughter had her music lesson. By-and-by she strolled into

-the graveyard, and, seating herself on the low wall which surrounded

-it, gazed far out over the blue expanse of ocean, which was dotted with

-fishing boats and larger crafts, on this calm summer evening.

-

-The churchyard at Yelton was beautifully situated, commanding a view of

-the whole village straggling nearly down to the beach, whilst on the

-eminence beyond the church was Greystone, against a background of green

-foliage.

-

-"Everything is very lovely," Mrs. Fowler said to herself, "and the air

-is certainly most invigorating. I feel almost well to-night. Who comes

-here? Why, this must be Salome Petherick!"

-

-It was the lame girl who had entered the churchyard, and was now

-approaching the spot where Mrs. Fowler sat. She paused at the sight of

-the figure on the wall, and a look of admiration stole into her soft,

-brown eyes. She had never seen such a pretty lady before, or anyone so

-daintily and becomingly dressed.

-

-Mrs. Fowler, who had shrunk with the nervous unreasonableness of a sick

-person from being brought into contact with the cripple girl, now that

-she was actually face to face with her, was interested and sympathetic

-at once. She smiled at Salome and addressed her cordially.

-

-"I think you must be Salome Petherick?" she said. "Yes, I am sure you

-are!"

-

-"Yes, ma'am," was the reply, accompanied by a shy glance of pleasure.

-

-"My little girl has spoken of you so often that I seem to know you

-quite well," Mrs. Fowler remarked. "Come and sit down on the wall by my

-side, I want to talk to you."

-

-Then as Salome complied willingly, she continued, "Does it not tire

-you to climb here every evening, as they tell me you do, to listen to

-the organ? The church is a good step from where you live. That is your

-home, is it not?" and she indicated the cottage nearest to the sea.

-

-"Yes," Salome assented, "it does tire me a little to come up the hill,

-but I love to hear music. After Miss Margaret has had her organ lesson,

-Miss Conway generally plays something herself."

-

-"Does she? Then I hope she will do so to-night. But my little daughter

-is still at the organ, so we will remain where we are until she has

-finished. Meanwhile we will talk. They tell me you live with your

-father, and that he is often away fishing. You must lead a lonely life."

-

-"Yes, ma'am, indeed it is very lonely sometimes," Salome acknowledged,

-"but I don't mind that much. I have plenty to do, keeping the cottage

-clean and tidy, and preparing father's meals, mending his clothes, and

-seeing to the flowers in the garden."

-

-"How busy you must be. And you have lost your mother, poor child."

-

-Salome pointed to a green mound at a little distance, whilst her brown

-eyes filled with tears.

-

-"She was such a good mother," she said softly, "oh, such a very good

-mother! And I was such a fretful, tiresome child. I used to grieve her

-so often, and I can't bear to think of it now."

-

-She paused, but, encouraged by the sympathy on her companion's face,

-she continued, "She used to be so patient with me when I was naughty

-and grumbled because I was not able to run about and play like other

-children. And, until she lay dying, I never thought how sorry I must

-have made her, and what a selfish girl I'd been. Then, I would have

-given anything if I'd been different, but it was too late." And the

-repentant tears streamed down Salome's cheeks.

-

-"Don't grieve," said Mrs. Fowler, a little huskily, for she was much

-touched at the other's evident remorse.

-

-"I am sure Miss Margaret never treated you, ma'am, as I used to treat

-my mother!" Salome exclaimed.

-

-Mrs. Fowler was silent as she acknowledged to herself that Margaret

-had always been patient and considerate when she had been an exacting

-invalid.

-

-"I suppose your father is out in his fishing boat?" she asked by way of

-changing the conversation.

-

-"No, ma'am," Salome replied, the look of grief deepening on her face.

-

-"Let us go into the church and hear Miss Conway play," Mrs. Fowler

-said, rising as she spoke. "I hear Margaret's lesson is at an end. Ah,

-here comes the Vicar. How do you do, Mr. Amyatt?"

-

-"I am glad to see you are better, Mrs. Fowler," the Vicar exclaimed.

-"What, you here, Salome? Don't go away; I want Mrs. Fowler to hear you

-sing."

-

-Salome smiled, and blushed. She followed the others into the church

-and seated herself in a pew near the door, whilst the Vicar pointed

-out beauties in the architecture of the building to his companion,

-which she had failed to notice. Miss Conway was at the organ, playing

-"The Heavens are telling," and when the last notes died away the Vicar

-beckoned to Salome, who swung herself up the aisle on her crutches,

-and, at his request, consented to sing.

-

-"I will play the accompaniment," Miss Conway said, smiling

-encouragingly at the lame girl, who felt a little shy at being called

-upon to sing alone. "What shall it be?" she inquired.

-

-"Whatever you please, miss," Salome answered.

-

-"Oh, no! You must choose," the Vicar declared decidedly.

-

-"Then I will sing 'Abide with Me.'"

-

-Mrs. Fowler and Margaret considerately withdrew to a side seat so that

-the sight of them should not embarrass the singer, and Mr. Amyatt

-followed them. Salome stood a little behind Miss Conway, who softly

-played the accompaniment of the hymn:

-

-   "Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;

-    The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide;

-    When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,

-    Help of the helpless, O abide with me."

-

-Salome's fresh, sweet voice rang clearly through the dim church, and

-its tender tones touched the hearts of her audience. She was very fond

-of "Abide with Me," for it had been her mother's favourite hymn, and

-to-night she sang her best.

-

-   "Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;

-    In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me."

-

-The beautiful voice died lingeringly away, and for a few minutes there

-was a complete silence. Then Mrs. Fowler rose, and coming eagerly

-forward, took Salome by the hand, whilst she thanked her for giving her

-such a "rare treat" as she called it.

-

-Margaret was delighted to see what a favourable impression her lame

-friend had evidently made upon her mother, and great was her surprise

-when, on their all adjourning to the churchyard, Mrs. Fowler asked

-Salome to come and see them at Greystone.

-

-"I think you would be able to get as far as that, don't you?" she said

-with a winning smile. "I should like you to come and sing to me. Will

-you, one evening?"

-

-"Oh, yes," Salome replied. She had never been inside the doors of

-Greystone in her life, though she had often desired to see what the

-house was like, having been told it was a fine place.

-

-"Then that is settled. I shall expect you."

-

-Mrs. Fowler nodded and turned away, followed by Miss Conway, and

-Margaret who looked back to wave her hand in farewell as she

-disappeared through the churchyard gate. The Vicar accompanied them

-thus far, then turned back to speak a few words to Salome. The village

-lad who had been employed to blow the organ had taken a short cut

-homewards over the low wall.

-

-"You sang remarkably well to-night," Mr. Amyatt said, "I felt quite

-proud of my pupil. You showed excellent taste, too, in the hymn you

-chose. It was most suitable for the occasion. I wonder if you know the

-circumstances under which that hymn came to be written?"

-

-"No," Salome rejoined, shaking her head, "I don't know, sir."

-

-"Then I will tell you. It was composed more than fifty years ago

-by a sick clergyman of the name of Lyte, at a little fishing town

-called Brixham, in South Devon. He had become so seriously ill that

-the doctors had ordered him abroad for his health's sake, and, after

-service on the Sunday evening, prior to his leaving England, he went

-down to the sea-shore, sad at heart, for he was convinced that he

-had spoken to his parishioners, who were very dear to him, for the

-last time. He was sorrowful and low-spirited, but, by-and-by, the

-remembrance that his Saviour was ever near to help and sustain him

-brought him consolation. After watching the sunset, he went home, and

-immediately wrote the beautiful hymn you sang to-night."

-

-Salome had listened with deep interest, and she exclaimed earnestly:

-"Oh, Mr. Amyatt, I am glad you have told me this. I shall love 'Abide

-with Me' better than ever now."

-

-The Vicar smiled, then pointed towards the sea, over which a soft

-summer mist was creeping.

-

-"It is time for you to go home," he reminded her. "Where is your father

-this evening?"

-

-"At the 'Crab and Cockle,' sir."

-

-He shook his head sadly, but refrained from questioning her further.

-He saw she was thinner than she had been a few months previously, and

-wondered if she was sufficiently well fed, or if Josiah Petherick

-expended the money he should have spent on his home, on the friends he

-met at the inn. As he watched the little girl swinging herself slowly

-down the hill by the aid of her crutches, he felt very grieved and

-troubled on her account.

-

-"What a curse this drink is!" he thought. "And it's a curse that creeps

-in everywhere, too."

-

-In the village that afternoon, he had been told that Mr. Fowler had

-summarily dismissed a groom who had been discovered with a bottle of

-beer in the stable, and he had listened to various comments upon the

-strict notions of the master of Greystone. Most of the villagers were

-inclined to think that the man's fault in disobeying his master's rule

-that no intoxicating liquor should be brought on the premises might

-have been overlooked, as it was his first offence, whilst some few

-argued that Mr. Fowler had acted rightly.

-

-As Salome passed the "Crab and Cockle" on her way home, she heard

-sounds of hilarity within, and recognised her father's voice singing

-a rollicking sea song. She sighed, remembering how, during his wife's

-lifetime, Josiah had been a member of the church choir; it appeared

-unseemly to her that a voice which once had been raised to the praise

-and glory of God should lend itself to the entertainment of a set

-of half-drunken men in the bar of a public-house. As she paused,

-involuntarily listening, a whiff of foul air, laden with the mingled

-odour of smoke and beer, was wafted before her nostrils from the open

-doorway, and she moved on with a sickening sense of shame and disgust,

-her heart heavy as lead, her eyes smarting with tears. Oh, hers was a

-hard life, she thought bitterly.

-

-Arrived at home, she laid a frugal supper of bread and cheese, and soon

-afterwards her father reeled up the garden path and into the kitchen.

-Sitting down at the table, he helped himself to bread and cheese in

-silence, and commenced eating, whilst his little daughter took her

-accustomed place opposite to him.

-

-"Where've you been?" he questioned. "I saw you pass the inn."

-

-She told him how she had spent the evening, explaining that she had

-sung at the Vicar's request, and that Mrs. Fowler had invited her to

-Greystone.

-

-"I won't let you go there!" he cried. "I hate those new people! What

-did Mr. Fowler do yesterday, but dismiss as honest a chap as ever

-lived, at a moment's notice, just because he'd got a bottle o' beer in

-the stable! An' the man wasn't drunk either! No, you shan't go nigh

-folks as treats their servants like that."

-

-"Oh, father!" Salome exclaimed, disappointedly. She was wise enough,

-however, not to pursue the subject. After a brief silence, she asked,

-with some timidity, "Father, have you any money? Because, when Silas

-Moyle left the bread this afternoon, he said he couldn't supply us with

-any more unless you paid him what you owe."

-

-Silas Moyle was the one baker of the place, and the owner of the

-village shop, in which his wife served. Josiah Petherick had formerly

-paid ready money for everything, but latterly he had been spending at

-the "Crab and Cockle" what should have gone into Silas Moyle's pocket.

-This was an additional trouble to Salome, but her father did not appear

-to care. He was enraged, though, when he heard what the baker had

-said, and, as his creditor was not present to bear the brunt of his

-indignation, Salome had to stand it instead. She turned white when he

-swore at her, and sat perfectly still whilst he abused her roundly, but

-when he called her extravagant she began to protest.

-

-"Father, that's not fair of you! I'm as careful as ever I can be. We're

-obliged to have bread! Won't you see Silas yourself? Perhaps he'll

-continue to supply us, if you can arrange to pay him part of what we

-owe. Of course, he wants his money."

-

-"He's another of your teetotal humbugs!" sneered the angry man.

-

-"He isn't a humbug at all!" Salome retorted hotly, her indignation and

-sense of justice overcoming her fear of her father; "but he did say he

-wasn't minded to wait for his money when it was being squandered with

-that drunken crew at the 'Crab and Cockle.' Oh, father, it was terrible

-for me to hear that, and I couldn't contradict him!"

-

-With a fierce oath, Josiah pushed back his chair and rose from the

-table, declaring things had come to a pretty pass when his own

-daughter, a mere child, thought fit to discuss him with outsiders.

-

-Salome broke into passionate weeping at this, whereupon he flung

-himself out of the kitchen, and the next minute she heard his footsteps

-in the garden.

-

-"He's gone to the 'Crab and Cockle' again," thought the unhappy little

-girl. "Oh, how could he swear at me like that? Oh, how shall I bear

-it!" Presently she arose, put away the supper things and then sat down

-by the open window to wait, as she knew she would have to do, until

-the inn door was closed for the night, and her father would return.

-By-and-by, the soft lap, lap of the sea had a soothing effect upon her

-troubled spirit, the peacefulness of the summer night stole into her

-soul, and she murmured to herself the words of consolation she had sung

-an hour or so before in the dim, old church:

-

-   "When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,

-    Help of the helpless, O abide with me."

-

-

-CHAPTER V.

-

-Salome's Humiliation.

-

-JOSIAH PETHERICK sat on the beach mending his fishing nets in the

-shade of a tall rock. It was intensely hot, and there was scarcely a

-ripple on the glassy sea, whilst the sky was a broad canopy of blue.

-Josiah was thinking deeply. That morning, consequent on the information

-his daughter had given him on the previous evening, he had been to

-interview Silas Moyle, and had induced the baker to allow him further

-credit. Never in his life before had Josiah found himself in such

-a humiliating position, and he felt it all the more because it was

-entirely his own fault. He had always prided himself on being able to

-pay his way, and now he was not in the position to do so.

-

-Glancing up from his work presently, the fisherman saw three figures

-come down to the beach—a lady, a gentleman, and a small boy clad

-in a sailor's suit and broad-brimmed straw hat. He knew them to be

-Mr. and Mrs. Fowler and their little son. He had often held lengthy

-conversations with Gerald, who was always delighted to talk with anyone

-who could tell him about the manifold wonders of the sea, but he had

-never spoken to either of the boy's parents. Despite his disapproval of

-the strict teetotal principles of the master of Greystone, he regarded

-that gentleman with considerable interest, and when Mr. Fowler strolled

-up to him, and inquired from whom a boat might be hired, he answered

-him civilly, "You can have a boat from me, if you like, sir; but

-there's no wind for sailing to-day."

-

-"Perhaps you would row us around those high rocks yonder. My wife has a

-fancy to see what lies beyond that point."

-

-Josiah assented willingly, seeing an opportunity of earning a few

-shillings; and so it came to pass that he spent a very pleasant and

-lucrative morning, returning home to dinner in the best of spirits.

-

-"The new folks at Greystone have a liking for boating," he informed

-Salome; "and see here," tossing a half-crown as he spoke upon the

-table, "give that to Silas Moyle when he calls with the bread this

-afternoon."

-

-The lame girl's face brightened as she took up the coin, and looked at

-her father questioningly.

-

-"I saw Mr. and Mrs. Fowler and Master Gerald pass here on their way to

-the beach," she said. "Did you take them out in your boat, father?"

-

-"Yes. They treated me very fairly, I must admit that, an' Mrs.

-Fowler—she seems a nice lady—spoke of you."

-

-"Did she?"

-

-"She said you had a lovely voice, an' that she was looking forward to

-hear you sing again. I say, Salome, I shouldn't like to disappoint her,

-so if she really wants you to go and see her, you may—" and Josiah,

-mindful of all he had said on the preceding night, avoided meeting his

-little daughter's eyes as he made this concession.

-

-"Oh, thank you, dear father," she cried. "I should like to go to

-Greystone so much."

-

-"That little Master Gerald is a tiresome monkey," Josiah remarked. "He

-wouldn't sit still in the boat at first, though his mother kept on with

-him. At last his father spoke, an' after that, there was no need to

-tell him to be quiet again. Mr. Fowler looks a man as would have his

-own way."

-

-"Master Gerald is very disobedient, I know," Salome said, "and

-sometimes his governess has great trouble with him. Miss Margaret says

-her mother spoils him."

-

-"Then, 'tis a good job he's got a father who doesn't."

-

-After dinner, Josiah went on with his interrupted work of mending his

-fishing nets, whilst Salome tidied up the cottage and waited for Silas

-Moyle.

-

-The baker looked gratified as he took the half-crown the lame girl

-tendered him, for he had not expected to be paid even a small part of

-his account.

-

-"That's right," he said, as he pocketed the money; "it appears I did

-some good by speaking yesterday. Look here, my dear, you must try to

-keep that father of yours up to the mark. Can't you make him stay at

-home of an evening?"

-

-The little girl shook her head, and looked distressed as she replied,

-"I'm afraid not, Mr. Moyle."

-

-"He's not at the 'Crab and Cockle' now, I s'pose?"

-

-"No, he's on the beach mending his nets; and this morning he took Mr.

-and Mrs. Fowler and their little boy for a row in his boat."

-

-"It's a pity Mr. Fowler can't get your father to his way of

-thinking—about drink, I mean. I say the new folks at Greystone set an

-example that many in Yelton might follow with advantage. Theirs is a

-teetotal household, I'm told."

-

-"So I've heard," Salome responded.

-

-Silas Moyle nodded kindly, and took himself off, whilst Salome locked

-up the cottage and joined her father on the beach. She told him the

-baker had been pleased to receive the half-crown, and then tactfully

-changed the subject. Josiah and his daughter were always excellent

-friends when the former had not been drinking.

-

-"Look!" Salome exclaimed suddenly, "There's Master Gerald. Why, he

-seems to be alone. He sees us."

-

-The child came running towards them, laughing as he stumbled over the

-rough shingles, his face aglow with excitement, his broad-brimmed

-sailor's hat at the back of his head, revealing the fair curls which

-clustered thickly around his brow.

-

-"I've run away," he cried merrily. "I wanted Miss Conway to bring me

-down to the beach, but she would not—the disagreeable thing! She said

-it was too hot, and I must stay in the garden. So I came by myself."

-

-"Doesn't Miss Conway know where you are?" Salome inquired.

-

-"No one knows," he replied proudly. "I can take care of myself."

-

-"I'm not so sure of that, young gentleman," Josiah remarked, with a

-chuckle of amusement at Gerald's air of importance.

-

-"It was naughty of you to run away," Salome told him in a tone of

-reproof.

-

-The child made a grimace at her, and ran off towards some rocks which

-the receding tide had left uncovered.

-

-"He's a pretty handful," Josiah exclaimed, shaking his head.

-

-"I expect someone will be here looking for him soon," said Salome. "I

-hope so, for his mother will be anxious if she does not know where he

-is, and she is not strong."

-

-But nobody came in search of Gerald, who at last disappeared from sight

-beyond the rocks. In spite of her father's assurance that the boy could

-come to no harm, the little girl grew uneasy about him; and, by-and-by,

-rose and went to make certain he was safe. She found him lying flat on

-the wet beach, gazing into a pool between two rocks at some beautiful

-anemones; and tried to induce him to retrace his footsteps, but all to

-no purpose. In vain she told him that his mother would be worried about

-him, and that his father would be angry. The wayward child would pay no

-attention to her.

-

-"What's it to do with you?" he demanded rudely. "Mind your own

-business, if you please."

-

-As he absolutely refused to return, Salome left him with the intention

-of persuading her father to interfere; but, to her dismay, she found

-Josiah had deserted his nets, and as the key of the cottage door was in

-her pocket, she knew he had not gone home. In all probability he had

-betaken himself to the "Crab and Cockle" to obtain a drink. Whilst she

-was hesitating how to act, much to her surprise, Gerald appeared around

-the rocks and joined her. He was tired of the beach, he declared, and

-wanted to see her flowers, so she allowed him to accompany her home.

-And thus it was that the young tyrant was discovered in Salome's garden

-half-an-hour later by his much-tried governess.

-

-Poor Miss Conway! She almost wept with joy on finding Gerald in safety,

-and insisted on his return to Greystone immediately. She led him away

-in triumph, paying no attention to his request that he might be allowed

-to remain a little longer.

-

-Josiah did not return for his tea, so after waiting some time, Salome

-had hers, and then seated herself under the porch with her knitting.

-There Margaret Fowler found her as the evening was drawing in.

-

-"Mother has sent me to thank you for taking such good care of Gerald

-this afternoon," Margaret said as she complied with the lame girl's

-invitation to sit down opposite to her. "He is a very tiresome,

-disobedient boy, for father had told him never to go down on the beach

-by himself. He is not to be trusted. Father has punished him for his

-naughtiness by ordering him to bed. It was quite a shock to poor Miss

-Conway when she found Gerald was nowhere on the premises."

-

-"I noticed she looked pale," Salome said. "I am afraid Master Gerald is

-very troublesome."

-

-"Troublesome! I should think he is. It was kind of you to look after

-him, Salome. I have a message from my mother to know if you can come to

-see us to-morrow. Do try to come."

-

-"Oh, I should like to!" Salome cried, her eyes sparkling with

-excitement.

-

-"Then, will you manage to be at Greystone by five o'clock?"

-

-"Yes, miss, if all's well. Oh, please thank Mrs. Fowler for asking me!"

-

-"Mother wants to hear you sing again. She has taken quite a fancy to

-you, and I am so glad."

-

-"I think your mother is the prettiest, sweetest lady I ever saw," the

-lame girl said earnestly. "How dearly you must love her, Miss Margaret."

-

-"Yes," Margaret answered soberly, "but I do not think she cares for me

-much. Gerald is her favourite, you know. Oh, I'm not jealous of him,

-but I can't help seeing that though he teases and worries her, and I do

-all I can to please her, she loves him much better than she has ever

-loved me."

-

-Salome was surprised, and pained by the look of sadness on her

-companion's face.

-

-"Perhaps your mother shows her affection more to Master Gerald because

-he's so much younger than you," she suggested. "I cannot believe she

-loves him better really."

-

-Margaret made no reply to this, but by-and-by she said, "We have had

-several fusses at home these last few days. Did you hear that father

-dismissed one of the men-servants for bringing beer into the stable?"

-

-"Yes, I heard about it. I think Mr. Fowler was quite right," Salome

-declared decidedly.

-

-"Do you? I'm glad to hear you say that. Father always means to do

-right, I am sure. He is a teetotaler himself, you know, and so are we

-all, for that matter."

-

-At this point in the conversation the garden gate clicked, and Josiah

-strode up the path and hurried past the little girls into the cottage.

-His bronzed face was crimson; and he walked somewhat unsteadily; but he

-was sufficiently sober to realise that his wisest plan was to take no

-notice of his little daughter's visitor.

-

-Pitying Salome from the depths of her heart, Margaret rose, saying it

-was time for her to go home. The lame girl followed her silently to the

-garden gate, where they stood for a few minutes talking.

-

-"You'll be sure to come to-morrow, won't you?" Margaret said earnestly.

-

-"Yes, miss," was the grave reply, "if I possibly can; I hope nothing

-will prevent it, but—you see how it is with him sometimes," and she

-pointed towards the cottage.

-

-"Yes," Margaret admitted. "Oh, I'm so sorry! He must be a terrible

-trial for you. May God help you, Salome."

-

-"He does help me," the lame girl replied, "I couldn't bear it alone.

-Oh, how I wish my father was a teetotaler like yours."

-

-"I wish so, too."

-

-"I had hoped you would never find out about my poor father being a

-drinker, but I might have known that sooner or later you would learn

-the truth. Oh, miss, don't, please don't think, he's altogether a bad

-man. He isn't! When he's sober, there's not a kinder or better man in

-the world. But when the drink gets hold of him, he isn't himself at

-all." And Salome laid her head on the top rail of the gate and sobbed

-heartbrokenly.

-

-"Oh, don't cry so!" Margaret said imploringly, her own eyes full of

-tears. "Oh, perhaps he'll give up the drink some day."

-

-"I don't know, miss, I'm afraid he won't. He gets worse instead of

-better. The Vicar has spoken to him, but that's done no good. He has

-only come home for supper now; afterwards he'll go back to the 'Crab

-and Cockle.' But there, I mustn't cry any more, or he'll notice it!"

-

-[Illustration: SALOME LAID HER HEAD ON THE TOP RAIL OF THE GATE

- AND SOBBED HEART-BROKENLY.]

-

-"Good-bye, Salome! Mind you come to-morrow."

-

-"Oh, yes! I hope I shall. Oh, miss, I feel so ashamed that you should

-have seen my father to-night!"

-

-"There's nothing for you to be ashamed about. I think you're the

-pluckiest girl I know. Good night!" And Margaret ran off with a nod and

-a smile.

-

-She slackened her speed soon, however; and as she went up the hill

-beyond the church towards her home, paused now and again to look back

-the way she had come, and admire the beautiful view. At the entrance to

-the grounds of Greystone she met her father, and together they walked

-towards the house, whilst she told him of Josiah Petherick's condition

-that evening.

-

-"Oh, father, you are right to be a teetotaler!" she cried. "Drink is an

-awful thing!"

-

-"It is indeed, my dear," he replied with a deep sigh. "I found

-Petherick a well-informed, civil-spoken man, in fact I was favourably

-impressed with him this morning, and he talked of his little daughter

-as though he really loved her. Drink can slay affection, though," he

-concluded sorrowfully.

-

-"It's dreadful it should, father!"

-

-"When drink once gets hold of people, it makes them slaves, and kills

-their finest feelings. I am very sorry for that poor Salome!"

-

-"So am I. She is so brave, too, and sticks up for her father all she

-can. Oh, I think he ought to give up the drink for her sake. I wonder—I

-wonder if it would be any good for you to speak to him!" And Margaret

-looked wistfully and pleadingly into her father's face.

-

-"I will consider the matter," he rejoined thoughtfully.

-

-"Oh, father!" she cried, picturing afresh Salome's grief and

-humiliation, "What should I do, if I had such a trouble as that poor

-lame girl has to bear?"

-

-Mr. Fowler started, and a look of intense pain and trouble momentarily

-crossed his countenance, but he answered quietly, "In that case, I hope

-you would ask God to support and comfort you."

-

-"As Salome does. I could not be patient like she is, though."

-

-"I trust you would, my dear child."

-

-"Well, I am not likely to be tried," and Margaret regarded her father

-with a look of affectionate pride. She wondered at the sadness of

-the smile with which he returned her glance; and his answer, gravely

-spoken, puzzled her not a little.

-

-"We cannot tell how much our patience and our love may be tried," he

-said, "nor what trials the future may hold for us. We can only pray

-that God will help and strengthen us in our time of need."

-

-

-

-CHAPTER VI.

-

-Perfectly Happy.

-

-"OH, I do hope she will come! It's nearly five o'clock, and she's not

-in sight yet. I wish I had thought of watching from my bedroom window,

-I could have seen then when she left the cottage."

-

-The speaker, Margaret Fowler, started up from her seat beneath the

-lilac tree, and ran across the lawn in the direction of the gate which

-led from the grounds of Greystone into the road. Beneath the lilac tree

-sat Mrs. Fowler in a comfortably padded wicker chair, with a small

-table laden with papers and magazines at her side. She glanced after

-her little daughter with a slightly amused smile, then remonstrated

-with Gerald, who was playing near by, for making a noise.

-

-"You will give me a headache, if you keep on doing that," she said, as

-he cannoned two croquet balls against each other. "Pray, be quiet!"

-

-Gerald chose not to obey. He continued his game, utterly regardless of

-his mother's command.

-

-"Do stop, Gerald!" she exclaimed. "I really cannot bear that noise any

-longer. Oh, where is Miss Conway? Why isn't she here to look after you?

-Gerald, to oblige me, find some other amusement, there's a dear boy!"

-

-"Why do you not obey your mother, sir?" demanded a stern voice. And

-suddenly the little boy dropped the croquet-mallet from his hand, and

-turned to face his father.

-

-"That's right, Gerald!" Mrs. Fowler said hastily. "He hasn't been doing

-anything wrong, Henry," she continued, glancing apprehensively at her

-husband, "only—you know how absurdly nervous I am—I can't bear any

-sharp, sudden noise. It's foolish of me, I know."

-

-Gerald now ran after his sister, and Mr. Fowler stood with his hand on

-the back of his wife's chair, looking, down at her with grave attention.

-

-"You should make the boy obey you, my dear," he said. "Has not your

-visitor arrived yet?"

-

-"No. Margaret has gone to the gate to see if she is coming. I thought

-we would have tea out here, for it is cooler and pleasanter in the

-garden than in the house, and it will be more informal. I should like

-you to hear this lame girl sing, Henry! I think I never heard a voice

-which touched me so deeply as hers. But you are not listening—"

-

-"I beg your pardon, my dear. I confess my thoughts were wandering. The

-fact is, to-morrow I shall have to go up to town for a few days, and I

-would far rather remain at home. But I am obliged to go."

-

-"You can leave with an easy mind," his wife told him reassuringly. "I

-am really quite strong now, and capable of managing the household, I

-believe I shall be better for something to do. By the way, you cannot

-think how much I enjoyed my drive this morning to N—" mentioning the

-nearest town. "I wanted some trifles from a draper's, and the shops

-were much better than I expected. Oh! Here come the children. They are

-bringing Salome with them."

-

-Mrs. Fowler rose and greeted the lame girl very cordially, placing her

-in a chair next to her own. Salome was looking her best, neatly attired

-in a clean cotton frock. There was a flush born of excitement on her

-cheeks, and her brown eyes shone with a happy light as she gave herself

-up to the enjoyment of the present hour.

-

-Tea was served beneath the lilac tree, such a luxuriant tea as Salome

-had never partaken of before, and everyone appeared determined that she

-should make a good meal—Gerald pointing out to her the most delectable

-of the dainties which he pressed her to eat, for in the depths of his

-selfish little heart, there was a warm spot for the lame girl who had

-so often given him flowers from her garden when he had certainly not

-deserved them.

-

-Salome was inclined to be a trifle shy at first of Mr. Fowler. From

-what she had heard of him she had imagined he must be an exceedingly

-stern, strict sort of man, but he talked to her so kindly and

-pleasantly that she soon grew at ease with him, and answered all the

-questions he put to her unreservedly. She told him she had only been a

-member of the choir during the last six months, and explained that she

-had not known she possessed a really good voice until the Vicar had

-informed her that such was the fact.

-

-"I always loved singing, even when I was a tiny thing," she said, "but

-I never thought of joining the choir till one day when Mr. Amyatt

-suggested it. He was passing our cottage, and heard me singing, and he

-came right in and said he would like me to come up to the Vicarage and

-let him try my voice. Father said I might go, so I did, and the next

-Sunday, I sang with the choir in church for the first time."

-

-"You must not sing too much," Mr. Fowler remarked, "for you are very

-young, and might permanently injure your voice if you strained it now.

-You must nurse it a bit."

-

-"That's what Mr. Amyatt says," Salome replied with a smile, "and I'm

-very careful."

-

-"It is a great gift to have a beautiful voice." Mr. Fowler looked with

-kindly interest at his little guest as he spoke; then his eyes wandered

-to the crutches which she had placed on the ground beside her chair,

-and she caught the swift glance of sympathy which crossed his face, and

-from that moment, he stood high in her estimation.

-

-"God is very merciful," he added softly, as though speaking to himself;

-"we are too apt to forget that He never sends a cross without its

-compensation."

-

-Salome was perfectly happy sitting there under the lilac tree, though

-she felt all the while as though she must be in a wonderful dream. Mrs.

-Fowler, in her light summer dress, with her fair hair and her lovely

-blue eyes, looked like a queen, she thought. Salome was more and more

-impressed with her grace and charm on every fresh occasion on which she

-saw her. How proud Miss Margaret must be of her mother! And how happy

-Miss Margaret must be in such a beautiful home, with kind parents, and

-everything that heart could desire! And yet, what was the meaning of

-that wistful look on her face; and why was Mr. Fowler's countenance

-so grave, and almost stern in expression at times? Salome's eyes were

-remarkably shrewd. She noticed how attentive Mr. Fowler was to his

-wife, almost seeming to anticipate her wishes and read her thoughts;

-and she was surprised when he was called away for a few minutes to see

-that Mrs. Fowler talked with greater freedom in his absence, as though

-his presence put a restraint upon her.

-

-As soon as all had finished tea, Margaret took Salome around the

-gardens, and afterwards led the way into the house. She showed Salome

-her own room, the walls of which were crowded with pictures and

-knickknacks. The lame girl had never seen such a pretty bedroom before

-as this one, with its little white-curtained bed, and white-enamelled

-furniture. Then Margaret opened a velvet-lined jewel case, and took out

-a small, gold brooch in the shape of a shell, which she insisted upon

-fastening into the neck of her visitor's gown.

-

-"It is for you," she said, "I bought it with my own money, so you need

-not mind taking it. I told mother I was going to give it to you. I want

-you to wear it for my sake, Salome."

-

-"Oh, Miss Margaret, how kind of you! Thank you so much. But ought I to

-take it? Are you sure Mrs. Fowler—"

-

-"Oh, yes!" Margaret interposed eagerly. "Mother would like you to have

-it. She said she thought it would be a very suitable gift for you. It

-is pretty, isn't it?"

-

-"It is lovely!" was the enthusiastic reply. "I shall value it always,

-Miss Margaret, for your sake," and there were tears of pleasure and

-gratitude in Salome's brown eyes as she spoke.

-

-"I am so very glad you like it," Margaret said earnestly; "but now,

-come downstairs to the drawing-room."

-

-Greystone appeared quite a palatial residence to the simple village

-girl, accustomed to her cottage home. She noticed how soft and thick

-were the carpets, how handsome was the furniture; and how everything in

-connection with the house had been done with a view to comfort. A sense

-of awe crept over her, as she cast one swift glance around the spacious

-drawing-room. Miss Conway was at the piano, but she ceased playing as

-the little girls entered; and Mrs. Fowler, who was standing by the open

-window conversing with her husband, turned towards them immediately and

-requested Salome to sing.

-

-So Salome stood, leaning upon her crutches, in the centre of the room,

-and lilted, without accompaniment, a simple little song she had often

-heard from her dead mother's lips. It was a lullaby, and she sang it

-so sweetly and unaffectedly that her listeners were delighted, and Mr.

-Fowler was surprised at the beauty of the voice which had had so little

-training. She gave them several other quaint west-country ballads; and

-then, at Mrs. Fowler's request, sang, "Abide with Me."

-

-"I like that best," Margaret said, as she drew Salome down on a sofa by

-her side. "Why, how you're trembling! And your hands are quite cold!"

-

-"Poor child! We have made her nervous, I fear," Mr. Fowler remarked.

-"Used your mother to sing, my dear?"

-

-"Yes, sir, sometimes, and father used to sing in the choir, but he

-doesn't now. If you please," she proceeded, glancing from one to the

-other hesitatingly, "I think I ought to go home. Father promised to

-meet me outside the gate at seven o'clock, and it must be that now."

-

-"It is a little after seven," Mr. Fowler replied, glancing at his watch.

-

-"Then I think I must go, sir."

-

-"You must come again soon," Mrs. Fowler said eagerly. "Thank you

-so much, my dear, for singing to us. You have given us very great

-pleasure."

-

-"I am very glad," Salome rejoined simply and earnestly, "and I should

-like to tell you how much I have enjoyed myself; and thank you for all

-your kindness to me."

-

-True to his promise, Josiah Petherick was waiting for his little

-daughter in the road outside the entrance to Greystone. He was

-perfectly sober, and as Salome caught sight of his stalwart figure, her

-face lit up with pleasure.

-

-"Well, have you had an enjoyable time?" he inquired, smilingly.

-

-"Oh, yes," she answered, and proceeded to give him a detailed account

-of all she had seen, and heard, and done. He admired Margaret's gift,

-and was secretly much gratified at the attention and kindness his

-little girl had received from the new-comers. Much to her relief, he

-accompanied her past the "Crab and Cockle," though it must be admitted,

-he cast a longing glance in the direction of the open doorway through

-which the stale odour of tobacco and beer was stealing forth as usual.

-And when they reached home, he followed her into the cottage, and

-continued the conversation whilst she set about getting supper. She

-feared he would take himself to the inn as soon as the meal was over,

-but, instead, he sat down under the porch and gazed thoughtfully out to

-sea.

-

-"That Mr. Fowler's a rare hand to talk," he remarked presently, when

-his little daughter joined him. "That comes of being educated, I

-s'pose. He can argue a bit, he can."

-

-"Can he?" Salome looked surprised. "How do you know, father?" she

-inquired.

-

-"'Cause I was foolish enough to try to argue with him, my maid!"

-

-"Oh! When was that?"

-

-"This morning, on the beach."

-

-"Oh!" she cried again, more and more astonished. "What did you argue

-about, father?" She ventured to ask.

-

-"Drink!" was the brief reply. And there was that in Josiah's manner

-which forbade further questioning.

-

-Salome nestled silently close to her father's side, her head resting

-against his arm, as she thought how nice it was to have him there with

-her, quite himself, and how dearly she loved him. She listened to the

-murmur of the sea, and tried to count the stars appearing in the sky,

-whilst Josiah recalled the argument he had had with Mr. Fowler, in

-which, he was obliged to admit, he had come off worst. At last, a deep

-sigh from Salome drew his attention to her, and he asked what was amiss.

-

-"Amiss?" she echoed in astonishment. "Nothing."

-

-"But you sighed, my dear."

-

-"Did I? Then it must have been for joy. I'm perfectly happy, perfectly!

-And so I should always be, if there was no such place as the 'Crab and

-Cockle' in Yelton."

-

-"Well, Salome, I've not been there to-night."

-

-"No, you have not, dear father," she answered affectionately, "and

-that's why I'm so perfectly happy. My mind's at rest!"

-

-

-

-CHAPTER VII.

-

-An Afternoon's Outing.

-

-MR. FOWLER was obliged to breakfast at seven o'clock, which was an

-hour-and-a-half before the usual breakfast hour at Greystone, on the

-morning following Salome's visit, as it was his intention to catch

-the first train to London from N—, and in order to do that he would

-have to leave home before eight o'clock, and drive several miles. His

-journey had been discussed on the previous night, and he had said

-good-bye to Miss Conway and the children then. But, when he entered the

-breakfast-room as the clock struck seven, he found his little daughter

-awaiting him.

-

-"Why, Margaret!" he exclaimed in pleased surprise as he kissed her.

-"I did not expect to see you, my dear! You are not generally an early

-bird."

-

-"I'm afraid I am rather sleepy-headed in the mornings, as a rule,"

-she confessed, "but I made up my mind last night that I would have

-my breakfast with you to-day, dear father, and see you off. Now do

-try to eat as much as ever you can," she added practically, as the

-servant appeared with a tray holding a couple of covered dishes and the

-coffee-pot.

-

-Mr. Fowler laughed, as he seated himself at the table with Margaret

-opposite to him, and said he would take her advice.

-

-"I am sorry I have to go," he remarked, "but I have no choice in the

-matter, as my lawyer wants to consult me upon important business. I

-shall leave your mother in your charge, Margaret."

-

-"In my charge?" Margaret said inquiringly, looking surprised. "But she

-is not ill now, father! See how cheerful and bright she was last night.

-And she has taken several walks. Oh, she is heaps better and stronger

-than she was! I don't think you need worry about her."

-

-"Perhaps not; but, nevertheless, I want you to devote as much of your

-time as you can to her during my absence. I have spoken to Miss Conway,

-and she has consented to give you a holiday till I return. Had I not

-seen you this morning, Miss Conway would have explained my wishes to

-you. I desire you to accompany your mother when she drives out, and

-when she goes into the village, or down to the beach—in short, make

-yourself her companion, my dear, until I return. Do you understand?"

-

-"Yes, father, I think so," Margaret replied, impressed by his serious

-tone. "I expect mother will be dull when you are gone, so I will do my

-best to brighten her up!"

-

-"That's a good child!"

-

-"Only, sometimes she much prefers to have Gerald with her to me!"

-

-"I would rather she had you. Remember what I have said, Margaret. I

-hope I shall not be away very long, but it will of course depend upon

-circumstances."

-

-Mr. Fowler made an excellent breakfast, and afterwards went upstairs

-to say good-bye to his wife, whilst Margaret waited for him in the

-hall. He kissed his little girl tenderly on his return, then, it being

-quite time for him to leave, entered the carriage which was waiting

-at the door, and was driven off. Margaret felt a little depressed as

-she listened to the sound of the carriage wheels dying away in the

-distance, for she was exceedingly attached to her father, and home did

-not seem like home without him.

-

-Knowing her mother must be awake, she went upstairs, and knocked at her

-bedroom door. On being told to come in, to her surprise, Mrs. Fowler

-declared her intention of getting up to breakfast.

-

-"But do you feel well enough?" Margaret asked, for up to the present

-Mrs. Fowler, having been an invalid, had always breakfasted in her own

-room at Greystone.

-

-"Oh, yes!" was the quick response. "I'm tired of being treated like a

-sick person! What a beautiful, bright morning it is, and not so hot, is

-it? Your father will have a fine day for his journey."

-

-"He did not want to go at all!"

-

-"No. But that was foolish of him!"

-

-"I think he did not like the thought of leaving you, mother. He feared

-you might be ill whilst he was away."

-

-"Oh, I am not likely to be ill again," Mrs. Fowler declared sanguinely.

-"I mean to throw off my invalid-ish ways now, and surprise your father

-on his return. Send Ross to me, Margaret, to help me dress."

-

-"Shall I help you, mother? Do let me. I am sure I can do your hair as

-well as Ross."

-

-Mrs. Fowler hesitated, but finally decided in favour of Ross; so

-Margaret went in search of her. Ross was a well-mannered, good-tempered

-young woman who waited upon Mrs. Fowler, and did the mending and sewing

-of the household. She expressed surprise and pleasure on hearing that

-her mistress intended getting up and joining the family breakfast-table.

-

-"It shows how much stronger she feels, Miss Margaret," she said. "I've

-often thought if she would bestir herself more she would be better in

-health and spirits."

-

-Gerald grumbled loudly when he discovered that he was to do lessons

-whilst his sister was to have a holiday. Why should Margaret be allowed

-nice drives with their mother when he was obliged to stay at home and

-work. It was most unfair, he declared; and it may be imagined that poor

-Miss Conway had rather a trying experience with her younger pupil on

-the first day of his father's absence, when, in the afternoon, Mrs.

-Fowler and Margaret drove to N—, and left him at home.

-

-The road to N— lay through some most beautiful scenery, and Margaret

-thoroughly enjoyed the drive. Now they were on an open common where

-the few trees to be seen were stunted and grown one-sided, a fact

-which puzzled the little girl until it was explained to her that the

-keen breeze blowing across the Atlantic was accountable for it, then

-she remarked that the bare side of the trees was the one which faced

-the sea; now they had left the common and were going down bill into a

-sheltered, wooded coomb, and by-and-by the road led upwards again till

-the town of N— was reached, situated almost at the top of the hill.

-

-At the entrance to the town, Mrs. Fowler and Margaret got out of

-the carriage, and walked up the main street—Fore Street it was

-called—looking into the shop windows. They had paused outside a small

-china shop in which was some pretty pottery, when a familiar voice

-addressed them in accents of pleasure and surprise.

-

-"Can I believe my eyes? Who would have thought of meeting you here!"

-

-Turning instantly they confronted a handsome, middle-aged lady, dressed

-as a widow, whose comely face was wreathed in smiles. She was called

-Mrs. Lute, and had been a near neighbour of theirs in London.

-

-"Oh, how glad I am!" Mrs. Fowler exclaimed. "It is good to see you

-again! Are you staying in the neighbourhood?"

-

-"Yes; I have taken a furnished house at N— for two months. I saw it

-advertised, came to see it, and the result is that here I am! Why, how

-well you look! And you were such a wreck when you left town! Margaret,

-too, is looking all the better for the change of air! I suppose you are

-still at Yelton?"

-

-"Oh, yes! Why haven't you been to see us?"

-

-"I have only been here a week. But, come, walk home with me, and have a

-cup of tea."

-

-"I should like to, but I have some errands to execute. Oh, Margaret!"

-And Mrs. Fowler turned to her little daughter eagerly. "Surely you

-could do the errands! See, here is the list of what I want on this

-paper! Is your home far from here?" she inquired of Mrs. Lute.

-

-"No, you must have passed it—a thatched, whitewashed house, with a

-porch covered with clematis and roses."

-

-"Oh, yes, I noticed it!" Margaret cried. "Mother, why don't you and

-Mrs. Lute drive back in the carriage, and I will join you as soon as I

-have done the shopping?"

-

-Thus it was arranged. Margaret was quite excited at meeting an old

-acquaintance, for Mrs. Lute had long been on the friendliest terms with

-her neighbours in town. She was one of the kindest of women, and had

-been exceedingly sympathetic during Mrs. Fowler's serious illness in

-the spring.

-

-When Margaret had executed her list of errands, she made her way to the

-whitewashed house, outside which the carriage was waiting; and on being

-shown into the drawing-room which faced the road, found her mother and

-Mrs. Lute seated there conversing happily.

-

-"How warm the poor child looks!" the latter exclaimed. "Sit down in

-this comfortable chair, my dear, and let me give you some tea; or would

-you rather have a glass of wine, for you look tired, and—"

-

-"Oh, no, thank you!" Margaret interposed hastily.

-

-"Just as you like, my dear; but I persuaded your mother to take a

-little wine; I thought it would do her good after her long drive, and I

-think it has refreshed her. Here's your tea, my dear! Help yourself to

-cream and sugar, and do try this cake."

-

-"Thank you, Mrs. Lute."

-

-Margaret was startled for the moment to hear her mother had been

-drinking wine, remembering how her father had refused to allow her

-to take it. She thought Mrs. Fowler should have declined it; but the

-matter soon passed from her mind as Mrs. Lute began to question her

-about Yelton.

-

-"Everyone tells me it is a charming little village," Mrs. Lute said,

-"but your mother is not enthusiastic about it. I think she is beginning

-to feel the lack of society. I have been telling her she should be

-satisfied to have regained her health. She is looking wonderfully well."

-

-Margaret, glancing at her mother, agreed with Mrs. Lute. No one would

-have guessed at that moment that Mrs. Fowler had been an invalid so

-lately, for there was a pink colour in her cheeks, and her blue eyes

-were shining with a happy light. She was as glad as was Margaret to

-meet their old friend.

-

-"You must pay us a visit at Greystone as soon as my husband returns,"

-she said hospitably, "and then you will be able to form your own ideas

-of Yelton and its inhabitants. Margaret has struck up a friendship with

-a lame girl, Salome Petherick by name, and I believe Gerald has picked

-acquaintance with several fishermen."

-

-"Salome's father is a fisherman," Margaret remarked; "and oh, Salome

-has the most beautiful voice you can possibly imagine, hasn't she,

-mother?"

-

-"She certainly has. When you come to visit us, Mrs. Lute, you shall

-hear this Cornish singing-bird. Poor girl, she is a sad cripple, yet

-she makes herself very useful, attends to her father's cottage, and

-even does gardening!"

-

-"She uses a pair of crutches as a rule," Margaret explained, "but when

-she is gardening, she somehow manages to hop about on one, so that she

-has a hand free to work with. Poor Salome! Her father drinks, and that

-is a great trouble to her."

-

-"I should think so, indeed!" Mrs. Lute commented. "She ought to try to

-persuade him to take the pledge. Total abstinence from all intoxicants

-is the only thing for some people."

-

-"Father says," Margaret was beginning, when Mrs. Fowler somewhat

-abruptly changed the conversation by inquiring for a mutual friend in

-town. It struck the little girl that her mother did not wish her to air

-her father's teetotal views, so during the homeward drive she recurred

-to the subject.

-

-"Mother, I was going to tell Mrs. Lute that we are all teetotalers

-now," she said. "Don't you want her to know?"

-

-Mrs. Fowler hesitated and frowned slightly, refraining from meeting her

-little daughter's gravely inquiring gaze.

-

-"I suppose she will have to know, if she comes to stay with us at

-Greystone," she responded in tones of annoyance. "I had forgotten your

-father's fad when I invited her."

-

-"Oh, mother, don't call it a fad!" Margaret cried distressfully.

-

-"That's what it is, child! Mrs. Lute is accustomed to take wine, yet no

-one can say she is not a strictly temperate woman. Your father, I do

-not doubt, would like her to be a total abstainer. Such nonsense! He

-used not to be so fastidious!" And Mrs. Fowler looked quite angry.

-

-Margaret made no answer. She had perfect faith in her father's

-judgment, but she felt herself incapable of arguing the matter from his

-point of view.

-

-On reaching home they found a telegram from Mr. Fowler, acquainting

-them with his safe arrival in London. As Mrs. Fowler read it, the

-displeasure left her face for a softer, gentler expression.

-

-"How thoughtful he always is!" she exclaimed.

-

-She was in exceedingly good spirits all the evening, and retired to

-rest apparently perfectly well; but about midnight, Margaret was

-awakened by a sound in the room, and starting up in bed, found her

-mother standing by her side in her night-gown, with a lighted candle in

-her hand.

-

-"What is it, mother? Are you ill?" The little girl inquired in alarm.

-

-"No, but I am nervous, and cannot sleep! I wish your father had not

-gone! Did I frighten you? I hope not. I felt I must have company."

-

-Margaret was greatly astonished, for the thought had continually

-crossed her mind during the day that Mrs. Fowler was relieved at her

-husband's absence. She jumped out of bed immediately, and led her

-mother back to her own room.

-

-"I will stay with you to-night, dear mother," she said gently. "You

-won't feel nervous then."

-

-So mother and daughter lay down side by side, but not to sleep as yet,

-for the latter was restless and sighed continually.

-

-"You are sure you are not ill?" Margaret asked with loving anxiety.

-

-"No, I am not ill, but I am very unhappy," was the response in a tone

-of great sadness. "Oh, child, I wish you had a better mother!"

-

-"You are the dearest mother in the world," Margaret cried earnestly.

-

-"But very far from being the best. I am very troubled—no, I cannot tell

-you what about. No, you couldn't help me. No one can."

-

-"Yes, God can, mother," Margaret reminded her; then she quoted softly—

-

-   "When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,

-    Help of the helpless, O abide with me."

-

-Mrs. Fowler caught her breath with a little sob; but doubtless, the

-words of Salome's favourite hymn comforted her, for presently, Margaret

-knew by her regular breathing that she had fallen asleep.

-

-The little girl lay awake wondering what trouble her mother could

-possibly have, or if she was only nervous and imaginative; and it was

-not until the first streaks of dawn peeped into the room that she slept

-too.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER VIII.

-

-An Awful Thing.

-

-WHEN Margaret awoke, she was alone. At first she was surprised to

-find herself in bed in her mother's room, but in a few moments, she

-remembered how that happened to be the case. Before, however, she had

-time to dwell much upon the matter, the door opened and her mother

-entered, fully dressed, bearing a breakfast tray in her hands, which

-she placed on the dressing-table.

-

-"Have I overslept myself?" Margaret inquired. "I am so sorry."

-

-"You need not be, my dear," Mrs. Fowler replied, smiling as she came to

-the bedside and kissed her little daughter. "You had a disturbed night

-on my account. How foolish it was of me to be too nervous to sleep

-alone! I blame myself for spoiling your rest. But, see, I have brought

-your breakfast, so sit up and eat it at once; after you have had it,

-you can dress and come down on the beach with me."

-

-Mrs. Fowler looked alert and well. She talked brightly whilst Margaret

-was taking her breakfast, and pulling a letter out of her pocket, which

-she had received from her husband by the morning's post, read it aloud.

-It merely told of his journey to town, and concluded with his love to

-the children, and a hope that Mrs. Fowler would take care of herself.

-

-"I shall not tell him how silly I was last night," she said. "I suppose

-I cannot be quite so strong as I thought. My late illness played sad

-havoc with my nerves. It is such a glorious day, Margaret, that I am

-sure we ought to spend it out of doors."

-

-Margaret assented willingly, and went to her own room to dress.

-By-and-by, she and her mother strolled down to the beach, and passed

-a pleasant morning in the welcome shade of a big rock. And in the

-afternoon, Mrs. Fowler declared her intention of again driving to N—.

-

-"Won't you be very tired, mother?" Margaret asked dubiously. "You

-mustn't overdo it, you know."

-

-"Oh, I will be careful, my dear!" Mrs. Fowler rejoined. "But I want to

-get some things I forgot yesterday. Meeting Mrs. Lute so unexpectedly

-put everything else quite out of my head. Miss Conway and Gerald can

-accompany us."

-

-It was not such a pleasant drive as the one of the previous day, for

-Gerald was tiresome, and continually stood up in the carriage to look

-at different objects of interest which attracted his attention. Miss

-Conway begged him to sit still, but he would not obey her. And, at

-last, he was jolted into his mother's lap, much to her annoyance and

-to his amusement. She declared she wished she had left him at home,

-and that it would be a long time before she would take him for a drive

-again. Whereupon, he only laughed, for he did not believe she meant

-what she said.

-

-"Are you going to see Mrs. Lute, mother?" Margaret inquired as they

-neared the town.

-

-"No, not to-day. I will get out at the bottom of Fore Street, and you

-others shall drive on a little farther and return for me. No, I will

-not have you, Gerald! You are to stay with Miss Conway and your sister."

-

-Mrs. Fowler spoke with decision in her tones; she was evidently

-determined to do her shopping alone.

-

-Accordingly, she got out of the carriage at the entrance to the town,

-and the others saw her go into a grocer's shop as they were driven

-on. When the carriage returned a quarter of an hour later, she was

-standing waiting outside the same shop. The shopman came out and placed

-a parcel in the carriage, then Mrs. Fowler took her seat and gave the

-order—"Home." She seemed lost in deep thought during the remainder

-of the drive, and spoke but seldom, paying slight attention to the

-conversation the others carried on. She was evidently glad to reach

-Greystone.

-

-"I expect she is really very tired," Margaret reflected, "but does not

-like to confess it." And she was confirmed in this opinion when she saw

-how quiet and languid Mrs. Fowler appeared during the evening. She did

-not request Miss Conway to play to her as she usually did, but lay on

-the sofa with a book in her lap, yawning occasionally as though weary

-of the day, so that neither Margaret nor the governess were surprised

-when she declared her intention of going to bed early. She would not

-hear of Margaret sleeping with her, however, but kissed both of her

-children good night in the drawing-room, and told them not to disturb

-her when they went upstairs to bed.

-

-It was only eight o'clock when Mrs. Fowler retired for the night.

-At half-past eight Gerald was put to bed, after which Margaret and

-her governess sat down together to their supper. Each seemed rather

-depressed, Miss Conway even more so than her little pupil.

-

-"It is so dull without father," Margaret sighed. "I hope he will not

-stay away very long. Oh, dear! I think mother is very, very tired

-to-night, don't you? I am afraid she has been doing too much."

-

-"I hope not," was the serious reply. "You did not walk far this

-morning, did you?"

-

-"Oh, no! We were sitting down on the beach most of the time. Mother

-read the newspaper and talked and seemed all right then."

-

-"Did you see anything of Salome Petherick?"

-

-"Nothing, though we stood outside her garden several minutes looking at

-her flowers. I suppose she was busy in the cottage. Oh, Miss Conway,

-how I do wish Salome's father was a teetotaler! I was telling Mrs. Lute

-about him yesterday, and she said Salome ought to try to persuade him

-to take the pledge."

-

-"I did not know that Mrs. Lute was a teetotaler," Miss Conway

-exclaimed, looking rather surprised.

-

-"She is not. Indeed, she offered me a glass of wine."

-

-"You did not take it?" the governess interposed hastily.

-

-"Oh, no!" A painful blush rose to Margaret's cheeks as she remembered

-that her mother had not declined the same offer. "Mrs. Lute said total

-abstinence from all intoxicants is the only thing for some people," she

-added.

-

-"She is quite right," was the grave response.

-

-There was silence for a few minutes. Miss Conway was asking herself

-what was the reason of her pupil's evident confusion, and Margaret was

-hoping she would not be questioned as to its cause.

-

-"I have been a teetotaler all my life," Miss Conway proceeded

-presently. "My father had a great horror of drink because his own

-father had been a drunkard, and he had suffered much on that account.

-It is sad to think that there is scarcely a family that does not

-possess at least one member given over to the vice of drinking to

-excess. Oh, Margaret! Mr. Fowler was right when he laid down the rule

-that no intoxicants should be brought into his house."

-

-"I am sure he was right," Margaret agreed heartily, "though everyone

-does not think so. Mother calls it a fad—"

-

-"Did your mother—" The governess hesitated momentarily, scarcely

-knowing how to put the question which trembled on her lips. "Perhaps

-you will think I have no right to ask you," she continued hastily,

-"but, believe me, Margaret, it is no idle curiosity which prompts me.

-Did your mother have any wine at Mrs. Lute's yesterday?"

-

-Margaret nodded gravely, observing her companion anxiously in order to

-read by her countenance what she thought. She was prepared to see her

-exhibit surprise, and perhaps disapproval, but Miss Conway appeared

-absolutely frightened, and her very lips turned white. She made no

-remark in response however, but when she kissed her pupil ere they

-separated for the night, there was marked tenderness in her manner and

-in her voice as she said, "God bless you, dear Margaret. You look tired

-out yourself. Try to have a good night's rest."

-

-The little girl was very sleepy, so, almost as soon as her head was on

-the pillow, she was in the land of dreams. But such unhappy, disturbing

-dreams they were. She imagined her mother was very ill, and that her

-father could not be sent for, because no one knew his address, and that

-she was in terrible grief and perplexity. At length, frightened and

-shaking in every limb, she awoke, and sprang out of bed with a shriek.

-The conviction was strong upon her that something was wrong with her

-mother, and she felt compelled to go and ascertain what was amiss.

-Lighting a candle, she took it up and hurried to Mrs. Fowler's room.

-A sigh of deep thankfulness escaped her lips as she found everything

-quiet there. Softly she stole to the bedside and saw her mother lying

-asleep, one hand beneath her cheek, her fair hair strewn over the

-pillow. Margaret thought how pretty she looked, and carefully shaded

-the candle with her hand as she gazed at the sleeper with love and

-admiration in her glance; but it would have taken more than the feeble

-rays of the candle to awaken Mrs. Fowler from that deep, dreamless

-sleep.

-

-Margaret would have liked to have kissed her mother's flushed cheek,

-but feared to disturb her; so she contented herself with pressing her

-lips to the soft, white hand which lay outside the counterpane, then

-stole back to her own room as quietly as she had left it, and after

-putting out the candle crept back to bed. She felt she could rest with

-an easy mind now, and was no longer disturbed by distressing dreams.

-

-The following day Mrs. Fowler did not go far. She appeared depressed

-and out of sorts until after tea-time, when her drooping spirits

-revived, and she spent the evening under the lilac tree with Miss

-Conway, whilst the children played croquet on the lawn. Suddenly she

-remembered that a letter she had written to her husband had not been

-posted, and suggested that Margaret and Gerald might take it to the

-post-office.

-

-"I'm afraid it's too late to catch to-night's post," she said

-regretfully, "but never mind. Your father will not be anxious, as he

-heard this morning. Still, you may as well post it. Dear me, what could

-have made me so forgetful!"

-

-So Margaret and Gerald hurried off to the post-office, which was only

-two doors from the village inn, from which it was divided by Samuel

-Moyle's shop.

-

-After posting the letter, they went into the shop to purchase some

-sweets, and whilst they were there, Josiah Petherick came out of the

-"Crab and Cockle," much the worse for drink, and staggered past on his

-way home.

-

-Mrs. Moyle, a rosy-cheeked dame, so stout that she appeared to be

-almost as thick as she was long, went to the door to stare after

-Josiah, whilst her husband, who was attending to the requirements of

-his customers, shook his head gravely and prophesied that "such a

-drunken beast," as he called him, "would come to a bad end," adding,

-with a touch of real feeling, "Ah, I'm sorry for that poor motherless

-maid of his!"

-

-Margaret returned to Greystone very sad at heart, full of the lame

-girl's trouble, and informed her mother and Miss Conway of the state

-Josiah was in; whilst Gerald, who had been more amused than disgusted,

-began to imitate the drunken man's rambling walk, a proceeding which

-his governess promptly put a stop to by grasping him forcibly by the

-shoulder and making him stand still.

-

-"For shame!" she cried with unusual severity in her tone. "How can

-you make fun of the unhappy man? Poor wretch! Never make a joke of a

-drunkard again."

-

-"Well, I won't," Gerald returned. "I meant no harm. Please let me go,

-Miss Conway. I promise you I won't do it again."

-

-"No, I do not think you meant any harm," the governess admitted. "You

-acted thoughtlessly, I know. But you must never laugh at what is

-wrong—remember that."

-

-"Isn't it terrible for poor Salome, mother?" Margaret said sadly.

-

-"Very," Mrs. Fowler replied. "It would be better for her if she had no

-father at all."

-

-"Oh, mother!" Margaret cried in shocked tones. "Do you mean that?"

-

-"Yes, I do. What can her father be, but a perpetual shame and trouble

-to her?"

-

-"But she loves him so dearly."

-

-"I don't know how she can!" Mrs. Fowler exclaimed vehemently. "But,

-there, don't let us talk of Josiah any more. Of course, the letter was

-too late for to-night's post?"

-

-"Oh, yes. But I posted it all the same. I wonder when father will be

-home."

-

-"Not till the end of the week, I expect. It's getting chilly; we will

-go in." And rising, Mrs. Fowler moved towards the house, the others

-following.

-

-Margaret's thoughts were all of Salome during the remainder of the

-evening. And before she went to rest, she prayed earnestly that God

-would give His help and protection to the lame girl, and reward her

-patience and love in His own good time.

-

-"Drink is an awful thing," was her last waking thought that night, as

-she crept into her little, white-curtained bed, and laid her head down

-on the soft pillow. "I only wish poor Salome's father could be brought

-to see what an awful thing it is."

-

-

-

-CHAPTER IX.

-

-The Blow Falls.

-

-IT was nearly noon, and quietude reigned over Yelton. The fishermen

-were all at sea, whilst their wives were busy with their domestic

-duties within doors, and the children were at school. The village

-looked actually deserted as Margaret Fowler walked soberly by the "Crab

-and Cockle." Not a living soul was in sight, and there was no one in

-Silas Moyle's shop, not even behind the counter, where Mrs. Moyle was

-generally to be found. Margaret strolled on to Josiah Petherick's

-cottage, and there was Salome seated in the porch, knitting rapidly

-whilst she sang to herself in a low, soft undertone. The lame girl's

-face lit up with a bright smile of pleasure at sight of Margaret, and

-she turned to reach the crutches by her side.

-

-"Oh, please don't get up!" Margaret cried quickly. "I'll sit down in

-the porch with you for a little while, if I may. How nice it is here!"

-

-"Yes. Isn't it a beautiful day, miss? Such a fine breeze! All the

-fishing boats are out. Father was off at daybreak this morning. I got

-up to give him his breakfast; so that's how it is my work's finished so

-early."

-

-"What are you making?" Margaret asked, noticing the thick, navy-blue

-fingering which Salome was knitting.

-

-"A jersey for father, miss. He'll want a new one against the winter."

-

-"What! Do you mean to say you knit your father's jerseys? How clever of

-you!"

-

-The lame girl smiled and blushed as she responded, "Mother taught me

-to knit when I was a very little girl, but it was not until after her

-death that I learnt to make father's jerseys. Mrs. Moyle taught me the

-way."

-

-"Mrs. Moyle? The baker's wife, do you mean?"

-

-"Yes, miss; she's always most kind to me."

-

-"She looks good-natured," Margaret remarked. "Mother is not very well,"

-she proceeded to explain, "so she is lying in bed this morning, and

-Gerald is at his lessons with Miss Conway, so I thought I would look

-you up, Salome."

-

-"I am very glad to see you, miss. But I am sorry to hear Mrs. Fowler is

-ill."

-

-"She is not ill exactly—at least, I hope not. She complained of a bad

-headache, so Ross advised her to remain in bed and rest. It worries me

-if she's not well, now father's away."

-

-"Then Mr. Fowler is not back yet, miss?"

-

-"No. We expected him to stay away only a few days, but his business is

-keeping him longer than he thought it would, so he will not be at home

-till next week. It is so dull without him."

-

-"I daresay it is, miss."

-

-"Before he went, he told me he left mother in my charge, and that's why

-I'm so anxious about her. You know, she was very, very ill before we

-came here. I never saw her for weeks then, and—oh, it was a terrible

-time!"

-

-"It must have been," Salome said sympathetically.

-

-"How bright you look to-day!" Margaret exclaimed presently, after

-observing her companion in silence for several minutes.

-

-"I feel bright," the lame girl acknowledged with a smile, "for I know

-father'll come home sober by-and-by, when the fishing boats return, and

-that's enough to make one happy."

-

-"How brave you are, Salome!" And Margaret wondered if she had Salome's

-trouble, whether she would ever be happy for a day or even an hour.

-

-The other shook her head. She did not think she was brave at all, but

-she took the sunshine of her life gratefully, and tried not to remember

-the hours of gloom.

-

-"I wish I could knit," said Margaret, as she watched the lame girl's

-busy fingers.

-

-"Why don't you learn, miss? Then you might knit your father's socks."

-

-"Do you think I could?"

-

-"Oh, yes, with a little practice. Would you—would you like me to teach

-you?" Salome asked somewhat diffidently.

-

-"Oh, I should be so much obliged to you if you would! Oh, thank you!

-I'll buy some wool and knitting needles the very next time we drive to

-N—. But I'm afraid you'll find me a very stupid pupil."

-

-"I can't believe that, miss. Besides, knitting is quite easy—of course

-it takes time to learn to knit fast. You can get knitting needles and

-wool at Mrs. Moyle's shop; she keeps a very good supply."

-

-"Does she? That's capital! Oh Salome, whatever has happened to that

-rose-bush by the gate? Why, it's smashed off close to the ground! What

-a pity!"

-

-"Yes," was the response, spoken in a low, pained tone.

-

-"How did it happen?" Margaret asked concernedly, noticing the tears had

-sprung into her companion's brown eyes.

-

-"Father did it."

-

-"Oh! Not on purpose?"

-

-"No, no! He—he fell over it. He was sorry—afterwards; but I'm so

-grieved, because mother planted that rose-bush herself not long before

-she died, and now it is quite ruined."

-

-"Oh, I am sorry!" Margaret cried.

-

-"It was an accident; but—but it wouldn't have happened, if he'd been

-sober. He's as upset about it as I am now—he is indeed. He valued that

-rose-bush for mother's sake."

-

-"Salome, why don't you try to persuade your father to take the pledge?"

-Margaret inquired very seriously.

-

-"I've tried heaps and heaps of times."

-

-"And he won't?"

-

-"No. Father says he hates teetotalers. I can't think he does really,

-though. Only, he likes drink, and he won't give it up."

-

-"It's very selfish of him. He ought to consider you. But, there, I

-won't run out against him, for I know you're very fond of him. Perhaps,

-he'll be different some day."

-

-"I pray every night that God will make him a sober man. He used to be

-so steady when mother was living. Mr. Amyatt will tell you the same. It

-seems so dreadful that her death should have changed him so. It was the

-trouble, I suppose, and having no one to speak to at home but me that

-drove him to the 'Crab and Cockle' first along; then he grew to like

-the drink, and now he can't bear the thought of going without it. Did

-you know Mr. Fowler spoke to father about it, miss?"

-

-"No; did he?"

-

-"Yes, he did indeed. They had an argument, and I fancy from father's

-manner that he was impressed by what Mr. Fowler said."

-

-Long the little girls talked, until Margaret declared she really must

-go, or she would be late for dinner. She hurried back to Greystone,

-to find that her mother was not up yet. On the landing, at the top of

-the stairs, she met Ross, who had that minute come from Mrs. Fowler's

-bedroom door.

-

-"Is mother's head no better?" Margaret inquired concernedly.

-

-"I'm afraid not," Ross answered. She looked somewhat perturbed, the

-little girl thought. "I've not seen the mistress since breakfast-time,

-miss," she proceeded hurriedly, "for she said she wished to be

-undisturbed, and now she has locked her door."

-

-"Locked her door!" Margaret echoed in utter astonishment.

-

-"Yes, and she won't open it, miss. I was going to ask Miss Conway what

-I should do—"

-

-Not waiting to hear the conclusion of the sentence, Margaret ran to

-her mother's bedroom door and tried to open it. The handle turned, but

-the door remained closed. She rapped sharply with her knuckles and

-listened; then, receiving no answer, knocked again.

-

-"Who there?"

-

-It was her mother's voice that asked the question; but something in

-its tone fell discordantly upon the ears of the listeners and did not

-lessen their uneasiness.

-

-"It is I—Margaret. Let me in, mother dear."

-

-"You can't come in; go away."

-

-"But, mother, I want to know how you are. Is your head better?"

-

-"Yes—no."

-

-"Please let me in. Why have you locked the door?"

-

-"I wish—to be alone."

-

-At that moment Miss Conway appeared upon the scene. She turned white as

-death when the situation was explained to her, and begged Margaret to

-go away, and let her try to persuade Mrs. Fowler to unlock the door.

-

-"No, no," cried the little girl. "Something must be amiss with mother,

-or she would never act so strangely. Mother, mother, let me in," and

-she knocked at the door louder than before.

-

-There were sounds inside the room of some one moving about, then the

-door was opened, and Mrs. Fowler, clad in a dressing-gown, with her

-hair streaming over her shoulders, appeared in the doorway.

-

-"What do you all want—coming here—disturbing me?" she questioned

-irritably; then she lurched forward, and would have fallen on her face,

-if Miss Conway had not sprung to her assistance and caught her.

-

-"Oh, she has fainted!" Margaret cried, terribly frightened and

-distressed.

-

-With the help of Ross, who was looking pale and scared, the governess

-succeeded in dragging Mrs. Fowler across the room, and laying her upon

-the bed; and then turned to her little pupil and told her to shut and

-lock the door. Wondering greatly, Margaret obeyed. Returning to the

-bedside, she looked from one to the other of her companions in mingled

-astonishment and reproach, for neither was making the least attempt to

-bring Mrs. Fowler back to consciousness. The tears were streaming down

-Miss Conway's cheeks, and Ross was murmuring—"I never guessed it. No, I

-never guessed it."

-

-"Oh, can't you do anything?" Margaret cried distractedly. "Oh, she is

-very ill!" And she bent over her mother, then suddenly drew back. Mrs.

-Fowler's cheeks were unusually flushed; she was breathing heavily,

-and upon her lips hung the smell of spirit. Margaret experienced a

-sensation as though an icy hand had gripped her heart. She looked

-inquiringly at Miss Conway, who avoided her glance, then her eyes

-travelled slowly around the room. On the dressing-table was a nearly

-empty brandy bottle, and by its side a glass.

-

-With an exceedingly bitter cry, Margaret realised the truth. Her mother

-was not ill—that is, not in the way she had supposed—but intoxicated.

-The blow had fallen, and everything was now plain to her.

-

-As in a dream, she heard Ross whispering to Miss Conway that she had

-never suspected her mistress of this, that she had never had such a

-shock in her life before, and listened to Miss Conway's answer that

-she herself would remain with Mrs. Fowler, and that the servants must

-be told she was ill. Then, the governess put her arms around her pupil

-and kissed her, begging her to be a brave girl. And all the while,

-Margaret was experiencing a strange feeling of unreality, as though she

-was living through a horrible nightmare. She watched Miss Conway fling

-the windows open wide, and place a blanket carefully over her mother's

-unconscious form, and the conviction grew upon her, that though the

-governess was deeply grieved, she was not surprised and shocked as she

-herself was and poor Ross who looked almost scared to death.

-

-Suddenly the governess pointed to the brandy bottle and appealed to the

-maid.

-

-"Did you supply her with that?" she questioned sternly.

-

-"No, miss, on my word of honour, I did not," Ross replied earnestly. "I

-never knew she had it; she must have kept it under lock and key."

-

-There was absolute truth in the girl's voice; and Miss Conway looked

-puzzled.

-

-"I can't make it out—how she obtained it, I mean," she said at

-last. "Ross, I think you had better leave your mistress to me for

-the present. I rely upon you not to speak of this downstairs. And

-Margaret—" the governess's voice softened to the tenderest pity—"will

-you take care of Gerald for the rest of the day? Tell him his mother is

-very poorly, and that he may have a half-holiday. You could take him

-down to the beach this afternoon. God help you to bear this trouble,

-poor child!"

-

-Margaret made no response. Ringing in her ears were words her father

-had spoken to her when they had been discussing Salome's trouble. "We

-cannot tell how much our patience and love may be tried, nor what

-trials and troubles the future may hold for us. We can only pray that

-God will strengthen us in our time of need."

-

-Had her father anticipated this hour for her? She could not tell, but

-she thought it more than likely.

-

-Meanwhile, Miss Conway was leading her to the door, begging her to put

-a brave face on matters, and to go down to dinner without her.

-

-"I feel my duty is here, my dear," she said impressively. "If any one

-questions you about your mother, you can truly say she is ill. Oh,

-Margaret, pray for her; she is greatly to be pitied!" And so saying,

-the governess opened the door and pushed her little pupil gently

-outside.

-

-For a few minutes Margaret stood perfectly still. Then the sound of

-Gerald's voice in the hall below reminded her that she must, as Miss

-Conway had said, put a brave face on matters. So she went downstairs

-and delighted her brother by promising to take him down to the beach.

-She was conscious that the burden of a great sorrow was upon her,

-and she felt bowed down with an intolerable weight of shame. But she

-devoted herself assiduously to Gerald for the remainder of the day;

-and it was not until nearly nine o'clock, when her charge was in bed

-and asleep, that she dared give way to her grief. Then, in the privacy

-of her own room, she flung herself upon the bed and wept as though her

-heart would break.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER X.

-

-Mr. Fowler's Return.

-

-"MARGARET! Oh, my dear little girl! Do not grieve so terribly. You will

-make yourself ill, if you go on like this."

-

-Margaret tried to stifle her sobs at the sound of the kind, pitying

-voice, and turned a swollen, tear-stained countenance towards

-Miss Conway, who had come in search of her. She longed to ask for

-her mother, but for the present, she was incapable of speech.

-Her governess, however, read aright her questioning eyes, and

-said reassuringly, "Your mother is better, my dear. She regained

-consciousness some time ago, since when she has had a cup of tea, and

-is now asleep. Ross is with her at present."

-

-Miss Conway drew a chair to the bedside and sat down, then she took

-one of her little pupil's hands and pressed it softly. "I have sent

-for your father," she continued; "after—after what has happened I

-considered it was my duty to do so. I did not think there was any

-necessity to alarm him by a telegram though, so I wrote by to-night's

-post and—explained. He will get my letter in the morning, and probably

-return home at once. So, dear Margaret, if all's well, he will

-doubtless be here to-morrow evening."

-

-The little girl was glad to hear this; but at the same time, she

-dreaded meeting her father with this new knowledge concerning her

-mother weighing on her mind. Her sobs had ceased now, and she could

-speak collectedly.

-

-"Miss Conway, do you think Ross has told the other servants?" she asked

-anxiously.

-

-"I am sure she has not, nor do I believe she will. Ross is a thoroughly

-good girl, and most sincerely attached to your mother. At first, I

-confess, I suspected her of having procured that—that poison, but I was

-quite wrong! Mrs. Fowler bought the brandy herself, the afternoon we

-drove to N— with her. Do you remember we drove on whilst she went into

-a grocer's shop? She obtained it there. Oh, it is a shame that grocers

-should be allowed licences for supplying intoxicating liquors! Poor

-soul, she has been telling me how sorely she was tempted! Oh, Margaret,

-this all comes of Mrs. Lute's offering her that glass of wine! She had

-not touched a stimulant since her illness till then, and had almost

-lost her craving for drink. That glass of wine, however, was too much

-for her, and she felt she must have more. I need not dwell on the

-result."

-

-"Oh, Miss Conway, how shameful, how degrading!" Margaret cried

-passionately. "Oh, to think that mother should be like that! Oh, no

-wonder father wished us all to be teetotalers!"

-

-She covered her flaming face with her hands and shuddered. "How

-long—how long have you known this—about mother?" she inquired

-hesitatingly.

-

-"Many months. Since—oh, long before her illness."

-

-"Was that illness—"

-

-"Caused by drink? Yes. Oh, my dear, I see you guess it all. Your father

-hoped you would never know. He trusted that the complete change from

-life in town to the quietude of the country, where Mrs. Fowler would

-meet comparatively few people of her own class, and where he believed

-she would be free from temptation, would ultimately cure her of the

-fatal habit she had acquired of drinking to excess, and I believe that

-would have been the happy result, if you had not unfortunately met Mrs.

-Lute. Little does Mrs. Lute—good, kind creature that she is—dream of

-the mischief she has wrought. Your poor mother is full of grief and

-remorse now; and oh, so shocked that you should have seen her to-day.

-She knows I have written to Mr. Fowler, and you can imagine how she is

-dreading his return; yet she knows he will not be hard upon her. He

-loves her too well for that!"

-

-Margaret felt at that moment that her affection for her mother was

-being swallowed up by a sickening sensation of disgust. She had always

-loved her very dearly; and had been so pleased and happy when people

-had admired her for her beauty and winning ways. Even when Mrs. Fowler

-had openly shown her preference for Gerald of her two children, the

-little girl, though often hurt, had never evinced any jealousy or

-resentment. She had accepted the fact that Gerald was her mother's

-favourite, and had loved her none the less on that account. But now,

-her love was being tried very severely.

-

-The remembrance of Mrs. Fowler as she had last seen her, lying on

-the bed with flushed cheeks, breathing stertorously, was absolutely

-revolting to her. She had many times asked herself how Salome could

-continue to love her drunken father; now, she asked herself, was it

-possible that she could continue to love her drunken mother? Oh, the

-horror of the thought that one so gentle and refined should be on a par

-with Josiah Petherick, fellow-victim to a disgraceful, degrading sin!

-

-Perhaps Miss Conway guessed some of the thoughts which were passing

-through her companion's mind, for she watched her anxiously, and

-presently remarked, "I daresay, you can faintly imagine how your poor

-mother is feeling now. She had hoped to keep the secret of her weakness

-and sin from your knowledge. Your father, too, will be terribly

-troubled when he hears you have learnt the truth; but I do not doubt,

-dear child, that God in His wisdom has ordered all for the best. You

-will understand now, as you never did before, how much Mrs. Fowler

-needs all your love and devotion. You can help her, if you will, to

-the restoration of that self-respect which, once lost, is so hard to

-regain. You can show her, by loving her as unfalteringly as Salome

-loves her erring father, that she can rise above this habit which has

-done so much to ruin her health, and happiness, and earn everyone's

-respect and her own as well!"

-

-Miss Conway paused, and there was a solemn silence which Margaret at

-length broke by saying with a sob, "I do love mother, I do indeed."

-

-"I am sure of it. Mrs. Fowler is a very sweet, lovable woman!"

-

-"Yes," Margaret agreed. "See what a lot of friends she had in town, and

-how popular she was! She was always going about—"

-

-"Yes, dear, I know," the governess interposed, "and that was how it

-was she commenced taking stimulants. She used to get tired with her

-constant gaieties, and then she would take a glass of wine, or some

-other intoxicant, to revive her, until she grew to like stimulants,

-and took more and more. The craving increased, and she drank to the

-injury of her health, yet no outsiders guessed it. Then she had nervous

-attacks, followed at last by a serious illness. The doctors told your

-father she was killing herself, and immeasurably horrified, he took the

-only course he saw could save his wife—became a teetotaler himself, and

-insisted that his household should follow suit. Mrs. Fowler knew he was

-acting wisely, and for her sake, but she would not admit it. However,

-she found total abstinence from all intoxicants was restoring her to

-health, and had made up her mind never to touch a stimulant again when

-temptation was put in her way, and she fell. God grant she may prove

-stronger in the future. Now, my dear, tell me, have you had any supper?"

-

-"No," Margaret replied, "I am not in the least hungry."

-

-"Oh, that's nonsense! You must eat whether you are hungry or not. Come

-with me."

-

-Margaret demurred at first, but her governess overruled all her

-objections. And after she had bathed her tear-stained face, the two

-went downstairs and had supper together. Miss Conway did not leave her

-pupil again until she saw her comfortably tucked up in bed for the

-night; then she kissed her, bade her try to sleep well, and left her to

-herself.

-

-And Margaret did sleep well, absolutely worn out with excitement and

-grief, whilst the governess spent the night in Mrs. Fowler's room. At

-daybreak, Ross came to take Miss Conway's place, and found her mistress

-sleeping tranquilly.

-

-"She looks more like herself, miss, doesn't she?" she whispered gladly.

-

-"Yes," Miss Conway answered; "I should let her sleep as long as she

-will."

-

-She did not say what a harrowing time she had endured during that night

-watch, or how Mrs. Fowler had implored her to give her a stimulant, and

-had declared she would die without it. But she went away quietly to her

-own room, and before she lay down to rest, prayed earnestly to Almighty

-God for the unhappy woman, whom she pitied from the depths of her heart.

-

-[Illustration: SHE WENT TO THE FRONT DOOR TO MEET MR. FOWLER.]

-

-Early in the morning, a telegram arrived from Mr. Fowler saying he

-would be at home that night, and ordering the carriage to be sent to N—

-to meet him at the railway station. The governess made no secret of the

-fact that she had written to inform him of his wife's illness, and as

-Ross kept her own counsel, the other servants supposed their mistress

-to be suffering from one of the hysterical, nervous attacks to which

-she had been subject on her arrival at Greystone.

-

-It was nearly eight o'clock before Mr. Fowler reached home. Margaret,

-who had spent most of the day on the beach with her brother, shrank

-sensitively from the thought of meeting her father. When she heard the

-carriage wheels nearing the house, she longed to run away and hide, but

-she knew it would never do to act in such a cowardly fashion as that.

-Appearances must be kept up, at any rate before the servants, so she

-went to the front door with Gerald to meet Mr. Fowler, and returned

-his loving kiss as quietly and composedly as though her heart was not

-beating almost to suffocation.

-

-As she had anticipated, he immediately went upstairs to his wife's

-room, and it was not until much later, that she found herself with him

-alone. Then, after Gerald had gone to bed, he joined her in the garden,

-and strolled up and down the lawn by her side, his arm around her

-shoulders. For some minutes he did not speak, and she could not see the

-expression of his face, for there was no moon, and the stars gave but

-little light.

-

-At last he said gravely, "Life is very hard, sometimes, Margaret."

-

-"Yes," she agreed, adding with a little sob: "Oh, father, you left her

-in my care, but I did not know, and if I had, it would not have made

-any difference."

-

-"No, no; I understand. She has told me everything herself."

-

-"Oh, father, it is shocking! Think of the disgrace. Oh, you can't

-imagine how dreadful I feel about it!"

-

-"I think I can," he replied sadly. "My poor child, I had hoped to

-have been allowed to keep this trouble from you, but God willed it

-otherwise. Have you seen your mother to-day?"

-

-"No, father. She said she did not wish to see me."

-

-"Ah, poor thing, she is ashamed to face you! If I were you, when you

-meet, I would not revert to—to her illness at all."

-

-"I will not."

-

-"I shall try and persuade Mrs. Lute to come and spend a few days with

-us, in order to cheer us all up."

-

-"Oh, father, Mrs. Lute was the cause of all this trouble."

-

-"I am aware of it; but her intention in offering your mother wine was

-an excellent one, she had no idea of working mischief. I shall simply

-explain to her that this is a teetotal household, and she is not the

-woman I take her to be if, after that, she refuses an invitation to

-visit us."

-

-"Did you finish your business in London, father?" Margaret questioned.

-

-"Not quite. It must stand over for a few weeks. I shall not leave home

-again for the present."

-

-Though he spoke so quietly, Margaret knew her father must be very sore

-at heart. She had often wondered why her mother was more at her ease

-when not in her husband's presence, and now she understood the reason.

-Mrs. Fowler was conscious that he was always keeping a watch upon her,

-that he did not trust her, and dear though he was to her, she stood in

-awe of him.

-

-Until her illness in the spring, he had always allowed her, her own

-way. But his alarm for her well-being once aroused, he had taken the

-reins of government into his own hands, and had shown her plainly that

-he meant his will to be law. She had always been a pleasure-seeking

-woman and fond of society; but, broken down in health, she had not

-found life at Yelton so utterly unbearable as she had anticipated.

-Her husband had devoted much of his time to her, and, thrown more

-in contact with her little daughter, she had begun to take a deeper

-interest in her than she had done before.

-

-She had always been pleased to notice her beauty, but of late,

-she had discovered that Margaret possessed other and higher

-attractions—goodness and unselfishness—which she could not but admire.

-She saw the little girl had inherited many of her father's excellent

-qualities of mind and heart, and uneasily conscious of her own weakness

-of character, she was delighted that it was so. Unfortunately there had

-never been the same sympathy of feeling between Margaret and her mother

-as there had always been between the little girl and her father.

-

-Now, as she strolled by Mr. Fowler's side up and down the lawn,

-she slipped her hand through his arm, whilst she leaned her head

-confidingly against his shoulder, as she said, "Father, I'm so very

-glad you've come home."

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XI.

-

-Josiah at His Worst.

-

-THE afternoon subsequent to her husband's return, Mrs. Fowler was

-sufficiently well to come downstairs and lie on the sofa in the

-drawing-room. Margaret, who had gone back to her usual routine of work

-with Miss Conway, saw little of her mother during the next few days,

-and after Mr. Fowler drove to N— one morning, and brought Mrs. Lute

-home with him, Mrs. Fowler spent most of her time with her friend, and

-avoided her little daughter's society as much as possible.

-

-Mrs. Lute, though she had been much astonished when Mr. Fowler had

-frankly explained to her that his was now a teetotal household, was

-far too well-bred a woman to question him concerning what his wife had

-called his "fad;" and though she had been accustomed all her life to

-the sparing use of stimulants, she could very well do without them, and

-was perfectly satisfied and happy at Greystone.

-

-"So many people are teetotalers nowadays," she remarked pleasantly to

-Mr. Fowler on one occasion when she had been several days beneath his

-roof, "so really you are quite in the fashion."

-

-"I wish I could think that," he replied, with rather a sad smile.

-

-"Oh, one meets a great many people who are total abstainers!" she

-assured him. "Why, Miss Conway tells me she has always been one. It

-seems drink has been the cause of a great deal of trouble in her

-family. And your good Vicar here is a teetotaler too, so he informed

-me yesterday. He argues truly that he cannot teach what he does not

-practise. I was surprised to hear that even in this quiet little

-village drink is the curse of the place."

-

-"I believe that is so. There are several notorious drunkards amongst

-the fishermen, and one in whom we, as a family, are much interested, on

-his daughter's account, is likely to join their ranks."

-

-"You refer to that fine, strong man who took us out boating yesterday,

-I presume?"

-

-"Yes; Josiah Petherick. He is a most reliable man when sober, but when

-he has been drinking—which often happens now, I fear—he is a perfect

-brute. I have been hearing many tales to his discredit lately, and this

-morning I was told on reliable authority in the village, that he spends

-nearly all his earnings at the 'Crab and Cockle' now, and begrudges

-the money for the household accounts. Last night, he went home more

-intoxicated than usual—actually mad drunk—and smashed up some of the

-furniture in his cottage, after which he turned his little daughter

-out-doors. The poor child was forced to beg a night's lodging from Mrs.

-Moyle at the village shop, and to-day, all Yelton is talking about it."

-

-A faint exclamation of dismay caused Mrs. Lute and Mr. Fowler, who had

-been conversing in the garden, close outside the drawing-room window,

-to look around. They encountered Mrs. Fowler's shocked gaze. Hearing

-them talking, she had come to the window and had overheard all that had

-been said.

-

-"Oh, Henry, that poor Salome!" she cried, her blue eyes full of tears.

-"Have you seen her to-day?"

-

-"No; but the Vicar has. Hearing what had happened, he went down to

-Petherick's cottage the first thing this morning. Salome had just

-returned and was doing her utmost to put the place to rights, and her

-father had gone out in his boat in a very humbled, repentant state of

-mind, after having apologised to her for his abominable behaviour, and

-having promised he would not act so madly again."

-

-Mrs. Fowler sighed, whilst Mrs. Lute said gravely, "Let us hope he will

-keep his word."

-

-"He will not, without he gives up the drink," Mr. Fowler rejoined, with

-conviction in his tone. "No, he will go from bad to worse until, in one

-of his drunken frenzies, he will do something he will never cease to

-regret—perhaps some injury to his child."

-

-Mrs. Fowler sank into a chair looking pale and perturbed, whilst her

-husband and friend drifted into another channel of conversation. The

-news she had heard about the Pethericks had upset her, and when, a

-short while later, Margaret entered the room, the first question she

-put to her was to ask if she had seen Salome that day.

-

-"No, mother," the little girl answered. "Why?" she added, struck by the

-almost frightened expression on Mrs. Fowler's face.

-

-She listened in silence, her colour alternately coming and going, to

-all there was to tell, then exclaimed "Oh, I am sorry! Poor Salome! And

-it rained heavily last night. Perhaps she will come up to the church

-this evening to hear me practise the organ. Oh, I hope she will! When

-are you coming to hear me play again, mother?"

-

-"Oh, some time! Perhaps when Mrs. Lute has gone."

-

-"Wouldn't Mrs. Lute come too?"

-

-"Oh, I don't think you play well enough—" Mrs. Fowler paused abruptly,

-conscious of the hurt look on her little daughter's countenance. She

-had avoided Margaret lately, and Margaret had noticed the fact with

-acute pain. What had she done that her mother should abstain from

-meeting her gaze? An insurmountable barrier seemed to have sprung up

-between mother and child.

-

-Margaret's heart was full of bitterness as she turned away and left the

-room. She had endeavoured to show no feeling but that of love for her

-mother since her recent indisposition, but it had been impossible for

-Mrs. Fowler not to remark a slight difference in her manner, of which

-Margaret was unconscious herself. She thought she read reproach in the

-little girl's eyes, and shrank sensitively from being alone with her.

-She was ashamed in the presence of her own child.

-

-Had Margaret grasped the truth of the situation, she would have judged

-her mother less harshly; but failing to do so, she was deeply pained,

-and told herself that her mother liked her less than ever. Upon Gerald,

-Mrs. Fowler lavished all her affection. She would listen to his chatter

-untiringly, talking gaily in return; and, however much he teased her,

-she always found excuses for him.

-

-Miss Conway did not give Margaret a music lesson that evening, for Mrs.

-Fowler requested her to accompany Mrs. Lute and herself for a walk, and

-to bring Gerald with her, so Margaret went alone to the church.

-

-She practised for an hour, then dismissed the boy who had blown the

-organ for her, and was leaving the church when she caught sight of a

-small figure huddled up in a corner of a pew near the west door. It was

-Salome.

-

-"Is it you, Salome?" Margaret cried, hastening to her side, and laying

-her hand tenderly upon her shoulder. The lame girl lifted her bowed

-head, and in the dim light, Margaret saw she had been weeping, though

-there were no tears in her brown eyes now, and her lips were curved in

-a smile.

-

-"I've been asleep," she said. "I'm glad you didn't go without speaking

-to me, Miss Margaret. I came in whilst you were practising, and I was

-tired. I—I had little rest last night."

-

-"I know—I've heard," Margaret returned hurriedly, as the other paused

-in confusion.

-

-"Have you, miss? I'm glad of that, for now I shan't have to tell you,

-and I'd rather not talk of it."

-

-"Of course you would rather not."

-

-"I was tired," Salome proceeded; "so tired and worn out, that I

-couldn't help crying. My poor legs ached so—but oh! not so badly as

-my heart. The pain here—" clasping her hands against her breast—"was

-almost more than I could bear. Then I fell asleep, and I was dreaming

-when you awoke me."

-

-"I hope it was a pleasant dream," Margaret said softly.

-

-"Oh, very pleasant! I thought it was evening time—getting almost dark

-as it is now—and service was going on in the church. I could hear

-father's voice singing with the choir. You can't imagine what a deep,

-beautiful voice father has, Miss Margaret. I was listening to it when

-you awoke me. But I'm glad you happened to catch sight of me, though

-you did disturb my dream. Is anything wrong, miss?" And the lame girl's

-brown eyes peered anxiously at her companion.

-

-"I am not happy," Margaret confessed with a sigh.

-

-"Mrs. Fowler is not ill again?" Salome questioned in concerned tones.

-

-"No, no; she is perfectly well. We have an old friend visiting us, and

-that makes it pleasant for mother."

-

-"I saw a strange lady in church with you on Sunday, miss; and father

-took her out in his boat with Mrs. Fowler. She treated him very

-handsomely, he said; but I wish she hadn't."

-

-"Why?" Margaret asked in surprise.

-

-"Because he spent the money she gave him in drink at the public-house,

-and that was the beginning of the trouble last night. There, I didn't

-mean to talk of it, but, naturally, it's uppermost in my mind."

-

-"Of course it is. Did you—did you get wet last night?"

-

-"Dripping to the skin," Salome admitted. "But Mrs. Moyle—God bless

-her!—took me in and gave me dry clothes, and a bed too. But oh, I

-couldn't sleep for wondering what father was up to at home. You can

-never be certain what a drunken body will not do. How selfish I am,

-though, to talk so much of myself. Won't you tell me what troubles you,

-Miss Margaret?"

-

-"No, Salome, I can't," was the low response. "It's something I can

-never speak of."

-

-"Then try not to think too much about it, miss," the lame girl advised.

-"If I were you, I'd tell my trouble to God, and leave it to Him. That's

-what I do with mine."

-

-"By your trouble, you mean your father?" Margaret inquired diffidently.

-

-"Yes, miss. Do you remember saying to me that night you and I had been

-sitting in the porch, and father had come home drunk—'May God help you,

-Salome'? I think you saw God was the only One who could help me; and I

-want to remind you of those words of yours, because maybe He's the only

-One who can help you too! Why, how dark it's getting think, miss, we

-had better go."

-

-She reached for her crutches as she spoke, and swung herself out of the

-pew into the aisle. Margaret followed her silently through the west

-door into the churchyard. It was nearly dark, for it was September now,

-and the evenings were shortening fast; but whilst they lingered at the

-churchyard gate, the edge of the moon appeared in the eastern horizon,

-and slowly sailed upwards into the cloudless sky, illuminating the old

-grey church, surrounded with the graves of the quiet dead, and shedding

-its pale light on the little village and the broad surface of the

-peaceful sea.

-

-"How beautiful!" cried Margaret. "It is the harvest moon, so father

-said last night. But, Salome, it is late for you to be out alone. Shall

-I walk part of the way home with you?"

-

-"Oh, no, thank you, miss! I shall be perfectly safe. Besides, it's

-quite light now the moon has risen. Good night, miss."

-

-"Good night, Salome."

-

-Margaret went back to Greystone in a very thoughtful frame of mind. She

-considered that her friend was not half so depressed as she herself

-would have been under similar circumstances, not reflecting that

-Salome's trouble had come upon her by slow degrees. It had taken five

-years to change Josiah Petherick from a sober, God-fearing man into the

-desperate drunkard who had turned his only child out-doors last night.

-

-Meanwhile, Salome, as she swung herself down the hill, wondered what

-could be amiss with Miss Margaret. She had grown deeply attached to the

-pretty, fair-haired girl, who had, from the first time they had met,

-treated her with the greatest kindness and consideration. She had given

-her several lessons in the art of knitting, and the lessons had given

-pleasure to teacher and pupil alike; and both were much interested

-in the progression of the sock which Margaret was rather laboriously

-making under the other's instructions.

-

-The "Crab and Cockle" was lit up brightly as Salome passed by, and

-she sighed as she heard the hoarse murmur of voices within, for she

-imagined her father to be there; but great was her surprise on reaching

-home, to find him in the little yard at the back of the cottage bathing

-his face at the pump. When he came into the kitchen, she noticed not

-only that he was intoxicated, but that he had a cut on his cheek, and

-one eye was turning black. She asked no questions, however, for she saw

-he was in one of his worst moods; so she lit the lamp in silence, and

-proceeded to set the supper on the table. Presently, he remarked that

-he had quarrelled with someone, and they had come to blows.

-

-"'Twas Silas Moyle—" he was beginning, when, in her surprise, she

-interrupted him.

-

-"Silas Moyle!" she echoed, for the baker was a steady, peace-loving man.

-

-"Yes," he nodded; "the canting humbug!" He looked at her sullenly, even

-resentfully, she thought; and she trembled with fear as she noticed his

-shaking hands and quivering lips.

-

-Then he burst forth into a volley of oaths, and she gleaned that he

-was angry with her for having sought refuge with the Moyles on the

-preceding night. He stormed against her, against Silas and his wife,

-against everyone, in short, who had remonstrated with him that day.

-Apparently, his neighbours had been telling him some plain home truths

-which had not been pleasant hearing.

-

-"Oh, father, don't say any more!" Salome pleaded in great distress.

-"Oh, please don't swear so frightfully! What could I do? You turned me

-out of my home, and I did not know where to go, except to Mrs. Moyle's.

-Oh, don't speak of her like that! It was out of pure kindness she took

-me in. You would not have had me spend the night out of doors in that

-lashing rain, would you? Oh, father, you are cruel indeed!"

-

-The reproach in her sorrowful eyes enraged him beyond measure.

-

-"You dare stand up for those who insult your father!" he shouted in a

-fury; and clutching her by the shoulder, he shook her savagely, then

-flung her from him with some violence. Losing her hold of her crutches,

-they fell to the ground; and staggering forward with a frightened cry,

-she knocked her forehead against a corner of the mantelpiece, and the

-next moment, lay white and unconscious at her father's feet.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XII.

-

-A Brief Repentance.

-

-IT was about half-past nine o'clock that same night, that the Vicar of

-Yelton opened the Pethericks' garden gate, and stepping determinedly up

-the path, rapped at the door of the cottage.

-

-Returning from an evening's fishing an hour previously, he had been

-stopped in the village, on his way home, by Silas Moyle, who had poured

-into his ears an excited tale about Josiah, whom Silas had taken upon

-himself to remonstrate with upon his cruel conduct to his daughter on

-the previous night, with the result that Josiah, inflamed with drink,

-had struck him, and had received in return a black eye and an injured

-cheek.

-

-"You know, sir, I'm a man of peace, and don't hold with brawling,"

-Silas had said; "but I own I lost my temper to-night. Josiah's a

-regular blackguard when he's drunk."

-

-"It was foolish to remonstrate with a drunken man," Mr. Amyatt had

-answered. "Had you spoken to him in his sober moments, your words might

-have had a very different effect. Where is Josiah now?"

-

-"Gone home, swearing vengeance against me, sir. My great fear is, that

-he'll do some harm to poor Salome."

-

-That had been the Vicar's fear, too. So, instead of going straight to

-the Vicarage as he had intended, he had retraced his footsteps to the

-Pethericks' cottage, and now stood waiting for admittance at the door.

-

-As no one answered his knock, he rapped louder and listened. For a

-few moments there was silence; then came the sound of heavy, dragging

-footsteps, and Josiah opened the door and demanded hoarsely who was

-there.

-

-"It is I, Petherick," the Vicar answered, stepping uninvited across the

-threshold.

-

-"Where is your daughter?" he asked, fixing his eyes upon the fisherman,

-who stood staring at him in a dazed fashion.

-

-Receiving no reply, he turned into the kitchen, an exclamation of

-horror and dismay breaking from his lips, as he caught sight of the

-small, slight figure of the lame girl lying near the fireplace. Very

-tenderly, he lifted her and placed her in the one easy-chair in the

-room, calling to Josiah to bring some water immediately.

-

-"Water!" questioned Josiah stupidly. "What for? She's dead. She's been

-dead this half-hour or more; but I haven't dared touch her. Salome,

-Salome! I've killed you, my poor maid! Your own father's killed you,

-Salome;" and flinging himself on his knees at his daughter's side,

-Josiah wept like a child.

-

-"Don't be foolish, Petherick," Mr. Amyatt said sternly. He had been

-feeling Salome's pulse, and had ascertained that it beat, though

-feebly. "She's not dead, but she has fainted. Come, be a man. Pull

-yourself together, and fetch some water at once."

-

-"Not dead," Josiah cried excitedly. "Are you sure? Then, God be thanked

-for that!" He rose from his knees, and went into the yard, returning in

-a few seconds with a basin of water.

-

-Very gently, the Vicar bathed Salome's white face until her eyelids

-flickered and a faint colour stole to her lips. Josiah, sobered by

-fright, explained what had happened, not sparing himself, but declaring

-he would not have injured a hair of his daughter's head, if he could

-have helped it, for Mr. Amyatt must know how much he loved her.

-

-"Tush, Petherick!" the Vicar responded impatiently, mingled pity and

-disgust in his tone. "Don't talk to me of your love for Salome. A nice

-way you have of showing it. Last night, you turned her out of doors in

-torrents of rain—"

-

-"I was drunk," Josiah interposed hastily. "She riled me, she did, with

-her tears, and—"

-

-"Having been drunk is no excuse," Mr. Amyatt interrupted in his turn.

-"Not content with your scandalous conduct last night, you must continue

-your unmanly behaviour to-day and knock Salome down, and—"

-

-"No, no," said a weak voice at this point. It was Salome who spoke. She

-had regained consciousness, and was sufficiently herself to understand

-what was going on. "No, no," she repeated, "it was an accident. He did

-not mean to hurt me."

-

-"I shook her, and—and pushed her," Josiah admitted, looking thoroughly

-ashamed of himself. "I meant her no harm, sir, but I was rough,

-and—oh, Salome, can you ever forgive me?" And the wretched man turned

-appealingly to the little figure in the easy-chair.

-

-"Yes," was the faint response. "I—I don't think I'm much hurt."

-

-"Are you in pain?" Mr. Amyatt asked gently.

-

-"No, sir; but my forehead is very sore. I must have knocked it in

-falling."

-

-"Yes, poor child, I see you did; there is a big bruise coming."

-

-"I suppose I fainted?" she inquired, looking wistfully from the Vicar

-to her father, who was regarding her in gloomy silence.

-

-"Yes, that was it, you fainted," Mr. Amyatt replied. "But you are much

-better now; and after a good night's rest, I have no doubt you will be

-almost yourself again."

-

-Salome glanced at her crutches, which were lying on the ground. Mr.

-Amyatt picked them up and placed them against her chair.

-

-"Thank you, sir," she said gratefully, lifting her brown eyes shyly to

-his face, which expressed so plainly his sympathy and concern. "I think

-I shall be all right now," she added. "Thank you for being so kind."

-

-"Does that mean you wish me to go?" he queried with a smile. "Well, I

-don't know that I can do any good by remaining longer. Good night, my

-dear."

-

-He took Salome's small, thin hand and pressed it reassuringly, then

-beckoned to her father to follow him to the door.

-

-"You must have someone in to see to that poor child to-night,

-Petherick," he said gravely. "Can you call upon assistance from one of

-your neighbours?"

-

-Josiah shook his head doubtfully.

-

-"Then, shall I ask Mrs. Moyle to look in and help get Salome to bed?"

-the Vicar suggested.

-

-A dull, shamed flush rose to the fisherman's face, and he began to

-stammer something about not knowing whether Mrs. Moyle would come

-inside his doors, seeing he had quarrelled with her husband only that

-evening; but the Vicar cut him short.

-

-"I know all about that, Petherick. Silas Moyle told me the tale himself

-not an hour ago. I heard it with great regret, for Silas is a sincere

-well-wisher of yours, and he and his wife would do anything in the

-world for your little girl. You had better let me send Mrs. Moyle to

-you—that is, if she will come; perhaps she will not. Shall I be the

-bearer of an apology from you to Silas?"

-

-"I'm sorry I hit him," Josiah acknowledged truthfully.

-

-"Shall I tell him that?"

-

-"If you please, sir. I admit, I deserved what he gave me. Oh, sir, I've

-had a fine fright this night! I thought I'd killed Salome."

-

-"You might have done so."

-

-"Then I should have been a murderer," Josiah groaned. "I'm a bad lot,

-sir, that's what I am."

-

-He seemed perfectly sober now, so Mr. Amyatt spoke a few solemn words

-to him, imploring him, for the sake of his little daughter, to give

-up the drink, and take the pledge. Josiah declared he would think

-seriously about doing so, and went back to Salome, whilst the Vicar

-hurried in search of Mrs. Moyle.

-

-At first, that good woman, kind-hearted and fond of the lame girl

-though she was, said nothing would make her enter the doors of one

-who had so insulted her husband as had Josiah. But, on Silas adding

-his entreaties to the Vicar's, she gave in and betook herself to the

-Pethericks' cottage, where, after having assisted Salome upstairs, and

-put her to bed, she declared her intention of remaining for the night.

-She was not going to leave "that poor motherless lamb," as she called

-Salome, "in the house alone with a maniac."

-

-Josiah Petherick did not look much like a maniac, however, as he sat

-in the kitchen listening to Mrs. Moyle's scathing remarks as she put

-away the supper things. He was in a wonderfully subdued and repentant

-frame of mind, and sat with his elbows on the table and his aching

-head resting in his hands. At last, he could bear his companion's home

-thrusts no longer, and exclaimed, "Good gracious, woman, do you imagine

-I don't know what a beast I am?"

-

-"Well, if you do know it, why don't you turn over a new leaf?" she

-inquired. "I mind what a steady young fellow you used to be. You're

-too easily led, that's what you are. Make up your mind to give up the

-drink."

-

-"I can't—not entirely; it's got too strong a hold on me," he confessed.

-

-"That's the way of it. Well, you'll have to choose between drink and

-Salome—that's my opinion—for you're killing her by slow degrees."

-

-Josiah started; but Mrs. Moyle did not pursue the subject further.

-She told him he had better go to bed, and make no noise to disturb

-his daughter. Accordingly, he took off his boots and crept upstairs

-in his stockinged feet, whilst Mrs. Moyle, having put out the lamp,

-and ascertained that the door of the cottage was securely fastened,

-returned to Salome, whom she found sleeping peacefully.

-

-The next day, Josiah put himself in the way of Silas Moyle, and

-actually apologised to him for having struck. And Silas was magnanimous

-and forgave him, though it must be admitted, he regarded the other's

-black eye and swelled cheek with a sense of satisfaction. They were

-marks that would remain to remind Josiah of his ill conduct for some

-days to come.

-

-Salome was poorly for nearly a week, and the first occasion on which

-she showed herself in the village, she was met on all sides by

-commiserating looks and words which showed her plainly that everyone

-was quite aware that her father had been the cause of her accident. The

-sympathy thus evinced towards her, though kindly offered, cut her to

-the heart, and she returned home utterly miserable.

-

-During the days which followed, Mr. Amyatt made several ineffectual

-attempts to induce Josiah to take the pledge. No, Josiah said, there

-was no need for him to do that; but he had made up his mind to turn

-over a new leaf, nevertheless, and the Vicar would see that he could

-take his glass of beer like other men and be none the worse for it. The

-Vicar shook his head at that, but Josiah was not to be moved, so the

-matter was, perforce, dropped.

-

-Margaret was the first of the inmates of Greystone to hear of Salome's

-accident. Mrs. Moyle gave her full particulars of it one morning when

-she had an errand at the shop. And before going home, she went to

-inquire for her lame friend, whom she found sitting in the porch of the

-cottage with such a bright, hopeful expression on her pale countenance,

-that she was surprised, and remarked upon it.

-

-"Oh, I am ever so much better!" Salome assured her with a smile.

-

-"Are you really?" Margaret asked anxiously. "You have a nasty bruise on

-your forehead."

-

-"Oh, that's nothing, indeed, miss! Have you heard how it happened?

-They haven't made you believe father did it on purpose, have they? He

-wouldn't hurt me for anything, if he could help it. Oh, Miss Margaret,

-I do believe father means to be steadier for the future!"

-

-"Is he going to be a teetotaler, then?" Margaret inquired eagerly.

-

-"No—o," was the dubious reply, "I'm afraid not; but he says he won't

-take more beer than is good for him. Oh, I know he has said that lots

-of times before, but I believe he really means it now. Indeed, he has

-been quite different these last few days—more like what he used to be

-when dear mother was alive."

-

-This was quite true. Mrs. Moyle's words that he would have to choose

-between drink and Salome had made a strong impression upon Josiah, and

-had caused him to notice how much thinner and paler his little daughter

-had become of late. His conscience reproached him on her account,

-for he knew that she was not very strong, and that she worked hard,

-besides which, his unsteady habits were a constant trouble to her. In

-his repentance, he felt capable of denying himself anything for her

-sake—except drink, and that, he solemnly vowed he would take sparingly.

-

-Seeing that Salome was so hopeful that her father meant to live a sober

-life for the future, Margaret had not the heart to express the doubts

-which occupied her mind; but on her return to Greystone, she saw, by

-Mr. Fowler's grave face when she explained the situation to him, that

-he did not believe Josiah's repentance would be lasting, and trembled

-for the safety and happiness of her little lame friend.

-

-"Don't you think he means to keep his word, and not get intoxicated

-again?" she questioned.

-

-"Oh, yes!" Mr. Fowler replied, "I think he means all he says. But I

-feel sure, if he does not give up drink altogether, it will soon have

-the mastery over him again. I believe he loves Salome very dearly, but

-he loves drink even better than his little daughter, or he would be

-willing to give it up for her sake. Poor Salome! I greatly fear she has

-more trouble in store for her with that father of hers."

-

-This proved to be the case. For before a fortnight had quite elapsed

-since Salome's accident, Josiah was drinking heavily again, and

-spending his evenings at the "Crab and Cockle," as he had done of

-old. His repentance had been of brief duration; and the lame girl's

-face grew pinched, and her dark brown eyes larger and sadder, as her

-father squandered more and more of his earnings at the village inn;

-whilst Silas Moyle grumbled when the Pethericks' bread account remained

-unpaid, and would have stopped the supply, but for Salome.

-

-"The poor little maid looks half-starved as it is," he remarked to his

-wife when she expressed surprise that he took no steps to obtain his

-rights. "Josiah's drinking what ought to be spent on his child; but it

-shall never be said that we begrudged her bread."

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XIII.

-

-Mrs. Fowler and Salome.

-

-WHEN Mrs. Lute returned to N—, she asked and obtained permission

-for Margaret to visit her. The little girl had not appeared very

-well lately, and it was thought a change would do her good, which it

-certainly did, for she came back at the end of a fortnight decidedly

-better in health and spirits.

-

-Mrs. Fowler greeted Margaret on her return with no very great show of

-pleasure, though secretly, she was delighted to see her looking so

-well. She never told her how glad she was to have her at home again, or

-that she had missed her, as she had actually done. And consequently,

-Margaret was not a little disappointed, and the kiss she gave her

-governess was far warmer than the one she imprinted on her mother's

-fair cheek—a fact Mrs. Fowler did not fail to notice.

-

-"I have forfeited her respect and affection," thought the mother

-bitterly.

-

-"She does not care for me, she never did," thought the child.

-

-So the estrangement between the two grew, till it was patent to

-everybody. Perhaps Mr. Fowler and the governess guessed the cause of

-it; but the servants blamed their mistress, and declared she was so

-wrapped up in Master Gerald, that she had no love to spare for her

-daughter.

-

-On her return to Greystone, Margaret resumed her organ lessons; but she

-was obliged to practise in the afternoons now, as the evenings were

-dark.

-

-The golden touch of autumn was upon everything; the orchards were

-being cleared of their fruit; and the village children scoured the

-country around Yelton for blackberries, and sloes, and mushrooms. At

-the end of September, the fine weather broke up, and was followed by

-the equinoctial gales, which did great damage in the Greystone gardens,

-the fierce wind tearing up shrubs by the roots, and the heavy rains

-beating down the summer flowers which had lingered late in bloom. Mr.

-Fowler braved the fury of the elements, and was out of doors every day;

-but the weather was too rough for the other inmates of Greystone, who

-remained in the house till the gales had passed.

-

-Thus it was, that Margaret and Salome did not see as much of each other

-as they had done hitherto. But one fine October afternoon, the former

-paid the latter a visit, and was shocked to see how worried and ill her

-lame friend was looking.

-

-The truth of the matter was, the bad weather had prevented any fishing

-being done, and Josiah Petherick, having no money in hand, it had been

-extremely short commons for him and Salome. Of course, Salome did not

-intimate this to Margaret, she would have been ashamed to do so; she

-merely said, when questioned, that she had not been very well, and

-turned the conversation to Margaret's late visit to N—.

-

-"Mrs. Lute gives up the house shortly, and returns to London," Margaret

-explained. "But she likes Cornwall so much, that she says she shall try

-to come again next year, if not to N—, then perhaps to some place near.

-By the way, Salome, mother and father are going to London for a few

-days soon. Shan't we be lonely at Greystone without them? Mother says

-she hopes you will come and see her before she goes. Will you?"

-

-Salome assented. She liked Mrs. Fowler, who had always been very kind

-to her, and admired her as much as she had ever done; she considered

-her the nicest, prettiest lady she knew.

-

-So one afternoon, a few days later, found the lame girl entering the

-Greystone grounds. She approached the house slowly, marking the havoc

-the late gales had worked, and went around to the back door, where she

-inquired of the servant who opened it in response to her knock, if Mrs.

-Fowler was at home. She was answered in the affirmative, and invited

-into the big, front kitchen to wait, whilst it was ascertained if the

-mistress was disengaged at present.

-

-"Sit down, my dear," said the cook—a stout, middle-aged woman, with a

-round, red face, and a pair of sharp though not unkindly eyes. "There,

-take that easy-chair and rest yourself; maybe the pull up the hill has

-tired you."

-

-She fetched a glass of milk and a big slice of cake, which she placed

-before her visitor. "You'll be better after a little refreshment," she

-added. "I know the mistress would wish you to have it."

-

-"Oh, thank you!" Salome replied gratefully, flushing with pleasure, for

-she had had a scanty dinner. She drank the milk and ate the cake, and

-did certainly feel better afterwards.

-

-"Miss Margaret's out," the cook remarked. "She's gone for a walk with

-Miss Conway and Master Gerald. But I daresay, she'll be back before

-long. She'd be sorry to miss you, my dear, for you're a rare favourite

-of hers, I can tell you."

-

-Salome smiled happily, as she replied, "I am so glad to hear you say

-that, for I love her dearly. I expect you're very fond of her yourself,

-aren't you?"

-

-"I believe she's a general favourite—but no, I'm wrong there. There's

-one in the house who doesn't appreciate her, and that's her own mother.

-Yes, you may well look surprised, but I assure you it's true. Mrs.

-Fowler doesn't make half as much of Miss Margaret as she does of Master

-Gerald—tiresome boy that he is. She wanted to take him to town with

-her, if you please, but the master won't allow that. I heard them

-talking about it in the garden. 'We'll take Margaret, if you like,'

-he said. 'No,' said she, 'I don't want Margaret.' She never does want

-her, and that's the fact, and yet, I believe there's not anything Miss

-Margaret would not do for her."

-

-The cook, who was an extremely garrulous person, paused breathlessly

-for a few moments, then proceeded: "And such a pretty, nice-mannered

-little girl Miss Margaret is too. I declare it's a shame her own mother

-shouldn't love her more. It puzzles me, that it does, why it should be

-so."

-

-Salome had listened in pain and surprise, wondering if this accounted

-for the sad expression which she had so often noticed on Margaret's

-pretty face. Was this the trouble that could not be told?

-

-Before, however, she had time to make a reply, Ross entered the

-kitchen, and said her mistress would like Salome to join her in the

-drawing-room.

-

-The lame girl found Mrs. Fowler alone, sitting by the fire, for though

-the weather was not actually cold, the day was dull, and the warmth was

-pleasant. Mrs. Fowler was very glad to have a visitor, and made Salome

-sit down near her and talk.

-

-"My husband and I are going up to town the day after to-morrow," she

-said, "and I wanted to see you before I went. You must stay until the

-others return and have some tea."

-

-Salome explained that the cook had already given her milk and cake;

-but Mrs. Fowler smilingly declared she knew she would be ready for tea

-when tea-time came, which would not be for another hour. She continued

-to talk pleasantly and easily, whilst the lame girl listened; and

-by-and-by, when Salome was questioned kindly and sympathetically as

-to the reason of her wan looks, she confessed, with some hesitation,

-however, that it was very tight times with her and her father at home.

-

-"The weather has been so bad that no boats have been able to go out,"

-she said; "and—" lowering her voice and colouring scarlet—"father's

-been worse than usual lately, and—and—he owes money to Silas Moyle, and

-how can we ever hope to pay it, if he spends so much at the 'Crab and

-Cockle'? It almost seems as though he doesn't care. And every day, I'm

-afraid Silas will say he won't let us have any more bread. Oh, it's

-dreadful—it's all through the drink, ma'am. Father'd be such a dear,

-good father if it wasn't for that."

-

-"And you really love him in spite of the way in which he goes on?" Mrs.

-Fowler asked wonderingly.

-

-"Oh, yes, ma'am, indeed I do!" was the earnest reply. "Whatever father

-did, I think I should love him just the same."

-

-"I don't know how you can, I'm sure; I believe if I were you, I should

-lose all patience with him. Think how selfish he is, how inconsiderate

-for your comfort, how violent—"

-

-"Ah, but that's only when he's been drinking!" Salome interposed

-hastily. "Father isn't like that really; it's only when the drink's in

-him, that he's all you say. If he would but give up the drink, he and I

-should be as happy as the day is long. Oh, I shall never cease hoping

-and praying that some day he may become a teetotaler! If I could get

-him to take the pledge, I believe all would be well."

-

-"Meanwhile, he is wearing you to death, poor child. Well, don't cease

-to pray for him. God knows he needs all your prayers."

-

-Mrs. Fowler sighed deeply, whilst she gazed sadly and thoughtfully into

-the fire. She was silent so long that Salome thought she must have

-forgotten her presence; but suddenly she glanced at her with a smile

-and asked, "How is Margaret getting on with her knitting?"

-

-"Oh, very well, ma'am!" was the reply. "But I am afraid she will not

-come so frequently now the winter days are at hand. Besides, father is

-oftener at home."

-

-Mrs. Fowler nodded. She put her hand into her pocket and drew therefrom

-her purse, as she inquired, "How much is it your father owes Silas

-Moyle?"

-

-"Nearly eighteen shillings," Salome admitted. "I know it's a lot of

-money," she added deprecatingly.

-

-"A lot of money!" Mrs. Fowler echoed with a faint, amused smile as she

-opened her purse and took out a sovereign. "Here, my dear," she said,

-pressing the coin into her visitor's hand, "you will be able to pay

-your bread account now. Yes, it is for you—a present—put it in your

-pocket."

-

-Salome was so astonished that she could find no words in which to

-speak her thanks; but her expressive eyes spoke for her, and told how

-deeply thankful she felt. She tied the sovereign up in one corner

-of her handkerchief, which she placed inside the bosom of her frock

-for greater safety. And then, having overcome her first sensation of

-intense surprise, she exclaimed, "Oh, ma'am, thank you! How good and

-kind you are! Oh, what will father say when he knows! It will be such

-a relief to be able to pay Silas Moyle, for we never owed him quite so

-much before. Oh, I shall be grateful to you as long as ever I live!"

-

-"There, there, say no more about it. I am glad it is in my power to

-lift a little of the load of trouble from your young shoulders; your

-heaviest trial is beyond the reach of human aid. But oh! Go on loving

-your father, child, if you can, for he must want all your affection, I

-am sure."

-

-To Salome's astonishment, she saw there were tears in Mrs. Fowler's

-blue eyes, and that her face was quivering with strong emotion. Before

-more could be said, however, Gerald flung open the door and rushed

-into the room, followed at a more decorous pace by his sister and Miss

-Conway, and a little later the master of the house appeared upon the

-scene.

-

-No one would hear of Salome's leaving, till she had had tea, so she

-remained. And afterwards, she willingly consented to sing, so that it

-was quite dark before she left Greystone; and Mrs. Fowler insisted on

-sending a servant to see her home in safety.

-

-Josiah Petherick was not sober that night, but the next morning,

-his daughter told him of the present Mrs. Fowler had made her, and

-expressed her determination of paying the baker that day. Nor would she

-hear of her father's settling the account, for, alas! she knew that he

-was not to be trusted. And that if she let him have the money, he would

-be more likely to betake himself to the "Crab and Cockle" than to Silas

-Moyle's shop.

-

-"The truth is, you won't trust me," he said bitterly.

-

-"I can't, father," she answered, the sound of tears in her voice. "You

-know I can't. Mrs. Fowler gave me the money on purpose for our bread

-account, and I must know it's paid. Oh, it was kind of her!"

-

-"Yes, it was," he admitted, adding with unexpected candour, "There

-never should have been need for her to do it; but your father's a

-good-for-naught. Yes, Salome, that's what everybody says. Folks pity

-you an' blame me. I know Mrs. Fowler has done this for your sake."

-

-"And for yours too, father. Oh, yes, I am certain of that. She told me

-to go on loving you, and—"

-

-"Did she though?" Josiah interposed in extreme surprise. "Well, you do

-amaze me. She's a real kind lady, anyway, and has proved herself our

-true friend."

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XIV.

-

-A Stormy Night.

-

-"HARK! What's that, Miss Conway? It sounds like a dog howling. There it

-is again!" And the speaker, Margaret Fowler, put down the book she had

-been reading, and rising from her chair by the fireplace, went to the

-window, and peered into the darkness.

-

-The governess and her two pupils were spending the hours between

-tea-time and supper in the schoolroom at Greystone. A very pleasant

-apartment it was, comfortably carpeted and curtained, with a bright

-wood fire burning in the grate. Miss Conway glanced up from her

-needlework as Margaret spoke, whilst Gerald ceased playing with the cat

-on the hearthrug and listened for a few moments.

-

-"I don't hear anything," the latter said.

-

-He turned his attention to his playfellow again, but puss was tired

-and had no desire to prolong the game. In vain, he dangled a piece

-of string before her eyes to entice her to spring at it. She had had

-enough of him, and sat on the hearthrug, complacently washing her face

-and blinking in the firelight.

-

-"Selfish thing!" he exclaimed, "I—oh, yes, I do hear something now!"

-And he joined his sister at the window.

-

-The sound which fell upon the ears of the listeners was like the low

-wail of some animal in distress. Margaret's fair cheeks paled as she

-listened, for there was something eerie in the faint, indistinct sound.

-

-"I don't think it's a dog," said Miss Conway doubtfully. "No, I believe

-it's the wind rising. If so, we shall have a wild night. Let us open

-the window and make certain what it is."

-

-They did so; and then ascertained that it was indeed the wind which

-they heard. The night was pitch dark, with heavy clouds overhead. It

-had been a still, sombre, autumn day, with that hush in the air which

-generally portends a storm. Now, the wind was rising, whilst the

-breakers could be heard dashing against the base of the cliffs.

-

-"Yes, it is only the wind," Miss Conway decided. "How mournful it

-sounds. Shut the window, children, and come back to the fire. How

-thankful we should be that we have a good roof over our heads! Gerald,

-don't tease the cat, my dear; she doesn't want to play any more."

-

-"Josiah Petherick said this afternoon that we were going to have a

-storm," Gerald remarked. "I saw him on the beach, tarring his boat.

-None of the fishermen had gone to sea."

-

-"I suppose they considered the weather too uncertain?" Miss Conway

-interrogated.

-

-"Yes," the boy replied. "Father says they are all very weather-wise. I

-don't mind a storm, do you, Miss Conway? I wonder if there will be a

-wreck."

-

-"Oh, I sincerely trust not!" the governess exclaimed hastily.

-

-"I should like to see a wreck," Gerald informed her. "Josiah Petherick

-has seen several, and he has saved the lives of heaps of people. He

-must be a very brave man. I don't believe he's afraid of anything.

-Can't we have our supper upstairs to-night instead of in the

-dining-room? It's so jolly and cosy here."

-

-Miss Conway assented. Mr. and Mrs. Fowler were in London, and the house

-seemed dull without them. Margaret had taken up her book again; but

-she was not reading, for the sound of the rising gale distracted her

-attention and made her feel restless and uneasy.

-

-"If we have a storm, perhaps there will be a wreck," Gerald proceeded

-presently. "It is so dark, that I should not be surprised, should you,

-Miss Conway, if a ship ran on the rocks?"

-

-"Oh, Gerald, pray don't suggest such a probability!" she cried, with a

-shudder.

-

-"If there was a wreck, would you let me go down to the beach?" he

-inquired eagerly. "Say you would, Miss Conway!"

-

-"I shall certainly say no such thing. If there was a wreck—which God

-forbid!—I should insist on your remaining in the house. Nothing would

-induce me to give you permission to go out in a storm. But we need not

-speak of it. Ring the bell, Gerald, and I will order supper."

-

-The boy obeyed, though with a cloud on his brow; he realised argument

-was of no avail when his governess spoke in that decided tone. After

-supper, he went to bed at his usual time, and forgetful of the rising

-storm, and the prospect of a wreck, was soon asleep. Miss Conway and

-Margaret sat up till ten o'clock, alternately talking and listening

-to the wind, which was now howling dolefully around the house, almost

-driving in the window-panes, and mingling its sobs and wails with the

-angry roar of the sea; and then they, too, retired to their respective

-rooms. The gale increased in fury however, and then came the rain.

-

-Meanwhile, the villagers were all alert, for there was little rest for

-anyone at Yelton on such a night as this, with a westerly gale raging,

-and the sea like great walls of foam. The fishermen hesitated to seek

-their beds, whilst some of the most venturesome braved the furious

-wind and the heavy rain, which was now descending in torrents, and

-kept watch by the sea-shore, their hearts anxiously expectant, as they

-recalled similar occasions when their assistance had been required to

-help those in peril on the sea.

-

-In the Pethericks' cottage, Salome stood by the kitchen window,

-listening to the storm, and patiently waiting for her father. He was

-not at the "Crab and Cockle," she was certain of that, but on the

-beach; and she felt no anxiety about him. He was accustomed to rough

-weather; and on such a night as this, she knew he would be his true

-self—brave, fearless, and reliable. As was her custom when alone, she

-was singing softly:

-

-   "Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us

-      O'er the world's tempestuous sea;

-    Guide us, guard us, keep us, feed us,

-      For we have no help but Thee,

-    Yet possessing every blessing

-      If our God our Father be."

-

-Seen by the subdued light of the lamp in the centre of the table, the

-little girl's face wore a look of great contentment. For the time, she

-had forgotten how troublous was her life, as her soul rose on the wings

-of faith to an altitude which set her far above the trials of this

-world. She sang the hymn from beginning to end in a soft undertone,

-with the wailing wind for an accompanyment; then, opening the window,

-she thrust out her head and listened. She heard hurrying footsteps

-passing the cottage, and men's hoarse voices shouting.

-

-"Who goes there?" Salome cried. "Is anything amiss?"

-

-"I hope nothing is wrong," she thought, as she received no answer; "but

-I suppose they are obliged to shout to make themselves heard."

-

-She tried in vain to pierce the darkness.

-

-"If a vessel had been in distress, the crew would fire guns, or send up

-rockets," she reflected.

-

-The rain beat against her face, so she drew back from the window,

-which she shut, and turned her attention to the fire, remembering that

-her father would certainly return drenched to the skin. Suddenly the

-cottage door was flung open, and Margaret Fowler, hatless, and with her

-fair hair hanging around her face, stood before her.

-

-"Oh, Salome!" she gasped breathlessly. "Is he here? Have you seen

-Gerald?"

-

-"No, miss. What is wrong?"

-

-"We've lost Gerald, and I thought he might have come here. All the

-servants are looking for him, and Miss Conway too. Oh, what shall we

-do? He went to bed as usual, and was fast asleep at ten o'clock, but

-when Miss Conway peeped into his room half-an-hour ago, to see if the

-storm had disturbed him, his bed was empty. He had dressed, and we

-believe, he must have gone out."

-

-"Perhaps he is somewhere hiding in the house," Salome suggested.

-"Surely he would not go out on a night like this."

-

-"Yes, I think he would. He wanted so much to see a wreck—he seemed

-to have made up his mind there would be one to-night—and he is quite

-fearless."

-

-"I expect he is safe. Oh, how wet you are, Miss Margaret!"

-

-"Yes, and the wind blew away my hat coming down the hill, but no

-matter. Oh, where can Gerald have gone? I believe he must be on the

-beach."

-

-"If he is, father will be sure to notice him and take care of him,"

-Salome said consolingly. "Don't be frightened, miss; I feel sure Master

-Gerald will come to no harm."

-

-"If he does, it will kill mother!" Margaret cried, despairingly. "She

-loves him so dearly. No, I mustn't stay; I must go and find Gerald if I

-can;" and opening the door, she rushed away into the darkness again.

-

-After a few minutes of indecision, Salome put on her jacket, tied a

-shawl around her head, and leaving the cottage door unlocked, hastened

-towards the beach. She had not gone far, however, before she came upon

-a group of fishermen, one of whom was her father. She explained that

-the little boy from Greystone was missing from his home, but no one

-had seen him. Her father was vexed that she had ventured out in such a

-storm, and peremptorily ordered her to return.

-

-"I'll look around an' see if I can find Master Gerald," he said. "But

-he'll come to no harm, I warrant."

-

-"Oh, I am so glad to hear you say that!"

-

-It was Margaret who spoke. She had been led in the direction of the

-group by the sound of voices; and clutched Josiah by the arm to steady

-herself, as a fierce gust of wind nearly took her off her feet.

-

-"Do you go back with Salome, miss," he said. "This is no fit place for

-you two little maids. I promise I'll look for Master Gerald, and find

-him, too, if he's hereabouts."

-

-"Oh, thank you!" Margaret replied earnestly.

-

-She was really nearly done up with battling against the wind and the

-rain, so she raised no objection to returning with Salome. The little

-girls reached the cottage in safety, and upon entering, found Miss

-Conway in the kitchen. Having knocked in vain at the door, she had

-tried to open it, and finding it unlocked, had gone in; she too had

-thought it possible that Gerald might be there.

-

-"If he's on the beach, father will find him, you may depend upon that,"

-Salome assured her. "And he will bring him straight here. I fear you

-will both catch dreadful colds," and she glanced commiseratingly from

-Margaret to the governess.

-

-"We shan't mind that, so long as Gerald is safe," Margaret returned.

-She was shivering and her teeth were chattering, as much with fright on

-her brother's account as with cold. "Oh, Miss Conway, what shall we do

-if anything has happened to him? Mother will never forgive us if—"

-

-"Dear Margaret, don't be morbid; neither you nor I have been to

-blame," Miss Conway reminded her. "If harm has come to your brother,

-it has been through no fault of ours. Who would imagine that he would

-deliberately get up and dress and steal out of the house unknown to

-anyone? Whatever the result of this mad freak of his proves to be, will

-have been his own doing."

-

-"It is terrible to think what may have happened to him. The wind is

-high enough to blow him into the sea if he is really on the beach. Oh,

-mother will hate the sight of me for ever, if Gerald is drowned!" And

-Margaret burst into tears.

-

-"Don't, dear, don't!" Miss Conway said imploringly.

-

-"You know it is true," Margaret cried passionately. "If I was killed,

-mother would not care—not much; but Gerald is as the apple of her eye."

-

-Before any answer could be made to this, the cottage door opened, and

-Josiah strode into the kitchen, bearing Gerald in his arms. He had

-discovered the little boy crouched in the shelter of a boat which had

-been drawn high up on the beach, out of the reach of the tide.

-

-"There is no wreck," Gerald said disgustedly, as Josiah set him down on

-the floor, "and I'm cold and wet, and should like to go home."

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XV.

-

-Trouble at Greystone.

-

-FOR once, Gerald had gone too far, as he discovered on the following

-day, when, for punishment, his governess insisted on keeping him

-locked up in his bedroom. In vain, he cried and protested against such

-treatment, Miss Conway was like adamant, and the boy had perforce

-to endure twenty-four hours of solitary confinement with no one to

-speak to, no one to play with, and nothing to do. A more salutary

-mode of punishment could not have been devised; and in consequence,

-Gerald appeared at the breakfast-table on the morning following his

-imprisonment, in a subdued and repentant frame of mind. He said he was

-sorry for his past conduct; but he could not extract a promise from

-either Miss Conway or Margaret that his father should not be informed

-of the anxiety and trouble he had caused the whole household.

-

-Margaret had caught a severe cold on the night of the storm, and spent

-the next few days shivering over the schoolroom fire, too unwell for

-lessons. Gerald's escapade had been a shock to her; she was overwrought

-and languid, and when, on the morning of the day that Mr. and Mrs.

-Fowler were expected home, she began to dress she felt so shaky that

-she went back to bed again.

-

-"Not up yet, Margaret?" asked Miss Conway's voice outside the door,

-half-an-hour later.

-

-"No," was the reply. "I am so sorry, but my cold is very bad, and I

-have such a dreadful headache."

-

-The governess entered the room immediately on hearing this and

-approached the bed. After kissing Margaret with affectionate concern,

-she felt her pulse and declared her to be a little feverish.

-

-"Stay where you are, my dear," she said kindly. "Why, you're shivering.

-Ross shall bring you a hot-water bottle for your feet and light the

-fire; then, I have no doubt, if you lie in bed and nurse your cold, you

-will soon be better."

-

-"I am so vexed, because mother and father are coming home to-night,"

-Margaret sighed.

-

-"I daresay you will be well enough to get up by the evening," Miss

-Conway responded hopefully. "I shall be with Gerald as usual, but

-I shall tell Ross to devote herself to you. If you want me, do not

-hesitate to send for me."

-

-Margaret could eat no breakfast, but she took a few sips of the milk

-Ross brought her a short while later, and afterwards fell into an

-uneasy sleep. The maid, moving about softly, lit the fire and dusted

-the room, then turned her attention to the flushed face on the pillow.

-

-"Poor little thing, she does look poorly," she murmured. "And it's all

-on account of that tiresome child, Master Gerald. 'Tis a shame of the

-mistress to spoil him so; everyone can see but her that she's ruining

-him, allowing him his own way as she does."

-

-Margaret moved restlessly and began to mutter. Ross bent over her,

-and caught the sound of Gerald's name. She laid her cool hand softly

-against the little girl's cheek and felt how it burnt.

-

-"She's very feverish," she thought. "I do hope she isn't going to be

-really ill. A nice home-coming it will be for master, if she is. I

-wonder if the mistress would trouble much?"

-

-Roes moved away to the fireplace, and taking up some sewing-work,

-stitched industriously, every now and again glancing towards the

-restless sleeper.

-

-Suddenly the little girl uttered a shriek and sprang up in bed,

-whereupon Ross dropped her work and hastened to the bedside.

-

-"What is it, dear?" she asked, putting her arms around Margaret's

-quivering form. "You've had a bad dream, I expect—but it was only a

-dream. See, now, don't tremble so, you're perfectly safe with Ross."

-

-"Where's Gerald?" Margaret demanded in a strange, hoarse voice.

-

-"Doing his lessons with Miss Conway."

-

-"Where's Gerald?" the little girl reiterated.

-

-Ross repeated her former answer, but it did not appear to satisfy

-Margaret.

-

-"Let me go and look for him," she said in a tone of distress.

-

-"No, dear; you're not well, you must lie down again."

-

-"You won't let me go!" Margaret struggled a minute in Ross' restraining

-arms, then sank back on the pillow. "I know why you won't let me go,"

-she cried; "he's dead. He's drowned."

-

-"No, no, darling, he's perfectly safe. Dear Miss Margaret, you've been

-dreaming."

-

-"He's drowned!" the little girl insisted. "And who's going to tell

-mother? Oh, it will kill her!"

-

-"Miss Margaret, I solemnly declare Master Gerald's living and well,"

-said Ross, growing more and more concerned. "I wouldn't tell you a

-story, why should I? You're poorly, dear, and you've had a bad dream."

-

-But Margaret wandered on: "Listen to the rain beating against the

-window, and the wind howling. And Gerald is out in it all! If he is on

-the beach, he will be blown into the sea. Look at that great wave! Oh,

-it has carried him away!" and she uttered a heartrending cry.

-

-"It is a lovely day," Ross assured her; "the sun is shining, and the

-sea is quite blue and calm. You've been dreaming about the storm, miss,

-and fancying all sorts of horrors that never happened."

-

-Margaret's blue eyes, wide open, were fixed upon Ross' face, but she

-evidently had not followed what the woman had said, for after a short

-silence she began to mutter distressfully about Gerald again.

-

-Ross was now exceedingly alarmed. She rang the bell, and sent for Miss

-Conway, who, in her turn, tried to pacify the sick child. But Margaret

-paid no more attention to her governess than she had to Ross.

-

-"I am afraid she is going to be very ill," Miss Conway said in much

-distress. "All her trouble seems to be about her brother. Fetch him,

-Ross; perhaps the sight of him will satisfy her."

-

-So Gerald was brought to his sister's bedside. He was somewhat

-frightened when told Margaret was ill; but in obedience to Miss Conway,

-he stooped over the bed to kiss her. She, however, pushed him away with

-feverish strength, and covered her eyes with her hand.

-

-"Take him away!" she cried. "What is that strange boy doing here?"

-

-"It's Gerald, dear Margaret," said the governess softly. "Your own

-brother come to show you that he is quite well, and—"

-

-"No, no; Gerald's drowned, I tell you! Oh, what will mother say? She

-loves him so."

-

-At this point, Gerald, realising that there was something very strange

-and unusual about his sister, began to cry, and was hurried out of the

-room.

-

-Thoroughly shocked, Miss Conway sent a groom to N— immediately, to

-fetch a doctor; and within a few hours, the news had spread through

-the village of Yelton that the little girl at Greystone was very ill.

-Mr. Amyatt, as soon as he heard the tidings, considerately invited

-Gerald to spend the remainder of the day at the Vicarage; and Salome

-Petherick arrived at the back door of Greystone in the afternoon to

-make inquiries.

-

-The cook, who had been stewing beef-tea, insisted on Salome's coming

-inside and resting in her easy-chair.

-

-"Mrs. Moyle told me of Miss Margaret's illness," the lame girl said,

-her face expressive of the deepest concern. "I hope it is nothing

-serious?"

-

-"I am afraid it is, my dear," was the grave rejoinder. "It's

-inflammation of the lungs. Dr. Vawdry has been here from N—, and he's

-coming again this evening. He says she's very ill; and if Mr. and Mrs.

-Fowler had not been returning to-night, they'd have been telegraphed

-for. Oh, dear, dear, I do trust the poor child's life may be spared!

-She's not been well for days, not since the night of the storm, when

-Master Gerald led us all such a dance after him. He's the one to be

-blamed for this. For once, I should think the mistress would see that."

-

-And the woman poked the fire viciously, as though the act was a vent

-for her feelings. "She's the nicest, sweetest, little creature I ever

-knew is Miss Margaret," she proceeded, "with always a kind word for

-us servants. Ross says she doesn't recognise anyone; she didn't know

-Master Gerald, and her incessant cry is that he is drowned. If only

-Miss Conway had turned the key in his bedroom door on the night of the

-storm. She kept him locked up the next day, and it broke his rebellious

-spirit—quite. She'd soon get him under subjection if his mother didn't

-pamper him so. Don't you take on, now, about Miss Margaret, my dear;

-maybe she'll get over this attack all right. She's young and healthy,

-and she'll have good nursing, and everything money can buy. I ordered

-some lean, gravy beef the minute I heard she was ill, but the doctor

-won't allow her anything but milk and soda water, so there's plenty of

-strong beef-tea going begging, and you'd better have a cupful. Will you

-have bread with it? Yes. I'm sure it will do you good."

-

-Salome was very glad of some refreshment. She took the beef-tea,

-whilst the cook talked on without waiting for replies; but when she

-rose to go, having learnt all there was to know, her heart was very

-heavy indeed. Her eyes were full of unshed tears as she passed out of

-the Greystone grounds, and commenced her descent of the hill. As she

-went by the church, she wondered if she would ever hear Miss Margaret

-practising on the organ again.

-

-And she was so engrossed with her sorrowful thoughts, that she was

-startled when, on reaching the Vicarage gate, a voice addressed her

-from inside. "Hi, Salome! Where have you been?"

-

-She paused and looked at the speaker, Gerald Fowler, who was peering

-at her laughingly between the bars of the gate. The boy was in high

-spirits at being the Vicar's guest, and he had not been informed that

-his sister was really seriously ill. He had been frightened when

-Margaret had failed to recognise him, but the impression he had then

-received had passed, and he was delighted at having this unexpected

-holiday.

-

-[Illustration: "YOU'D BETTER MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS,

- SALOME PETHERICK."]

-

-"I've been to Greystone, Master Gerald," Salome returned quietly.

-

-"To see Margaret, I suppose? She's ill, you know."

-

-"Yes, and I am so grieved and sorry."

-

-"Oh, I expect she'll soon be better!" Gerald remarked confidently.

-

-"I hope so," the lame girl replied dubiously. "But the doctor says she

-has inflammation of the lungs."

-

-"Does that ever kill people, Salome?"

-

-"Yes, Master Gerald, very often."

-

-"But Margaret won't die, will she? You don't think that, do you?"

-

-"No one can tell—but God. We must ask Him to take care of her. Oh,

-Master Gerald, see what has come of your ill conduct!"

-

-"What do you mean?" he inquired in amazement. "It isn't my fault that

-Margaret's ill."

-

-"Oh, yes, indeed it is! If you had not gone down to the beach on the

-night of the storm, she would not have got drenched to the skin and

-have caught such a dreadful cold. Oh, yes, it was your fault!" And

-Salome looked at him severely.

-

-His blue eyes filled with sudden tears, and his rosy cheeks paled as he

-gasped, "Oh, I never thought—I never thought—"

-

-"No, I don't suppose you did, Master Gerald, or if you did, it was

-yourself you thought of and no one else," Salome cried indignantly.

-"You 're the most selfish little boy I know."

-

-"You 're very unkind, and—and nasty."

-

-"I daresay you think I am; but I love Miss Margaret, and I know you've

-been the cause of her illness. I wonder what your mother and father

-will say."

-

-"Mother will say it was not my fault," Gerald declared stoutly. "I

-couldn't tell Margaret would be silly enough to go to look for me; and

-I think you'd better mind your own business, Salome Petherick," he

-concluded.

-

-He was impressed by the lame girl's plain speaking, and put on a show

-of anger to hide the fact.

-

-She shook her head at him gravely, as she turned away from the Vicarage

-gate and went down the hill.

-

-When she reached home, she lit the fire and boiled the kettle for

-tea, and by that time her father had appeared upon the scene, having

-had a good catch of fish. His face grew grave when Salome told him of

-Margaret's illness, and he expressed great regret, for he was grateful

-to the Fowlers for the notice they had taken of his child. And he

-volunteered to go to Greystone later on and inquire for the poor little

-sufferer. This he accordingly did, and brought back the news that

-Dr. Vawdry had visited the patient again, and had declared her to be

-dangerously ill, but that Mr. and Mrs. Fowler had not yet come. The

-carriage had gone to N— to meet them at the railway station, as had

-been arranged, and they were expected very soon now.

-

-"Don't take on so, my dear," said Josiah kindly, as he noticed Salome's

-brown eyes full of tears. "The little maid'll pull through, please

-God. I am grieved about her though—s'pose 'twas you," and he looked at

-his child with great affection as he reflected on the uncertainty of

-life. And because it would please her, and with the laudable desire

-of keeping her from dwelling too much on the thought of Margaret's

-illness, he spent the evening in her company, and that night his

-associates at the "Crab and Cockle" looked for him in vain.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XVI.

-

-Days of Sickness.

-

-IT was nearly ten o'clock when Mr. and Mrs. Fowler reached Greystone

-that autumn night. Without waiting for assistance, the latter sprang

-out of the carriage and ran into the house, and almost into the arms

-of Miss Conway, who had come down from the sick-room to meet the

-travellers.

-

-"What is this I hear about Margaret?" Mrs. Fowler inquired, excitedly

-clutching the governess by the arm, and scanning her pale countenance

-with anxiety. "I am told she is ill. It is nothing much, I suppose?

-What ails her? A cold?"

-

-"She certainly did catch cold," Miss Conway rejoined in a grave tone,

-looking from Mrs. Fowler to her husband, who had quickly followed her.

-"She has been poorly for several days, but this morning she was taken

-much worse, and I sent immediately for Dr. Vawdry from N—. He has been

-twice during the day, and—and—" this in a faltering voice—"she is very

-ill with inflammation of the lungs. We are poulticing her; Ross is with

-her now, and—and—I'm so very glad you've come!" And, overwrought with

-anxiety, she burst into tears.

-

-"Come into the drawing-room, Miss Conway," Mr. Fowler said kindly. "No,

-my dear," he continued, laying a restraining hand upon his wife who had

-turned to rush upstairs, "let us hear all details about Margaret first

-of all. Besides, you must not allow her to see you looking frightened

-and distressed."

-

-"She would take no notice," Miss Conway said mournfully. "She

-recognises nobody, and is quite delirious. Dr. Vawdry says that need

-not alarm us, though, for it's frequently the case in inflammation of

-the lungs."

-

-"What has caused her illness?" Mrs. Fowler asked, as she followed the

-others into the drawing-room.

-

-Miss Conway wiped away her tears, and in a few minutes was sufficiently

-composed to explain all that had happened. When she had finished her

-story, Mr. Fowler inquired, "Where is Gerald now?"

-

-"In bed and asleep, I am thankful to say," Miss Conway answered. "Mr.

-Amyatt had him at the Vicarage until eight o'clock, when he brought him

-home. He begged me to allow him to sit up to see you, but I insisted on

-his having his supper and going to bed."

-

-"Quite right." Mr. Fowler's face was very stern, and he would not meet

-the glance of his wife's appealing eyes. "We see now the result of

-indulgence," he added emphatically. "Had Gerald been taught obedience

-and consideration for other people, this trouble would never have come

-upon us."

-

-Mrs. Fowler quailed beneath the mingled reproach and reproof of her

-husband's tone; for once she had no excuse to make for her favourite

-child. She had spent a very pleasant time in London, where she had met

-many old friends, including Mrs. Lute; but she had not been sorry to

-return to Greystone, acknowledging to herself that the quiet, healthful

-life there suited her. With her husband's presence to strengthen her,

-it had not been so very difficult to refuse stimulants when they had

-been offered to her. She was fully conscious of her own weakness now,

-and no longer deceived herself, as she had formerly done, with the

-fallacious idea that a little wine or spirit was good for her.

-

-When she recalled how, during her husband's brief absence from home a

-few weeks previously, she had been tempted from the mere fact of having

-taken one glass of wine to purchase a bottle of brandy, and drink it

-by stealth, she was obliged to confess that total abstinence from all

-intoxicating liquors was the only course for her to adopt to prevent

-the ruin of her happiness, and that of those she loved. At Greystone,

-she felt she was out of temptation's way. The news of her little

-daughter's illness, which had been imparted to her and Mr. Fowler at

-N—, had startled and shocked her immeasurably; and she had begged the

-coachman to drive home as quickly as possible, which he had accordingly

-done.

-

-Margaret was lying in a kind of stupor when her parents entered her

-bedroom, and they were careful not to disturb her. Mr. Fowler saw she

-was very ill, and his heart ached as he bent over her and listened to

-her laboured breathing. Glancing at his wife, he was astonished at the

-expression of her countenance, for, like everyone else, he had never

-thought she had cared for Margaret overmuch. But all the mother's love

-was alive in Mrs. Fowler at that moment, shining in her blue eyes, and

-illuminating her fair face with additional beauty.

-

-Anxious days and nights followed, during which Margaret lay between

-life and death. Her mother constituted herself head nurse, and showed

-wonderful ability in that capacity. Naturally a nervous, excitable

-woman, it was quite wonderful how she put a check upon her feelings,

-and was calm, and capable, and seemingly untiring. It was nothing to

-Margaret, at that time, who was attending to her, for she was utterly

-unconscious, sometimes in a drowsy condition, sometimes murmuring

-distressfully, going over again all that had happened on the night of

-the storm, always with the impression in her mind that Gerald had been

-drowned.

-

-"Who will tell mother?" she demanded again and again in an agony of

-grief. "She loves him so! He is her favourite."

-

-Meanwhile Gerald had been taken to task by his father for his conduct

-on the night of the storm. Mr. Fowler took no steps to punish him,

-but he talked to him so seriously, and pointed out to him that he was

-responsible for his sister's illness, that Gerald was reduced to tears,

-and for the first time in his life, on seeking his mother's support and

-sympathy, he found both lacking.

-

-"The blame is all yours," she told him gravely. "What your father has

-said to you is perfectly true."

-

-"Oh, mother, don't you think Margaret will get well again?" he asked

-with quivering lips, for beneath a veneer of selfishness, he owned an

-affectionate heart, and he was really much attached to his sister.

-

-"Only God knows that," was the solemn reply.

-

-"That's what Salome Petherick says," he remarked tearfully. "She was

-here inquiring for Margaret at the back door this morning. She comes

-every day, and she said all I could do was to pray."

-

-"She was right, Gerald; your sister is in God's hands. The doctor can

-do nothing for her—he has acknowledged that; but oh, my son, pray for

-her! Pray for her!"

-

-The little boy was greatly impressed by the solemnity of his mother's

-tone, and impetuously flinging his arms around her neck, he assured

-her, he would be a better boy for the future, and that he would pray to

-God to make his sister well. He was having a holiday from lessons, for

-Miss Conway was assisting Mrs. Fowler and Ross with the nursing, and so

-he spent most of his time with his father, from whom he had begged and

-obtained forgiveness for his past misbehaviour.

-

-"Yes, I forgive you, Gerald," Mr. Fowler had said sadly. "But you see,

-wrongdoing always brings its own punishment," he had added, noting the

-little boy's troubled countenance, and making a shrewd guess as to the

-state of his feelings with regard to Margaret.

-

-The servants crept quietly about the house speaking in hushed tones,

-for the angel of death seemed hovering near; and those who loved

-Margaret Fowler waited and watched unwearyingly. A second doctor from

-Plymouth had visited the patient. But he had agreed with Dr. Vawdry

-that nothing more could be done for her, and that it was merely a

-question of whether or not her strength would hold out and vanquish the

-disease.

-

-At last, the crisis came. And then, the glad news that the little

-sufferer was sleeping quietly and naturally was whispered through the

-house, and spread to the Vicarage, and from thence to the village,

-where Salome Petherick heard the good tidings in Silas Moyle's shop,

-and returned home with a joyful, thankful heart.

-

-The golden, autumn days were passing swiftly now, and there was a sharp

-feeling in the air in the morning, but a few hardy flowers lingered

-in Salome's garden; a big bush fuchsia which grew beneath the kitchen

-window was still in bloom, and the verbena close to the porch had not

-commenced to shed its leaves, whilst the white chrysanthemums which

-flourished year by year in the shelter of the wall which protected the

-garden on the side nearest to the sea were in full flower. The lame

-girl gathered a posy, and took it up to Greystone, where she left it at

-the back door with a request that it might be given to Miss Margaret,

-if she was well enough to receive it. She declined an invitation to

-rest awhile, saying she must hurry home to get her father's tea.

-

-So it came to pass, that when Margaret awoke from her refreshing sleep,

-she was conscious of a delightful perfume, and opening her eyes, they

-rested on a homely nosegay, composed of chrysanthemums, intermingled

-with sprigs of verbena, and drooping fuchsia sprays. The flowers lay on

-the counterpane, but when she tried to put out her hand to reach them,

-she found she could not. Then the bed curtain stirred, and she saw a

-face bending over her—a beautiful face full of love and a great joy.

-

-"Mother," she said weakly.

-

-"Yes, my dear," was the soft reply. "You have been ill, but you are

-better, and have had such a nice, long sleep. I want you to drink this

-milk and then go to sleep again."

-

-Mrs. Fowler slipped her arm beneath the pillow, and gently raised the

-little girl's head, whilst she held a cup to her lips. Margaret took a

-few sips of milk, but refused more.

-

-"The flowers," she said, as her mother laid her head down again.

-

-"Salome sent them to you with her love."

-

-Mrs. Fowler placed the nosegay close to Margaret's hand, and her thin

-fingers fastened around the stems of the flowers, then her tired eyes

-closed, and she slept once more.

-

-From that hour, Margaret commenced to recover. For days, she was too

-weak to move hand or foot—too weak almost to think; but by-and-by, with

-returning strength, she began to notice more what was going on around

-her. The tormenting thought that Gerald was dead had left her entirely,

-and she was conscious that it had been her mother who had nursed her so

-tenderly all along, and not a figure of her imagination as she had at

-first thought.

-

-She watched Mrs. Fowler with an inquiring expression which that lady

-failed to interpret, but which made her both anxious and uneasy. It

-was as though Margaret wondered at her solicitude, and was trying to

-find a reason for it. And as the little girl grew better, it was quite

-apparent that she preferred to have Miss Conway or Ross in attendance

-upon her to Mrs. Fowler. It was always—"Don't trouble, mother, Ross

-will do it," or "Miss Conway will read to me, I know." Till, deeply

-hurt, Mrs. Fowler made up her mind that she had for ever destroyed her

-little daughter's affection. And once Margaret had loved her so dearly,

-too!

-

-On the first occasion on which the patient was allowed to sit out in a

-chair by the fire, Mrs. Fowler wrapped her in a dressing-gown made of

-quilted silk which she had brought home for her from London. Margaret

-expressed great pleasure in the pretty garment, and called everyone's

-attention to it. Her father sat with her for a short while, and Gerald,

-at his earnest request, was permitted ten minutes of her society.

-

-"How white you look!" the latter exclaimed, regarding her with awe.

-"And your eyes are so big! But you're heaps better, aren't you,

-Margaret?"

-

-"Oh, yes!" she answered, smiling brightly.

-

-"That's right. I prayed to God to make you well, and so did everyone, I

-think."

-

-"That was very kind of everyone," Margaret murmured, much touched.

-

-"Josiah Petherick's drunk nearly every night now," Gerald next informed

-his sister. "I heard Mr. Amyatt tell father so."

-

-"Oh, dear!" cried Margaret in much distress. "Poor Salome!" At that

-moment, she caught her mother's eyes, and the sensitive colour flooded

-her face from chin to brow. Noticing the painful blush, Mrs. Fowler

-turned away, and walking to the window, gazed out unseeingly, her mind

-a tumult of conflicting thoughts.

-

-Meanwhile, Gerald chattered on, passing from Josiah to other of the

-villagers, until Mrs. Fowler, suddenly remembering that Margaret must

-not be allowed to overtire herself, interrupted the conversation, and

-sent the little boy away, promising he should come and sit with his

-sister again to-morrow.

-

-"Remember to give my love to Salome the next time you see her,"

-Margaret said. "Tell her, I hope we shall meet again soon."

-

-Then, as the door shut on her brother, she sighed, and her mother

-guessed aright by the sad expression of her face that her thoughts were

-troubled ones and anything but conducive to peace of mind.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XVII.

-

-The Shadow Lifted.

-

-NOVEMBER was an unusually mild month that year, so that Margaret,

-during her convalescence, was enabled to take long drives without any

-risk of catching cold. On one occasion, Salome Petherick was invited

-to accompany her and Mrs. Fowler when they drove to N—. And it was

-pleasant to see how the lame girl's countenance shone with happiness

-as, forgetful of her worries for the time, she enjoyed the novelty of

-viewing hitherto unknown scenery, for she had never been beyond walking

-distance of Yelton before.

-

-"It was quite pathetic to watch the varying expressions on the poor

-little thing's face," Mrs. Fowler confided to her husband afterwards.

-"She shall accompany us again, if all's well. Have you noticed how she

-has changed lately? The first time I saw her, she had such a pretty

-brown complexion, and now she is so pale, and her eyes so big and

-hollow. I wonder what ails the child."

-

-"Privation and trouble, I'm afraid, judging from what I hear," Mr.

-Fowler responded gravely. "She is badly fed, works hard, and is always

-grieving on her father's account."

-

-Mrs. Fowler sighed. She was deeply interested in Salome, but there

-seemed little she could do for her. The idea crossed her mind that she

-might remonstrate with Josiah concerning his treatment of his little

-daughter, but she shrank sensitively from doing so.

-

-Meanwhile, there was little fishing being done at Yelton during those

-mild November days, when the ocean was as smooth as a duck pond, and

-there was not a breath of wind blowing, so that Josiah and his boon

-companions had plenty of time on their hands. The "Crab and Cockle" had

-most of their society, and their homes suffered in consequence.

-

-One night, after the inn was closed and most of the inhabitants of

-Yelton had gone to rest, the alarming cry of "Fire!" was heard. And

-men, women, and children dressed with all speed, and rushed out of

-doors exclaiming, questioning, and running against each other in their

-excitement and hurry.

-

-"Fire! Fire! Oh, help; for mercy's sake, help my father!"

-

-It was the lame girl who had raised the alarm, and who now stood

-outside Silas Moyle's shop, her face livid with terror. She managed

-somehow to explain that it was her home that was on fire, and that her

-father, on his return from the "Crab and Cockle," had clutched at the

-table-cloth which had covered the kitchen table, and had thus upset the

-lamp and caused the conflagration.

-

-On hearing this, there was a general rush in the direction of the

-Pethericks' cottage, but Silas Moyle, who had now arrived upon the

-scene, insisted upon Salome's staying with his wife, and lingered to

-inquire what had become of Josiah.

-

-"He's at home," Salome wailed. "I couldn't get him to leave; he was

-pouring buckets of water on the fire; but oh! He couldn't put it out,

-it was spreading terribly. Please, Mr. Moyle, do go and see that he's

-all right. He isn't sober, and oh, I'm so afraid for him."

-

-"There, there, don't you take on," said Mrs. Moyle, kindly. "Silas'll

-see to Josiah. Come you in, my dear," and the good woman led Salome

-into the parlour behind the shop and placed her in an easy-chair.

-

-Meanwhile, willing hands were helping Josiah in his attempts to put out

-the fire. But assistance proved of no avail, and in less than two hours

-the Pethericks' cottage was actually gutted, and all their possessions

-had been burnt. It had been impossible to save anything, for the

-woodwork of the cottage being old, and the roof of thatch, the flames

-had spread with great rapidity. Daybreak found Josiah, sober enough

-now, staring disconsolately at the four stone walls which was the only

-portion of his home that was left intact. He was feeling inexpressibly

-shocked, for his furniture was not insured, and he realised that he

-and his little daughter had nothing in the world but the clothes they

-were wearing. What was he to do? He could not tell, and he groaned in

-despair, as he looked at the smoking ruins, and the erstwhile trim

-garden, now spoilt by the trampling of many feet.

-

-"This is a bad business, Petherick."

-

-Turning at the sound of a voice addressing him, he saw Mr. Amyatt. The

-Vicar had been there some time, but Josiah had not noticed him amongst

-the rest.

-

-"Ay," was the gloomy response. "I'm ruined—that's what I am."

-

-"I daresay your landlord will rebuild the cottage, for no doubt it is

-insured."

-

-"What's the good of a cottage without furniture?" Josiah demanded

-almost fiercely. "Salome's homeless, an' through me. I ought to be

-thrashed."

-

-"Salome can bide with my missus," Silas Moyle interposed at that point.

-"She's a handy maid, and can make herself useful, an' you'll be able

-to get a lodging somewhere, Josiah, for the time; but you'd best come

-along with me now, an' get a bit of breakfast."

-

-Josiah hesitated. He was very grateful to the baker for his kindness,

-but he dreaded the meeting with Salome. He felt more ashamed of himself

-than he had ever done in his life before, and as he turned his back on

-the smoking ruins, he pictured the pretty, thatched cottage of which

-he had been so proud once upon a time. There he had brought his young

-bride, there Salome had been born, and his happy married life had been

-spent, and there his wife had died. Josiah rubbed his hard, brown hand

-across his eyes as memory was busy with him.

-

-"Come," said Silas, "pull yourself together, man. Let's go and get some

-breakfast. Your little maid's wanting you, I'll warrant."

-

-Such proved to be the case. For the minute Salome saw her father, she

-threw herself into his arms, and whispered how thankful she was that he

-was safe, and that nothing mattered besides—nothing.

-

-The first person to convey the news of the fire to Greystone was

-the postman, and great was the excitement when it became known that

-the Pethericks' cottage had been burnt down. Mr. Fowler started off

-immediately, with Gerald, to learn all particulars, and, in the

-afternoon, Mrs. Fowler, at Margaret's earnest request, went to see

-Salome. She found the little girl in better spirits than she had

-anticipated, though her brown eyes grew very wistful when she talked of

-her late home.

-

-"All my plants are trampled into the ground," she said, "but, never

-mind, father's safe, and that's the chief thing. I was so afraid for

-him."

-

-"And so you are to remain here?" Mrs. Fowler questioned, glancing

-around Mrs. Moyle's little parlour, which was a picture of neatness and

-cleanliness.

-

-"Yes, ma'am, for the time. Mrs. Moyle has kindly asked me to stay."

-

-"And your father?"

-

-"He's going to find out if our landlord will rebuild the cottage, and

-if so, father will get a lodging somewhere in the village. The worst

-of it is, all our furniture is burnt; but father says he'll be able to

-replace it by degrees, he hopes."

-

-After leaving Salome, Mrs. Fowler thought she would like to see the

-ruined cottage, so she turned her footsteps in that direction, and

-found Josiah leaning over the garden gate in conversation with the

-Vicar. The former would have moved away on her approach, but she

-stopped him, and explained that she had been to visit his little

-daughter.

-

-"I'm so sorry for you both," she told him kindly. "It is terrible to be

-burnt out of house and home."

-

-"It was my doing," Josiah confessed. "Maybe you've heard how it

-happened?"

-

-"Yes," she admitted, "you caught hold of the table-cloth, and pulled

-over the lamp, did you not?"

-

-The fisherman nodded, whilst the Vicar regarded him attentively.

-

-"I've been talking to Petherick very seriously," the latter said. "And

-have been trying to induce him to become a teetotaler and sign the

-pledge. I do earnestly entreat you, Petherick, to take warning by last

-night's work."

-

-"Why won't you take the pledge?" Mrs. Fowler asked, her fair face

-alternately paling and flushing. "I am sure it would be for your

-happiness and well-being if you did. And you should consider Salome.

-Oh, drink is a terrible curse! It kills all one's best qualities, and

-ruins one's self-respect."

-

-"I'm ashamed of myself," Josiah acknowledged, "but think how folks

-would laugh if I took the pledge. I'll be a teetotaler if I can; but

-no, I won't pledge myself to it."

-

-"Oh, don't say that!" Mrs. Fowler cried imploringly. "Think the matter

-over. I believe if you took the pledge, you would keep it, for I am

-sure you are a man of your word."

-

-Josiah's face expressed irresolution. He had solemnly vowed to himself

-that he would never touch intoxicating liquors again, so deeply had the

-past night affected him, but he hated the idea of taking the pledge,

-whilst Mr. Amyatt realised that his so doing would be the only thing

-which would hold him to his determination to abstain from drink.

-

-"I'm going to give up drink," Josiah declared decidedly, at length,

-"but I won't take the pledge. I understand everyone's a teetotaler at

-Greystone," he continued, as Mrs. Fowler was about to speak again,

-"but, excuse me, ma'am, I don't suppose you've signed the pledge, have

-you?"

-

-"No," Mrs. Fowler acknowledged, "I have not."

-

-Josiah was silent. He was evidently thinking, "Then, why should I?"

-

-Mrs. Fowler was silent too, and Mr. Amyatt regarded her a trifle

-curiously, for he saw she was struggling with some strong emotion.

-Presently she said very quietly, "I have made up my mind. I will

-certainly take the pledge."

-

-"You!" Josiah exclaimed in amazement. "You, ma'am!"

-

-"Yes," Mrs. Fowler rejoined, "it is the right thing for me to do, and

-you must do the same. Why should you object if I do not?"

-

-"You must give in now, Petherick," Mr. Amyatt said quickly, "if Mrs.

-Fowler is ready to do this for your sake—"

-

-"I will do it for his sake, and for my own, and for the sake of all

-those we love," she interposed. "Oh, think of Salome!" she said

-earnestly to Josiah. "You have brought her untold trouble, and have

-made her homeless all through drink. Look at this ruined cottage, and

-reflect that but for the kindness of the Moyles, your child would be

-without shelter and food. How can you hesitate?"

-

-"I don't, ma'am."

-

-"Then, if I take the pledge, will you?" Mrs. Fowler inquired eagerly.

-

-"Yes," Josiah answered, "I don't see that I can say 'no' to that."

-

-An hour later, Mrs. Fowler entered the drawing-room at Greystone, where

-her little daughter was seated alone near the fire, reading. Margaret

-put down her book, whilst her mother, who had removed her walking

-garments, sank rather wearily into an easy-chair.

-

-"I have been talking to your father, my dear," Mrs. Fowler said with

-a smile. "I suppose, like him, you want to hear about Salome first of

-all," and she proceeded to give an account of her interview with the

-lame girl, and to explain the arrangement that had been made for her to

-remain with the Moyles for the present.

-

-"And did her father really set the cottage on fire?" Margaret inquired.

-

-"Yes. He was intoxicated, and pulled off the lamp in clutching at the

-table-cloth. It is fortunate neither he nor Salome was burnt. My dear,

-I have a piece of news for you."

-

-"Yes?" Margaret said, interrogatively, as Mrs. Fowler paused.

-

-"Josiah Petherick has consented to take the pledge, and I am going to

-take the pledge too!"

-

-"Mother!"

-

-Mrs. Fowler gave a brief account of her interview with the fisherman

-and Mr. Amyatt, to which her little daughter listened with breathless

-interest. When she had ceased speaking, Margaret went to her side and

-kissed her.

-

-"Oh, child!" cried Mrs. Fowler, encircling the slender form with her

-arms. "Do you really care for me? I thought I had for ever forfeited

-your love and respect. My dear, I never properly valued your affection

-until I feared I had lost it. I have been a selfish mother, but, please

-God, I'll be different in the future. When I faced the possibility of

-losing you, it nearly broke my heart."

-

-"Oh, mother! And I feared you did not like to have me with you! I

-thought—"

-

-"Was that why you shrank from me? Margaret—" and Mrs. Fowler spoke very

-impressively. "There has been a black shadow over my life for a long,

-long time. It stood between me and your father, between you and me, and

-even between my soul and God. I believe, and pray that it is gone."

-

-The little girl pressed her lips again to her mother's cheek, and

-though she made no reply, that gentle kiss, so tenderly and lovingly

-given, was the seal of a better understanding between these two who had

-been slowly drifting apart. And neither was likely to doubt the other's

-affection again.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XVIII.

-

-Happier Days.

-

-ONCE more, it was summer time. Eight months had elapsed since the night

-when the Pethericks' home had been destroyed by fire. And in the place

-of the old thatched dwelling, a modern red-brick cottage had been

-built, which, though certainly not so picturesque as the former one,

-was very comfortable, and possessed a bow window to its little parlour,

-which was the envy and admiration of all the villagers. Already young

-ivy plants had been placed against the bare, red walls; and the garden

-had been coaxed into good order, and was now making a fine show with

-its summer flowers.

-

-The cottage was barely furnished, for though to the amazement of all

-Yelton, Josiah had become a pledged teetotaler, and had in very truth

-turned over a new leaf, he had not been able to earn much money during

-the winter months. And when the new home had been completed a fortnight

-previously, he had only been in a position to purchase a few cheap

-articles of furniture which were absolute necessaries, such as beds,

-and cooking utensils.

-

-One beautiful June evening, Salome sat inside the bow window from which

-there was an uninterrupted view of the beach, and the wide expanse

-of sea, her busy fingers knitting as usual, her fresh, sweet voice

-trilling a merry song. She was blissfully happy, for at that moment

-she had not a care in the world. Her father, now he had really given

-up drink, was kind and considerate as he had been in her mother's

-lifetime, and was doing all he possibly could to make up to her for the

-sorrow he had caused her in the past.

-

-God had been good to her, she told herself, for He had answered her

-earnest prayers on her father's behalf. And her love and patience, so

-often sorely tried, had not been in vain.

-

-A step on the gravel path caused Salome to raise her eyes from her

-work, and her face lit up with a glad, welcoming smile as she saw

-Margaret Fowler coming to the door.

-

-"Don't get up," Margaret called to her, "I'll let myself in, if I

-may," and a minute later she entered the room, her fair countenance

-aglow with health and happiness. She seated herself in the bow

-window opposite to Salome, and glanced around the bare, little

-parlour with smiling eyes undimmed by any shadow of trouble now.

-"I've been practising the organ," she said. "Mother and father have

-been listening, and criticising my performance. They both think I've

-improved wonderfully of late."

-

-"Indeed you have, Miss Margaret," Salome agreed heartily.

-

-"Mother and father have gone home; but I thought I would like a chat

-with you. I like this bow window, don't you?"

-

-"Yes, miss; it makes the room so light and airy. I'm afraid the place

-looks very bare, though, with no carpet, and no furniture but that deal

-table and these two chairs."

-

-"Never mind. I daresay you'll add to your stock of furniture later on."

-

-"That's what father says. We must try to pick things together gradually

-again. People have been so kind to us, you can't imagine how kind. Mrs.

-Moyle gave us her old dinner set, and some odd cups and plates; and Mr.

-Amyatt's housekeeper sent down some bedding from the Vicarage—of course

-Mr. Amyatt must have told her to do so. Then your dear mother, miss!

-See what she has done for us. Why, she made us a present of the very

-chairs we're sitting on, and—"

-

-"Oh, yes, I know!" Margaret interposed. "I think there's little mother

-wouldn't do for you, Salome."

-

-"But the best thing she ever did, was when she induced father to take

-the pledge. I am sure he would never have done so, if she had not set

-him the example. Oh, miss, I believe he regretted it, at first; but

-now, I'm certain, in his heart, he knows it has been his salvation. He

-isn't like the same man he was a year ago. Look at him now," pointing

-to a stalwart figure seated on the beach bending over a fishing net.

-"Last summer, you wouldn't have found him content to mind his business

-like that, he'd have been at the 'Crab and Cockle' drinking. I little

-thought when I heard Greystone was taken, what kind friends you all

-would be to father and me."

-

-"And I little thought when I first saw you leaning over the garden

-gate, Salome, how much you would do for me."

-

-"I!" cried the lame girl, opening her dark eyes wide in astonishment.

-"Why, I've done nothing, I've had no opportunity—"

-

-"Ah, you don't know all! I've learnt a great deal from you, I have

-indeed, though you mayn't know it—a great deal besides knitting,"

-Margaret said with a smile. "It was you who taught me, by your

-self-sacrificing love for your father, what love ought to be—faithful

-and long-suffering. That was a lesson I never learnt till I met you."

-

-Salome looked earnestly at her companion's expressive face, and was

-emboldened to put a question that had trembled on her lips many times

-of late:

-

-"That trouble you spoke to me about, Miss Margaret—is it gone?"

-

-Margaret nodded in silence.

-

-"I'm so glad," said Salome, simply.

-

-"Do you remember Mrs. Lute, the lady who stayed with us at Greystone

-last summer?" Margaret questioned presently. "Yes. Well, we are

-expecting her to visit us again. And mother says she hopes your father

-will be able to take us out boating frequently, because Mrs. Lute is

-so fond of being on the water. And mother feels safer with your father

-than with anyone else, because he knows the coast so well. You know,

-mother is still a little nervous at times."

-

-"But she is wonderfully better, isn't she?"

-

-"Oh, yes. Look! Surely I see Miss Conway and Gerald talking to your

-father on the beach. When they pass here, I'll join them, and we can

-walk home together."

-

-"How Master Gerald does grow!" Salome exclaimed. "And he has so

-improved too! That's come about since your illness last autumn, miss.

-He was in a terrible state of distress then."

-

-"So mother has since told me," Margaret replied. "Yes, he has improved;

-he's much more obedient than he used to be; Miss Conway was saying,

-only this morning, how little trouble she has with him now."

-

-The truth was, Mrs. Fowler had come to understand that her foolish

-indulgence had been likely to ruin her little son. And though she

-loved him no less, she wielded a firmer sway over him, and upheld

-his governess' discipline. With the result that he was a much more

-contented little boy than he had been, when he had had his own way. He

-still sometimes gave way to exhibitions of violent temper, but he was

-growing ashamed of these paroxysms, and they were becoming less and

-less frequent.

-

-When Miss Conway and Gerald left the beach, Margaret said good-bye to

-Salome, and joined the governess and her charge as they were passing

-the cottage.

-

-"We've been talking to Josiah Petherick," the little boy informed his

-sister, "and I've been telling him that Mrs. Lute's coming. Do you

-know, Margaret, that Josiah is going to be in the choir?"

-

-"No. Salome did not tell me; but I left her rather hurriedly when I saw

-you coming. I know he used to be in the choir before—"

-

-"Before he took to drink," said Gerald, finishing the sentence as she

-paused in hesitation. "Well, he doesn't drink now; wasn't it a good

-thing he gave it up? I like Josiah, he's so brave, and he knows such a

-lot about the sea, and ships."

-

-They had left the village, and were ascending the hill towards

-Greystone, now and again pausing, to look back the way they had come.

-

-"I don't think the Pethericks' new cottage is half so pretty as their

-old one, do you, Miss Conway?" Gerald asked, appealing to the governess.

-

-"Perhaps not—in spite of the bow window," she replied. "But the colour

-of the bricks will tone down with time."

-

-"Salome is very contented," remarked Margaret, "but then she would be

-that anywhere, I believe. She is wonderfully happy, and looks so well."

-

-"Yes," Miss Conway agreed, "a regular nut-brown maid; and, last autumn,

-she was such a pale, little soul. Mrs. Moyle was telling me yesterday

-how much she misses her. The Moyles have been good friends to the

-Pethericks."

-

-Mr. and Mrs. Fowler were seated beneath the lilac tree when the

-children and the governess entered the grounds. Gerald was the first

-to spy his parents; and he raced across the lawn to them; and informed

-them that he had told Josiah of their expected guest, and had bidden

-him clean his boat in readiness for use.

-

-When Mrs. Lute arrived on the morrow, she was agreeably surprised

-to note the improvement in Mrs. Fowler's health, and complimented

-her upon her "Cornish roses," as she called the bright colour in her

-friend's cheeks, whilst Margaret listened with secret satisfaction and

-happiness, and meeting her father's eyes, saw that he was delighted,

-too.

-

-Mrs. Fowler was no longer the neurotic, dissatisfied invalid who had

-been brought to Greystone almost against her will; but a bright,

-companionable woman, taking a lively interest in her household, and

-anxious for the welfare of those she loved. She and her little daughter

-had been drawn very closely together during the past few months; and

-they had discovered that they had many interests in common. Both were

-devoted to music, and Mrs. Fowler had of late fallen into the habit of

-accompanying Margaret to the church to hear her practise on the organ;

-and there, often, Salome would join them, and sing at the earnest

-request of the others her favourite hymn.

-

-

-

-It was Gerald who, when the family at Greystone was at breakfast on the

-morning after Mrs. Lute's arrival, began to talk of Josiah Petherick.

-Mrs. Lute had not heard the exciting story of the fire, and the little

-boy told it with considerable gusto, afterwards explaining what the new

-cottage was like.

-

-"You have missed the chief point of the story, Gerald," his father

-said, when at length the tale was brought to a conclusion.

-

-"Have I, father?"

-

-"Yes. You have not told how being burnt out of house and home affected

-Josiah." He turned to Mrs. Lute as he added: "The man has not touched a

-drop of any kind of intoxicating liquor since."

-

-"Well done!" she exclaimed heartily. "That is news worth hearing. I

-have so often wondered this past winter how those Pethericks were

-getting on. The sad, pale face of that lame girl haunted my memory for

-many a day. And, do you know, when I got home, I thought so much of the

-many discussions we had had upon the drink question, with the result

-that I came to the conclusion that I had been wrong all along. And that

-because I only took stimulants sparingly myself, I had no right to put

-temptation in the way of others; and so, I've banished intoxicating

-liquors from my house altogether. What do you say to that?"

-

-There was a murmur of surprise mingled with commendation, and everyone

-agreed that Mrs. Lute had done well. Certain it was that she had acted

-from the best possible motive—consideration for her fellow-creatures.

-She was one of the kindest of women; and the thought that she might do

-harm to a weaker brother or sister by allowing stimulants to be used

-in her household had never crossed her mind, until she had visited at

-Greystone, and the master of the house had unfolded his new principles

-to her. Thinking the matter over quietly afterwards, she had seen that

-he was right.

-

-And now it is time for us to say good-bye to this little village by the

-Cornish sea. But we will linger a moment to take a farewell glimpse

-of those whose lives we have followed for one short year as they are

-gathered together one Sunday evening in the old grey church. The

-Vicar has finished his sermon, and has given out the hymn with which

-the service will be brought to a close, and in another minute the

-congregation is singing "Abide with me."

-

-Margaret, from her position by her mother's side, can easily

-distinguish Salome's clear, bird-like notes, and Josiah Petherick's

-deep, bass voice; and as she joins in the well-known hymn, her soul

-rises to the throne of God in a fervent prayer of thanksgiving and joy.

-The church is growing dim and shadowy in the evening light; but the

-black shadow that threatened to ruin the happiness of two homes has

-fled; and there is no cloud on Margaret Fowler's fair face, whilst the

-lame girl's voice has a ring of triumph in its tone as she sings the

-concluding words of the beautiful hymn—

-

-   "Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;

-    In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me."

-

-

-

-

-PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY THE WHITEFRIARS PRESS, LTD.;

-LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.

-

-

-

-

-

-

+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SALOME'S BURDEN ***
+
+Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
+
+[Illustration: SALOME'S FRESH, SWEET VOICE RANG CLEARLY
+ THROUGH THE DIM CHURCH.]
+
+
+
+                           SALOME'S BURDEN
+
+                                 OR
+
+                      THE SHADOW ON THE HOMES
+
+
+                                 BY
+
+                         ELEANORA H. STOOKE
+
+
+                             AUTHOR OF
+               "MOUSIE; OR, COUSIN ROBERT'S TREASURE,"
+          "A LITTLE TOWN MOUSE," "SIR RICHARD'S GRANDSON,"
+                   "LITTLE MAID MARIGOLD." ETC.
+
+
+                     WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+
+                              LONDON
+                    S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO., LTD.
+                              E.C. 4.
+
+
+
+                     Made in Great Britain
+
+
+
+                            CONTENTS.
+
+CHAPTER
+
+    I. SALOME'S TROUBLE
+
+   II. NEW ACQUAINTANCES
+
+  III. THE FOWLERS AT HOME
+
+   IV. "ABIDE WITH ME"
+
+    V. SALOME'S HUMILIATION
+
+   VI. PERFECTLY HAPPY
+
+  VII. AN AFTERNOON'S OUTING
+
+ VIII. AN AWFUL THING
+
+   IX. THE BLOW FALLS
+
+    X. MR. FOWLER'S RETURN
+
+   XI. JOSIAH AT HIS WORST
+
+  XII. A BRIEF REPENTANCE
+
+ XIII. MRS. FOWLER AND SALOME
+
+  XIV. A STORMY NIGHT
+
+   XV. TROUBLE AT GREYSTONE
+
+  XVI. DAYS OF SICKNESS
+
+ XVII. THE SHADOW LIFTED
+
+XVIII. HAPPIER DAYS
+
+
+
+                           Salome's Burden.
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+Salome's Trouble.
+
+IT was summer time. The day had been oppressively hot; but now, as the
+sun disappeared like a ball of fire beyond the broad Atlantic, a cool
+breeze sprang up, and the inhabitants of the fishing village of Yelton
+came to their cottage doors and gossiped with each other, as they
+enjoyed the fresh evening air.
+
+Yelton was a small, straggling village on the north coast of Cornwall.
+It owned but two houses of importance—the Vicarage, a roomy old
+dwelling, which stood in its own grounds close to the church; and
+"Greystone," a substantial modern residence on a slight eminence
+beyond the village, overlooking the sea. The fishermen's cottages were
+thatched, and picturesque in appearance, having little gardens in front
+where hardy flowers flourished; these gardens were a-bloom with roses
+and carnations on this peaceful June evening, and the showiest of them
+all was one which, though nearer the sea than the others, yet presented
+the neatest appearance of the lot. This was Salome Petherick's garden,
+and Salome was a cripple girl of fourteen, who lived with her father,
+Josiah Petherick, in the cottage at the end of the village, close to
+the sea.
+
+Salome had been lame from birth, and could not walk at all without her
+crutches; with their help, however, she could move about nimbly enough.
+Many a happy hour did she spend in her garden whilst Josiah was out in
+his fishing boat. She was contented then, as she always was when her
+father was on the broad sea, for she felt he was in God's keeping, and
+away from the drink, which, alas! was becoming the curse of his life.
+Josiah Petherick was a brave man physically, but he was a moral coward.
+He would risk his life at any hour—indeed, he had often done so—for
+the sake of a fellow-creature in peril. He was fearless on the sea,
+though it had robbed him of relations and friends in the past, and if
+help was wanted for any dangerous enterprise, he was always the first
+to be called upon; but, nevertheless, there was no greater coward in
+Yelton, than Josiah Petherick on occasions. He had lost his wife, to
+whom he had been much attached, five years previously; and, left alone
+with his only child, poor little lame Salome, who had been anything but
+a congenial companion for him, he had sought amusement for his leisure
+hours at the "Crab and Cockle," as the village inn was called, and
+there had acquired the habit of drinking to excess.
+
+As Salome stood leaning on her crutches at the garden gate on this
+beautiful summer evening, her face wore a very serious expression,
+for she knew her father was at the "Crab and Cockle," and longed for,
+yet dreaded, his return. She was a small, slight girl, brown-haired
+and brown-eyed, with a clear, brunette complexion, which was somewhat
+sun-burnt, for she spent most of her spare time in the open air. Having
+passed the requisite standard, she had left school, and now did all
+the work of her father's cottage unaided, besides attending to her
+flowers; and Josiah Petherick was wont to declare that no man in Yelton
+had a more capable housekeeper. The neighbours marvelled that it was
+so, for they had not thought the lame girl, who had been decidedly
+cross-grained and selfish during her mother's lifetime, would grow up
+so helpful; but Mrs. Petherick's death had wrought a great change in
+Salome, who had promised faithfully "to look after poor father" in the
+years to come. Salome had endeavoured to be as good as her word; but
+her influence over her father had not proved strong enough to keep him
+in the straight path; and many an evening saw him ramble home from the
+"Crab and Cockle" in a condition of helpless intoxication.
+
+"Enjoying the cool breeze, Salome?"
+
+Salome, whose wistful, brown eyes had been turned in the direction
+of a row of cottages at some distance, outside one of which hung a
+sign-board representing on its varnished surface a gigantic crab and
+a minute cockle, started at the sound of a voice addressing her, but
+smiled brightly as she saw Mr. Amyatt, the vicar of the parish. He was
+an elderly man, with iron-grey hair, stooping shoulders, and a thin,
+clean-shaven face.
+
+Ten years previously, he had accepted the living of Yelton, when,
+broken down in health, he had been forced to resign his arduous
+duties in the large manufacturing town where he had laboured long and
+faithfully. And the fisher-folk had grown to love and respect him,
+though he never overlooked their failings or hesitated to reprove their
+faults.
+
+"I am waiting for father," Salome answered frankly. "His supper is
+ready for him, and I am afraid it will spoil if he does not come soon.
+It is a beautiful evening, is it not, sir?"
+
+"Very beautiful. I have been on the beach for the last two hours. How
+well your carnations are doing, Salome. Ah, they always flourish best
+by the sea."
+
+"Please let me give you some," the little girl said eagerly. "Oh, I
+don't mind picking them in the least. I should like you to have them."
+And moving about with agility on her crutches, she gathered some of the
+choicest blooms and presented them to Mr. Amyatt.
+
+"Thank you, Salome. They are lovely. I have none to be compared to them
+in the Vicarage gardens. You are a born gardener. But what is amiss,
+child?"
+
+"Nothing, sir; at least, nothing more than usual. I am anxious about
+father." She paused for a moment, a painful blush spreading over her
+face, then continued, "He spends more time than ever at the 'Crab and
+Cockle;' he's rarely home of an evening now, and when he returns, he's
+sometimes so—so violent! He used not to be that."
+
+The Vicar looked grave and sorry, He pondered the situation in silence
+for a few minutes ere he responded, "You must have patience, Salome;
+and do not reproach him, my dear. Reproaches never do any good, and
+it's worse than useless remonstrating with a man who is not sober."
+
+"But what can I do, sir?" she cried distressfully. "Oh, you cannot
+imagine what a trouble it is to me!"
+
+"I think I can; but you must not lose heart. Prayer and patience work
+wonders. Ask God to show your father his sin in its true light—"
+
+"I have asked Him so often," Salome interposed, "and father gets worse
+instead of better. It's not as though he had an unhappy home. Oh, Mr.
+Amyatt, it's so dreadful for me! I never have a moment's peace of mind
+unless I know father is out fishing. He isn't a bad father, he doesn't
+mean to be unkind; but when he's been drinking, he doesn't mind what he
+says or does."
+
+"Poor child," said the Vicar softly, glancing at her with great
+compassion.
+
+"Do you think, if you spoke to him—" Salome began in a hesitating
+manner.
+
+"I have already done so several times; but though he listened to
+me respectfully, I saw my words made no impression on him. I will,
+however, try to find a favourable opportunity for remonstrating with
+him again. Cheer up, my dear child. You have a very heavy cross to
+bear, but you have not to carry it alone, you know. God will help you,
+if you will let Him."
+
+"Yes," Salome agreed, her face brightening. "I try to remember that,
+but, though indeed I do love God, sometimes He seems so far away."
+
+"He is ever near, Salome. 'The eternal God is thy refuge, and
+underneath are the everlasting arms.' The everlasting arms are of
+unfailing strength and tenderness. See! Is not that your father coming?"
+
+Salome assented, and watched the approaching figure with anxious
+scrutiny.
+
+Josiah Petherick was a tall, strong man, in the prime of life, a
+picture of robust health and strength; he was brown-haired and
+brown-eyed, like his daughter, and his complexion was tanned to a fine
+brick-red hue. He liked the Vicar, though he considered him rather
+too quick in interfering in other people's affairs, so he smiled
+good-humouredly when he found him with Salome at the garden gate.
+
+"Good evening, Petherick," said Mr. Amyatt briskly, his keen eyes
+noticing that, though Josiah had doubtless been drinking, he was very
+far from being intoxicated at present; "you perceive I've been robbing
+your garden," and he held up the carnation blooms.
+
+"'Tis my little maid's garden, sir," was the response, "an' I know well
+you're welcome to take what flowers you please. What a hot day it's
+been, to be sure!"
+
+"Yes; but pleasanter out of doors than in the bar of the 'Crab and
+Cockle,' I expect," Mr. Amyatt answered meaningly.
+
+"'Tis thirsty weather," Josiah said with a smile; "don't you find it
+so, sir?"
+
+"Yes, indeed I do! But I don't take beer to quench my thirst. Beer's
+heating, and makes you hotter and thirstier, too. If you were a
+teetotaler like me, you wouldn't feel the heat quite so much."
+
+"That's as it may be, sir. I can't argue the point; but I hold that a
+glass of good, sound beer don't hurt anyone."
+
+Salome had retired into the cottage, remarking which fact, the Vicar
+seized the opportunity and spoke plainly.
+
+"Look here, Petherick," he said, "if you'd lived my life, you'd be a
+teetotaler like me—at least, I hope you would. The big town in which
+I worked so long owed most of its vice and misery to drink. I was in
+daily contact there with men and women lower than brute beasts on
+account of the drink you uphold—men and women who would sell their own
+and their children's clothes, and allow their offspring to go hungry
+and almost naked, that they might obtain the vile poison for which they
+were bartering their immortal souls. I made up my mind there, that
+drink was our nation's greatest curse; and here, in this quiet village,
+I see no reason to make me change my opinion, and allow that a glass of
+'good, sound beer,' as you call your favourite beverage, doesn't hurt
+anyone. Your one glass leads to more, and the result? You become unlike
+yourself, rough and threatening in your manner, unkind to your little
+daughter whom I am certain you dearly love, and whose chief aim in life
+is to make your home a happy one. I wish you would make up your mind,
+Petherick, never to enter the doors of the 'Crab and Cockle' again."
+
+"Why, sir, to hear you talk one would think I was drunk," Josiah cried,
+aggrievedly.
+
+"You are not that at this minute, I admit, but you have been drinking;
+and if you don't pull up in time, and turn over a new leaf, you'll
+go from bad to worse. Now, I've had my say, and have finished. Your
+supper's waiting, I know, so I'll bid you good evening."
+
+"Good evening, sir," Josiah responded rather shamefacedly, for in his
+heart, he acknowledged every word Mr. Amyatt had spoken to be truth.
+
+He watched the Vicar out of sight, then entered the cottage and sat
+down at the kitchen table to his supper of fried eggs and bacon.
+
+"I hope the eggs are not spoilt," Salome remarked. "But they've been
+cooked nearly half-an-hour, and I'm afraid they're rather hard, for I
+had to keep them warm in the oven."
+
+"Never mind, my dear," he returned. "If they're hard it's my fault, I
+ought to have been here before. By the way, I've brought you a piece of
+news."
+
+"Have you, father?" she said with a smile.
+
+"Yes. Greystone is taken by a rich gentleman from London, and he
+and his family are expected to arrive to-night. The house has been
+furnished in grand style, so I'm told."
+
+"Did you hear the gentleman's name?" Salome asked, looking interested,
+for Greystone had been untenanted for some time. The house had
+been built by a speculative builder, but it had not proved a good
+speculation, as, beautifully situated though it was, it was very
+lonely. "I wonder if Mr. Amyatt knew," she added reflectively, as her
+father shook his head.
+
+"Mr. Amyatt is a very nice man in his way," Josiah remarked, "an'
+I shall never forget how kind he was when your poor mother died,
+but he don't know how to mind his own business. If he likes to be a
+teetotaler, let him be one. If I enjoy my drops o' beer 'long with my
+friends at the 'Crab an' Cockle,' that's naught to do with him." And
+having finished his supper, he pushed away his plate, rose from the
+table, and strode out into the garden.
+
+Salome stayed to wash up the supper things, then went into the garden
+too, but by that time her father was nowhere to be seen. Hurrying to
+the gate, she caught sight of his stalwart figure disappearing in the
+distance, and knew that he was making his way to the inn again. She
+stood leaning against the garden gate, sore at heart, until a chill
+mist from the sea crept upwards and surrounded her; then she retreated
+into the cottage and waited patiently, listening to the ticking of the
+tall, eight-day clock in the kitchen. She knew her father would not
+return till the doors of the inn were shut for the night.
+
+At last she heard the click of the garden gate, and a minute later
+Josiah Petherick stumbled up the path, and, leaving the cottage door
+unlocked, crawled upstairs to his bedroom, muttering to himself as he
+went. Salome waited till everything was still, then she rose, locked
+the door, and swung herself, step by step, by the aid of her crutches,
+up the stairs.
+
+Before going to her own room, she peeped cautiously into her father's,
+which was flooded with moonlight, the blind being up; and a sob broke
+from her lips at the sight which met her eyes. The man had thrown
+himself, fully dressed as he was, upon the bed, and had already sunk
+into a heavy, drunken slumber. Salome stood looking at him, the tears
+running down her cheeks, mingled love and indignation in her aching
+heart. Then the love overcame all else, and she sank on her knees by
+her father's side, and prayed earnestly for him who was unfit to pray
+for himself, whilst the words the Vicar had spoken to her that evening—
+
+   "'The eternal God is thy refuge,
+     and underneath are the everlasting arms.'"
+
+—recurred to her memory, and fell like balm upon her sorrowful spirit.
+And she felt that she did not bear her trouble alone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+New Acquaintances.
+
+WHEN Josiah Petherick came downstairs to breakfast on the following
+morning, his face wore a furtive, sullen expression, as though he
+expected to be taken to task for his behaviour of the night before.
+On previous occasions, Salome had, by tears and sorrowing words,
+reproached him for his unmanly conduct; but this morning she was
+perfectly composed, and the meal was eaten almost in silence.
+Afterwards, Josiah informed his little daughter that he should probably
+be away all day mackerel fishing, and went off in the direction of the
+beach. There was a fresh breeze blowing, and he looked forward to a
+successful day's work.
+
+Salome moved about the cottage with a very heavy heart. On account of
+her affliction, it took her longer than it would have most people to
+get over her household duties, so that it was past noon before she
+had everything ship-shape, and was at leisure. Then she put on a pink
+sun-bonnet, and went into the garden to look at her flowers, pulling
+weeds here and there, until the sounds of shrill cries made her hurry
+to the garden gate to ascertain what was going on outside.
+
+Salome stood gazing in astonishment at the scene which met her eyes.
+A boy of about six years old was lying on the ground, kicking and
+shrieking with passion, whilst a young woman was bending over him,
+trying to induce him to get up. At a short distance, a pretty little
+girl, apparently about Salome's own age, was looking on, and laughing,
+as though greatly amused.
+
+"Gerald, get up! Do get up, there's a good boy!" implored the young
+woman. "Dear, dear, what a temper you're in. You 're simply ruining
+that nice new sailor's suit of yours, lying there in the dust. Oh,
+Margaret—" and she turned to the little girl—"do try to induce your
+brother to be reasonable."
+
+"I couldn't do that, Miss Conway," was the laughing response, "for
+Gerald never was reasonable yet. Look at him now, his face crimson with
+passion. He's like a mad thing, and deserves to be whipped. He—"
+
+She stopped suddenly, noticing Salome at the garden gate. The boy,
+catching sight of the lame girl at that moment too, abruptly ceased his
+cries, and, as though ashamed of himself, rose to his feet, and stood
+staring at her. He was a fine, handsome little fellow, with dark-blue
+eyes and fair curly hair; but, as Salome afterwards learnt, he was a
+spoilt child, and as disagreeable as spoilt children always are. His
+sister, who was like him in appearance, was a bright-looking little
+girl; and her laughing face softened into sympathy as her eyes rested
+on Salome's crutches.
+
+"I am afraid my brother's naughty temper has shocked you," she said.
+"He likes to have his own way, and wanted to spend a longer time on the
+beach instead of going home. We have been on the beach all the morning
+with Miss Conway—this lady, who is our governess. What a pretty garden
+you have. We noticed it as we passed just now—didn't we, Miss Conway?"
+
+Miss Conway assented, smiling very kindly at Salome.
+
+"I had no idea flowers would flourish so close to the sea," she
+remarked. "It is to be hoped the Greystone gardens will prove equally
+productive."
+
+"Oh, are you—do you live at Greystone?" Salome questioned, much
+interested in the strangers.
+
+"Yes," nodded the little girl, "we arrived last night. My father, Mr.
+Fowler, has taken the house on a three years' lease. My mother is very
+delicate; she has been very ill, and the doctors say the north coast of
+Cornwall will suit her."
+
+"Let me see your garden," said the little boy imperatively, coming
+close to the gate, and peering between the bars.
+
+"You should say 'please,' Gerald," his governess reminded him
+reprovingly.
+
+Salome invited them all to enter, and when they had admired the
+flowers, Miss Conway asked if she might rest a few minutes on the
+seat under the porch. She was a delicate-looking young woman, and
+the tussle she had had with her unruly pupil had upset her. Gerald,
+however, was quite contented now, watching a bee labouring from flower
+to flower with its load of honey. His sister, Margaret, sat down by the
+governess' side, whilst Salome, leaning on her crutches, watched them
+shyly. There was a little flush of excitement on her cheeks, for it was
+an unusual experience for her to converse with strangers.
+
+"Who lives here with you, my dear?" Miss Conway inquired.
+
+"Only my father, miss. Mother died five years ago. Father's a
+fisherman; his name's Josiah Petherick, and I'm called Salome."
+
+"What a quaint, pretty name," Margaret exclaimed. "And you have you no
+sisters or brothers?"
+
+Salome shook her head.
+
+"Have you—have you always been lame?" Miss Conway questioned.
+
+"Yes, miss, always. I can't get about without my crutches."
+
+"How dreadful!" Margaret cried with ready sympathy. "Oh, I am, sorry
+for you."
+
+Salome looked gratefully at the speaker, and smiled as she made answer,
+"You see, miss, I'm accustomed to being a cripple. Often and often I've
+wished my legs were straight and strong like other people's, but as
+they are not, I must just make the best of them. Mr. Amyatt says—"
+
+"Who is Mr. Amyatt?" Miss Conway interposed.
+
+"Our Vicar, miss. He lives in that big house near the church. He's such
+a good, kind gentleman, you'll be sure to like him."
+
+"Well, what does he say?" Miss Conway inquired with a smile.
+
+"That God made me lame for some good purpose. I think myself He did it
+because I should stay at home, and keep house for father," Salome said
+simply. "Perhaps if I was able to get about like other people, I might
+neglect father, and be tempted—"
+
+She had been about to say "be tempted to leave him," but had stopped
+suddenly, remembering that the strangers knew nothing of her father;
+and she earnestly hoped they would never understand how miserable he
+made her at times.
+
+"As it is," she proceeded, "I do all the housework—I can take as long
+as I please about it, you know—and I attend to my flowers besides."
+
+"And have you always lived here?" Margaret asked.
+
+"Yes, miss, I was born in this cottage."
+
+"Doesn't the sea make you mournful in the winter?"
+
+"Oh, no! It's grand then, sometimes. The waves look like great
+mountains of foam. This is a very wild coast."
+
+"So I have heard," Miss Conway replied. "I should like to see a storm,
+if no ship was in danger. I suppose you never saw a wreck?"
+
+"Yes," said Salome with a shudder; "only last autumn a coasting vessel
+ran ashore on the rocks, and the crew was lost. You will notice in the
+churchyard many graves of people who have been drowned."
+
+"We have always lived in London until now," Margaret explained, "so
+we shall find life in the country a great change. I don't know that I
+shall dislike it during the summer, and Gerald is simply delighted with
+the beach; I expect he'll insist on going there every day, so you'll
+often see us passing here. Gerald generally gets his own way, doesn't
+he, Miss Conway?"
+
+"Yes," the governess admitted gravely, looking rather serious.
+
+"My mother spoils him," Margaret continued. "Oh, you needn't look at me
+like that, Miss Conway, for you know it's true."
+
+At that moment Gerald ran up to them. He was in high good-humour, for
+he was charmed with Salome's garden; but his face clouded immediately
+when Miss Conway remarked it was time for them to go home.
+
+"No, no," he pouted, "don't go yet, Miss Conway. Stay a little longer."
+
+"But if we do, we shall be late for luncheon, and then your father will
+be displeased."
+
+"You shall have this rose to take home with you," Salome said, in order
+to propitiate the child, and prevent a disturbance. She gathered, as
+she spoke, a beautiful pink moss-rose, and offered it to him. "Wouldn't
+you like to give it to your mother?" she suggested, as he accepted her
+gift with evident pleasure.
+
+"No," Gerald rejoined, "I shan't give it to mother, I shall keep it for
+myself."
+
+His sister laughed at this selfish speech; but the governess' face
+saddened as she took her younger pupil by the hand, and after a kind
+good-bye to Salome, led him away.
+
+"May I come and see you again?" Margaret asked as she lingered at the
+gate.
+
+"Oh, please do, miss," was the eager reply. "I should be so glad if you
+would. I really am very lonely sometimes."
+
+"So am I," the other little girl confessed with a sigh; and for the
+first time Salome noticed a look of discontent on her pretty face. The
+expression was gone in a minute, however, and with a smiling farewell
+Margaret Fowler hastened after her governess and Gerald.
+
+These new acquaintances gave Salome plenty of food for thought; and
+when her father returned in the afternoon she greeted him cheerfully,
+and told him that the family had arrived at Greystone. He was in good
+spirits, having caught a nice lot of mackerel; and acting on his
+daughter's suggestion, he selected some of the finest, and started for
+Greystone to see if he could not sell them there. Meanwhile, Salome
+laid the tea cloth, and got the kettle boiling. In the course of
+half-an-hour her father returned, having sold his fish.
+
+"I saw the cook," he informed Salome, "and she said any time I have
+choice fish to sell, she can do business with me. It seems she manages
+everything in the kitchen; she told me the mistress doesn't know what
+there's to be for dinner till it's brought to table."
+
+"How strange!" Salome cried. "But I forgot, Mrs. Fowler has been ill,
+so perhaps she is too great an invalid to attend to anything herself."
+
+"I don't know about that, I'm sure. It's likely to be better for us,
+Salome, now Greystone is occupied. Why, you're quite a business woman,
+my dear! I should never have thought of taking those mackerel up there,
+but for you. I should have let Sam Putt have the lot, as usual."
+
+Sam Putt was the owner of a pony and cart. He lived in the village,
+and often purchased fish, which he conveyed to a neighbouring town for
+sale, hawking it from door to door.
+
+Josiah continued to converse amicably during tea-time; and afterwards
+he went into the garden, and turned up a patch of ground in readiness
+for the reception of winter greens. To Salome's intense relief, he did
+not go to the "Crab and Cockle" that evening; but, instead, as soon as
+he had finished his gardening, suggested taking her for a sail.
+
+"Oh, father, how delightful!" she cried, her face flushing with
+pleasure. "Oh, I haven't been on the water for weeks! It will be such a
+treat!"
+
+So father and daughter spent the long summer evening on the sea, much
+to the contentment of both; and the sun had set before they returned to
+Yelton.
+
+Salome chatted merrily as, their boat safely moored, she followed her
+father up the shingly beach; but on reaching their garden gate, Josiah
+paused, glancing towards the swinging sign-board outside the "Crab and
+Cockle," still visible in the gathering dusk.
+
+In a moment, Salome read his thoughts, and cried involuntarily, "Oh,
+father, not to-night! Not to-night!"
+
+"What do you mean, child?" he asked with a decided show of displeasure
+in face and tone.
+
+"I mean, I want you to stay at home with me to-night, father! Do, dear
+father, to please me! I—I can't bear to see you as—as you are sometimes
+when you come back from the 'Crab and Cockle'! Oh, father, if you would
+only give up the drink how happy we should be!"
+
+"How foolishly you talk!" he cried irritably. "It is not seemly for a
+child to dictate to her father!"
+
+"Oh, father, I mean no harm! You know I love you dearly! It's supper
+time. Aren't you hungry? I'm sure I am."
+
+Josiah admitted he was, too, and followed his daughter into the
+cottage. He did not leave it again that night, for his good angel
+proved too strong for him; and when he kissed his little daughter at
+bedtime, his manner was unusually gentle, whilst the words he uttered
+sent her to rest with a very happy heart: "God bless you, child! I
+don't know what I should be but for you, Salome. You grow more like
+your dear mother every day you live."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+The Fowlers at Home.
+
+"PULL down the blind, Margaret. The sun is streaming right into my
+eyes."
+
+The speaker, Mrs. Fowler, was lying on a sofa in the handsomely
+furnished drawing-room at Greystone. She was a young-looking,
+very pretty woman, with fair hair and blue eyes; and she was most
+fashionably dressed. One would have thought her possessed of everything
+that heart could desire, but the lines of her face were discontented
+ones, and the tone of her voice was decidedly fretful. The only
+occupant of the room besides herself was her little daughter, who put
+down the book she had been reading, and going to the window, obediently
+lowered the blind.
+
+"There," she said, "that's better, isn't it? I won't pull the blind
+down altogether, mother, for that would keep out the fresh air, and you
+know the doctors said the sea breeze would be your best tonic. I do
+think this is a lovely place, don't you?"
+
+Mrs. Fowler agreed indifferently; and her little daughter continued,
+"Such a beautiful view we have right over the sea. And doesn't the
+village look pretty, and the old grey church? There are such a quantity
+of jackdaws in the tower. Mother, do you know, from my bedroom window,
+I can see the cottage where that poor lame girl lives? When you are
+strong enough, I'll take you to visit Salome."
+
+"I don't want to see her, Margaret. I don't like looking at deformed
+people, and I cannot think why you should feel so much interest in this
+Salome."
+
+"I have seen her several times now, and I like her so much. The Vicar
+has told me a lot about her, too. She lost her mother five years ago,
+poor girl!"
+
+Margaret paused, and glanced a trifle wistfully at the daintily-clad
+figure on the sofa, wondering if she was lame like Salome, whether
+her mother would cease to care for her altogether. Mrs. Fowler never
+evinced much affection for her daughter, whatever her feelings may have
+been, though she was pleased that she was growing up a pretty little
+girl, and took an interest in dressing her becomingly. But Gerald was
+her favourite of the two children, and upon him she lavished most of
+her love. She was fond of her husband, though she stood in awe of him.
+He was kind and attentive to her, but often grew impatient at the
+persistent way in which she indulged their little son.
+
+Mrs. Fowler had led a gay life in London for many years; but latterly,
+she had been in very indifferent health, and after an attack of severe
+illness, which had left her nerves in a shattered condition, Mr. Fowler
+had insisted on shutting up their house in town, and settling in the
+country. He had accordingly taken Greystone, and dismissing their old
+servants had engaged new ones, who received their orders from himself
+instead of from their mistress.
+
+During the first few weeks of her residence at Greystone, Mrs. Fowler
+had indeed been too ill to superintend the household; and though
+she was now better, she was far from strong, and was glad not to be
+troubled about anything. Margaret was very sorry for her mother, whose
+sufferings were apparent to everyone, for she started at the slightest
+unexpected sound, and the least worry brought on the most distressing
+headache.
+
+"Would you like me to read to you, mother?" the little girl inquired.
+
+"No, thank you, Margaret. What is the time?"
+
+"Half-past three."
+
+"Where is Gerald?"
+
+"Miss Conway has taken him down to the beach; she promised him this
+morning he should go, if he was good and attentive during lesson time.
+He likes talking to the fishermen."
+
+"Dear child! I hope they will not teach him to use bad language, though
+I expect they are a rough set."
+
+"I don't think so, mother. Mr. Amyatt says they are mostly sober,
+God-fearing men; of course, there are exceptions—Salome Petherick's
+father, for instance, often gets intoxicated, and it is a terrible
+trouble to her."
+
+"Does she complain of him to you?" Mrs. Fowler queried.
+
+"Oh, no, mother! It was Mr. Amyatt who told me. We were talking of
+Salome, and he said her father was very violent at times, quite cruel
+to her, in fact. Do you know, I think father's right, and that it's
+best to have nothing whatever to do with drink."
+
+Lately, since the Fowlers had left London, Mr. Fowler had laid down a
+rule that no intoxicating liquors of any description were to be brought
+into the house. He had become a teetotaler himself, for very good
+reasons, and had insisted on the members of his household following
+suit. No one had objected to this except Mrs. Fowler, and now she
+answered her little daughter in a tone of irritability.
+
+"Don't talk nonsense, child! I believe a glass of wine would do me good
+at this minute, and steady my nerves, only your father won't allow it!
+I haven't patience to speak of this new fad of his without getting
+cross. There, don't look at me so reproachfully. Of course what your
+father does is right in your eyes! Here, feel my pulse, child, and
+you'll know what a wreck I am!"
+
+Margaret complied, and laid her cool fingers on her mother's wrist. The
+pulse was weak and fluttering, and the little girl's heart filled with
+sympathy.
+
+"Poor mother," she said tenderly, kissing Mrs. Fowler's flushed cheek,
+and noticing her eyes were full of tears. "Shall I ring and order tea?
+It's rather early, but no doubt a nice cup of tea would do you good."
+
+"No, no! It's much too hot for tea!" And Mrs. Fowler made a gesture
+indicative of distaste, then broke into a flood of tears.
+
+Margaret soothed her mother as best she could; and presently, much to
+her satisfaction, the invalid grew composed and fell asleep. She was
+subject to these hysterical outbursts, and as Margaret bent anxiously
+over her, she noted how thin she had become, how hectic was the flush
+on her cheeks, and how dark-rimmed were her eyes.
+
+"She does indeed look very ill," the little girl thought sadly. "I
+wonder if she is right, and that some wine would do her good, and make
+her stronger; if so, it seems hard she should not have it. I'll go and
+speak to father at once."
+
+To think was to act with Margaret. She stole noiselessly out of the
+drawing-room, and went in search of her father. He was not in the
+house, but a servant informed her he was in the garden, and there she
+found him, reclining in a swing-chair, beneath the shade of a lilac
+tree. He threw aside the magazine he was reading as she approached, and
+greeted her with a welcoming smile.
+
+Mr. Fowler was a tall, dark man, several years older than his wife;
+his face was a strong one, and determined in expression, but his keen,
+deep-set eyes were wont to look kindly, and he certainly had the
+appearance of a person to be trusted.
+
+"Is anything wrong, my dear?" he inquired quickly, noticing that she
+looked depressed. "Where is your mother?"
+
+"Asleep in the drawing-room, father. She has had one of her crying fits
+again, and that exhausted her, I think. She seems very poorly, and
+low-spirited, doesn't she?"
+
+"Yes; but she is better—decidedly better than she was a few weeks ago.
+I have every hope that, ere many months have passed, she will be quite
+well again. There is no cause for you to look so anxious, child."
+
+"But she is so weak and nervous!" Margaret cried distressfully. "I was
+wondering if she had some wine—"
+
+The little girl paused, startled by the look of anger which flashed
+across her father's face. He made a movement as though to rise from the
+chair, then changed his intention, and curtly bade her finish what she
+had been about to say.
+
+"It was only that I was wondering if she had some wine, whether it
+might not do her good," Margaret proceeded timidly. "She told me
+herself she thought it would, and if so—you know, father, you used to
+take wine yourself, and—"
+
+"Did your mother send you to me on this mission?" he interrupted
+sternly.
+
+"No. I came of my own accord."
+
+"I am glad to hear that. But I cannot give my consent to your mother's
+taking wine, or stimulants of any kind; they would be harmful for her,
+the doctors agree upon that point. You have reminded me that I once
+drank wine myself, Margaret. I bitterly regret ever having done so."
+
+"Why?" she asked wonderingly, impressed by the solemnity of his tone.
+Then her thoughts flew to Salome Petherick's father, and she cried,
+"But, father, you never drank too much!"
+
+"I was never tempted to drink to excess, for I had no craving for
+stimulants. It is small credit to me that I was always a sober man;
+but people are differently constituted, and my example may have
+caused others to contract habits of intemperance. The Vicar here is a
+teetotaler from principle. He tells me that the force of example is
+stronger than any amount of preaching. Lately, I have had cause to
+consider this matter very seriously, and I am determined that never,
+with my permission, shall any intoxicating liquors be brought inside
+my doors. The servants understand this: I should instantly dismiss
+one who set my rule at defiance. As to your mother—" he paused a
+moment in hesitation, the expression of his countenance troubled, then
+continued—"she is weak, and still very far from well, but, in her heart
+of hearts, she knows I am right. Do not tell her you have broached this
+subject to me. Come, let us go and see if she is still asleep."
+
+"You are not angry with me, father?" Margaret asked, as she followed
+him into the house.
+
+"No, no! I am not, indeed!"
+
+Mrs. Fowler awoke with a start as her husband and little daughter
+entered the drawing-room. Mr. Fowler immediately rang for tea, and when
+it was brought, Margaret poured it out. At first, Mrs. Fowler would not
+touch it, but finally, to please the others, drank a cupful, and felt
+refreshed. A few minutes later, Mr. Amyatt was shown into the room,
+and she brightened up and grew quite animated. Margaret and her father
+exchanged pleased glances, delighted at the interest the invalid was
+evincing in the conversation.
+
+"I think I shall soon be well enough to go to church on Sundays," Mrs.
+Fowler informed the Vicar. "My husband tells me you have a very good
+choir."
+
+"Yes, that is so," Mr. Amyatt replied. "We are decidedly primitive in
+our ways at Yelton, and have several women in our choir, notably Salome
+Petherick, the lame girl with whom your daughter has already become
+acquainted."
+
+"Oh, yes. Margaret has been telling me about her. She sings in the
+choir, does she?"
+
+"Yes. She has a beautiful voice, as clear and fresh as a bird's! I
+train the choir myself, for our organist comes from N—, a neighbouring
+town, several miles distant."
+
+"By the way," said Mrs. Fowler with a smiling glance at Margaret, "my
+little girl is very desirous of learning to play the organ, and her
+governess would teach her, if you would allow her to practise on the
+organ in the church. Would there be any objection to that plan, Mr.
+Amyatt?"
+
+"None whatever," was the prompt reply.
+
+"Oh, thank you!" Margaret cried delightedly.
+
+"You will have to employ Gerald to blow for you," Mr. Fowler remarked
+with a smile.
+
+"I am sure he will not do that!" the little girl exclaimed. "He is far
+too disobliging."
+
+"Margaret, how hard you are on your brother," Mrs. Fowler said
+reproachfully.
+
+"Am I? I don't mean to be. Oh, here he is!"
+
+Gerald came into the room with his hat on his head, but meeting his
+father's eyes, removed it instantly. After he had shaken hands with the
+Vicar, his mother called him to her, pushed back his fair locks from
+his forehead, and made him sit by her side on the sofa whilst she plied
+him with sweet cakes. He was her darling, and she indulged him to his
+bent. When the governess entered the room, having removed her hat and
+gloves, there were no sweet cakes left. Mr. Fowler rang the bell for
+more, and upon the parlour-maid bringing a fresh supply, declined to
+allow Gerald to partake of them, at which the spoilt boy pouted and
+sulked, and his mother threw reproachful glances at her husband.
+
+Mr. Amyatt watched the scene in silence, wondering how anyone could
+allow affection to overcome judgment, as Mrs. Fowler had evidently
+done, as far as her little son was concerned, and marvelling that Mr.
+Fowler did not order the disagreeable child out of the room. When the
+Vicar rose to go, his host accompanied him as far as the garden gate,
+and they stood there talking some while before, at last, the Vicar said
+good-bye, and started down the hill towards the village.
+
+The Fowlers had now been several weeks in residence at Greystone,
+but, up to the present, Mr. Amyatt had been their only visitor. Mrs.
+Fowler had not been outside the grounds surrounding the house yet,
+but talked of going down to the beach the first day she felt strong
+enough to attempt the walk. The children, however, had made several
+acquaintances among the fisher-folk, and a great liking had sprung
+up between Margaret and Salome Petherick, for, though one was a rich
+man's daughter and the other only a poor fisherman's child, they found
+they had much in common, and, wide apart though they were to outward
+appearances, they bade fair to become real friends.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+"Abide with Me."
+
+THE Fowlers had been six weeks at Greystone, when, one evening towards
+the end of July, Mrs. Fowler, who was daily improving in health,
+accompanied Margaret and Miss Conway to the church, and wandered about
+the ancient building, reading the inscriptions on the monuments, whilst
+her little daughter had her music lesson. By-and-by she strolled into
+the graveyard, and, seating herself on the low wall which surrounded
+it, gazed far out over the blue expanse of ocean, which was dotted with
+fishing boats and larger crafts, on this calm summer evening.
+
+The churchyard at Yelton was beautifully situated, commanding a view of
+the whole village straggling nearly down to the beach, whilst on the
+eminence beyond the church was Greystone, against a background of green
+foliage.
+
+"Everything is very lovely," Mrs. Fowler said to herself, "and the air
+is certainly most invigorating. I feel almost well to-night. Who comes
+here? Why, this must be Salome Petherick!"
+
+It was the lame girl who had entered the churchyard, and was now
+approaching the spot where Mrs. Fowler sat. She paused at the sight of
+the figure on the wall, and a look of admiration stole into her soft,
+brown eyes. She had never seen such a pretty lady before, or anyone so
+daintily and becomingly dressed.
+
+Mrs. Fowler, who had shrunk with the nervous unreasonableness of a sick
+person from being brought into contact with the cripple girl, now that
+she was actually face to face with her, was interested and sympathetic
+at once. She smiled at Salome and addressed her cordially.
+
+"I think you must be Salome Petherick?" she said. "Yes, I am sure you
+are!"
+
+"Yes, ma'am," was the reply, accompanied by a shy glance of pleasure.
+
+"My little girl has spoken of you so often that I seem to know you
+quite well," Mrs. Fowler remarked. "Come and sit down on the wall by my
+side, I want to talk to you."
+
+Then as Salome complied willingly, she continued, "Does it not tire
+you to climb here every evening, as they tell me you do, to listen to
+the organ? The church is a good step from where you live. That is your
+home, is it not?" and she indicated the cottage nearest to the sea.
+
+"Yes," Salome assented, "it does tire me a little to come up the hill,
+but I love to hear music. After Miss Margaret has had her organ lesson,
+Miss Conway generally plays something herself."
+
+"Does she? Then I hope she will do so to-night. But my little daughter
+is still at the organ, so we will remain where we are until she has
+finished. Meanwhile we will talk. They tell me you live with your
+father, and that he is often away fishing. You must lead a lonely life."
+
+"Yes, ma'am, indeed it is very lonely sometimes," Salome acknowledged,
+"but I don't mind that much. I have plenty to do, keeping the cottage
+clean and tidy, and preparing father's meals, mending his clothes, and
+seeing to the flowers in the garden."
+
+"How busy you must be. And you have lost your mother, poor child."
+
+Salome pointed to a green mound at a little distance, whilst her brown
+eyes filled with tears.
+
+"She was such a good mother," she said softly, "oh, such a very good
+mother! And I was such a fretful, tiresome child. I used to grieve her
+so often, and I can't bear to think of it now."
+
+She paused, but, encouraged by the sympathy on her companion's face,
+she continued, "She used to be so patient with me when I was naughty
+and grumbled because I was not able to run about and play like other
+children. And, until she lay dying, I never thought how sorry I must
+have made her, and what a selfish girl I'd been. Then, I would have
+given anything if I'd been different, but it was too late." And the
+repentant tears streamed down Salome's cheeks.
+
+"Don't grieve," said Mrs. Fowler, a little huskily, for she was much
+touched at the other's evident remorse.
+
+"I am sure Miss Margaret never treated you, ma'am, as I used to treat
+my mother!" Salome exclaimed.
+
+Mrs. Fowler was silent as she acknowledged to herself that Margaret
+had always been patient and considerate when she had been an exacting
+invalid.
+
+"I suppose your father is out in his fishing boat?" she asked by way of
+changing the conversation.
+
+"No, ma'am," Salome replied, the look of grief deepening on her face.
+
+"Let us go into the church and hear Miss Conway play," Mrs. Fowler
+said, rising as she spoke. "I hear Margaret's lesson is at an end. Ah,
+here comes the Vicar. How do you do, Mr. Amyatt?"
+
+"I am glad to see you are better, Mrs. Fowler," the Vicar exclaimed.
+"What, you here, Salome? Don't go away; I want Mrs. Fowler to hear you
+sing."
+
+Salome smiled, and blushed. She followed the others into the church
+and seated herself in a pew near the door, whilst the Vicar pointed
+out beauties in the architecture of the building to his companion,
+which she had failed to notice. Miss Conway was at the organ, playing
+"The Heavens are telling," and when the last notes died away the Vicar
+beckoned to Salome, who swung herself up the aisle on her crutches,
+and, at his request, consented to sing.
+
+"I will play the accompaniment," Miss Conway said, smiling
+encouragingly at the lame girl, who felt a little shy at being called
+upon to sing alone. "What shall it be?" she inquired.
+
+"Whatever you please, miss," Salome answered.
+
+"Oh, no! You must choose," the Vicar declared decidedly.
+
+"Then I will sing 'Abide with Me.'"
+
+Mrs. Fowler and Margaret considerately withdrew to a side seat so that
+the sight of them should not embarrass the singer, and Mr. Amyatt
+followed them. Salome stood a little behind Miss Conway, who softly
+played the accompaniment of the hymn:
+
+   "Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
+    The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide;
+    When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
+    Help of the helpless, O abide with me."
+
+Salome's fresh, sweet voice rang clearly through the dim church, and
+its tender tones touched the hearts of her audience. She was very fond
+of "Abide with Me," for it had been her mother's favourite hymn, and
+to-night she sang her best.
+
+   "Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
+    In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me."
+
+The beautiful voice died lingeringly away, and for a few minutes there
+was a complete silence. Then Mrs. Fowler rose, and coming eagerly
+forward, took Salome by the hand, whilst she thanked her for giving her
+such a "rare treat" as she called it.
+
+Margaret was delighted to see what a favourable impression her lame
+friend had evidently made upon her mother, and great was her surprise
+when, on their all adjourning to the churchyard, Mrs. Fowler asked
+Salome to come and see them at Greystone.
+
+"I think you would be able to get as far as that, don't you?" she said
+with a winning smile. "I should like you to come and sing to me. Will
+you, one evening?"
+
+"Oh, yes," Salome replied. She had never been inside the doors of
+Greystone in her life, though she had often desired to see what the
+house was like, having been told it was a fine place.
+
+"Then that is settled. I shall expect you."
+
+Mrs. Fowler nodded and turned away, followed by Miss Conway, and
+Margaret who looked back to wave her hand in farewell as she
+disappeared through the churchyard gate. The Vicar accompanied them
+thus far, then turned back to speak a few words to Salome. The village
+lad who had been employed to blow the organ had taken a short cut
+homewards over the low wall.
+
+"You sang remarkably well to-night," Mr. Amyatt said, "I felt quite
+proud of my pupil. You showed excellent taste, too, in the hymn you
+chose. It was most suitable for the occasion. I wonder if you know the
+circumstances under which that hymn came to be written?"
+
+"No," Salome rejoined, shaking her head, "I don't know, sir."
+
+"Then I will tell you. It was composed more than fifty years ago
+by a sick clergyman of the name of Lyte, at a little fishing town
+called Brixham, in South Devon. He had become so seriously ill that
+the doctors had ordered him abroad for his health's sake, and, after
+service on the Sunday evening, prior to his leaving England, he went
+down to the sea-shore, sad at heart, for he was convinced that he
+had spoken to his parishioners, who were very dear to him, for the
+last time. He was sorrowful and low-spirited, but, by-and-by, the
+remembrance that his Saviour was ever near to help and sustain him
+brought him consolation. After watching the sunset, he went home, and
+immediately wrote the beautiful hymn you sang to-night."
+
+Salome had listened with deep interest, and she exclaimed earnestly:
+"Oh, Mr. Amyatt, I am glad you have told me this. I shall love 'Abide
+with Me' better than ever now."
+
+The Vicar smiled, then pointed towards the sea, over which a soft
+summer mist was creeping.
+
+"It is time for you to go home," he reminded her. "Where is your father
+this evening?"
+
+"At the 'Crab and Cockle,' sir."
+
+He shook his head sadly, but refrained from questioning her further.
+He saw she was thinner than she had been a few months previously, and
+wondered if she was sufficiently well fed, or if Josiah Petherick
+expended the money he should have spent on his home, on the friends he
+met at the inn. As he watched the little girl swinging herself slowly
+down the hill by the aid of her crutches, he felt very grieved and
+troubled on her account.
+
+"What a curse this drink is!" he thought. "And it's a curse that creeps
+in everywhere, too."
+
+In the village that afternoon, he had been told that Mr. Fowler had
+summarily dismissed a groom who had been discovered with a bottle of
+beer in the stable, and he had listened to various comments upon the
+strict notions of the master of Greystone. Most of the villagers were
+inclined to think that the man's fault in disobeying his master's rule
+that no intoxicating liquor should be brought on the premises might
+have been overlooked, as it was his first offence, whilst some few
+argued that Mr. Fowler had acted rightly.
+
+As Salome passed the "Crab and Cockle" on her way home, she heard
+sounds of hilarity within, and recognised her father's voice singing
+a rollicking sea song. She sighed, remembering how, during his wife's
+lifetime, Josiah had been a member of the church choir; it appeared
+unseemly to her that a voice which once had been raised to the praise
+and glory of God should lend itself to the entertainment of a set
+of half-drunken men in the bar of a public-house. As she paused,
+involuntarily listening, a whiff of foul air, laden with the mingled
+odour of smoke and beer, was wafted before her nostrils from the open
+doorway, and she moved on with a sickening sense of shame and disgust,
+her heart heavy as lead, her eyes smarting with tears. Oh, hers was a
+hard life, she thought bitterly.
+
+Arrived at home, she laid a frugal supper of bread and cheese, and soon
+afterwards her father reeled up the garden path and into the kitchen.
+Sitting down at the table, he helped himself to bread and cheese in
+silence, and commenced eating, whilst his little daughter took her
+accustomed place opposite to him.
+
+"Where've you been?" he questioned. "I saw you pass the inn."
+
+She told him how she had spent the evening, explaining that she had
+sung at the Vicar's request, and that Mrs. Fowler had invited her to
+Greystone.
+
+"I won't let you go there!" he cried. "I hate those new people! What
+did Mr. Fowler do yesterday, but dismiss as honest a chap as ever
+lived, at a moment's notice, just because he'd got a bottle o' beer in
+the stable! An' the man wasn't drunk either! No, you shan't go nigh
+folks as treats their servants like that."
+
+"Oh, father!" Salome exclaimed, disappointedly. She was wise enough,
+however, not to pursue the subject. After a brief silence, she asked,
+with some timidity, "Father, have you any money? Because, when Silas
+Moyle left the bread this afternoon, he said he couldn't supply us with
+any more unless you paid him what you owe."
+
+Silas Moyle was the one baker of the place, and the owner of the
+village shop, in which his wife served. Josiah Petherick had formerly
+paid ready money for everything, but latterly he had been spending at
+the "Crab and Cockle" what should have gone into Silas Moyle's pocket.
+This was an additional trouble to Salome, but her father did not appear
+to care. He was enraged, though, when he heard what the baker had
+said, and, as his creditor was not present to bear the brunt of his
+indignation, Salome had to stand it instead. She turned white when he
+swore at her, and sat perfectly still whilst he abused her roundly, but
+when he called her extravagant she began to protest.
+
+"Father, that's not fair of you! I'm as careful as ever I can be. We're
+obliged to have bread! Won't you see Silas yourself? Perhaps he'll
+continue to supply us, if you can arrange to pay him part of what we
+owe. Of course, he wants his money."
+
+"He's another of your teetotal humbugs!" sneered the angry man.
+
+"He isn't a humbug at all!" Salome retorted hotly, her indignation and
+sense of justice overcoming her fear of her father; "but he did say he
+wasn't minded to wait for his money when it was being squandered with
+that drunken crew at the 'Crab and Cockle.' Oh, father, it was terrible
+for me to hear that, and I couldn't contradict him!"
+
+With a fierce oath, Josiah pushed back his chair and rose from the
+table, declaring things had come to a pretty pass when his own
+daughter, a mere child, thought fit to discuss him with outsiders.
+
+Salome broke into passionate weeping at this, whereupon he flung
+himself out of the kitchen, and the next minute she heard his footsteps
+in the garden.
+
+"He's gone to the 'Crab and Cockle' again," thought the unhappy little
+girl. "Oh, how could he swear at me like that? Oh, how shall I bear
+it!" Presently she arose, put away the supper things and then sat down
+by the open window to wait, as she knew she would have to do, until
+the inn door was closed for the night, and her father would return.
+By-and-by, the soft lap, lap of the sea had a soothing effect upon her
+troubled spirit, the peacefulness of the summer night stole into her
+soul, and she murmured to herself the words of consolation she had sung
+an hour or so before in the dim, old church:
+
+   "When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
+    Help of the helpless, O abide with me."
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+Salome's Humiliation.
+
+JOSIAH PETHERICK sat on the beach mending his fishing nets in the
+shade of a tall rock. It was intensely hot, and there was scarcely a
+ripple on the glassy sea, whilst the sky was a broad canopy of blue.
+Josiah was thinking deeply. That morning, consequent on the information
+his daughter had given him on the previous evening, he had been to
+interview Silas Moyle, and had induced the baker to allow him further
+credit. Never in his life before had Josiah found himself in such
+a humiliating position, and he felt it all the more because it was
+entirely his own fault. He had always prided himself on being able to
+pay his way, and now he was not in the position to do so.
+
+Glancing up from his work presently, the fisherman saw three figures
+come down to the beach—a lady, a gentleman, and a small boy clad
+in a sailor's suit and broad-brimmed straw hat. He knew them to be
+Mr. and Mrs. Fowler and their little son. He had often held lengthy
+conversations with Gerald, who was always delighted to talk with anyone
+who could tell him about the manifold wonders of the sea, but he had
+never spoken to either of the boy's parents. Despite his disapproval of
+the strict teetotal principles of the master of Greystone, he regarded
+that gentleman with considerable interest, and when Mr. Fowler strolled
+up to him, and inquired from whom a boat might be hired, he answered
+him civilly, "You can have a boat from me, if you like, sir; but
+there's no wind for sailing to-day."
+
+"Perhaps you would row us around those high rocks yonder. My wife has a
+fancy to see what lies beyond that point."
+
+Josiah assented willingly, seeing an opportunity of earning a few
+shillings; and so it came to pass that he spent a very pleasant and
+lucrative morning, returning home to dinner in the best of spirits.
+
+"The new folks at Greystone have a liking for boating," he informed
+Salome; "and see here," tossing a half-crown as he spoke upon the
+table, "give that to Silas Moyle when he calls with the bread this
+afternoon."
+
+The lame girl's face brightened as she took up the coin, and looked at
+her father questioningly.
+
+"I saw Mr. and Mrs. Fowler and Master Gerald pass here on their way to
+the beach," she said. "Did you take them out in your boat, father?"
+
+"Yes. They treated me very fairly, I must admit that, an' Mrs.
+Fowler—she seems a nice lady—spoke of you."
+
+"Did she?"
+
+"She said you had a lovely voice, an' that she was looking forward to
+hear you sing again. I say, Salome, I shouldn't like to disappoint her,
+so if she really wants you to go and see her, you may—" and Josiah,
+mindful of all he had said on the preceding night, avoided meeting his
+little daughter's eyes as he made this concession.
+
+"Oh, thank you, dear father," she cried. "I should like to go to
+Greystone so much."
+
+"That little Master Gerald is a tiresome monkey," Josiah remarked. "He
+wouldn't sit still in the boat at first, though his mother kept on with
+him. At last his father spoke, an' after that, there was no need to
+tell him to be quiet again. Mr. Fowler looks a man as would have his
+own way."
+
+"Master Gerald is very disobedient, I know," Salome said, "and
+sometimes his governess has great trouble with him. Miss Margaret says
+her mother spoils him."
+
+"Then, 'tis a good job he's got a father who doesn't."
+
+After dinner, Josiah went on with his interrupted work of mending his
+fishing nets, whilst Salome tidied up the cottage and waited for Silas
+Moyle.
+
+The baker looked gratified as he took the half-crown the lame girl
+tendered him, for he had not expected to be paid even a small part of
+his account.
+
+"That's right," he said, as he pocketed the money; "it appears I did
+some good by speaking yesterday. Look here, my dear, you must try to
+keep that father of yours up to the mark. Can't you make him stay at
+home of an evening?"
+
+The little girl shook her head, and looked distressed as she replied,
+"I'm afraid not, Mr. Moyle."
+
+"He's not at the 'Crab and Cockle' now, I s'pose?"
+
+"No, he's on the beach mending his nets; and this morning he took Mr.
+and Mrs. Fowler and their little boy for a row in his boat."
+
+"It's a pity Mr. Fowler can't get your father to his way of
+thinking—about drink, I mean. I say the new folks at Greystone set an
+example that many in Yelton might follow with advantage. Theirs is a
+teetotal household, I'm told."
+
+"So I've heard," Salome responded.
+
+Silas Moyle nodded kindly, and took himself off, whilst Salome locked
+up the cottage and joined her father on the beach. She told him the
+baker had been pleased to receive the half-crown, and then tactfully
+changed the subject. Josiah and his daughter were always excellent
+friends when the former had not been drinking.
+
+"Look!" Salome exclaimed suddenly, "There's Master Gerald. Why, he
+seems to be alone. He sees us."
+
+The child came running towards them, laughing as he stumbled over the
+rough shingles, his face aglow with excitement, his broad-brimmed
+sailor's hat at the back of his head, revealing the fair curls which
+clustered thickly around his brow.
+
+"I've run away," he cried merrily. "I wanted Miss Conway to bring me
+down to the beach, but she would not—the disagreeable thing! She said
+it was too hot, and I must stay in the garden. So I came by myself."
+
+"Doesn't Miss Conway know where you are?" Salome inquired.
+
+"No one knows," he replied proudly. "I can take care of myself."
+
+"I'm not so sure of that, young gentleman," Josiah remarked, with a
+chuckle of amusement at Gerald's air of importance.
+
+"It was naughty of you to run away," Salome told him in a tone of
+reproof.
+
+The child made a grimace at her, and ran off towards some rocks which
+the receding tide had left uncovered.
+
+"He's a pretty handful," Josiah exclaimed, shaking his head.
+
+"I expect someone will be here looking for him soon," said Salome. "I
+hope so, for his mother will be anxious if she does not know where he
+is, and she is not strong."
+
+But nobody came in search of Gerald, who at last disappeared from sight
+beyond the rocks. In spite of her father's assurance that the boy could
+come to no harm, the little girl grew uneasy about him; and, by-and-by,
+rose and went to make certain he was safe. She found him lying flat on
+the wet beach, gazing into a pool between two rocks at some beautiful
+anemones; and tried to induce him to retrace his footsteps, but all to
+no purpose. In vain she told him that his mother would be worried about
+him, and that his father would be angry. The wayward child would pay no
+attention to her.
+
+"What's it to do with you?" he demanded rudely. "Mind your own
+business, if you please."
+
+As he absolutely refused to return, Salome left him with the intention
+of persuading her father to interfere; but, to her dismay, she found
+Josiah had deserted his nets, and as the key of the cottage door was in
+her pocket, she knew he had not gone home. In all probability he had
+betaken himself to the "Crab and Cockle" to obtain a drink. Whilst she
+was hesitating how to act, much to her surprise, Gerald appeared around
+the rocks and joined her. He was tired of the beach, he declared, and
+wanted to see her flowers, so she allowed him to accompany her home.
+And thus it was that the young tyrant was discovered in Salome's garden
+half-an-hour later by his much-tried governess.
+
+Poor Miss Conway! She almost wept with joy on finding Gerald in safety,
+and insisted on his return to Greystone immediately. She led him away
+in triumph, paying no attention to his request that he might be allowed
+to remain a little longer.
+
+Josiah did not return for his tea, so after waiting some time, Salome
+had hers, and then seated herself under the porch with her knitting.
+There Margaret Fowler found her as the evening was drawing in.
+
+"Mother has sent me to thank you for taking such good care of Gerald
+this afternoon," Margaret said as she complied with the lame girl's
+invitation to sit down opposite to her. "He is a very tiresome,
+disobedient boy, for father had told him never to go down on the beach
+by himself. He is not to be trusted. Father has punished him for his
+naughtiness by ordering him to bed. It was quite a shock to poor Miss
+Conway when she found Gerald was nowhere on the premises."
+
+"I noticed she looked pale," Salome said. "I am afraid Master Gerald is
+very troublesome."
+
+"Troublesome! I should think he is. It was kind of you to look after
+him, Salome. I have a message from my mother to know if you can come to
+see us to-morrow. Do try to come."
+
+"Oh, I should like to!" Salome cried, her eyes sparkling with
+excitement.
+
+"Then, will you manage to be at Greystone by five o'clock?"
+
+"Yes, miss, if all's well. Oh, please thank Mrs. Fowler for asking me!"
+
+"Mother wants to hear you sing again. She has taken quite a fancy to
+you, and I am so glad."
+
+"I think your mother is the prettiest, sweetest lady I ever saw," the
+lame girl said earnestly. "How dearly you must love her, Miss Margaret."
+
+"Yes," Margaret answered soberly, "but I do not think she cares for me
+much. Gerald is her favourite, you know. Oh, I'm not jealous of him,
+but I can't help seeing that though he teases and worries her, and I do
+all I can to please her, she loves him much better than she has ever
+loved me."
+
+Salome was surprised, and pained by the look of sadness on her
+companion's face.
+
+"Perhaps your mother shows her affection more to Master Gerald because
+he's so much younger than you," she suggested. "I cannot believe she
+loves him better really."
+
+Margaret made no reply to this, but by-and-by she said, "We have had
+several fusses at home these last few days. Did you hear that father
+dismissed one of the men-servants for bringing beer into the stable?"
+
+"Yes, I heard about it. I think Mr. Fowler was quite right," Salome
+declared decidedly.
+
+"Do you? I'm glad to hear you say that. Father always means to do
+right, I am sure. He is a teetotaler himself, you know, and so are we
+all, for that matter."
+
+At this point in the conversation the garden gate clicked, and Josiah
+strode up the path and hurried past the little girls into the cottage.
+His bronzed face was crimson; and he walked somewhat unsteadily; but he
+was sufficiently sober to realise that his wisest plan was to take no
+notice of his little daughter's visitor.
+
+Pitying Salome from the depths of her heart, Margaret rose, saying it
+was time for her to go home. The lame girl followed her silently to the
+garden gate, where they stood for a few minutes talking.
+
+"You'll be sure to come to-morrow, won't you?" Margaret said earnestly.
+
+"Yes, miss," was the grave reply, "if I possibly can; I hope nothing
+will prevent it, but—you see how it is with him sometimes," and she
+pointed towards the cottage.
+
+"Yes," Margaret admitted. "Oh, I'm so sorry! He must be a terrible
+trial for you. May God help you, Salome."
+
+"He does help me," the lame girl replied, "I couldn't bear it alone.
+Oh, how I wish my father was a teetotaler like yours."
+
+"I wish so, too."
+
+"I had hoped you would never find out about my poor father being a
+drinker, but I might have known that sooner or later you would learn
+the truth. Oh, miss, don't, please don't think, he's altogether a bad
+man. He isn't! When he's sober, there's not a kinder or better man in
+the world. But when the drink gets hold of him, he isn't himself at
+all." And Salome laid her head on the top rail of the gate and sobbed
+heartbrokenly.
+
+"Oh, don't cry so!" Margaret said imploringly, her own eyes full of
+tears. "Oh, perhaps he'll give up the drink some day."
+
+"I don't know, miss, I'm afraid he won't. He gets worse instead of
+better. The Vicar has spoken to him, but that's done no good. He has
+only come home for supper now; afterwards he'll go back to the 'Crab
+and Cockle.' But there, I mustn't cry any more, or he'll notice it!"
+
+[Illustration: SALOME LAID HER HEAD ON THE TOP RAIL OF THE GATE
+ AND SOBBED HEART-BROKENLY.]
+
+"Good-bye, Salome! Mind you come to-morrow."
+
+"Oh, yes! I hope I shall. Oh, miss, I feel so ashamed that you should
+have seen my father to-night!"
+
+"There's nothing for you to be ashamed about. I think you're the
+pluckiest girl I know. Good night!" And Margaret ran off with a nod and
+a smile.
+
+She slackened her speed soon, however; and as she went up the hill
+beyond the church towards her home, paused now and again to look back
+the way she had come, and admire the beautiful view. At the entrance to
+the grounds of Greystone she met her father, and together they walked
+towards the house, whilst she told him of Josiah Petherick's condition
+that evening.
+
+"Oh, father, you are right to be a teetotaler!" she cried. "Drink is an
+awful thing!"
+
+"It is indeed, my dear," he replied with a deep sigh. "I found
+Petherick a well-informed, civil-spoken man, in fact I was favourably
+impressed with him this morning, and he talked of his little daughter
+as though he really loved her. Drink can slay affection, though," he
+concluded sorrowfully.
+
+"It's dreadful it should, father!"
+
+"When drink once gets hold of people, it makes them slaves, and kills
+their finest feelings. I am very sorry for that poor Salome!"
+
+"So am I. She is so brave, too, and sticks up for her father all she
+can. Oh, I think he ought to give up the drink for her sake. I wonder—I
+wonder if it would be any good for you to speak to him!" And Margaret
+looked wistfully and pleadingly into her father's face.
+
+"I will consider the matter," he rejoined thoughtfully.
+
+"Oh, father!" she cried, picturing afresh Salome's grief and
+humiliation, "What should I do, if I had such a trouble as that poor
+lame girl has to bear?"
+
+Mr. Fowler started, and a look of intense pain and trouble momentarily
+crossed his countenance, but he answered quietly, "In that case, I hope
+you would ask God to support and comfort you."
+
+"As Salome does. I could not be patient like she is, though."
+
+"I trust you would, my dear child."
+
+"Well, I am not likely to be tried," and Margaret regarded her father
+with a look of affectionate pride. She wondered at the sadness of
+the smile with which he returned her glance; and his answer, gravely
+spoken, puzzled her not a little.
+
+"We cannot tell how much our patience and our love may be tried," he
+said, "nor what trials the future may hold for us. We can only pray
+that God will help and strengthen us in our time of need."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+Perfectly Happy.
+
+"OH, I do hope she will come! It's nearly five o'clock, and she's not
+in sight yet. I wish I had thought of watching from my bedroom window,
+I could have seen then when she left the cottage."
+
+The speaker, Margaret Fowler, started up from her seat beneath the
+lilac tree, and ran across the lawn in the direction of the gate which
+led from the grounds of Greystone into the road. Beneath the lilac tree
+sat Mrs. Fowler in a comfortably padded wicker chair, with a small
+table laden with papers and magazines at her side. She glanced after
+her little daughter with a slightly amused smile, then remonstrated
+with Gerald, who was playing near by, for making a noise.
+
+"You will give me a headache, if you keep on doing that," she said, as
+he cannoned two croquet balls against each other. "Pray, be quiet!"
+
+Gerald chose not to obey. He continued his game, utterly regardless of
+his mother's command.
+
+"Do stop, Gerald!" she exclaimed. "I really cannot bear that noise any
+longer. Oh, where is Miss Conway? Why isn't she here to look after you?
+Gerald, to oblige me, find some other amusement, there's a dear boy!"
+
+"Why do you not obey your mother, sir?" demanded a stern voice. And
+suddenly the little boy dropped the croquet-mallet from his hand, and
+turned to face his father.
+
+"That's right, Gerald!" Mrs. Fowler said hastily. "He hasn't been doing
+anything wrong, Henry," she continued, glancing apprehensively at her
+husband, "only—you know how absurdly nervous I am—I can't bear any
+sharp, sudden noise. It's foolish of me, I know."
+
+Gerald now ran after his sister, and Mr. Fowler stood with his hand on
+the back of his wife's chair, looking, down at her with grave attention.
+
+"You should make the boy obey you, my dear," he said. "Has not your
+visitor arrived yet?"
+
+"No. Margaret has gone to the gate to see if she is coming. I thought
+we would have tea out here, for it is cooler and pleasanter in the
+garden than in the house, and it will be more informal. I should like
+you to hear this lame girl sing, Henry! I think I never heard a voice
+which touched me so deeply as hers. But you are not listening—"
+
+"I beg your pardon, my dear. I confess my thoughts were wandering. The
+fact is, to-morrow I shall have to go up to town for a few days, and I
+would far rather remain at home. But I am obliged to go."
+
+"You can leave with an easy mind," his wife told him reassuringly. "I
+am really quite strong now, and capable of managing the household, I
+believe I shall be better for something to do. By the way, you cannot
+think how much I enjoyed my drive this morning to N—" mentioning the
+nearest town. "I wanted some trifles from a draper's, and the shops
+were much better than I expected. Oh! Here come the children. They are
+bringing Salome with them."
+
+Mrs. Fowler rose and greeted the lame girl very cordially, placing her
+in a chair next to her own. Salome was looking her best, neatly attired
+in a clean cotton frock. There was a flush born of excitement on her
+cheeks, and her brown eyes shone with a happy light as she gave herself
+up to the enjoyment of the present hour.
+
+Tea was served beneath the lilac tree, such a luxuriant tea as Salome
+had never partaken of before, and everyone appeared determined that she
+should make a good meal—Gerald pointing out to her the most delectable
+of the dainties which he pressed her to eat, for in the depths of his
+selfish little heart, there was a warm spot for the lame girl who had
+so often given him flowers from her garden when he had certainly not
+deserved them.
+
+Salome was inclined to be a trifle shy at first of Mr. Fowler. From
+what she had heard of him she had imagined he must be an exceedingly
+stern, strict sort of man, but he talked to her so kindly and
+pleasantly that she soon grew at ease with him, and answered all the
+questions he put to her unreservedly. She told him she had only been a
+member of the choir during the last six months, and explained that she
+had not known she possessed a really good voice until the Vicar had
+informed her that such was the fact.
+
+"I always loved singing, even when I was a tiny thing," she said, "but
+I never thought of joining the choir till one day when Mr. Amyatt
+suggested it. He was passing our cottage, and heard me singing, and he
+came right in and said he would like me to come up to the Vicarage and
+let him try my voice. Father said I might go, so I did, and the next
+Sunday, I sang with the choir in church for the first time."
+
+"You must not sing too much," Mr. Fowler remarked, "for you are very
+young, and might permanently injure your voice if you strained it now.
+You must nurse it a bit."
+
+"That's what Mr. Amyatt says," Salome replied with a smile, "and I'm
+very careful."
+
+"It is a great gift to have a beautiful voice." Mr. Fowler looked with
+kindly interest at his little guest as he spoke; then his eyes wandered
+to the crutches which she had placed on the ground beside her chair,
+and she caught the swift glance of sympathy which crossed his face, and
+from that moment, he stood high in her estimation.
+
+"God is very merciful," he added softly, as though speaking to himself;
+"we are too apt to forget that He never sends a cross without its
+compensation."
+
+Salome was perfectly happy sitting there under the lilac tree, though
+she felt all the while as though she must be in a wonderful dream. Mrs.
+Fowler, in her light summer dress, with her fair hair and her lovely
+blue eyes, looked like a queen, she thought. Salome was more and more
+impressed with her grace and charm on every fresh occasion on which she
+saw her. How proud Miss Margaret must be of her mother! And how happy
+Miss Margaret must be in such a beautiful home, with kind parents, and
+everything that heart could desire! And yet, what was the meaning of
+that wistful look on her face; and why was Mr. Fowler's countenance
+so grave, and almost stern in expression at times? Salome's eyes were
+remarkably shrewd. She noticed how attentive Mr. Fowler was to his
+wife, almost seeming to anticipate her wishes and read her thoughts;
+and she was surprised when he was called away for a few minutes to see
+that Mrs. Fowler talked with greater freedom in his absence, as though
+his presence put a restraint upon her.
+
+As soon as all had finished tea, Margaret took Salome around the
+gardens, and afterwards led the way into the house. She showed Salome
+her own room, the walls of which were crowded with pictures and
+knickknacks. The lame girl had never seen such a pretty bedroom before
+as this one, with its little white-curtained bed, and white-enamelled
+furniture. Then Margaret opened a velvet-lined jewel case, and took out
+a small, gold brooch in the shape of a shell, which she insisted upon
+fastening into the neck of her visitor's gown.
+
+"It is for you," she said, "I bought it with my own money, so you need
+not mind taking it. I told mother I was going to give it to you. I want
+you to wear it for my sake, Salome."
+
+"Oh, Miss Margaret, how kind of you! Thank you so much. But ought I to
+take it? Are you sure Mrs. Fowler—"
+
+"Oh, yes!" Margaret interposed eagerly. "Mother would like you to have
+it. She said she thought it would be a very suitable gift for you. It
+is pretty, isn't it?"
+
+"It is lovely!" was the enthusiastic reply. "I shall value it always,
+Miss Margaret, for your sake," and there were tears of pleasure and
+gratitude in Salome's brown eyes as she spoke.
+
+"I am so very glad you like it," Margaret said earnestly; "but now,
+come downstairs to the drawing-room."
+
+Greystone appeared quite a palatial residence to the simple village
+girl, accustomed to her cottage home. She noticed how soft and thick
+were the carpets, how handsome was the furniture; and how everything in
+connection with the house had been done with a view to comfort. A sense
+of awe crept over her, as she cast one swift glance around the spacious
+drawing-room. Miss Conway was at the piano, but she ceased playing as
+the little girls entered; and Mrs. Fowler, who was standing by the open
+window conversing with her husband, turned towards them immediately and
+requested Salome to sing.
+
+So Salome stood, leaning upon her crutches, in the centre of the room,
+and lilted, without accompaniment, a simple little song she had often
+heard from her dead mother's lips. It was a lullaby, and she sang it
+so sweetly and unaffectedly that her listeners were delighted, and Mr.
+Fowler was surprised at the beauty of the voice which had had so little
+training. She gave them several other quaint west-country ballads; and
+then, at Mrs. Fowler's request, sang, "Abide with Me."
+
+"I like that best," Margaret said, as she drew Salome down on a sofa by
+her side. "Why, how you're trembling! And your hands are quite cold!"
+
+"Poor child! We have made her nervous, I fear," Mr. Fowler remarked.
+"Used your mother to sing, my dear?"
+
+"Yes, sir, sometimes, and father used to sing in the choir, but he
+doesn't now. If you please," she proceeded, glancing from one to the
+other hesitatingly, "I think I ought to go home. Father promised to
+meet me outside the gate at seven o'clock, and it must be that now."
+
+"It is a little after seven," Mr. Fowler replied, glancing at his watch.
+
+"Then I think I must go, sir."
+
+"You must come again soon," Mrs. Fowler said eagerly. "Thank you
+so much, my dear, for singing to us. You have given us very great
+pleasure."
+
+"I am very glad," Salome rejoined simply and earnestly, "and I should
+like to tell you how much I have enjoyed myself; and thank you for all
+your kindness to me."
+
+True to his promise, Josiah Petherick was waiting for his little
+daughter in the road outside the entrance to Greystone. He was
+perfectly sober, and as Salome caught sight of his stalwart figure, her
+face lit up with pleasure.
+
+"Well, have you had an enjoyable time?" he inquired, smilingly.
+
+"Oh, yes," she answered, and proceeded to give him a detailed account
+of all she had seen, and heard, and done. He admired Margaret's gift,
+and was secretly much gratified at the attention and kindness his
+little girl had received from the new-comers. Much to her relief, he
+accompanied her past the "Crab and Cockle," though it must be admitted,
+he cast a longing glance in the direction of the open doorway through
+which the stale odour of tobacco and beer was stealing forth as usual.
+And when they reached home, he followed her into the cottage, and
+continued the conversation whilst she set about getting supper. She
+feared he would take himself to the inn as soon as the meal was over,
+but, instead, he sat down under the porch and gazed thoughtfully out to
+sea.
+
+"That Mr. Fowler's a rare hand to talk," he remarked presently, when
+his little daughter joined him. "That comes of being educated, I
+s'pose. He can argue a bit, he can."
+
+"Can he?" Salome looked surprised. "How do you know, father?" she
+inquired.
+
+"'Cause I was foolish enough to try to argue with him, my maid!"
+
+"Oh! When was that?"
+
+"This morning, on the beach."
+
+"Oh!" she cried again, more and more astonished. "What did you argue
+about, father?" She ventured to ask.
+
+"Drink!" was the brief reply. And there was that in Josiah's manner
+which forbade further questioning.
+
+Salome nestled silently close to her father's side, her head resting
+against his arm, as she thought how nice it was to have him there with
+her, quite himself, and how dearly she loved him. She listened to the
+murmur of the sea, and tried to count the stars appearing in the sky,
+whilst Josiah recalled the argument he had had with Mr. Fowler, in
+which, he was obliged to admit, he had come off worst. At last, a deep
+sigh from Salome drew his attention to her, and he asked what was amiss.
+
+"Amiss?" she echoed in astonishment. "Nothing."
+
+"But you sighed, my dear."
+
+"Did I? Then it must have been for joy. I'm perfectly happy, perfectly!
+And so I should always be, if there was no such place as the 'Crab and
+Cockle' in Yelton."
+
+"Well, Salome, I've not been there to-night."
+
+"No, you have not, dear father," she answered affectionately, "and
+that's why I'm so perfectly happy. My mind's at rest!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+An Afternoon's Outing.
+
+MR. FOWLER was obliged to breakfast at seven o'clock, which was an
+hour-and-a-half before the usual breakfast hour at Greystone, on the
+morning following Salome's visit, as it was his intention to catch
+the first train to London from N—, and in order to do that he would
+have to leave home before eight o'clock, and drive several miles. His
+journey had been discussed on the previous night, and he had said
+good-bye to Miss Conway and the children then. But, when he entered the
+breakfast-room as the clock struck seven, he found his little daughter
+awaiting him.
+
+"Why, Margaret!" he exclaimed in pleased surprise as he kissed her.
+"I did not expect to see you, my dear! You are not generally an early
+bird."
+
+"I'm afraid I am rather sleepy-headed in the mornings, as a rule,"
+she confessed, "but I made up my mind last night that I would have
+my breakfast with you to-day, dear father, and see you off. Now do
+try to eat as much as ever you can," she added practically, as the
+servant appeared with a tray holding a couple of covered dishes and the
+coffee-pot.
+
+Mr. Fowler laughed, as he seated himself at the table with Margaret
+opposite to him, and said he would take her advice.
+
+"I am sorry I have to go," he remarked, "but I have no choice in the
+matter, as my lawyer wants to consult me upon important business. I
+shall leave your mother in your charge, Margaret."
+
+"In my charge?" Margaret said inquiringly, looking surprised. "But she
+is not ill now, father! See how cheerful and bright she was last night.
+And she has taken several walks. Oh, she is heaps better and stronger
+than she was! I don't think you need worry about her."
+
+"Perhaps not; but, nevertheless, I want you to devote as much of your
+time as you can to her during my absence. I have spoken to Miss Conway,
+and she has consented to give you a holiday till I return. Had I not
+seen you this morning, Miss Conway would have explained my wishes to
+you. I desire you to accompany your mother when she drives out, and
+when she goes into the village, or down to the beach—in short, make
+yourself her companion, my dear, until I return. Do you understand?"
+
+"Yes, father, I think so," Margaret replied, impressed by his serious
+tone. "I expect mother will be dull when you are gone, so I will do my
+best to brighten her up!"
+
+"That's a good child!"
+
+"Only, sometimes she much prefers to have Gerald with her to me!"
+
+"I would rather she had you. Remember what I have said, Margaret. I
+hope I shall not be away very long, but it will of course depend upon
+circumstances."
+
+Mr. Fowler made an excellent breakfast, and afterwards went upstairs
+to say good-bye to his wife, whilst Margaret waited for him in the
+hall. He kissed his little girl tenderly on his return, then, it being
+quite time for him to leave, entered the carriage which was waiting
+at the door, and was driven off. Margaret felt a little depressed as
+she listened to the sound of the carriage wheels dying away in the
+distance, for she was exceedingly attached to her father, and home did
+not seem like home without him.
+
+Knowing her mother must be awake, she went upstairs, and knocked at her
+bedroom door. On being told to come in, to her surprise, Mrs. Fowler
+declared her intention of getting up to breakfast.
+
+"But do you feel well enough?" Margaret asked, for up to the present
+Mrs. Fowler, having been an invalid, had always breakfasted in her own
+room at Greystone.
+
+"Oh, yes!" was the quick response. "I'm tired of being treated like a
+sick person! What a beautiful, bright morning it is, and not so hot, is
+it? Your father will have a fine day for his journey."
+
+"He did not want to go at all!"
+
+"No. But that was foolish of him!"
+
+"I think he did not like the thought of leaving you, mother. He feared
+you might be ill whilst he was away."
+
+"Oh, I am not likely to be ill again," Mrs. Fowler declared sanguinely.
+"I mean to throw off my invalid-ish ways now, and surprise your father
+on his return. Send Ross to me, Margaret, to help me dress."
+
+"Shall I help you, mother? Do let me. I am sure I can do your hair as
+well as Ross."
+
+Mrs. Fowler hesitated, but finally decided in favour of Ross; so
+Margaret went in search of her. Ross was a well-mannered, good-tempered
+young woman who waited upon Mrs. Fowler, and did the mending and sewing
+of the household. She expressed surprise and pleasure on hearing that
+her mistress intended getting up and joining the family breakfast-table.
+
+"It shows how much stronger she feels, Miss Margaret," she said. "I've
+often thought if she would bestir herself more she would be better in
+health and spirits."
+
+Gerald grumbled loudly when he discovered that he was to do lessons
+whilst his sister was to have a holiday. Why should Margaret be allowed
+nice drives with their mother when he was obliged to stay at home and
+work. It was most unfair, he declared; and it may be imagined that poor
+Miss Conway had rather a trying experience with her younger pupil on
+the first day of his father's absence, when, in the afternoon, Mrs.
+Fowler and Margaret drove to N—, and left him at home.
+
+The road to N— lay through some most beautiful scenery, and Margaret
+thoroughly enjoyed the drive. Now they were on an open common where
+the few trees to be seen were stunted and grown one-sided, a fact
+which puzzled the little girl until it was explained to her that the
+keen breeze blowing across the Atlantic was accountable for it, then
+she remarked that the bare side of the trees was the one which faced
+the sea; now they had left the common and were going down bill into a
+sheltered, wooded coomb, and by-and-by the road led upwards again till
+the town of N— was reached, situated almost at the top of the hill.
+
+At the entrance to the town, Mrs. Fowler and Margaret got out of
+the carriage, and walked up the main street—Fore Street it was
+called—looking into the shop windows. They had paused outside a small
+china shop in which was some pretty pottery, when a familiar voice
+addressed them in accents of pleasure and surprise.
+
+"Can I believe my eyes? Who would have thought of meeting you here!"
+
+Turning instantly they confronted a handsome, middle-aged lady, dressed
+as a widow, whose comely face was wreathed in smiles. She was called
+Mrs. Lute, and had been a near neighbour of theirs in London.
+
+"Oh, how glad I am!" Mrs. Fowler exclaimed. "It is good to see you
+again! Are you staying in the neighbourhood?"
+
+"Yes; I have taken a furnished house at N— for two months. I saw it
+advertised, came to see it, and the result is that here I am! Why, how
+well you look! And you were such a wreck when you left town! Margaret,
+too, is looking all the better for the change of air! I suppose you are
+still at Yelton?"
+
+"Oh, yes! Why haven't you been to see us?"
+
+"I have only been here a week. But, come, walk home with me, and have a
+cup of tea."
+
+"I should like to, but I have some errands to execute. Oh, Margaret!"
+And Mrs. Fowler turned to her little daughter eagerly. "Surely you
+could do the errands! See, here is the list of what I want on this
+paper! Is your home far from here?" she inquired of Mrs. Lute.
+
+"No, you must have passed it—a thatched, whitewashed house, with a
+porch covered with clematis and roses."
+
+"Oh, yes, I noticed it!" Margaret cried. "Mother, why don't you and
+Mrs. Lute drive back in the carriage, and I will join you as soon as I
+have done the shopping?"
+
+Thus it was arranged. Margaret was quite excited at meeting an old
+acquaintance, for Mrs. Lute had long been on the friendliest terms with
+her neighbours in town. She was one of the kindest of women, and had
+been exceedingly sympathetic during Mrs. Fowler's serious illness in
+the spring.
+
+When Margaret had executed her list of errands, she made her way to the
+whitewashed house, outside which the carriage was waiting; and on being
+shown into the drawing-room which faced the road, found her mother and
+Mrs. Lute seated there conversing happily.
+
+"How warm the poor child looks!" the latter exclaimed. "Sit down in
+this comfortable chair, my dear, and let me give you some tea; or would
+you rather have a glass of wine, for you look tired, and—"
+
+"Oh, no, thank you!" Margaret interposed hastily.
+
+"Just as you like, my dear; but I persuaded your mother to take a
+little wine; I thought it would do her good after her long drive, and I
+think it has refreshed her. Here's your tea, my dear! Help yourself to
+cream and sugar, and do try this cake."
+
+"Thank you, Mrs. Lute."
+
+Margaret was startled for the moment to hear her mother had been
+drinking wine, remembering how her father had refused to allow her
+to take it. She thought Mrs. Fowler should have declined it; but the
+matter soon passed from her mind as Mrs. Lute began to question her
+about Yelton.
+
+"Everyone tells me it is a charming little village," Mrs. Lute said,
+"but your mother is not enthusiastic about it. I think she is beginning
+to feel the lack of society. I have been telling her she should be
+satisfied to have regained her health. She is looking wonderfully well."
+
+Margaret, glancing at her mother, agreed with Mrs. Lute. No one would
+have guessed at that moment that Mrs. Fowler had been an invalid so
+lately, for there was a pink colour in her cheeks, and her blue eyes
+were shining with a happy light. She was as glad as was Margaret to
+meet their old friend.
+
+"You must pay us a visit at Greystone as soon as my husband returns,"
+she said hospitably, "and then you will be able to form your own ideas
+of Yelton and its inhabitants. Margaret has struck up a friendship with
+a lame girl, Salome Petherick by name, and I believe Gerald has picked
+acquaintance with several fishermen."
+
+"Salome's father is a fisherman," Margaret remarked; "and oh, Salome
+has the most beautiful voice you can possibly imagine, hasn't she,
+mother?"
+
+"She certainly has. When you come to visit us, Mrs. Lute, you shall
+hear this Cornish singing-bird. Poor girl, she is a sad cripple, yet
+she makes herself very useful, attends to her father's cottage, and
+even does gardening!"
+
+"She uses a pair of crutches as a rule," Margaret explained, "but when
+she is gardening, she somehow manages to hop about on one, so that she
+has a hand free to work with. Poor Salome! Her father drinks, and that
+is a great trouble to her."
+
+"I should think so, indeed!" Mrs. Lute commented. "She ought to try to
+persuade him to take the pledge. Total abstinence from all intoxicants
+is the only thing for some people."
+
+"Father says," Margaret was beginning, when Mrs. Fowler somewhat
+abruptly changed the conversation by inquiring for a mutual friend in
+town. It struck the little girl that her mother did not wish her to air
+her father's teetotal views, so during the homeward drive she recurred
+to the subject.
+
+"Mother, I was going to tell Mrs. Lute that we are all teetotalers
+now," she said. "Don't you want her to know?"
+
+Mrs. Fowler hesitated and frowned slightly, refraining from meeting her
+little daughter's gravely inquiring gaze.
+
+"I suppose she will have to know, if she comes to stay with us at
+Greystone," she responded in tones of annoyance. "I had forgotten your
+father's fad when I invited her."
+
+"Oh, mother, don't call it a fad!" Margaret cried distressfully.
+
+"That's what it is, child! Mrs. Lute is accustomed to take wine, yet no
+one can say she is not a strictly temperate woman. Your father, I do
+not doubt, would like her to be a total abstainer. Such nonsense! He
+used not to be so fastidious!" And Mrs. Fowler looked quite angry.
+
+Margaret made no answer. She had perfect faith in her father's
+judgment, but she felt herself incapable of arguing the matter from his
+point of view.
+
+On reaching home they found a telegram from Mr. Fowler, acquainting
+them with his safe arrival in London. As Mrs. Fowler read it, the
+displeasure left her face for a softer, gentler expression.
+
+"How thoughtful he always is!" she exclaimed.
+
+She was in exceedingly good spirits all the evening, and retired to
+rest apparently perfectly well; but about midnight, Margaret was
+awakened by a sound in the room, and starting up in bed, found her
+mother standing by her side in her night-gown, with a lighted candle in
+her hand.
+
+"What is it, mother? Are you ill?" The little girl inquired in alarm.
+
+"No, but I am nervous, and cannot sleep! I wish your father had not
+gone! Did I frighten you? I hope not. I felt I must have company."
+
+Margaret was greatly astonished, for the thought had continually
+crossed her mind during the day that Mrs. Fowler was relieved at her
+husband's absence. She jumped out of bed immediately, and led her
+mother back to her own room.
+
+"I will stay with you to-night, dear mother," she said gently. "You
+won't feel nervous then."
+
+So mother and daughter lay down side by side, but not to sleep as yet,
+for the latter was restless and sighed continually.
+
+"You are sure you are not ill?" Margaret asked with loving anxiety.
+
+"No, I am not ill, but I am very unhappy," was the response in a tone
+of great sadness. "Oh, child, I wish you had a better mother!"
+
+"You are the dearest mother in the world," Margaret cried earnestly.
+
+"But very far from being the best. I am very troubled—no, I cannot tell
+you what about. No, you couldn't help me. No one can."
+
+"Yes, God can, mother," Margaret reminded her; then she quoted softly—
+
+   "When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
+    Help of the helpless, O abide with me."
+
+Mrs. Fowler caught her breath with a little sob; but doubtless, the
+words of Salome's favourite hymn comforted her, for presently, Margaret
+knew by her regular breathing that she had fallen asleep.
+
+The little girl lay awake wondering what trouble her mother could
+possibly have, or if she was only nervous and imaginative; and it was
+not until the first streaks of dawn peeped into the room that she slept
+too.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+An Awful Thing.
+
+WHEN Margaret awoke, she was alone. At first she was surprised to
+find herself in bed in her mother's room, but in a few moments, she
+remembered how that happened to be the case. Before, however, she had
+time to dwell much upon the matter, the door opened and her mother
+entered, fully dressed, bearing a breakfast tray in her hands, which
+she placed on the dressing-table.
+
+"Have I overslept myself?" Margaret inquired. "I am so sorry."
+
+"You need not be, my dear," Mrs. Fowler replied, smiling as she came to
+the bedside and kissed her little daughter. "You had a disturbed night
+on my account. How foolish it was of me to be too nervous to sleep
+alone! I blame myself for spoiling your rest. But, see, I have brought
+your breakfast, so sit up and eat it at once; after you have had it,
+you can dress and come down on the beach with me."
+
+Mrs. Fowler looked alert and well. She talked brightly whilst Margaret
+was taking her breakfast, and pulling a letter out of her pocket, which
+she had received from her husband by the morning's post, read it aloud.
+It merely told of his journey to town, and concluded with his love to
+the children, and a hope that Mrs. Fowler would take care of herself.
+
+"I shall not tell him how silly I was last night," she said. "I suppose
+I cannot be quite so strong as I thought. My late illness played sad
+havoc with my nerves. It is such a glorious day, Margaret, that I am
+sure we ought to spend it out of doors."
+
+Margaret assented willingly, and went to her own room to dress.
+By-and-by, she and her mother strolled down to the beach, and passed
+a pleasant morning in the welcome shade of a big rock. And in the
+afternoon, Mrs. Fowler declared her intention of again driving to N—.
+
+"Won't you be very tired, mother?" Margaret asked dubiously. "You
+mustn't overdo it, you know."
+
+"Oh, I will be careful, my dear!" Mrs. Fowler rejoined. "But I want to
+get some things I forgot yesterday. Meeting Mrs. Lute so unexpectedly
+put everything else quite out of my head. Miss Conway and Gerald can
+accompany us."
+
+It was not such a pleasant drive as the one of the previous day, for
+Gerald was tiresome, and continually stood up in the carriage to look
+at different objects of interest which attracted his attention. Miss
+Conway begged him to sit still, but he would not obey her. And, at
+last, he was jolted into his mother's lap, much to her annoyance and
+to his amusement. She declared she wished she had left him at home,
+and that it would be a long time before she would take him for a drive
+again. Whereupon, he only laughed, for he did not believe she meant
+what she said.
+
+"Are you going to see Mrs. Lute, mother?" Margaret inquired as they
+neared the town.
+
+"No, not to-day. I will get out at the bottom of Fore Street, and you
+others shall drive on a little farther and return for me. No, I will
+not have you, Gerald! You are to stay with Miss Conway and your sister."
+
+Mrs. Fowler spoke with decision in her tones; she was evidently
+determined to do her shopping alone.
+
+Accordingly, she got out of the carriage at the entrance to the town,
+and the others saw her go into a grocer's shop as they were driven
+on. When the carriage returned a quarter of an hour later, she was
+standing waiting outside the same shop. The shopman came out and placed
+a parcel in the carriage, then Mrs. Fowler took her seat and gave the
+order—"Home." She seemed lost in deep thought during the remainder
+of the drive, and spoke but seldom, paying slight attention to the
+conversation the others carried on. She was evidently glad to reach
+Greystone.
+
+"I expect she is really very tired," Margaret reflected, "but does not
+like to confess it." And she was confirmed in this opinion when she saw
+how quiet and languid Mrs. Fowler appeared during the evening. She did
+not request Miss Conway to play to her as she usually did, but lay on
+the sofa with a book in her lap, yawning occasionally as though weary
+of the day, so that neither Margaret nor the governess were surprised
+when she declared her intention of going to bed early. She would not
+hear of Margaret sleeping with her, however, but kissed both of her
+children good night in the drawing-room, and told them not to disturb
+her when they went upstairs to bed.
+
+It was only eight o'clock when Mrs. Fowler retired for the night.
+At half-past eight Gerald was put to bed, after which Margaret and
+her governess sat down together to their supper. Each seemed rather
+depressed, Miss Conway even more so than her little pupil.
+
+"It is so dull without father," Margaret sighed. "I hope he will not
+stay away very long. Oh, dear! I think mother is very, very tired
+to-night, don't you? I am afraid she has been doing too much."
+
+"I hope not," was the serious reply. "You did not walk far this
+morning, did you?"
+
+"Oh, no! We were sitting down on the beach most of the time. Mother
+read the newspaper and talked and seemed all right then."
+
+"Did you see anything of Salome Petherick?"
+
+"Nothing, though we stood outside her garden several minutes looking at
+her flowers. I suppose she was busy in the cottage. Oh, Miss Conway,
+how I do wish Salome's father was a teetotaler! I was telling Mrs. Lute
+about him yesterday, and she said Salome ought to try to persuade him
+to take the pledge."
+
+"I did not know that Mrs. Lute was a teetotaler," Miss Conway
+exclaimed, looking rather surprised.
+
+"She is not. Indeed, she offered me a glass of wine."
+
+"You did not take it?" the governess interposed hastily.
+
+"Oh, no!" A painful blush rose to Margaret's cheeks as she remembered
+that her mother had not declined the same offer. "Mrs. Lute said total
+abstinence from all intoxicants is the only thing for some people," she
+added.
+
+"She is quite right," was the grave response.
+
+There was silence for a few minutes. Miss Conway was asking herself
+what was the reason of her pupil's evident confusion, and Margaret was
+hoping she would not be questioned as to its cause.
+
+"I have been a teetotaler all my life," Miss Conway proceeded
+presently. "My father had a great horror of drink because his own
+father had been a drunkard, and he had suffered much on that account.
+It is sad to think that there is scarcely a family that does not
+possess at least one member given over to the vice of drinking to
+excess. Oh, Margaret! Mr. Fowler was right when he laid down the rule
+that no intoxicants should be brought into his house."
+
+"I am sure he was right," Margaret agreed heartily, "though everyone
+does not think so. Mother calls it a fad—"
+
+"Did your mother—" The governess hesitated momentarily, scarcely
+knowing how to put the question which trembled on her lips. "Perhaps
+you will think I have no right to ask you," she continued hastily,
+"but, believe me, Margaret, it is no idle curiosity which prompts me.
+Did your mother have any wine at Mrs. Lute's yesterday?"
+
+Margaret nodded gravely, observing her companion anxiously in order to
+read by her countenance what she thought. She was prepared to see her
+exhibit surprise, and perhaps disapproval, but Miss Conway appeared
+absolutely frightened, and her very lips turned white. She made no
+remark in response however, but when she kissed her pupil ere they
+separated for the night, there was marked tenderness in her manner and
+in her voice as she said, "God bless you, dear Margaret. You look tired
+out yourself. Try to have a good night's rest."
+
+The little girl was very sleepy, so, almost as soon as her head was on
+the pillow, she was in the land of dreams. But such unhappy, disturbing
+dreams they were. She imagined her mother was very ill, and that her
+father could not be sent for, because no one knew his address, and that
+she was in terrible grief and perplexity. At length, frightened and
+shaking in every limb, she awoke, and sprang out of bed with a shriek.
+The conviction was strong upon her that something was wrong with her
+mother, and she felt compelled to go and ascertain what was amiss.
+Lighting a candle, she took it up and hurried to Mrs. Fowler's room.
+A sigh of deep thankfulness escaped her lips as she found everything
+quiet there. Softly she stole to the bedside and saw her mother lying
+asleep, one hand beneath her cheek, her fair hair strewn over the
+pillow. Margaret thought how pretty she looked, and carefully shaded
+the candle with her hand as she gazed at the sleeper with love and
+admiration in her glance; but it would have taken more than the feeble
+rays of the candle to awaken Mrs. Fowler from that deep, dreamless
+sleep.
+
+Margaret would have liked to have kissed her mother's flushed cheek,
+but feared to disturb her; so she contented herself with pressing her
+lips to the soft, white hand which lay outside the counterpane, then
+stole back to her own room as quietly as she had left it, and after
+putting out the candle crept back to bed. She felt she could rest with
+an easy mind now, and was no longer disturbed by distressing dreams.
+
+The following day Mrs. Fowler did not go far. She appeared depressed
+and out of sorts until after tea-time, when her drooping spirits
+revived, and she spent the evening under the lilac tree with Miss
+Conway, whilst the children played croquet on the lawn. Suddenly she
+remembered that a letter she had written to her husband had not been
+posted, and suggested that Margaret and Gerald might take it to the
+post-office.
+
+"I'm afraid it's too late to catch to-night's post," she said
+regretfully, "but never mind. Your father will not be anxious, as he
+heard this morning. Still, you may as well post it. Dear me, what could
+have made me so forgetful!"
+
+So Margaret and Gerald hurried off to the post-office, which was only
+two doors from the village inn, from which it was divided by Samuel
+Moyle's shop.
+
+After posting the letter, they went into the shop to purchase some
+sweets, and whilst they were there, Josiah Petherick came out of the
+"Crab and Cockle," much the worse for drink, and staggered past on his
+way home.
+
+Mrs. Moyle, a rosy-cheeked dame, so stout that she appeared to be
+almost as thick as she was long, went to the door to stare after
+Josiah, whilst her husband, who was attending to the requirements of
+his customers, shook his head gravely and prophesied that "such a
+drunken beast," as he called him, "would come to a bad end," adding,
+with a touch of real feeling, "Ah, I'm sorry for that poor motherless
+maid of his!"
+
+Margaret returned to Greystone very sad at heart, full of the lame
+girl's trouble, and informed her mother and Miss Conway of the state
+Josiah was in; whilst Gerald, who had been more amused than disgusted,
+began to imitate the drunken man's rambling walk, a proceeding which
+his governess promptly put a stop to by grasping him forcibly by the
+shoulder and making him stand still.
+
+"For shame!" she cried with unusual severity in her tone. "How can
+you make fun of the unhappy man? Poor wretch! Never make a joke of a
+drunkard again."
+
+"Well, I won't," Gerald returned. "I meant no harm. Please let me go,
+Miss Conway. I promise you I won't do it again."
+
+"No, I do not think you meant any harm," the governess admitted. "You
+acted thoughtlessly, I know. But you must never laugh at what is
+wrong—remember that."
+
+"Isn't it terrible for poor Salome, mother?" Margaret said sadly.
+
+"Very," Mrs. Fowler replied. "It would be better for her if she had no
+father at all."
+
+"Oh, mother!" Margaret cried in shocked tones. "Do you mean that?"
+
+"Yes, I do. What can her father be, but a perpetual shame and trouble
+to her?"
+
+"But she loves him so dearly."
+
+"I don't know how she can!" Mrs. Fowler exclaimed vehemently. "But,
+there, don't let us talk of Josiah any more. Of course, the letter was
+too late for to-night's post?"
+
+"Oh, yes. But I posted it all the same. I wonder when father will be
+home."
+
+"Not till the end of the week, I expect. It's getting chilly; we will
+go in." And rising, Mrs. Fowler moved towards the house, the others
+following.
+
+Margaret's thoughts were all of Salome during the remainder of the
+evening. And before she went to rest, she prayed earnestly that God
+would give His help and protection to the lame girl, and reward her
+patience and love in His own good time.
+
+"Drink is an awful thing," was her last waking thought that night, as
+she crept into her little, white-curtained bed, and laid her head down
+on the soft pillow. "I only wish poor Salome's father could be brought
+to see what an awful thing it is."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+The Blow Falls.
+
+IT was nearly noon, and quietude reigned over Yelton. The fishermen
+were all at sea, whilst their wives were busy with their domestic
+duties within doors, and the children were at school. The village
+looked actually deserted as Margaret Fowler walked soberly by the "Crab
+and Cockle." Not a living soul was in sight, and there was no one in
+Silas Moyle's shop, not even behind the counter, where Mrs. Moyle was
+generally to be found. Margaret strolled on to Josiah Petherick's
+cottage, and there was Salome seated in the porch, knitting rapidly
+whilst she sang to herself in a low, soft undertone. The lame girl's
+face lit up with a bright smile of pleasure at sight of Margaret, and
+she turned to reach the crutches by her side.
+
+"Oh, please don't get up!" Margaret cried quickly. "I'll sit down in
+the porch with you for a little while, if I may. How nice it is here!"
+
+"Yes. Isn't it a beautiful day, miss? Such a fine breeze! All the
+fishing boats are out. Father was off at daybreak this morning. I got
+up to give him his breakfast; so that's how it is my work's finished so
+early."
+
+"What are you making?" Margaret asked, noticing the thick, navy-blue
+fingering which Salome was knitting.
+
+"A jersey for father, miss. He'll want a new one against the winter."
+
+"What! Do you mean to say you knit your father's jerseys? How clever of
+you!"
+
+The lame girl smiled and blushed as she responded, "Mother taught me
+to knit when I was a very little girl, but it was not until after her
+death that I learnt to make father's jerseys. Mrs. Moyle taught me the
+way."
+
+"Mrs. Moyle? The baker's wife, do you mean?"
+
+"Yes, miss; she's always most kind to me."
+
+"She looks good-natured," Margaret remarked. "Mother is not very well,"
+she proceeded to explain, "so she is lying in bed this morning, and
+Gerald is at his lessons with Miss Conway, so I thought I would look
+you up, Salome."
+
+"I am very glad to see you, miss. But I am sorry to hear Mrs. Fowler is
+ill."
+
+"She is not ill exactly—at least, I hope not. She complained of a bad
+headache, so Ross advised her to remain in bed and rest. It worries me
+if she's not well, now father's away."
+
+"Then Mr. Fowler is not back yet, miss?"
+
+"No. We expected him to stay away only a few days, but his business is
+keeping him longer than he thought it would, so he will not be at home
+till next week. It is so dull without him."
+
+"I daresay it is, miss."
+
+"Before he went, he told me he left mother in my charge, and that's why
+I'm so anxious about her. You know, she was very, very ill before we
+came here. I never saw her for weeks then, and—oh, it was a terrible
+time!"
+
+"It must have been," Salome said sympathetically.
+
+"How bright you look to-day!" Margaret exclaimed presently, after
+observing her companion in silence for several minutes.
+
+"I feel bright," the lame girl acknowledged with a smile, "for I know
+father'll come home sober by-and-by, when the fishing boats return, and
+that's enough to make one happy."
+
+"How brave you are, Salome!" And Margaret wondered if she had Salome's
+trouble, whether she would ever be happy for a day or even an hour.
+
+The other shook her head. She did not think she was brave at all, but
+she took the sunshine of her life gratefully, and tried not to remember
+the hours of gloom.
+
+"I wish I could knit," said Margaret, as she watched the lame girl's
+busy fingers.
+
+"Why don't you learn, miss? Then you might knit your father's socks."
+
+"Do you think I could?"
+
+"Oh, yes, with a little practice. Would you—would you like me to teach
+you?" Salome asked somewhat diffidently.
+
+"Oh, I should be so much obliged to you if you would! Oh, thank you!
+I'll buy some wool and knitting needles the very next time we drive to
+N—. But I'm afraid you'll find me a very stupid pupil."
+
+"I can't believe that, miss. Besides, knitting is quite easy—of course
+it takes time to learn to knit fast. You can get knitting needles and
+wool at Mrs. Moyle's shop; she keeps a very good supply."
+
+"Does she? That's capital! Oh Salome, whatever has happened to that
+rose-bush by the gate? Why, it's smashed off close to the ground! What
+a pity!"
+
+"Yes," was the response, spoken in a low, pained tone.
+
+"How did it happen?" Margaret asked concernedly, noticing the tears had
+sprung into her companion's brown eyes.
+
+"Father did it."
+
+"Oh! Not on purpose?"
+
+"No, no! He—he fell over it. He was sorry—afterwards; but I'm so
+grieved, because mother planted that rose-bush herself not long before
+she died, and now it is quite ruined."
+
+"Oh, I am sorry!" Margaret cried.
+
+"It was an accident; but—but it wouldn't have happened, if he'd been
+sober. He's as upset about it as I am now—he is indeed. He valued that
+rose-bush for mother's sake."
+
+"Salome, why don't you try to persuade your father to take the pledge?"
+Margaret inquired very seriously.
+
+"I've tried heaps and heaps of times."
+
+"And he won't?"
+
+"No. Father says he hates teetotalers. I can't think he does really,
+though. Only, he likes drink, and he won't give it up."
+
+"It's very selfish of him. He ought to consider you. But, there, I
+won't run out against him, for I know you're very fond of him. Perhaps,
+he'll be different some day."
+
+"I pray every night that God will make him a sober man. He used to be
+so steady when mother was living. Mr. Amyatt will tell you the same. It
+seems so dreadful that her death should have changed him so. It was the
+trouble, I suppose, and having no one to speak to at home but me that
+drove him to the 'Crab and Cockle' first along; then he grew to like
+the drink, and now he can't bear the thought of going without it. Did
+you know Mr. Fowler spoke to father about it, miss?"
+
+"No; did he?"
+
+"Yes, he did indeed. They had an argument, and I fancy from father's
+manner that he was impressed by what Mr. Fowler said."
+
+Long the little girls talked, until Margaret declared she really must
+go, or she would be late for dinner. She hurried back to Greystone,
+to find that her mother was not up yet. On the landing, at the top of
+the stairs, she met Ross, who had that minute come from Mrs. Fowler's
+bedroom door.
+
+"Is mother's head no better?" Margaret inquired concernedly.
+
+"I'm afraid not," Ross answered. She looked somewhat perturbed, the
+little girl thought. "I've not seen the mistress since breakfast-time,
+miss," she proceeded hurriedly, "for she said she wished to be
+undisturbed, and now she has locked her door."
+
+"Locked her door!" Margaret echoed in utter astonishment.
+
+"Yes, and she won't open it, miss. I was going to ask Miss Conway what
+I should do—"
+
+Not waiting to hear the conclusion of the sentence, Margaret ran to
+her mother's bedroom door and tried to open it. The handle turned, but
+the door remained closed. She rapped sharply with her knuckles and
+listened; then, receiving no answer, knocked again.
+
+"Who there?"
+
+It was her mother's voice that asked the question; but something in
+its tone fell discordantly upon the ears of the listeners and did not
+lessen their uneasiness.
+
+"It is I—Margaret. Let me in, mother dear."
+
+"You can't come in; go away."
+
+"But, mother, I want to know how you are. Is your head better?"
+
+"Yes—no."
+
+"Please let me in. Why have you locked the door?"
+
+"I wish—to be alone."
+
+At that moment Miss Conway appeared upon the scene. She turned white as
+death when the situation was explained to her, and begged Margaret to
+go away, and let her try to persuade Mrs. Fowler to unlock the door.
+
+"No, no," cried the little girl. "Something must be amiss with mother,
+or she would never act so strangely. Mother, mother, let me in," and
+she knocked at the door louder than before.
+
+There were sounds inside the room of some one moving about, then the
+door was opened, and Mrs. Fowler, clad in a dressing-gown, with her
+hair streaming over her shoulders, appeared in the doorway.
+
+"What do you all want—coming here—disturbing me?" she questioned
+irritably; then she lurched forward, and would have fallen on her face,
+if Miss Conway had not sprung to her assistance and caught her.
+
+"Oh, she has fainted!" Margaret cried, terribly frightened and
+distressed.
+
+With the help of Ross, who was looking pale and scared, the governess
+succeeded in dragging Mrs. Fowler across the room, and laying her upon
+the bed; and then turned to her little pupil and told her to shut and
+lock the door. Wondering greatly, Margaret obeyed. Returning to the
+bedside, she looked from one to the other of her companions in mingled
+astonishment and reproach, for neither was making the least attempt to
+bring Mrs. Fowler back to consciousness. The tears were streaming down
+Miss Conway's cheeks, and Ross was murmuring—"I never guessed it. No, I
+never guessed it."
+
+"Oh, can't you do anything?" Margaret cried distractedly. "Oh, she is
+very ill!" And she bent over her mother, then suddenly drew back. Mrs.
+Fowler's cheeks were unusually flushed; she was breathing heavily,
+and upon her lips hung the smell of spirit. Margaret experienced a
+sensation as though an icy hand had gripped her heart. She looked
+inquiringly at Miss Conway, who avoided her glance, then her eyes
+travelled slowly around the room. On the dressing-table was a nearly
+empty brandy bottle, and by its side a glass.
+
+With an exceedingly bitter cry, Margaret realised the truth. Her mother
+was not ill—that is, not in the way she had supposed—but intoxicated.
+The blow had fallen, and everything was now plain to her.
+
+As in a dream, she heard Ross whispering to Miss Conway that she had
+never suspected her mistress of this, that she had never had such a
+shock in her life before, and listened to Miss Conway's answer that
+she herself would remain with Mrs. Fowler, and that the servants must
+be told she was ill. Then, the governess put her arms around her pupil
+and kissed her, begging her to be a brave girl. And all the while,
+Margaret was experiencing a strange feeling of unreality, as though she
+was living through a horrible nightmare. She watched Miss Conway fling
+the windows open wide, and place a blanket carefully over her mother's
+unconscious form, and the conviction grew upon her, that though the
+governess was deeply grieved, she was not surprised and shocked as she
+herself was and poor Ross who looked almost scared to death.
+
+Suddenly the governess pointed to the brandy bottle and appealed to the
+maid.
+
+"Did you supply her with that?" she questioned sternly.
+
+"No, miss, on my word of honour, I did not," Ross replied earnestly. "I
+never knew she had it; she must have kept it under lock and key."
+
+There was absolute truth in the girl's voice; and Miss Conway looked
+puzzled.
+
+"I can't make it out—how she obtained it, I mean," she said at
+last. "Ross, I think you had better leave your mistress to me for
+the present. I rely upon you not to speak of this downstairs. And
+Margaret—" the governess's voice softened to the tenderest pity—"will
+you take care of Gerald for the rest of the day? Tell him his mother is
+very poorly, and that he may have a half-holiday. You could take him
+down to the beach this afternoon. God help you to bear this trouble,
+poor child!"
+
+Margaret made no response. Ringing in her ears were words her father
+had spoken to her when they had been discussing Salome's trouble. "We
+cannot tell how much our patience and love may be tried, nor what
+trials and troubles the future may hold for us. We can only pray that
+God will strengthen us in our time of need."
+
+Had her father anticipated this hour for her? She could not tell, but
+she thought it more than likely.
+
+Meanwhile, Miss Conway was leading her to the door, begging her to put
+a brave face on matters, and to go down to dinner without her.
+
+"I feel my duty is here, my dear," she said impressively. "If any one
+questions you about your mother, you can truly say she is ill. Oh,
+Margaret, pray for her; she is greatly to be pitied!" And so saying,
+the governess opened the door and pushed her little pupil gently
+outside.
+
+For a few minutes Margaret stood perfectly still. Then the sound of
+Gerald's voice in the hall below reminded her that she must, as Miss
+Conway had said, put a brave face on matters. So she went downstairs
+and delighted her brother by promising to take him down to the beach.
+She was conscious that the burden of a great sorrow was upon her,
+and she felt bowed down with an intolerable weight of shame. But she
+devoted herself assiduously to Gerald for the remainder of the day;
+and it was not until nearly nine o'clock, when her charge was in bed
+and asleep, that she dared give way to her grief. Then, in the privacy
+of her own room, she flung herself upon the bed and wept as though her
+heart would break.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+Mr. Fowler's Return.
+
+"MARGARET! Oh, my dear little girl! Do not grieve so terribly. You will
+make yourself ill, if you go on like this."
+
+Margaret tried to stifle her sobs at the sound of the kind, pitying
+voice, and turned a swollen, tear-stained countenance towards
+Miss Conway, who had come in search of her. She longed to ask for
+her mother, but for the present, she was incapable of speech.
+Her governess, however, read aright her questioning eyes, and
+said reassuringly, "Your mother is better, my dear. She regained
+consciousness some time ago, since when she has had a cup of tea, and
+is now asleep. Ross is with her at present."
+
+Miss Conway drew a chair to the bedside and sat down, then she took
+one of her little pupil's hands and pressed it softly. "I have sent
+for your father," she continued; "after—after what has happened I
+considered it was my duty to do so. I did not think there was any
+necessity to alarm him by a telegram though, so I wrote by to-night's
+post and—explained. He will get my letter in the morning, and probably
+return home at once. So, dear Margaret, if all's well, he will
+doubtless be here to-morrow evening."
+
+The little girl was glad to hear this; but at the same time, she
+dreaded meeting her father with this new knowledge concerning her
+mother weighing on her mind. Her sobs had ceased now, and she could
+speak collectedly.
+
+"Miss Conway, do you think Ross has told the other servants?" she asked
+anxiously.
+
+"I am sure she has not, nor do I believe she will. Ross is a thoroughly
+good girl, and most sincerely attached to your mother. At first, I
+confess, I suspected her of having procured that—that poison, but I was
+quite wrong! Mrs. Fowler bought the brandy herself, the afternoon we
+drove to N— with her. Do you remember we drove on whilst she went into
+a grocer's shop? She obtained it there. Oh, it is a shame that grocers
+should be allowed licences for supplying intoxicating liquors! Poor
+soul, she has been telling me how sorely she was tempted! Oh, Margaret,
+this all comes of Mrs. Lute's offering her that glass of wine! She had
+not touched a stimulant since her illness till then, and had almost
+lost her craving for drink. That glass of wine, however, was too much
+for her, and she felt she must have more. I need not dwell on the
+result."
+
+"Oh, Miss Conway, how shameful, how degrading!" Margaret cried
+passionately. "Oh, to think that mother should be like that! Oh, no
+wonder father wished us all to be teetotalers!"
+
+She covered her flaming face with her hands and shuddered. "How
+long—how long have you known this—about mother?" she inquired
+hesitatingly.
+
+"Many months. Since—oh, long before her illness."
+
+"Was that illness—"
+
+"Caused by drink? Yes. Oh, my dear, I see you guess it all. Your father
+hoped you would never know. He trusted that the complete change from
+life in town to the quietude of the country, where Mrs. Fowler would
+meet comparatively few people of her own class, and where he believed
+she would be free from temptation, would ultimately cure her of the
+fatal habit she had acquired of drinking to excess, and I believe that
+would have been the happy result, if you had not unfortunately met Mrs.
+Lute. Little does Mrs. Lute—good, kind creature that she is—dream of
+the mischief she has wrought. Your poor mother is full of grief and
+remorse now; and oh, so shocked that you should have seen her to-day.
+She knows I have written to Mr. Fowler, and you can imagine how she is
+dreading his return; yet she knows he will not be hard upon her. He
+loves her too well for that!"
+
+Margaret felt at that moment that her affection for her mother was
+being swallowed up by a sickening sensation of disgust. She had always
+loved her very dearly; and had been so pleased and happy when people
+had admired her for her beauty and winning ways. Even when Mrs. Fowler
+had openly shown her preference for Gerald of her two children, the
+little girl, though often hurt, had never evinced any jealousy or
+resentment. She had accepted the fact that Gerald was her mother's
+favourite, and had loved her none the less on that account. But now,
+her love was being tried very severely.
+
+The remembrance of Mrs. Fowler as she had last seen her, lying on
+the bed with flushed cheeks, breathing stertorously, was absolutely
+revolting to her. She had many times asked herself how Salome could
+continue to love her drunken father; now, she asked herself, was it
+possible that she could continue to love her drunken mother? Oh, the
+horror of the thought that one so gentle and refined should be on a par
+with Josiah Petherick, fellow-victim to a disgraceful, degrading sin!
+
+Perhaps Miss Conway guessed some of the thoughts which were passing
+through her companion's mind, for she watched her anxiously, and
+presently remarked, "I daresay, you can faintly imagine how your poor
+mother is feeling now. She had hoped to keep the secret of her weakness
+and sin from your knowledge. Your father, too, will be terribly
+troubled when he hears you have learnt the truth; but I do not doubt,
+dear child, that God in His wisdom has ordered all for the best. You
+will understand now, as you never did before, how much Mrs. Fowler
+needs all your love and devotion. You can help her, if you will, to
+the restoration of that self-respect which, once lost, is so hard to
+regain. You can show her, by loving her as unfalteringly as Salome
+loves her erring father, that she can rise above this habit which has
+done so much to ruin her health, and happiness, and earn everyone's
+respect and her own as well!"
+
+Miss Conway paused, and there was a solemn silence which Margaret at
+length broke by saying with a sob, "I do love mother, I do indeed."
+
+"I am sure of it. Mrs. Fowler is a very sweet, lovable woman!"
+
+"Yes," Margaret agreed. "See what a lot of friends she had in town, and
+how popular she was! She was always going about—"
+
+"Yes, dear, I know," the governess interposed, "and that was how it
+was she commenced taking stimulants. She used to get tired with her
+constant gaieties, and then she would take a glass of wine, or some
+other intoxicant, to revive her, until she grew to like stimulants,
+and took more and more. The craving increased, and she drank to the
+injury of her health, yet no outsiders guessed it. Then she had nervous
+attacks, followed at last by a serious illness. The doctors told your
+father she was killing herself, and immeasurably horrified, he took the
+only course he saw could save his wife—became a teetotaler himself, and
+insisted that his household should follow suit. Mrs. Fowler knew he was
+acting wisely, and for her sake, but she would not admit it. However,
+she found total abstinence from all intoxicants was restoring her to
+health, and had made up her mind never to touch a stimulant again when
+temptation was put in her way, and she fell. God grant she may prove
+stronger in the future. Now, my dear, tell me, have you had any supper?"
+
+"No," Margaret replied, "I am not in the least hungry."
+
+"Oh, that's nonsense! You must eat whether you are hungry or not. Come
+with me."
+
+Margaret demurred at first, but her governess overruled all her
+objections. And after she had bathed her tear-stained face, the two
+went downstairs and had supper together. Miss Conway did not leave her
+pupil again until she saw her comfortably tucked up in bed for the
+night; then she kissed her, bade her try to sleep well, and left her to
+herself.
+
+And Margaret did sleep well, absolutely worn out with excitement and
+grief, whilst the governess spent the night in Mrs. Fowler's room. At
+daybreak, Ross came to take Miss Conway's place, and found her mistress
+sleeping tranquilly.
+
+"She looks more like herself, miss, doesn't she?" she whispered gladly.
+
+"Yes," Miss Conway answered; "I should let her sleep as long as she
+will."
+
+She did not say what a harrowing time she had endured during that night
+watch, or how Mrs. Fowler had implored her to give her a stimulant, and
+had declared she would die without it. But she went away quietly to her
+own room, and before she lay down to rest, prayed earnestly to Almighty
+God for the unhappy woman, whom she pitied from the depths of her heart.
+
+[Illustration: SHE WENT TO THE FRONT DOOR TO MEET MR. FOWLER.]
+
+Early in the morning, a telegram arrived from Mr. Fowler saying he
+would be at home that night, and ordering the carriage to be sent to N—
+to meet him at the railway station. The governess made no secret of the
+fact that she had written to inform him of his wife's illness, and as
+Ross kept her own counsel, the other servants supposed their mistress
+to be suffering from one of the hysterical, nervous attacks to which
+she had been subject on her arrival at Greystone.
+
+It was nearly eight o'clock before Mr. Fowler reached home. Margaret,
+who had spent most of the day on the beach with her brother, shrank
+sensitively from the thought of meeting her father. When she heard the
+carriage wheels nearing the house, she longed to run away and hide, but
+she knew it would never do to act in such a cowardly fashion as that.
+Appearances must be kept up, at any rate before the servants, so she
+went to the front door with Gerald to meet Mr. Fowler, and returned
+his loving kiss as quietly and composedly as though her heart was not
+beating almost to suffocation.
+
+As she had anticipated, he immediately went upstairs to his wife's
+room, and it was not until much later, that she found herself with him
+alone. Then, after Gerald had gone to bed, he joined her in the garden,
+and strolled up and down the lawn by her side, his arm around her
+shoulders. For some minutes he did not speak, and she could not see the
+expression of his face, for there was no moon, and the stars gave but
+little light.
+
+At last he said gravely, "Life is very hard, sometimes, Margaret."
+
+"Yes," she agreed, adding with a little sob: "Oh, father, you left her
+in my care, but I did not know, and if I had, it would not have made
+any difference."
+
+"No, no; I understand. She has told me everything herself."
+
+"Oh, father, it is shocking! Think of the disgrace. Oh, you can't
+imagine how dreadful I feel about it!"
+
+"I think I can," he replied sadly. "My poor child, I had hoped to
+have been allowed to keep this trouble from you, but God willed it
+otherwise. Have you seen your mother to-day?"
+
+"No, father. She said she did not wish to see me."
+
+"Ah, poor thing, she is ashamed to face you! If I were you, when you
+meet, I would not revert to—to her illness at all."
+
+"I will not."
+
+"I shall try and persuade Mrs. Lute to come and spend a few days with
+us, in order to cheer us all up."
+
+"Oh, father, Mrs. Lute was the cause of all this trouble."
+
+"I am aware of it; but her intention in offering your mother wine was
+an excellent one, she had no idea of working mischief. I shall simply
+explain to her that this is a teetotal household, and she is not the
+woman I take her to be if, after that, she refuses an invitation to
+visit us."
+
+"Did you finish your business in London, father?" Margaret questioned.
+
+"Not quite. It must stand over for a few weeks. I shall not leave home
+again for the present."
+
+Though he spoke so quietly, Margaret knew her father must be very sore
+at heart. She had often wondered why her mother was more at her ease
+when not in her husband's presence, and now she understood the reason.
+Mrs. Fowler was conscious that he was always keeping a watch upon her,
+that he did not trust her, and dear though he was to her, she stood in
+awe of him.
+
+Until her illness in the spring, he had always allowed her, her own
+way. But his alarm for her well-being once aroused, he had taken the
+reins of government into his own hands, and had shown her plainly that
+he meant his will to be law. She had always been a pleasure-seeking
+woman and fond of society; but, broken down in health, she had not
+found life at Yelton so utterly unbearable as she had anticipated.
+Her husband had devoted much of his time to her, and, thrown more
+in contact with her little daughter, she had begun to take a deeper
+interest in her than she had done before.
+
+She had always been pleased to notice her beauty, but of late,
+she had discovered that Margaret possessed other and higher
+attractions—goodness and unselfishness—which she could not but admire.
+She saw the little girl had inherited many of her father's excellent
+qualities of mind and heart, and uneasily conscious of her own weakness
+of character, she was delighted that it was so. Unfortunately there had
+never been the same sympathy of feeling between Margaret and her mother
+as there had always been between the little girl and her father.
+
+Now, as she strolled by Mr. Fowler's side up and down the lawn,
+she slipped her hand through his arm, whilst she leaned her head
+confidingly against his shoulder, as she said, "Father, I'm so very
+glad you've come home."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+Josiah at His Worst.
+
+THE afternoon subsequent to her husband's return, Mrs. Fowler was
+sufficiently well to come downstairs and lie on the sofa in the
+drawing-room. Margaret, who had gone back to her usual routine of work
+with Miss Conway, saw little of her mother during the next few days,
+and after Mr. Fowler drove to N— one morning, and brought Mrs. Lute
+home with him, Mrs. Fowler spent most of her time with her friend, and
+avoided her little daughter's society as much as possible.
+
+Mrs. Lute, though she had been much astonished when Mr. Fowler had
+frankly explained to her that his was now a teetotal household, was
+far too well-bred a woman to question him concerning what his wife had
+called his "fad;" and though she had been accustomed all her life to
+the sparing use of stimulants, she could very well do without them, and
+was perfectly satisfied and happy at Greystone.
+
+"So many people are teetotalers nowadays," she remarked pleasantly to
+Mr. Fowler on one occasion when she had been several days beneath his
+roof, "so really you are quite in the fashion."
+
+"I wish I could think that," he replied, with rather a sad smile.
+
+"Oh, one meets a great many people who are total abstainers!" she
+assured him. "Why, Miss Conway tells me she has always been one. It
+seems drink has been the cause of a great deal of trouble in her
+family. And your good Vicar here is a teetotaler too, so he informed
+me yesterday. He argues truly that he cannot teach what he does not
+practise. I was surprised to hear that even in this quiet little
+village drink is the curse of the place."
+
+"I believe that is so. There are several notorious drunkards amongst
+the fishermen, and one in whom we, as a family, are much interested, on
+his daughter's account, is likely to join their ranks."
+
+"You refer to that fine, strong man who took us out boating yesterday,
+I presume?"
+
+"Yes; Josiah Petherick. He is a most reliable man when sober, but when
+he has been drinking—which often happens now, I fear—he is a perfect
+brute. I have been hearing many tales to his discredit lately, and this
+morning I was told on reliable authority in the village, that he spends
+nearly all his earnings at the 'Crab and Cockle' now, and begrudges
+the money for the household accounts. Last night, he went home more
+intoxicated than usual—actually mad drunk—and smashed up some of the
+furniture in his cottage, after which he turned his little daughter
+out-doors. The poor child was forced to beg a night's lodging from Mrs.
+Moyle at the village shop, and to-day, all Yelton is talking about it."
+
+A faint exclamation of dismay caused Mrs. Lute and Mr. Fowler, who had
+been conversing in the garden, close outside the drawing-room window,
+to look around. They encountered Mrs. Fowler's shocked gaze. Hearing
+them talking, she had come to the window and had overheard all that had
+been said.
+
+"Oh, Henry, that poor Salome!" she cried, her blue eyes full of tears.
+"Have you seen her to-day?"
+
+"No; but the Vicar has. Hearing what had happened, he went down to
+Petherick's cottage the first thing this morning. Salome had just
+returned and was doing her utmost to put the place to rights, and her
+father had gone out in his boat in a very humbled, repentant state of
+mind, after having apologised to her for his abominable behaviour, and
+having promised he would not act so madly again."
+
+Mrs. Fowler sighed, whilst Mrs. Lute said gravely, "Let us hope he will
+keep his word."
+
+"He will not, without he gives up the drink," Mr. Fowler rejoined, with
+conviction in his tone. "No, he will go from bad to worse until, in one
+of his drunken frenzies, he will do something he will never cease to
+regret—perhaps some injury to his child."
+
+Mrs. Fowler sank into a chair looking pale and perturbed, whilst her
+husband and friend drifted into another channel of conversation. The
+news she had heard about the Pethericks had upset her, and when, a
+short while later, Margaret entered the room, the first question she
+put to her was to ask if she had seen Salome that day.
+
+"No, mother," the little girl answered. "Why?" she added, struck by the
+almost frightened expression on Mrs. Fowler's face.
+
+She listened in silence, her colour alternately coming and going, to
+all there was to tell, then exclaimed "Oh, I am sorry! Poor Salome! And
+it rained heavily last night. Perhaps she will come up to the church
+this evening to hear me practise the organ. Oh, I hope she will! When
+are you coming to hear me play again, mother?"
+
+"Oh, some time! Perhaps when Mrs. Lute has gone."
+
+"Wouldn't Mrs. Lute come too?"
+
+"Oh, I don't think you play well enough—" Mrs. Fowler paused abruptly,
+conscious of the hurt look on her little daughter's countenance. She
+had avoided Margaret lately, and Margaret had noticed the fact with
+acute pain. What had she done that her mother should abstain from
+meeting her gaze? An insurmountable barrier seemed to have sprung up
+between mother and child.
+
+Margaret's heart was full of bitterness as she turned away and left the
+room. She had endeavoured to show no feeling but that of love for her
+mother since her recent indisposition, but it had been impossible for
+Mrs. Fowler not to remark a slight difference in her manner, of which
+Margaret was unconscious herself. She thought she read reproach in the
+little girl's eyes, and shrank sensitively from being alone with her.
+She was ashamed in the presence of her own child.
+
+Had Margaret grasped the truth of the situation, she would have judged
+her mother less harshly; but failing to do so, she was deeply pained,
+and told herself that her mother liked her less than ever. Upon Gerald,
+Mrs. Fowler lavished all her affection. She would listen to his chatter
+untiringly, talking gaily in return; and, however much he teased her,
+she always found excuses for him.
+
+Miss Conway did not give Margaret a music lesson that evening, for Mrs.
+Fowler requested her to accompany Mrs. Lute and herself for a walk, and
+to bring Gerald with her, so Margaret went alone to the church.
+
+She practised for an hour, then dismissed the boy who had blown the
+organ for her, and was leaving the church when she caught sight of a
+small figure huddled up in a corner of a pew near the west door. It was
+Salome.
+
+"Is it you, Salome?" Margaret cried, hastening to her side, and laying
+her hand tenderly upon her shoulder. The lame girl lifted her bowed
+head, and in the dim light, Margaret saw she had been weeping, though
+there were no tears in her brown eyes now, and her lips were curved in
+a smile.
+
+"I've been asleep," she said. "I'm glad you didn't go without speaking
+to me, Miss Margaret. I came in whilst you were practising, and I was
+tired. I—I had little rest last night."
+
+"I know—I've heard," Margaret returned hurriedly, as the other paused
+in confusion.
+
+"Have you, miss? I'm glad of that, for now I shan't have to tell you,
+and I'd rather not talk of it."
+
+"Of course you would rather not."
+
+"I was tired," Salome proceeded; "so tired and worn out, that I
+couldn't help crying. My poor legs ached so—but oh! not so badly as
+my heart. The pain here—" clasping her hands against her breast—"was
+almost more than I could bear. Then I fell asleep, and I was dreaming
+when you awoke me."
+
+"I hope it was a pleasant dream," Margaret said softly.
+
+"Oh, very pleasant! I thought it was evening time—getting almost dark
+as it is now—and service was going on in the church. I could hear
+father's voice singing with the choir. You can't imagine what a deep,
+beautiful voice father has, Miss Margaret. I was listening to it when
+you awoke me. But I'm glad you happened to catch sight of me, though
+you did disturb my dream. Is anything wrong, miss?" And the lame girl's
+brown eyes peered anxiously at her companion.
+
+"I am not happy," Margaret confessed with a sigh.
+
+"Mrs. Fowler is not ill again?" Salome questioned in concerned tones.
+
+"No, no; she is perfectly well. We have an old friend visiting us, and
+that makes it pleasant for mother."
+
+"I saw a strange lady in church with you on Sunday, miss; and father
+took her out in his boat with Mrs. Fowler. She treated him very
+handsomely, he said; but I wish she hadn't."
+
+"Why?" Margaret asked in surprise.
+
+"Because he spent the money she gave him in drink at the public-house,
+and that was the beginning of the trouble last night. There, I didn't
+mean to talk of it, but, naturally, it's uppermost in my mind."
+
+"Of course it is. Did you—did you get wet last night?"
+
+"Dripping to the skin," Salome admitted. "But Mrs. Moyle—God bless
+her!—took me in and gave me dry clothes, and a bed too. But oh, I
+couldn't sleep for wondering what father was up to at home. You can
+never be certain what a drunken body will not do. How selfish I am,
+though, to talk so much of myself. Won't you tell me what troubles you,
+Miss Margaret?"
+
+"No, Salome, I can't," was the low response. "It's something I can
+never speak of."
+
+"Then try not to think too much about it, miss," the lame girl advised.
+"If I were you, I'd tell my trouble to God, and leave it to Him. That's
+what I do with mine."
+
+"By your trouble, you mean your father?" Margaret inquired diffidently.
+
+"Yes, miss. Do you remember saying to me that night you and I had been
+sitting in the porch, and father had come home drunk—'May God help you,
+Salome'? I think you saw God was the only One who could help me; and I
+want to remind you of those words of yours, because maybe He's the only
+One who can help you too! Why, how dark it's getting think, miss, we
+had better go."
+
+She reached for her crutches as she spoke, and swung herself out of the
+pew into the aisle. Margaret followed her silently through the west
+door into the churchyard. It was nearly dark, for it was September now,
+and the evenings were shortening fast; but whilst they lingered at the
+churchyard gate, the edge of the moon appeared in the eastern horizon,
+and slowly sailed upwards into the cloudless sky, illuminating the old
+grey church, surrounded with the graves of the quiet dead, and shedding
+its pale light on the little village and the broad surface of the
+peaceful sea.
+
+"How beautiful!" cried Margaret. "It is the harvest moon, so father
+said last night. But, Salome, it is late for you to be out alone. Shall
+I walk part of the way home with you?"
+
+"Oh, no, thank you, miss! I shall be perfectly safe. Besides, it's
+quite light now the moon has risen. Good night, miss."
+
+"Good night, Salome."
+
+Margaret went back to Greystone in a very thoughtful frame of mind. She
+considered that her friend was not half so depressed as she herself
+would have been under similar circumstances, not reflecting that
+Salome's trouble had come upon her by slow degrees. It had taken five
+years to change Josiah Petherick from a sober, God-fearing man into the
+desperate drunkard who had turned his only child out-doors last night.
+
+Meanwhile, Salome, as she swung herself down the hill, wondered what
+could be amiss with Miss Margaret. She had grown deeply attached to the
+pretty, fair-haired girl, who had, from the first time they had met,
+treated her with the greatest kindness and consideration. She had given
+her several lessons in the art of knitting, and the lessons had given
+pleasure to teacher and pupil alike; and both were much interested
+in the progression of the sock which Margaret was rather laboriously
+making under the other's instructions.
+
+The "Crab and Cockle" was lit up brightly as Salome passed by, and
+she sighed as she heard the hoarse murmur of voices within, for she
+imagined her father to be there; but great was her surprise on reaching
+home, to find him in the little yard at the back of the cottage bathing
+his face at the pump. When he came into the kitchen, she noticed not
+only that he was intoxicated, but that he had a cut on his cheek, and
+one eye was turning black. She asked no questions, however, for she saw
+he was in one of his worst moods; so she lit the lamp in silence, and
+proceeded to set the supper on the table. Presently, he remarked that
+he had quarrelled with someone, and they had come to blows.
+
+"'Twas Silas Moyle—" he was beginning, when, in her surprise, she
+interrupted him.
+
+"Silas Moyle!" she echoed, for the baker was a steady, peace-loving man.
+
+"Yes," he nodded; "the canting humbug!" He looked at her sullenly, even
+resentfully, she thought; and she trembled with fear as she noticed his
+shaking hands and quivering lips.
+
+Then he burst forth into a volley of oaths, and she gleaned that he
+was angry with her for having sought refuge with the Moyles on the
+preceding night. He stormed against her, against Silas and his wife,
+against everyone, in short, who had remonstrated with him that day.
+Apparently, his neighbours had been telling him some plain home truths
+which had not been pleasant hearing.
+
+"Oh, father, don't say any more!" Salome pleaded in great distress.
+"Oh, please don't swear so frightfully! What could I do? You turned me
+out of my home, and I did not know where to go, except to Mrs. Moyle's.
+Oh, don't speak of her like that! It was out of pure kindness she took
+me in. You would not have had me spend the night out of doors in that
+lashing rain, would you? Oh, father, you are cruel indeed!"
+
+The reproach in her sorrowful eyes enraged him beyond measure.
+
+"You dare stand up for those who insult your father!" he shouted in a
+fury; and clutching her by the shoulder, he shook her savagely, then
+flung her from him with some violence. Losing her hold of her crutches,
+they fell to the ground; and staggering forward with a frightened cry,
+she knocked her forehead against a corner of the mantelpiece, and the
+next moment, lay white and unconscious at her father's feet.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+A Brief Repentance.
+
+IT was about half-past nine o'clock that same night, that the Vicar of
+Yelton opened the Pethericks' garden gate, and stepping determinedly up
+the path, rapped at the door of the cottage.
+
+Returning from an evening's fishing an hour previously, he had been
+stopped in the village, on his way home, by Silas Moyle, who had poured
+into his ears an excited tale about Josiah, whom Silas had taken upon
+himself to remonstrate with upon his cruel conduct to his daughter on
+the previous night, with the result that Josiah, inflamed with drink,
+had struck him, and had received in return a black eye and an injured
+cheek.
+
+"You know, sir, I'm a man of peace, and don't hold with brawling,"
+Silas had said; "but I own I lost my temper to-night. Josiah's a
+regular blackguard when he's drunk."
+
+"It was foolish to remonstrate with a drunken man," Mr. Amyatt had
+answered. "Had you spoken to him in his sober moments, your words might
+have had a very different effect. Where is Josiah now?"
+
+"Gone home, swearing vengeance against me, sir. My great fear is, that
+he'll do some harm to poor Salome."
+
+That had been the Vicar's fear, too. So, instead of going straight to
+the Vicarage as he had intended, he had retraced his footsteps to the
+Pethericks' cottage, and now stood waiting for admittance at the door.
+
+As no one answered his knock, he rapped louder and listened. For a
+few moments there was silence; then came the sound of heavy, dragging
+footsteps, and Josiah opened the door and demanded hoarsely who was
+there.
+
+"It is I, Petherick," the Vicar answered, stepping uninvited across the
+threshold.
+
+"Where is your daughter?" he asked, fixing his eyes upon the fisherman,
+who stood staring at him in a dazed fashion.
+
+Receiving no reply, he turned into the kitchen, an exclamation of
+horror and dismay breaking from his lips, as he caught sight of the
+small, slight figure of the lame girl lying near the fireplace. Very
+tenderly, he lifted her and placed her in the one easy-chair in the
+room, calling to Josiah to bring some water immediately.
+
+"Water!" questioned Josiah stupidly. "What for? She's dead. She's been
+dead this half-hour or more; but I haven't dared touch her. Salome,
+Salome! I've killed you, my poor maid! Your own father's killed you,
+Salome;" and flinging himself on his knees at his daughter's side,
+Josiah wept like a child.
+
+"Don't be foolish, Petherick," Mr. Amyatt said sternly. He had been
+feeling Salome's pulse, and had ascertained that it beat, though
+feebly. "She's not dead, but she has fainted. Come, be a man. Pull
+yourself together, and fetch some water at once."
+
+"Not dead," Josiah cried excitedly. "Are you sure? Then, God be thanked
+for that!" He rose from his knees, and went into the yard, returning in
+a few seconds with a basin of water.
+
+Very gently, the Vicar bathed Salome's white face until her eyelids
+flickered and a faint colour stole to her lips. Josiah, sobered by
+fright, explained what had happened, not sparing himself, but declaring
+he would not have injured a hair of his daughter's head, if he could
+have helped it, for Mr. Amyatt must know how much he loved her.
+
+"Tush, Petherick!" the Vicar responded impatiently, mingled pity and
+disgust in his tone. "Don't talk to me of your love for Salome. A nice
+way you have of showing it. Last night, you turned her out of doors in
+torrents of rain—"
+
+"I was drunk," Josiah interposed hastily. "She riled me, she did, with
+her tears, and—"
+
+"Having been drunk is no excuse," Mr. Amyatt interrupted in his turn.
+"Not content with your scandalous conduct last night, you must continue
+your unmanly behaviour to-day and knock Salome down, and—"
+
+"No, no," said a weak voice at this point. It was Salome who spoke. She
+had regained consciousness, and was sufficiently herself to understand
+what was going on. "No, no," she repeated, "it was an accident. He did
+not mean to hurt me."
+
+"I shook her, and—and pushed her," Josiah admitted, looking thoroughly
+ashamed of himself. "I meant her no harm, sir, but I was rough,
+and—oh, Salome, can you ever forgive me?" And the wretched man turned
+appealingly to the little figure in the easy-chair.
+
+"Yes," was the faint response. "I—I don't think I'm much hurt."
+
+"Are you in pain?" Mr. Amyatt asked gently.
+
+"No, sir; but my forehead is very sore. I must have knocked it in
+falling."
+
+"Yes, poor child, I see you did; there is a big bruise coming."
+
+"I suppose I fainted?" she inquired, looking wistfully from the Vicar
+to her father, who was regarding her in gloomy silence.
+
+"Yes, that was it, you fainted," Mr. Amyatt replied. "But you are much
+better now; and after a good night's rest, I have no doubt you will be
+almost yourself again."
+
+Salome glanced at her crutches, which were lying on the ground. Mr.
+Amyatt picked them up and placed them against her chair.
+
+"Thank you, sir," she said gratefully, lifting her brown eyes shyly to
+his face, which expressed so plainly his sympathy and concern. "I think
+I shall be all right now," she added. "Thank you for being so kind."
+
+"Does that mean you wish me to go?" he queried with a smile. "Well, I
+don't know that I can do any good by remaining longer. Good night, my
+dear."
+
+He took Salome's small, thin hand and pressed it reassuringly, then
+beckoned to her father to follow him to the door.
+
+"You must have someone in to see to that poor child to-night,
+Petherick," he said gravely. "Can you call upon assistance from one of
+your neighbours?"
+
+Josiah shook his head doubtfully.
+
+"Then, shall I ask Mrs. Moyle to look in and help get Salome to bed?"
+the Vicar suggested.
+
+A dull, shamed flush rose to the fisherman's face, and he began to
+stammer something about not knowing whether Mrs. Moyle would come
+inside his doors, seeing he had quarrelled with her husband only that
+evening; but the Vicar cut him short.
+
+"I know all about that, Petherick. Silas Moyle told me the tale himself
+not an hour ago. I heard it with great regret, for Silas is a sincere
+well-wisher of yours, and he and his wife would do anything in the
+world for your little girl. You had better let me send Mrs. Moyle to
+you—that is, if she will come; perhaps she will not. Shall I be the
+bearer of an apology from you to Silas?"
+
+"I'm sorry I hit him," Josiah acknowledged truthfully.
+
+"Shall I tell him that?"
+
+"If you please, sir. I admit, I deserved what he gave me. Oh, sir, I've
+had a fine fright this night! I thought I'd killed Salome."
+
+"You might have done so."
+
+"Then I should have been a murderer," Josiah groaned. "I'm a bad lot,
+sir, that's what I am."
+
+He seemed perfectly sober now, so Mr. Amyatt spoke a few solemn words
+to him, imploring him, for the sake of his little daughter, to give
+up the drink, and take the pledge. Josiah declared he would think
+seriously about doing so, and went back to Salome, whilst the Vicar
+hurried in search of Mrs. Moyle.
+
+At first, that good woman, kind-hearted and fond of the lame girl
+though she was, said nothing would make her enter the doors of one
+who had so insulted her husband as had Josiah. But, on Silas adding
+his entreaties to the Vicar's, she gave in and betook herself to the
+Pethericks' cottage, where, after having assisted Salome upstairs, and
+put her to bed, she declared her intention of remaining for the night.
+She was not going to leave "that poor motherless lamb," as she called
+Salome, "in the house alone with a maniac."
+
+Josiah Petherick did not look much like a maniac, however, as he sat
+in the kitchen listening to Mrs. Moyle's scathing remarks as she put
+away the supper things. He was in a wonderfully subdued and repentant
+frame of mind, and sat with his elbows on the table and his aching
+head resting in his hands. At last, he could bear his companion's home
+thrusts no longer, and exclaimed, "Good gracious, woman, do you imagine
+I don't know what a beast I am?"
+
+"Well, if you do know it, why don't you turn over a new leaf?" she
+inquired. "I mind what a steady young fellow you used to be. You're
+too easily led, that's what you are. Make up your mind to give up the
+drink."
+
+"I can't—not entirely; it's got too strong a hold on me," he confessed.
+
+"That's the way of it. Well, you'll have to choose between drink and
+Salome—that's my opinion—for you're killing her by slow degrees."
+
+Josiah started; but Mrs. Moyle did not pursue the subject further.
+She told him he had better go to bed, and make no noise to disturb
+his daughter. Accordingly, he took off his boots and crept upstairs
+in his stockinged feet, whilst Mrs. Moyle, having put out the lamp,
+and ascertained that the door of the cottage was securely fastened,
+returned to Salome, whom she found sleeping peacefully.
+
+The next day, Josiah put himself in the way of Silas Moyle, and
+actually apologised to him for having struck. And Silas was magnanimous
+and forgave him, though it must be admitted, he regarded the other's
+black eye and swelled cheek with a sense of satisfaction. They were
+marks that would remain to remind Josiah of his ill conduct for some
+days to come.
+
+Salome was poorly for nearly a week, and the first occasion on which
+she showed herself in the village, she was met on all sides by
+commiserating looks and words which showed her plainly that everyone
+was quite aware that her father had been the cause of her accident. The
+sympathy thus evinced towards her, though kindly offered, cut her to
+the heart, and she returned home utterly miserable.
+
+During the days which followed, Mr. Amyatt made several ineffectual
+attempts to induce Josiah to take the pledge. No, Josiah said, there
+was no need for him to do that; but he had made up his mind to turn
+over a new leaf, nevertheless, and the Vicar would see that he could
+take his glass of beer like other men and be none the worse for it. The
+Vicar shook his head at that, but Josiah was not to be moved, so the
+matter was, perforce, dropped.
+
+Margaret was the first of the inmates of Greystone to hear of Salome's
+accident. Mrs. Moyle gave her full particulars of it one morning when
+she had an errand at the shop. And before going home, she went to
+inquire for her lame friend, whom she found sitting in the porch of the
+cottage with such a bright, hopeful expression on her pale countenance,
+that she was surprised, and remarked upon it.
+
+"Oh, I am ever so much better!" Salome assured her with a smile.
+
+"Are you really?" Margaret asked anxiously. "You have a nasty bruise on
+your forehead."
+
+"Oh, that's nothing, indeed, miss! Have you heard how it happened?
+They haven't made you believe father did it on purpose, have they? He
+wouldn't hurt me for anything, if he could help it. Oh, Miss Margaret,
+I do believe father means to be steadier for the future!"
+
+"Is he going to be a teetotaler, then?" Margaret inquired eagerly.
+
+"No—o," was the dubious reply, "I'm afraid not; but he says he won't
+take more beer than is good for him. Oh, I know he has said that lots
+of times before, but I believe he really means it now. Indeed, he has
+been quite different these last few days—more like what he used to be
+when dear mother was alive."
+
+This was quite true. Mrs. Moyle's words that he would have to choose
+between drink and Salome had made a strong impression upon Josiah, and
+had caused him to notice how much thinner and paler his little daughter
+had become of late. His conscience reproached him on her account,
+for he knew that she was not very strong, and that she worked hard,
+besides which, his unsteady habits were a constant trouble to her. In
+his repentance, he felt capable of denying himself anything for her
+sake—except drink, and that, he solemnly vowed he would take sparingly.
+
+Seeing that Salome was so hopeful that her father meant to live a sober
+life for the future, Margaret had not the heart to express the doubts
+which occupied her mind; but on her return to Greystone, she saw, by
+Mr. Fowler's grave face when she explained the situation to him, that
+he did not believe Josiah's repentance would be lasting, and trembled
+for the safety and happiness of her little lame friend.
+
+"Don't you think he means to keep his word, and not get intoxicated
+again?" she questioned.
+
+"Oh, yes!" Mr. Fowler replied, "I think he means all he says. But I
+feel sure, if he does not give up drink altogether, it will soon have
+the mastery over him again. I believe he loves Salome very dearly, but
+he loves drink even better than his little daughter, or he would be
+willing to give it up for her sake. Poor Salome! I greatly fear she has
+more trouble in store for her with that father of hers."
+
+This proved to be the case. For before a fortnight had quite elapsed
+since Salome's accident, Josiah was drinking heavily again, and
+spending his evenings at the "Crab and Cockle," as he had done of
+old. His repentance had been of brief duration; and the lame girl's
+face grew pinched, and her dark brown eyes larger and sadder, as her
+father squandered more and more of his earnings at the village inn;
+whilst Silas Moyle grumbled when the Pethericks' bread account remained
+unpaid, and would have stopped the supply, but for Salome.
+
+"The poor little maid looks half-starved as it is," he remarked to his
+wife when she expressed surprise that he took no steps to obtain his
+rights. "Josiah's drinking what ought to be spent on his child; but it
+shall never be said that we begrudged her bread."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+Mrs. Fowler and Salome.
+
+WHEN Mrs. Lute returned to N—, she asked and obtained permission
+for Margaret to visit her. The little girl had not appeared very
+well lately, and it was thought a change would do her good, which it
+certainly did, for she came back at the end of a fortnight decidedly
+better in health and spirits.
+
+Mrs. Fowler greeted Margaret on her return with no very great show of
+pleasure, though secretly, she was delighted to see her looking so
+well. She never told her how glad she was to have her at home again, or
+that she had missed her, as she had actually done. And consequently,
+Margaret was not a little disappointed, and the kiss she gave her
+governess was far warmer than the one she imprinted on her mother's
+fair cheek—a fact Mrs. Fowler did not fail to notice.
+
+"I have forfeited her respect and affection," thought the mother
+bitterly.
+
+"She does not care for me, she never did," thought the child.
+
+So the estrangement between the two grew, till it was patent to
+everybody. Perhaps Mr. Fowler and the governess guessed the cause of
+it; but the servants blamed their mistress, and declared she was so
+wrapped up in Master Gerald, that she had no love to spare for her
+daughter.
+
+On her return to Greystone, Margaret resumed her organ lessons; but she
+was obliged to practise in the afternoons now, as the evenings were
+dark.
+
+The golden touch of autumn was upon everything; the orchards were
+being cleared of their fruit; and the village children scoured the
+country around Yelton for blackberries, and sloes, and mushrooms. At
+the end of September, the fine weather broke up, and was followed by
+the equinoctial gales, which did great damage in the Greystone gardens,
+the fierce wind tearing up shrubs by the roots, and the heavy rains
+beating down the summer flowers which had lingered late in bloom. Mr.
+Fowler braved the fury of the elements, and was out of doors every day;
+but the weather was too rough for the other inmates of Greystone, who
+remained in the house till the gales had passed.
+
+Thus it was, that Margaret and Salome did not see as much of each other
+as they had done hitherto. But one fine October afternoon, the former
+paid the latter a visit, and was shocked to see how worried and ill her
+lame friend was looking.
+
+The truth of the matter was, the bad weather had prevented any fishing
+being done, and Josiah Petherick, having no money in hand, it had been
+extremely short commons for him and Salome. Of course, Salome did not
+intimate this to Margaret, she would have been ashamed to do so; she
+merely said, when questioned, that she had not been very well, and
+turned the conversation to Margaret's late visit to N—.
+
+"Mrs. Lute gives up the house shortly, and returns to London," Margaret
+explained. "But she likes Cornwall so much, that she says she shall try
+to come again next year, if not to N—, then perhaps to some place near.
+By the way, Salome, mother and father are going to London for a few
+days soon. Shan't we be lonely at Greystone without them? Mother says
+she hopes you will come and see her before she goes. Will you?"
+
+Salome assented. She liked Mrs. Fowler, who had always been very kind
+to her, and admired her as much as she had ever done; she considered
+her the nicest, prettiest lady she knew.
+
+So one afternoon, a few days later, found the lame girl entering the
+Greystone grounds. She approached the house slowly, marking the havoc
+the late gales had worked, and went around to the back door, where she
+inquired of the servant who opened it in response to her knock, if Mrs.
+Fowler was at home. She was answered in the affirmative, and invited
+into the big, front kitchen to wait, whilst it was ascertained if the
+mistress was disengaged at present.
+
+"Sit down, my dear," said the cook—a stout, middle-aged woman, with a
+round, red face, and a pair of sharp though not unkindly eyes. "There,
+take that easy-chair and rest yourself; maybe the pull up the hill has
+tired you."
+
+She fetched a glass of milk and a big slice of cake, which she placed
+before her visitor. "You'll be better after a little refreshment," she
+added. "I know the mistress would wish you to have it."
+
+"Oh, thank you!" Salome replied gratefully, flushing with pleasure, for
+she had had a scanty dinner. She drank the milk and ate the cake, and
+did certainly feel better afterwards.
+
+"Miss Margaret's out," the cook remarked. "She's gone for a walk with
+Miss Conway and Master Gerald. But I daresay, she'll be back before
+long. She'd be sorry to miss you, my dear, for you're a rare favourite
+of hers, I can tell you."
+
+Salome smiled happily, as she replied, "I am so glad to hear you say
+that, for I love her dearly. I expect you're very fond of her yourself,
+aren't you?"
+
+"I believe she's a general favourite—but no, I'm wrong there. There's
+one in the house who doesn't appreciate her, and that's her own mother.
+Yes, you may well look surprised, but I assure you it's true. Mrs.
+Fowler doesn't make half as much of Miss Margaret as she does of Master
+Gerald—tiresome boy that he is. She wanted to take him to town with
+her, if you please, but the master won't allow that. I heard them
+talking about it in the garden. 'We'll take Margaret, if you like,'
+he said. 'No,' said she, 'I don't want Margaret.' She never does want
+her, and that's the fact, and yet, I believe there's not anything Miss
+Margaret would not do for her."
+
+The cook, who was an extremely garrulous person, paused breathlessly
+for a few moments, then proceeded: "And such a pretty, nice-mannered
+little girl Miss Margaret is too. I declare it's a shame her own mother
+shouldn't love her more. It puzzles me, that it does, why it should be
+so."
+
+Salome had listened in pain and surprise, wondering if this accounted
+for the sad expression which she had so often noticed on Margaret's
+pretty face. Was this the trouble that could not be told?
+
+Before, however, she had time to make a reply, Ross entered the
+kitchen, and said her mistress would like Salome to join her in the
+drawing-room.
+
+The lame girl found Mrs. Fowler alone, sitting by the fire, for though
+the weather was not actually cold, the day was dull, and the warmth was
+pleasant. Mrs. Fowler was very glad to have a visitor, and made Salome
+sit down near her and talk.
+
+"My husband and I are going up to town the day after to-morrow," she
+said, "and I wanted to see you before I went. You must stay until the
+others return and have some tea."
+
+Salome explained that the cook had already given her milk and cake;
+but Mrs. Fowler smilingly declared she knew she would be ready for tea
+when tea-time came, which would not be for another hour. She continued
+to talk pleasantly and easily, whilst the lame girl listened; and
+by-and-by, when Salome was questioned kindly and sympathetically as
+to the reason of her wan looks, she confessed, with some hesitation,
+however, that it was very tight times with her and her father at home.
+
+"The weather has been so bad that no boats have been able to go out,"
+she said; "and—" lowering her voice and colouring scarlet—"father's
+been worse than usual lately, and—and—he owes money to Silas Moyle, and
+how can we ever hope to pay it, if he spends so much at the 'Crab and
+Cockle'? It almost seems as though he doesn't care. And every day, I'm
+afraid Silas will say he won't let us have any more bread. Oh, it's
+dreadful—it's all through the drink, ma'am. Father'd be such a dear,
+good father if it wasn't for that."
+
+"And you really love him in spite of the way in which he goes on?" Mrs.
+Fowler asked wonderingly.
+
+"Oh, yes, ma'am, indeed I do!" was the earnest reply. "Whatever father
+did, I think I should love him just the same."
+
+"I don't know how you can, I'm sure; I believe if I were you, I should
+lose all patience with him. Think how selfish he is, how inconsiderate
+for your comfort, how violent—"
+
+"Ah, but that's only when he's been drinking!" Salome interposed
+hastily. "Father isn't like that really; it's only when the drink's in
+him, that he's all you say. If he would but give up the drink, he and I
+should be as happy as the day is long. Oh, I shall never cease hoping
+and praying that some day he may become a teetotaler! If I could get
+him to take the pledge, I believe all would be well."
+
+"Meanwhile, he is wearing you to death, poor child. Well, don't cease
+to pray for him. God knows he needs all your prayers."
+
+Mrs. Fowler sighed deeply, whilst she gazed sadly and thoughtfully into
+the fire. She was silent so long that Salome thought she must have
+forgotten her presence; but suddenly she glanced at her with a smile
+and asked, "How is Margaret getting on with her knitting?"
+
+"Oh, very well, ma'am!" was the reply. "But I am afraid she will not
+come so frequently now the winter days are at hand. Besides, father is
+oftener at home."
+
+Mrs. Fowler nodded. She put her hand into her pocket and drew therefrom
+her purse, as she inquired, "How much is it your father owes Silas
+Moyle?"
+
+"Nearly eighteen shillings," Salome admitted. "I know it's a lot of
+money," she added deprecatingly.
+
+"A lot of money!" Mrs. Fowler echoed with a faint, amused smile as she
+opened her purse and took out a sovereign. "Here, my dear," she said,
+pressing the coin into her visitor's hand, "you will be able to pay
+your bread account now. Yes, it is for you—a present—put it in your
+pocket."
+
+Salome was so astonished that she could find no words in which to
+speak her thanks; but her expressive eyes spoke for her, and told how
+deeply thankful she felt. She tied the sovereign up in one corner
+of her handkerchief, which she placed inside the bosom of her frock
+for greater safety. And then, having overcome her first sensation of
+intense surprise, she exclaimed, "Oh, ma'am, thank you! How good and
+kind you are! Oh, what will father say when he knows! It will be such
+a relief to be able to pay Silas Moyle, for we never owed him quite so
+much before. Oh, I shall be grateful to you as long as ever I live!"
+
+"There, there, say no more about it. I am glad it is in my power to
+lift a little of the load of trouble from your young shoulders; your
+heaviest trial is beyond the reach of human aid. But oh! Go on loving
+your father, child, if you can, for he must want all your affection, I
+am sure."
+
+To Salome's astonishment, she saw there were tears in Mrs. Fowler's
+blue eyes, and that her face was quivering with strong emotion. Before
+more could be said, however, Gerald flung open the door and rushed
+into the room, followed at a more decorous pace by his sister and Miss
+Conway, and a little later the master of the house appeared upon the
+scene.
+
+No one would hear of Salome's leaving, till she had had tea, so she
+remained. And afterwards, she willingly consented to sing, so that it
+was quite dark before she left Greystone; and Mrs. Fowler insisted on
+sending a servant to see her home in safety.
+
+Josiah Petherick was not sober that night, but the next morning,
+his daughter told him of the present Mrs. Fowler had made her, and
+expressed her determination of paying the baker that day. Nor would she
+hear of her father's settling the account, for, alas! she knew that he
+was not to be trusted. And that if she let him have the money, he would
+be more likely to betake himself to the "Crab and Cockle" than to Silas
+Moyle's shop.
+
+"The truth is, you won't trust me," he said bitterly.
+
+"I can't, father," she answered, the sound of tears in her voice. "You
+know I can't. Mrs. Fowler gave me the money on purpose for our bread
+account, and I must know it's paid. Oh, it was kind of her!"
+
+"Yes, it was," he admitted, adding with unexpected candour, "There
+never should have been need for her to do it; but your father's a
+good-for-naught. Yes, Salome, that's what everybody says. Folks pity
+you an' blame me. I know Mrs. Fowler has done this for your sake."
+
+"And for yours too, father. Oh, yes, I am certain of that. She told me
+to go on loving you, and—"
+
+"Did she though?" Josiah interposed in extreme surprise. "Well, you do
+amaze me. She's a real kind lady, anyway, and has proved herself our
+true friend."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+A Stormy Night.
+
+"HARK! What's that, Miss Conway? It sounds like a dog howling. There it
+is again!" And the speaker, Margaret Fowler, put down the book she had
+been reading, and rising from her chair by the fireplace, went to the
+window, and peered into the darkness.
+
+The governess and her two pupils were spending the hours between
+tea-time and supper in the schoolroom at Greystone. A very pleasant
+apartment it was, comfortably carpeted and curtained, with a bright
+wood fire burning in the grate. Miss Conway glanced up from her
+needlework as Margaret spoke, whilst Gerald ceased playing with the cat
+on the hearthrug and listened for a few moments.
+
+"I don't hear anything," the latter said.
+
+He turned his attention to his playfellow again, but puss was tired
+and had no desire to prolong the game. In vain, he dangled a piece
+of string before her eyes to entice her to spring at it. She had had
+enough of him, and sat on the hearthrug, complacently washing her face
+and blinking in the firelight.
+
+"Selfish thing!" he exclaimed, "I—oh, yes, I do hear something now!"
+And he joined his sister at the window.
+
+The sound which fell upon the ears of the listeners was like the low
+wail of some animal in distress. Margaret's fair cheeks paled as she
+listened, for there was something eerie in the faint, indistinct sound.
+
+"I don't think it's a dog," said Miss Conway doubtfully. "No, I believe
+it's the wind rising. If so, we shall have a wild night. Let us open
+the window and make certain what it is."
+
+They did so; and then ascertained that it was indeed the wind which
+they heard. The night was pitch dark, with heavy clouds overhead. It
+had been a still, sombre, autumn day, with that hush in the air which
+generally portends a storm. Now, the wind was rising, whilst the
+breakers could be heard dashing against the base of the cliffs.
+
+"Yes, it is only the wind," Miss Conway decided. "How mournful it
+sounds. Shut the window, children, and come back to the fire. How
+thankful we should be that we have a good roof over our heads! Gerald,
+don't tease the cat, my dear; she doesn't want to play any more."
+
+"Josiah Petherick said this afternoon that we were going to have a
+storm," Gerald remarked. "I saw him on the beach, tarring his boat.
+None of the fishermen had gone to sea."
+
+"I suppose they considered the weather too uncertain?" Miss Conway
+interrogated.
+
+"Yes," the boy replied. "Father says they are all very weather-wise. I
+don't mind a storm, do you, Miss Conway? I wonder if there will be a
+wreck."
+
+"Oh, I sincerely trust not!" the governess exclaimed hastily.
+
+"I should like to see a wreck," Gerald informed her. "Josiah Petherick
+has seen several, and he has saved the lives of heaps of people. He
+must be a very brave man. I don't believe he's afraid of anything.
+Can't we have our supper upstairs to-night instead of in the
+dining-room? It's so jolly and cosy here."
+
+Miss Conway assented. Mr. and Mrs. Fowler were in London, and the house
+seemed dull without them. Margaret had taken up her book again; but
+she was not reading, for the sound of the rising gale distracted her
+attention and made her feel restless and uneasy.
+
+"If we have a storm, perhaps there will be a wreck," Gerald proceeded
+presently. "It is so dark, that I should not be surprised, should you,
+Miss Conway, if a ship ran on the rocks?"
+
+"Oh, Gerald, pray don't suggest such a probability!" she cried, with a
+shudder.
+
+"If there was a wreck, would you let me go down to the beach?" he
+inquired eagerly. "Say you would, Miss Conway!"
+
+"I shall certainly say no such thing. If there was a wreck—which God
+forbid!—I should insist on your remaining in the house. Nothing would
+induce me to give you permission to go out in a storm. But we need not
+speak of it. Ring the bell, Gerald, and I will order supper."
+
+The boy obeyed, though with a cloud on his brow; he realised argument
+was of no avail when his governess spoke in that decided tone. After
+supper, he went to bed at his usual time, and forgetful of the rising
+storm, and the prospect of a wreck, was soon asleep. Miss Conway and
+Margaret sat up till ten o'clock, alternately talking and listening
+to the wind, which was now howling dolefully around the house, almost
+driving in the window-panes, and mingling its sobs and wails with the
+angry roar of the sea; and then they, too, retired to their respective
+rooms. The gale increased in fury however, and then came the rain.
+
+Meanwhile, the villagers were all alert, for there was little rest for
+anyone at Yelton on such a night as this, with a westerly gale raging,
+and the sea like great walls of foam. The fishermen hesitated to seek
+their beds, whilst some of the most venturesome braved the furious
+wind and the heavy rain, which was now descending in torrents, and
+kept watch by the sea-shore, their hearts anxiously expectant, as they
+recalled similar occasions when their assistance had been required to
+help those in peril on the sea.
+
+In the Pethericks' cottage, Salome stood by the kitchen window,
+listening to the storm, and patiently waiting for her father. He was
+not at the "Crab and Cockle," she was certain of that, but on the
+beach; and she felt no anxiety about him. He was accustomed to rough
+weather; and on such a night as this, she knew he would be his true
+self—brave, fearless, and reliable. As was her custom when alone, she
+was singing softly:
+
+   "Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us
+      O'er the world's tempestuous sea;
+    Guide us, guard us, keep us, feed us,
+      For we have no help but Thee,
+    Yet possessing every blessing
+      If our God our Father be."
+
+Seen by the subdued light of the lamp in the centre of the table, the
+little girl's face wore a look of great contentment. For the time, she
+had forgotten how troublous was her life, as her soul rose on the wings
+of faith to an altitude which set her far above the trials of this
+world. She sang the hymn from beginning to end in a soft undertone,
+with the wailing wind for an accompanyment; then, opening the window,
+she thrust out her head and listened. She heard hurrying footsteps
+passing the cottage, and men's hoarse voices shouting.
+
+"Who goes there?" Salome cried. "Is anything amiss?"
+
+"I hope nothing is wrong," she thought, as she received no answer; "but
+I suppose they are obliged to shout to make themselves heard."
+
+She tried in vain to pierce the darkness.
+
+"If a vessel had been in distress, the crew would fire guns, or send up
+rockets," she reflected.
+
+The rain beat against her face, so she drew back from the window,
+which she shut, and turned her attention to the fire, remembering that
+her father would certainly return drenched to the skin. Suddenly the
+cottage door was flung open, and Margaret Fowler, hatless, and with her
+fair hair hanging around her face, stood before her.
+
+"Oh, Salome!" she gasped breathlessly. "Is he here? Have you seen
+Gerald?"
+
+"No, miss. What is wrong?"
+
+"We've lost Gerald, and I thought he might have come here. All the
+servants are looking for him, and Miss Conway too. Oh, what shall we
+do? He went to bed as usual, and was fast asleep at ten o'clock, but
+when Miss Conway peeped into his room half-an-hour ago, to see if the
+storm had disturbed him, his bed was empty. He had dressed, and we
+believe, he must have gone out."
+
+"Perhaps he is somewhere hiding in the house," Salome suggested.
+"Surely he would not go out on a night like this."
+
+"Yes, I think he would. He wanted so much to see a wreck—he seemed
+to have made up his mind there would be one to-night—and he is quite
+fearless."
+
+"I expect he is safe. Oh, how wet you are, Miss Margaret!"
+
+"Yes, and the wind blew away my hat coming down the hill, but no
+matter. Oh, where can Gerald have gone? I believe he must be on the
+beach."
+
+"If he is, father will be sure to notice him and take care of him,"
+Salome said consolingly. "Don't be frightened, miss; I feel sure Master
+Gerald will come to no harm."
+
+"If he does, it will kill mother!" Margaret cried, despairingly. "She
+loves him so dearly. No, I mustn't stay; I must go and find Gerald if I
+can;" and opening the door, she rushed away into the darkness again.
+
+After a few minutes of indecision, Salome put on her jacket, tied a
+shawl around her head, and leaving the cottage door unlocked, hastened
+towards the beach. She had not gone far, however, before she came upon
+a group of fishermen, one of whom was her father. She explained that
+the little boy from Greystone was missing from his home, but no one
+had seen him. Her father was vexed that she had ventured out in such a
+storm, and peremptorily ordered her to return.
+
+"I'll look around an' see if I can find Master Gerald," he said. "But
+he'll come to no harm, I warrant."
+
+"Oh, I am so glad to hear you say that!"
+
+It was Margaret who spoke. She had been led in the direction of the
+group by the sound of voices; and clutched Josiah by the arm to steady
+herself, as a fierce gust of wind nearly took her off her feet.
+
+"Do you go back with Salome, miss," he said. "This is no fit place for
+you two little maids. I promise I'll look for Master Gerald, and find
+him, too, if he's hereabouts."
+
+"Oh, thank you!" Margaret replied earnestly.
+
+She was really nearly done up with battling against the wind and the
+rain, so she raised no objection to returning with Salome. The little
+girls reached the cottage in safety, and upon entering, found Miss
+Conway in the kitchen. Having knocked in vain at the door, she had
+tried to open it, and finding it unlocked, had gone in; she too had
+thought it possible that Gerald might be there.
+
+"If he's on the beach, father will find him, you may depend upon that,"
+Salome assured her. "And he will bring him straight here. I fear you
+will both catch dreadful colds," and she glanced commiseratingly from
+Margaret to the governess.
+
+"We shan't mind that, so long as Gerald is safe," Margaret returned.
+She was shivering and her teeth were chattering, as much with fright on
+her brother's account as with cold. "Oh, Miss Conway, what shall we do
+if anything has happened to him? Mother will never forgive us if—"
+
+"Dear Margaret, don't be morbid; neither you nor I have been to
+blame," Miss Conway reminded her. "If harm has come to your brother,
+it has been through no fault of ours. Who would imagine that he would
+deliberately get up and dress and steal out of the house unknown to
+anyone? Whatever the result of this mad freak of his proves to be, will
+have been his own doing."
+
+"It is terrible to think what may have happened to him. The wind is
+high enough to blow him into the sea if he is really on the beach. Oh,
+mother will hate the sight of me for ever, if Gerald is drowned!" And
+Margaret burst into tears.
+
+"Don't, dear, don't!" Miss Conway said imploringly.
+
+"You know it is true," Margaret cried passionately. "If I was killed,
+mother would not care—not much; but Gerald is as the apple of her eye."
+
+Before any answer could be made to this, the cottage door opened, and
+Josiah strode into the kitchen, bearing Gerald in his arms. He had
+discovered the little boy crouched in the shelter of a boat which had
+been drawn high up on the beach, out of the reach of the tide.
+
+"There is no wreck," Gerald said disgustedly, as Josiah set him down on
+the floor, "and I'm cold and wet, and should like to go home."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+Trouble at Greystone.
+
+FOR once, Gerald had gone too far, as he discovered on the following
+day, when, for punishment, his governess insisted on keeping him
+locked up in his bedroom. In vain, he cried and protested against such
+treatment, Miss Conway was like adamant, and the boy had perforce
+to endure twenty-four hours of solitary confinement with no one to
+speak to, no one to play with, and nothing to do. A more salutary
+mode of punishment could not have been devised; and in consequence,
+Gerald appeared at the breakfast-table on the morning following his
+imprisonment, in a subdued and repentant frame of mind. He said he was
+sorry for his past conduct; but he could not extract a promise from
+either Miss Conway or Margaret that his father should not be informed
+of the anxiety and trouble he had caused the whole household.
+
+Margaret had caught a severe cold on the night of the storm, and spent
+the next few days shivering over the schoolroom fire, too unwell for
+lessons. Gerald's escapade had been a shock to her; she was overwrought
+and languid, and when, on the morning of the day that Mr. and Mrs.
+Fowler were expected home, she began to dress she felt so shaky that
+she went back to bed again.
+
+"Not up yet, Margaret?" asked Miss Conway's voice outside the door,
+half-an-hour later.
+
+"No," was the reply. "I am so sorry, but my cold is very bad, and I
+have such a dreadful headache."
+
+The governess entered the room immediately on hearing this and
+approached the bed. After kissing Margaret with affectionate concern,
+she felt her pulse and declared her to be a little feverish.
+
+"Stay where you are, my dear," she said kindly. "Why, you're shivering.
+Ross shall bring you a hot-water bottle for your feet and light the
+fire; then, I have no doubt, if you lie in bed and nurse your cold, you
+will soon be better."
+
+"I am so vexed, because mother and father are coming home to-night,"
+Margaret sighed.
+
+"I daresay you will be well enough to get up by the evening," Miss
+Conway responded hopefully. "I shall be with Gerald as usual, but
+I shall tell Ross to devote herself to you. If you want me, do not
+hesitate to send for me."
+
+Margaret could eat no breakfast, but she took a few sips of the milk
+Ross brought her a short while later, and afterwards fell into an
+uneasy sleep. The maid, moving about softly, lit the fire and dusted
+the room, then turned her attention to the flushed face on the pillow.
+
+"Poor little thing, she does look poorly," she murmured. "And it's all
+on account of that tiresome child, Master Gerald. 'Tis a shame of the
+mistress to spoil him so; everyone can see but her that she's ruining
+him, allowing him his own way as she does."
+
+Margaret moved restlessly and began to mutter. Ross bent over her,
+and caught the sound of Gerald's name. She laid her cool hand softly
+against the little girl's cheek and felt how it burnt.
+
+"She's very feverish," she thought. "I do hope she isn't going to be
+really ill. A nice home-coming it will be for master, if she is. I
+wonder if the mistress would trouble much?"
+
+Roes moved away to the fireplace, and taking up some sewing-work,
+stitched industriously, every now and again glancing towards the
+restless sleeper.
+
+Suddenly the little girl uttered a shriek and sprang up in bed,
+whereupon Ross dropped her work and hastened to the bedside.
+
+"What is it, dear?" she asked, putting her arms around Margaret's
+quivering form. "You've had a bad dream, I expect—but it was only a
+dream. See, now, don't tremble so, you're perfectly safe with Ross."
+
+"Where's Gerald?" Margaret demanded in a strange, hoarse voice.
+
+"Doing his lessons with Miss Conway."
+
+"Where's Gerald?" the little girl reiterated.
+
+Ross repeated her former answer, but it did not appear to satisfy
+Margaret.
+
+"Let me go and look for him," she said in a tone of distress.
+
+"No, dear; you're not well, you must lie down again."
+
+"You won't let me go!" Margaret struggled a minute in Ross' restraining
+arms, then sank back on the pillow. "I know why you won't let me go,"
+she cried; "he's dead. He's drowned."
+
+"No, no, darling, he's perfectly safe. Dear Miss Margaret, you've been
+dreaming."
+
+"He's drowned!" the little girl insisted. "And who's going to tell
+mother? Oh, it will kill her!"
+
+"Miss Margaret, I solemnly declare Master Gerald's living and well,"
+said Ross, growing more and more concerned. "I wouldn't tell you a
+story, why should I? You're poorly, dear, and you've had a bad dream."
+
+But Margaret wandered on: "Listen to the rain beating against the
+window, and the wind howling. And Gerald is out in it all! If he is on
+the beach, he will be blown into the sea. Look at that great wave! Oh,
+it has carried him away!" and she uttered a heartrending cry.
+
+"It is a lovely day," Ross assured her; "the sun is shining, and the
+sea is quite blue and calm. You've been dreaming about the storm, miss,
+and fancying all sorts of horrors that never happened."
+
+Margaret's blue eyes, wide open, were fixed upon Ross' face, but she
+evidently had not followed what the woman had said, for after a short
+silence she began to mutter distressfully about Gerald again.
+
+Ross was now exceedingly alarmed. She rang the bell, and sent for Miss
+Conway, who, in her turn, tried to pacify the sick child. But Margaret
+paid no more attention to her governess than she had to Ross.
+
+"I am afraid she is going to be very ill," Miss Conway said in much
+distress. "All her trouble seems to be about her brother. Fetch him,
+Ross; perhaps the sight of him will satisfy her."
+
+So Gerald was brought to his sister's bedside. He was somewhat
+frightened when told Margaret was ill; but in obedience to Miss Conway,
+he stooped over the bed to kiss her. She, however, pushed him away with
+feverish strength, and covered her eyes with her hand.
+
+"Take him away!" she cried. "What is that strange boy doing here?"
+
+"It's Gerald, dear Margaret," said the governess softly. "Your own
+brother come to show you that he is quite well, and—"
+
+"No, no; Gerald's drowned, I tell you! Oh, what will mother say? She
+loves him so."
+
+At this point, Gerald, realising that there was something very strange
+and unusual about his sister, began to cry, and was hurried out of the
+room.
+
+Thoroughly shocked, Miss Conway sent a groom to N— immediately, to
+fetch a doctor; and within a few hours, the news had spread through
+the village of Yelton that the little girl at Greystone was very ill.
+Mr. Amyatt, as soon as he heard the tidings, considerately invited
+Gerald to spend the remainder of the day at the Vicarage; and Salome
+Petherick arrived at the back door of Greystone in the afternoon to
+make inquiries.
+
+The cook, who had been stewing beef-tea, insisted on Salome's coming
+inside and resting in her easy-chair.
+
+"Mrs. Moyle told me of Miss Margaret's illness," the lame girl said,
+her face expressive of the deepest concern. "I hope it is nothing
+serious?"
+
+"I am afraid it is, my dear," was the grave rejoinder. "It's
+inflammation of the lungs. Dr. Vawdry has been here from N—, and he's
+coming again this evening. He says she's very ill; and if Mr. and Mrs.
+Fowler had not been returning to-night, they'd have been telegraphed
+for. Oh, dear, dear, I do trust the poor child's life may be spared!
+She's not been well for days, not since the night of the storm, when
+Master Gerald led us all such a dance after him. He's the one to be
+blamed for this. For once, I should think the mistress would see that."
+
+And the woman poked the fire viciously, as though the act was a vent
+for her feelings. "She's the nicest, sweetest, little creature I ever
+knew is Miss Margaret," she proceeded, "with always a kind word for
+us servants. Ross says she doesn't recognise anyone; she didn't know
+Master Gerald, and her incessant cry is that he is drowned. If only
+Miss Conway had turned the key in his bedroom door on the night of the
+storm. She kept him locked up the next day, and it broke his rebellious
+spirit—quite. She'd soon get him under subjection if his mother didn't
+pamper him so. Don't you take on, now, about Miss Margaret, my dear;
+maybe she'll get over this attack all right. She's young and healthy,
+and she'll have good nursing, and everything money can buy. I ordered
+some lean, gravy beef the minute I heard she was ill, but the doctor
+won't allow her anything but milk and soda water, so there's plenty of
+strong beef-tea going begging, and you'd better have a cupful. Will you
+have bread with it? Yes. I'm sure it will do you good."
+
+Salome was very glad of some refreshment. She took the beef-tea,
+whilst the cook talked on without waiting for replies; but when she
+rose to go, having learnt all there was to know, her heart was very
+heavy indeed. Her eyes were full of unshed tears as she passed out of
+the Greystone grounds, and commenced her descent of the hill. As she
+went by the church, she wondered if she would ever hear Miss Margaret
+practising on the organ again.
+
+And she was so engrossed with her sorrowful thoughts, that she was
+startled when, on reaching the Vicarage gate, a voice addressed her
+from inside. "Hi, Salome! Where have you been?"
+
+She paused and looked at the speaker, Gerald Fowler, who was peering
+at her laughingly between the bars of the gate. The boy was in high
+spirits at being the Vicar's guest, and he had not been informed that
+his sister was really seriously ill. He had been frightened when
+Margaret had failed to recognise him, but the impression he had then
+received had passed, and he was delighted at having this unexpected
+holiday.
+
+[Illustration: "YOU'D BETTER MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS,
+ SALOME PETHERICK."]
+
+"I've been to Greystone, Master Gerald," Salome returned quietly.
+
+"To see Margaret, I suppose? She's ill, you know."
+
+"Yes, and I am so grieved and sorry."
+
+"Oh, I expect she'll soon be better!" Gerald remarked confidently.
+
+"I hope so," the lame girl replied dubiously. "But the doctor says she
+has inflammation of the lungs."
+
+"Does that ever kill people, Salome?"
+
+"Yes, Master Gerald, very often."
+
+"But Margaret won't die, will she? You don't think that, do you?"
+
+"No one can tell—but God. We must ask Him to take care of her. Oh,
+Master Gerald, see what has come of your ill conduct!"
+
+"What do you mean?" he inquired in amazement. "It isn't my fault that
+Margaret's ill."
+
+"Oh, yes, indeed it is! If you had not gone down to the beach on the
+night of the storm, she would not have got drenched to the skin and
+have caught such a dreadful cold. Oh, yes, it was your fault!" And
+Salome looked at him severely.
+
+His blue eyes filled with sudden tears, and his rosy cheeks paled as he
+gasped, "Oh, I never thought—I never thought—"
+
+"No, I don't suppose you did, Master Gerald, or if you did, it was
+yourself you thought of and no one else," Salome cried indignantly.
+"You 're the most selfish little boy I know."
+
+"You 're very unkind, and—and nasty."
+
+"I daresay you think I am; but I love Miss Margaret, and I know you've
+been the cause of her illness. I wonder what your mother and father
+will say."
+
+"Mother will say it was not my fault," Gerald declared stoutly. "I
+couldn't tell Margaret would be silly enough to go to look for me; and
+I think you'd better mind your own business, Salome Petherick," he
+concluded.
+
+He was impressed by the lame girl's plain speaking, and put on a show
+of anger to hide the fact.
+
+She shook her head at him gravely, as she turned away from the Vicarage
+gate and went down the hill.
+
+When she reached home, she lit the fire and boiled the kettle for
+tea, and by that time her father had appeared upon the scene, having
+had a good catch of fish. His face grew grave when Salome told him of
+Margaret's illness, and he expressed great regret, for he was grateful
+to the Fowlers for the notice they had taken of his child. And he
+volunteered to go to Greystone later on and inquire for the poor little
+sufferer. This he accordingly did, and brought back the news that
+Dr. Vawdry had visited the patient again, and had declared her to be
+dangerously ill, but that Mr. and Mrs. Fowler had not yet come. The
+carriage had gone to N— to meet them at the railway station, as had
+been arranged, and they were expected very soon now.
+
+"Don't take on so, my dear," said Josiah kindly, as he noticed Salome's
+brown eyes full of tears. "The little maid'll pull through, please
+God. I am grieved about her though—s'pose 'twas you," and he looked at
+his child with great affection as he reflected on the uncertainty of
+life. And because it would please her, and with the laudable desire
+of keeping her from dwelling too much on the thought of Margaret's
+illness, he spent the evening in her company, and that night his
+associates at the "Crab and Cockle" looked for him in vain.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+Days of Sickness.
+
+IT was nearly ten o'clock when Mr. and Mrs. Fowler reached Greystone
+that autumn night. Without waiting for assistance, the latter sprang
+out of the carriage and ran into the house, and almost into the arms
+of Miss Conway, who had come down from the sick-room to meet the
+travellers.
+
+"What is this I hear about Margaret?" Mrs. Fowler inquired, excitedly
+clutching the governess by the arm, and scanning her pale countenance
+with anxiety. "I am told she is ill. It is nothing much, I suppose?
+What ails her? A cold?"
+
+"She certainly did catch cold," Miss Conway rejoined in a grave tone,
+looking from Mrs. Fowler to her husband, who had quickly followed her.
+"She has been poorly for several days, but this morning she was taken
+much worse, and I sent immediately for Dr. Vawdry from N—. He has been
+twice during the day, and—and—" this in a faltering voice—"she is very
+ill with inflammation of the lungs. We are poulticing her; Ross is with
+her now, and—and—I'm so very glad you've come!" And, overwrought with
+anxiety, she burst into tears.
+
+"Come into the drawing-room, Miss Conway," Mr. Fowler said kindly. "No,
+my dear," he continued, laying a restraining hand upon his wife who had
+turned to rush upstairs, "let us hear all details about Margaret first
+of all. Besides, you must not allow her to see you looking frightened
+and distressed."
+
+"She would take no notice," Miss Conway said mournfully. "She
+recognises nobody, and is quite delirious. Dr. Vawdry says that need
+not alarm us, though, for it's frequently the case in inflammation of
+the lungs."
+
+"What has caused her illness?" Mrs. Fowler asked, as she followed the
+others into the drawing-room.
+
+Miss Conway wiped away her tears, and in a few minutes was sufficiently
+composed to explain all that had happened. When she had finished her
+story, Mr. Fowler inquired, "Where is Gerald now?"
+
+"In bed and asleep, I am thankful to say," Miss Conway answered. "Mr.
+Amyatt had him at the Vicarage until eight o'clock, when he brought him
+home. He begged me to allow him to sit up to see you, but I insisted on
+his having his supper and going to bed."
+
+"Quite right." Mr. Fowler's face was very stern, and he would not meet
+the glance of his wife's appealing eyes. "We see now the result of
+indulgence," he added emphatically. "Had Gerald been taught obedience
+and consideration for other people, this trouble would never have come
+upon us."
+
+Mrs. Fowler quailed beneath the mingled reproach and reproof of her
+husband's tone; for once she had no excuse to make for her favourite
+child. She had spent a very pleasant time in London, where she had met
+many old friends, including Mrs. Lute; but she had not been sorry to
+return to Greystone, acknowledging to herself that the quiet, healthful
+life there suited her. With her husband's presence to strengthen her,
+it had not been so very difficult to refuse stimulants when they had
+been offered to her. She was fully conscious of her own weakness now,
+and no longer deceived herself, as she had formerly done, with the
+fallacious idea that a little wine or spirit was good for her.
+
+When she recalled how, during her husband's brief absence from home a
+few weeks previously, she had been tempted from the mere fact of having
+taken one glass of wine to purchase a bottle of brandy, and drink it
+by stealth, she was obliged to confess that total abstinence from all
+intoxicating liquors was the only course for her to adopt to prevent
+the ruin of her happiness, and that of those she loved. At Greystone,
+she felt she was out of temptation's way. The news of her little
+daughter's illness, which had been imparted to her and Mr. Fowler at
+N—, had startled and shocked her immeasurably; and she had begged the
+coachman to drive home as quickly as possible, which he had accordingly
+done.
+
+Margaret was lying in a kind of stupor when her parents entered her
+bedroom, and they were careful not to disturb her. Mr. Fowler saw she
+was very ill, and his heart ached as he bent over her and listened to
+her laboured breathing. Glancing at his wife, he was astonished at the
+expression of her countenance, for, like everyone else, he had never
+thought she had cared for Margaret overmuch. But all the mother's love
+was alive in Mrs. Fowler at that moment, shining in her blue eyes, and
+illuminating her fair face with additional beauty.
+
+Anxious days and nights followed, during which Margaret lay between
+life and death. Her mother constituted herself head nurse, and showed
+wonderful ability in that capacity. Naturally a nervous, excitable
+woman, it was quite wonderful how she put a check upon her feelings,
+and was calm, and capable, and seemingly untiring. It was nothing to
+Margaret, at that time, who was attending to her, for she was utterly
+unconscious, sometimes in a drowsy condition, sometimes murmuring
+distressfully, going over again all that had happened on the night of
+the storm, always with the impression in her mind that Gerald had been
+drowned.
+
+"Who will tell mother?" she demanded again and again in an agony of
+grief. "She loves him so! He is her favourite."
+
+Meanwhile Gerald had been taken to task by his father for his conduct
+on the night of the storm. Mr. Fowler took no steps to punish him,
+but he talked to him so seriously, and pointed out to him that he was
+responsible for his sister's illness, that Gerald was reduced to tears,
+and for the first time in his life, on seeking his mother's support and
+sympathy, he found both lacking.
+
+"The blame is all yours," she told him gravely. "What your father has
+said to you is perfectly true."
+
+"Oh, mother, don't you think Margaret will get well again?" he asked
+with quivering lips, for beneath a veneer of selfishness, he owned an
+affectionate heart, and he was really much attached to his sister.
+
+"Only God knows that," was the solemn reply.
+
+"That's what Salome Petherick says," he remarked tearfully. "She was
+here inquiring for Margaret at the back door this morning. She comes
+every day, and she said all I could do was to pray."
+
+"She was right, Gerald; your sister is in God's hands. The doctor can
+do nothing for her—he has acknowledged that; but oh, my son, pray for
+her! Pray for her!"
+
+The little boy was greatly impressed by the solemnity of his mother's
+tone, and impetuously flinging his arms around her neck, he assured
+her, he would be a better boy for the future, and that he would pray to
+God to make his sister well. He was having a holiday from lessons, for
+Miss Conway was assisting Mrs. Fowler and Ross with the nursing, and so
+he spent most of his time with his father, from whom he had begged and
+obtained forgiveness for his past misbehaviour.
+
+"Yes, I forgive you, Gerald," Mr. Fowler had said sadly. "But you see,
+wrongdoing always brings its own punishment," he had added, noting the
+little boy's troubled countenance, and making a shrewd guess as to the
+state of his feelings with regard to Margaret.
+
+The servants crept quietly about the house speaking in hushed tones,
+for the angel of death seemed hovering near; and those who loved
+Margaret Fowler waited and watched unwearyingly. A second doctor from
+Plymouth had visited the patient. But he had agreed with Dr. Vawdry
+that nothing more could be done for her, and that it was merely a
+question of whether or not her strength would hold out and vanquish the
+disease.
+
+At last, the crisis came. And then, the glad news that the little
+sufferer was sleeping quietly and naturally was whispered through the
+house, and spread to the Vicarage, and from thence to the village,
+where Salome Petherick heard the good tidings in Silas Moyle's shop,
+and returned home with a joyful, thankful heart.
+
+The golden, autumn days were passing swiftly now, and there was a sharp
+feeling in the air in the morning, but a few hardy flowers lingered
+in Salome's garden; a big bush fuchsia which grew beneath the kitchen
+window was still in bloom, and the verbena close to the porch had not
+commenced to shed its leaves, whilst the white chrysanthemums which
+flourished year by year in the shelter of the wall which protected the
+garden on the side nearest to the sea were in full flower. The lame
+girl gathered a posy, and took it up to Greystone, where she left it at
+the back door with a request that it might be given to Miss Margaret,
+if she was well enough to receive it. She declined an invitation to
+rest awhile, saying she must hurry home to get her father's tea.
+
+So it came to pass, that when Margaret awoke from her refreshing sleep,
+she was conscious of a delightful perfume, and opening her eyes, they
+rested on a homely nosegay, composed of chrysanthemums, intermingled
+with sprigs of verbena, and drooping fuchsia sprays. The flowers lay on
+the counterpane, but when she tried to put out her hand to reach them,
+she found she could not. Then the bed curtain stirred, and she saw a
+face bending over her—a beautiful face full of love and a great joy.
+
+"Mother," she said weakly.
+
+"Yes, my dear," was the soft reply. "You have been ill, but you are
+better, and have had such a nice, long sleep. I want you to drink this
+milk and then go to sleep again."
+
+Mrs. Fowler slipped her arm beneath the pillow, and gently raised the
+little girl's head, whilst she held a cup to her lips. Margaret took a
+few sips of milk, but refused more.
+
+"The flowers," she said, as her mother laid her head down again.
+
+"Salome sent them to you with her love."
+
+Mrs. Fowler placed the nosegay close to Margaret's hand, and her thin
+fingers fastened around the stems of the flowers, then her tired eyes
+closed, and she slept once more.
+
+From that hour, Margaret commenced to recover. For days, she was too
+weak to move hand or foot—too weak almost to think; but by-and-by, with
+returning strength, she began to notice more what was going on around
+her. The tormenting thought that Gerald was dead had left her entirely,
+and she was conscious that it had been her mother who had nursed her so
+tenderly all along, and not a figure of her imagination as she had at
+first thought.
+
+She watched Mrs. Fowler with an inquiring expression which that lady
+failed to interpret, but which made her both anxious and uneasy. It
+was as though Margaret wondered at her solicitude, and was trying to
+find a reason for it. And as the little girl grew better, it was quite
+apparent that she preferred to have Miss Conway or Ross in attendance
+upon her to Mrs. Fowler. It was always—"Don't trouble, mother, Ross
+will do it," or "Miss Conway will read to me, I know." Till, deeply
+hurt, Mrs. Fowler made up her mind that she had for ever destroyed her
+little daughter's affection. And once Margaret had loved her so dearly,
+too!
+
+On the first occasion on which the patient was allowed to sit out in a
+chair by the fire, Mrs. Fowler wrapped her in a dressing-gown made of
+quilted silk which she had brought home for her from London. Margaret
+expressed great pleasure in the pretty garment, and called everyone's
+attention to it. Her father sat with her for a short while, and Gerald,
+at his earnest request, was permitted ten minutes of her society.
+
+"How white you look!" the latter exclaimed, regarding her with awe.
+"And your eyes are so big! But you're heaps better, aren't you,
+Margaret?"
+
+"Oh, yes!" she answered, smiling brightly.
+
+"That's right. I prayed to God to make you well, and so did everyone, I
+think."
+
+"That was very kind of everyone," Margaret murmured, much touched.
+
+"Josiah Petherick's drunk nearly every night now," Gerald next informed
+his sister. "I heard Mr. Amyatt tell father so."
+
+"Oh, dear!" cried Margaret in much distress. "Poor Salome!" At that
+moment, she caught her mother's eyes, and the sensitive colour flooded
+her face from chin to brow. Noticing the painful blush, Mrs. Fowler
+turned away, and walking to the window, gazed out unseeingly, her mind
+a tumult of conflicting thoughts.
+
+Meanwhile, Gerald chattered on, passing from Josiah to other of the
+villagers, until Mrs. Fowler, suddenly remembering that Margaret must
+not be allowed to overtire herself, interrupted the conversation, and
+sent the little boy away, promising he should come and sit with his
+sister again to-morrow.
+
+"Remember to give my love to Salome the next time you see her,"
+Margaret said. "Tell her, I hope we shall meet again soon."
+
+Then, as the door shut on her brother, she sighed, and her mother
+guessed aright by the sad expression of her face that her thoughts were
+troubled ones and anything but conducive to peace of mind.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+The Shadow Lifted.
+
+NOVEMBER was an unusually mild month that year, so that Margaret,
+during her convalescence, was enabled to take long drives without any
+risk of catching cold. On one occasion, Salome Petherick was invited
+to accompany her and Mrs. Fowler when they drove to N—. And it was
+pleasant to see how the lame girl's countenance shone with happiness
+as, forgetful of her worries for the time, she enjoyed the novelty of
+viewing hitherto unknown scenery, for she had never been beyond walking
+distance of Yelton before.
+
+"It was quite pathetic to watch the varying expressions on the poor
+little thing's face," Mrs. Fowler confided to her husband afterwards.
+"She shall accompany us again, if all's well. Have you noticed how she
+has changed lately? The first time I saw her, she had such a pretty
+brown complexion, and now she is so pale, and her eyes so big and
+hollow. I wonder what ails the child."
+
+"Privation and trouble, I'm afraid, judging from what I hear," Mr.
+Fowler responded gravely. "She is badly fed, works hard, and is always
+grieving on her father's account."
+
+Mrs. Fowler sighed. She was deeply interested in Salome, but there
+seemed little she could do for her. The idea crossed her mind that she
+might remonstrate with Josiah concerning his treatment of his little
+daughter, but she shrank sensitively from doing so.
+
+Meanwhile, there was little fishing being done at Yelton during those
+mild November days, when the ocean was as smooth as a duck pond, and
+there was not a breath of wind blowing, so that Josiah and his boon
+companions had plenty of time on their hands. The "Crab and Cockle" had
+most of their society, and their homes suffered in consequence.
+
+One night, after the inn was closed and most of the inhabitants of
+Yelton had gone to rest, the alarming cry of "Fire!" was heard. And
+men, women, and children dressed with all speed, and rushed out of
+doors exclaiming, questioning, and running against each other in their
+excitement and hurry.
+
+"Fire! Fire! Oh, help; for mercy's sake, help my father!"
+
+It was the lame girl who had raised the alarm, and who now stood
+outside Silas Moyle's shop, her face livid with terror. She managed
+somehow to explain that it was her home that was on fire, and that her
+father, on his return from the "Crab and Cockle," had clutched at the
+table-cloth which had covered the kitchen table, and had thus upset the
+lamp and caused the conflagration.
+
+On hearing this, there was a general rush in the direction of the
+Pethericks' cottage, but Silas Moyle, who had now arrived upon the
+scene, insisted upon Salome's staying with his wife, and lingered to
+inquire what had become of Josiah.
+
+"He's at home," Salome wailed. "I couldn't get him to leave; he was
+pouring buckets of water on the fire; but oh! He couldn't put it out,
+it was spreading terribly. Please, Mr. Moyle, do go and see that he's
+all right. He isn't sober, and oh, I'm so afraid for him."
+
+"There, there, don't you take on," said Mrs. Moyle, kindly. "Silas'll
+see to Josiah. Come you in, my dear," and the good woman led Salome
+into the parlour behind the shop and placed her in an easy-chair.
+
+Meanwhile, willing hands were helping Josiah in his attempts to put out
+the fire. But assistance proved of no avail, and in less than two hours
+the Pethericks' cottage was actually gutted, and all their possessions
+had been burnt. It had been impossible to save anything, for the
+woodwork of the cottage being old, and the roof of thatch, the flames
+had spread with great rapidity. Daybreak found Josiah, sober enough
+now, staring disconsolately at the four stone walls which was the only
+portion of his home that was left intact. He was feeling inexpressibly
+shocked, for his furniture was not insured, and he realised that he
+and his little daughter had nothing in the world but the clothes they
+were wearing. What was he to do? He could not tell, and he groaned in
+despair, as he looked at the smoking ruins, and the erstwhile trim
+garden, now spoilt by the trampling of many feet.
+
+"This is a bad business, Petherick."
+
+Turning at the sound of a voice addressing him, he saw Mr. Amyatt. The
+Vicar had been there some time, but Josiah had not noticed him amongst
+the rest.
+
+"Ay," was the gloomy response. "I'm ruined—that's what I am."
+
+"I daresay your landlord will rebuild the cottage, for no doubt it is
+insured."
+
+"What's the good of a cottage without furniture?" Josiah demanded
+almost fiercely. "Salome's homeless, an' through me. I ought to be
+thrashed."
+
+"Salome can bide with my missus," Silas Moyle interposed at that point.
+"She's a handy maid, and can make herself useful, an' you'll be able
+to get a lodging somewhere, Josiah, for the time; but you'd best come
+along with me now, an' get a bit of breakfast."
+
+Josiah hesitated. He was very grateful to the baker for his kindness,
+but he dreaded the meeting with Salome. He felt more ashamed of himself
+than he had ever done in his life before, and as he turned his back on
+the smoking ruins, he pictured the pretty, thatched cottage of which
+he had been so proud once upon a time. There he had brought his young
+bride, there Salome had been born, and his happy married life had been
+spent, and there his wife had died. Josiah rubbed his hard, brown hand
+across his eyes as memory was busy with him.
+
+"Come," said Silas, "pull yourself together, man. Let's go and get some
+breakfast. Your little maid's wanting you, I'll warrant."
+
+Such proved to be the case. For the minute Salome saw her father, she
+threw herself into his arms, and whispered how thankful she was that he
+was safe, and that nothing mattered besides—nothing.
+
+The first person to convey the news of the fire to Greystone was
+the postman, and great was the excitement when it became known that
+the Pethericks' cottage had been burnt down. Mr. Fowler started off
+immediately, with Gerald, to learn all particulars, and, in the
+afternoon, Mrs. Fowler, at Margaret's earnest request, went to see
+Salome. She found the little girl in better spirits than she had
+anticipated, though her brown eyes grew very wistful when she talked of
+her late home.
+
+"All my plants are trampled into the ground," she said, "but, never
+mind, father's safe, and that's the chief thing. I was so afraid for
+him."
+
+"And so you are to remain here?" Mrs. Fowler questioned, glancing
+around Mrs. Moyle's little parlour, which was a picture of neatness and
+cleanliness.
+
+"Yes, ma'am, for the time. Mrs. Moyle has kindly asked me to stay."
+
+"And your father?"
+
+"He's going to find out if our landlord will rebuild the cottage, and
+if so, father will get a lodging somewhere in the village. The worst
+of it is, all our furniture is burnt; but father says he'll be able to
+replace it by degrees, he hopes."
+
+After leaving Salome, Mrs. Fowler thought she would like to see the
+ruined cottage, so she turned her footsteps in that direction, and
+found Josiah leaning over the garden gate in conversation with the
+Vicar. The former would have moved away on her approach, but she
+stopped him, and explained that she had been to visit his little
+daughter.
+
+"I'm so sorry for you both," she told him kindly. "It is terrible to be
+burnt out of house and home."
+
+"It was my doing," Josiah confessed. "Maybe you've heard how it
+happened?"
+
+"Yes," she admitted, "you caught hold of the table-cloth, and pulled
+over the lamp, did you not?"
+
+The fisherman nodded, whilst the Vicar regarded him attentively.
+
+"I've been talking to Petherick very seriously," the latter said. "And
+have been trying to induce him to become a teetotaler and sign the
+pledge. I do earnestly entreat you, Petherick, to take warning by last
+night's work."
+
+"Why won't you take the pledge?" Mrs. Fowler asked, her fair face
+alternately paling and flushing. "I am sure it would be for your
+happiness and well-being if you did. And you should consider Salome.
+Oh, drink is a terrible curse! It kills all one's best qualities, and
+ruins one's self-respect."
+
+"I'm ashamed of myself," Josiah acknowledged, "but think how folks
+would laugh if I took the pledge. I'll be a teetotaler if I can; but
+no, I won't pledge myself to it."
+
+"Oh, don't say that!" Mrs. Fowler cried imploringly. "Think the matter
+over. I believe if you took the pledge, you would keep it, for I am
+sure you are a man of your word."
+
+Josiah's face expressed irresolution. He had solemnly vowed to himself
+that he would never touch intoxicating liquors again, so deeply had the
+past night affected him, but he hated the idea of taking the pledge,
+whilst Mr. Amyatt realised that his so doing would be the only thing
+which would hold him to his determination to abstain from drink.
+
+"I'm going to give up drink," Josiah declared decidedly, at length,
+"but I won't take the pledge. I understand everyone's a teetotaler at
+Greystone," he continued, as Mrs. Fowler was about to speak again,
+"but, excuse me, ma'am, I don't suppose you've signed the pledge, have
+you?"
+
+"No," Mrs. Fowler acknowledged, "I have not."
+
+Josiah was silent. He was evidently thinking, "Then, why should I?"
+
+Mrs. Fowler was silent too, and Mr. Amyatt regarded her a trifle
+curiously, for he saw she was struggling with some strong emotion.
+Presently she said very quietly, "I have made up my mind. I will
+certainly take the pledge."
+
+"You!" Josiah exclaimed in amazement. "You, ma'am!"
+
+"Yes," Mrs. Fowler rejoined, "it is the right thing for me to do, and
+you must do the same. Why should you object if I do not?"
+
+"You must give in now, Petherick," Mr. Amyatt said quickly, "if Mrs.
+Fowler is ready to do this for your sake—"
+
+"I will do it for his sake, and for my own, and for the sake of all
+those we love," she interposed. "Oh, think of Salome!" she said
+earnestly to Josiah. "You have brought her untold trouble, and have
+made her homeless all through drink. Look at this ruined cottage, and
+reflect that but for the kindness of the Moyles, your child would be
+without shelter and food. How can you hesitate?"
+
+"I don't, ma'am."
+
+"Then, if I take the pledge, will you?" Mrs. Fowler inquired eagerly.
+
+"Yes," Josiah answered, "I don't see that I can say 'no' to that."
+
+An hour later, Mrs. Fowler entered the drawing-room at Greystone, where
+her little daughter was seated alone near the fire, reading. Margaret
+put down her book, whilst her mother, who had removed her walking
+garments, sank rather wearily into an easy-chair.
+
+"I have been talking to your father, my dear," Mrs. Fowler said with
+a smile. "I suppose, like him, you want to hear about Salome first of
+all," and she proceeded to give an account of her interview with the
+lame girl, and to explain the arrangement that had been made for her to
+remain with the Moyles for the present.
+
+"And did her father really set the cottage on fire?" Margaret inquired.
+
+"Yes. He was intoxicated, and pulled off the lamp in clutching at the
+table-cloth. It is fortunate neither he nor Salome was burnt. My dear,
+I have a piece of news for you."
+
+"Yes?" Margaret said, interrogatively, as Mrs. Fowler paused.
+
+"Josiah Petherick has consented to take the pledge, and I am going to
+take the pledge too!"
+
+"Mother!"
+
+Mrs. Fowler gave a brief account of her interview with the fisherman
+and Mr. Amyatt, to which her little daughter listened with breathless
+interest. When she had ceased speaking, Margaret went to her side and
+kissed her.
+
+"Oh, child!" cried Mrs. Fowler, encircling the slender form with her
+arms. "Do you really care for me? I thought I had for ever forfeited
+your love and respect. My dear, I never properly valued your affection
+until I feared I had lost it. I have been a selfish mother, but, please
+God, I'll be different in the future. When I faced the possibility of
+losing you, it nearly broke my heart."
+
+"Oh, mother! And I feared you did not like to have me with you! I
+thought—"
+
+"Was that why you shrank from me? Margaret—" and Mrs. Fowler spoke very
+impressively. "There has been a black shadow over my life for a long,
+long time. It stood between me and your father, between you and me, and
+even between my soul and God. I believe, and pray that it is gone."
+
+The little girl pressed her lips again to her mother's cheek, and
+though she made no reply, that gentle kiss, so tenderly and lovingly
+given, was the seal of a better understanding between these two who had
+been slowly drifting apart. And neither was likely to doubt the other's
+affection again.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+Happier Days.
+
+ONCE more, it was summer time. Eight months had elapsed since the night
+when the Pethericks' home had been destroyed by fire. And in the place
+of the old thatched dwelling, a modern red-brick cottage had been
+built, which, though certainly not so picturesque as the former one,
+was very comfortable, and possessed a bow window to its little parlour,
+which was the envy and admiration of all the villagers. Already young
+ivy plants had been placed against the bare, red walls; and the garden
+had been coaxed into good order, and was now making a fine show with
+its summer flowers.
+
+The cottage was barely furnished, for though to the amazement of all
+Yelton, Josiah had become a pledged teetotaler, and had in very truth
+turned over a new leaf, he had not been able to earn much money during
+the winter months. And when the new home had been completed a fortnight
+previously, he had only been in a position to purchase a few cheap
+articles of furniture which were absolute necessaries, such as beds,
+and cooking utensils.
+
+One beautiful June evening, Salome sat inside the bow window from which
+there was an uninterrupted view of the beach, and the wide expanse
+of sea, her busy fingers knitting as usual, her fresh, sweet voice
+trilling a merry song. She was blissfully happy, for at that moment
+she had not a care in the world. Her father, now he had really given
+up drink, was kind and considerate as he had been in her mother's
+lifetime, and was doing all he possibly could to make up to her for the
+sorrow he had caused her in the past.
+
+God had been good to her, she told herself, for He had answered her
+earnest prayers on her father's behalf. And her love and patience, so
+often sorely tried, had not been in vain.
+
+A step on the gravel path caused Salome to raise her eyes from her
+work, and her face lit up with a glad, welcoming smile as she saw
+Margaret Fowler coming to the door.
+
+"Don't get up," Margaret called to her, "I'll let myself in, if I
+may," and a minute later she entered the room, her fair countenance
+aglow with health and happiness. She seated herself in the bow
+window opposite to Salome, and glanced around the bare, little
+parlour with smiling eyes undimmed by any shadow of trouble now.
+"I've been practising the organ," she said. "Mother and father have
+been listening, and criticising my performance. They both think I've
+improved wonderfully of late."
+
+"Indeed you have, Miss Margaret," Salome agreed heartily.
+
+"Mother and father have gone home; but I thought I would like a chat
+with you. I like this bow window, don't you?"
+
+"Yes, miss; it makes the room so light and airy. I'm afraid the place
+looks very bare, though, with no carpet, and no furniture but that deal
+table and these two chairs."
+
+"Never mind. I daresay you'll add to your stock of furniture later on."
+
+"That's what father says. We must try to pick things together gradually
+again. People have been so kind to us, you can't imagine how kind. Mrs.
+Moyle gave us her old dinner set, and some odd cups and plates; and Mr.
+Amyatt's housekeeper sent down some bedding from the Vicarage—of course
+Mr. Amyatt must have told her to do so. Then your dear mother, miss!
+See what she has done for us. Why, she made us a present of the very
+chairs we're sitting on, and—"
+
+"Oh, yes, I know!" Margaret interposed. "I think there's little mother
+wouldn't do for you, Salome."
+
+"But the best thing she ever did, was when she induced father to take
+the pledge. I am sure he would never have done so, if she had not set
+him the example. Oh, miss, I believe he regretted it, at first; but
+now, I'm certain, in his heart, he knows it has been his salvation. He
+isn't like the same man he was a year ago. Look at him now," pointing
+to a stalwart figure seated on the beach bending over a fishing net.
+"Last summer, you wouldn't have found him content to mind his business
+like that, he'd have been at the 'Crab and Cockle' drinking. I little
+thought when I heard Greystone was taken, what kind friends you all
+would be to father and me."
+
+"And I little thought when I first saw you leaning over the garden
+gate, Salome, how much you would do for me."
+
+"I!" cried the lame girl, opening her dark eyes wide in astonishment.
+"Why, I've done nothing, I've had no opportunity—"
+
+"Ah, you don't know all! I've learnt a great deal from you, I have
+indeed, though you mayn't know it—a great deal besides knitting,"
+Margaret said with a smile. "It was you who taught me, by your
+self-sacrificing love for your father, what love ought to be—faithful
+and long-suffering. That was a lesson I never learnt till I met you."
+
+Salome looked earnestly at her companion's expressive face, and was
+emboldened to put a question that had trembled on her lips many times
+of late:
+
+"That trouble you spoke to me about, Miss Margaret—is it gone?"
+
+Margaret nodded in silence.
+
+"I'm so glad," said Salome, simply.
+
+"Do you remember Mrs. Lute, the lady who stayed with us at Greystone
+last summer?" Margaret questioned presently. "Yes. Well, we are
+expecting her to visit us again. And mother says she hopes your father
+will be able to take us out boating frequently, because Mrs. Lute is
+so fond of being on the water. And mother feels safer with your father
+than with anyone else, because he knows the coast so well. You know,
+mother is still a little nervous at times."
+
+"But she is wonderfully better, isn't she?"
+
+"Oh, yes. Look! Surely I see Miss Conway and Gerald talking to your
+father on the beach. When they pass here, I'll join them, and we can
+walk home together."
+
+"How Master Gerald does grow!" Salome exclaimed. "And he has so
+improved too! That's come about since your illness last autumn, miss.
+He was in a terrible state of distress then."
+
+"So mother has since told me," Margaret replied. "Yes, he has improved;
+he's much more obedient than he used to be; Miss Conway was saying,
+only this morning, how little trouble she has with him now."
+
+The truth was, Mrs. Fowler had come to understand that her foolish
+indulgence had been likely to ruin her little son. And though she
+loved him no less, she wielded a firmer sway over him, and upheld
+his governess' discipline. With the result that he was a much more
+contented little boy than he had been, when he had had his own way. He
+still sometimes gave way to exhibitions of violent temper, but he was
+growing ashamed of these paroxysms, and they were becoming less and
+less frequent.
+
+When Miss Conway and Gerald left the beach, Margaret said good-bye to
+Salome, and joined the governess and her charge as they were passing
+the cottage.
+
+"We've been talking to Josiah Petherick," the little boy informed his
+sister, "and I've been telling him that Mrs. Lute's coming. Do you
+know, Margaret, that Josiah is going to be in the choir?"
+
+"No. Salome did not tell me; but I left her rather hurriedly when I saw
+you coming. I know he used to be in the choir before—"
+
+"Before he took to drink," said Gerald, finishing the sentence as she
+paused in hesitation. "Well, he doesn't drink now; wasn't it a good
+thing he gave it up? I like Josiah, he's so brave, and he knows such a
+lot about the sea, and ships."
+
+They had left the village, and were ascending the hill towards
+Greystone, now and again pausing, to look back the way they had come.
+
+"I don't think the Pethericks' new cottage is half so pretty as their
+old one, do you, Miss Conway?" Gerald asked, appealing to the governess.
+
+"Perhaps not—in spite of the bow window," she replied. "But the colour
+of the bricks will tone down with time."
+
+"Salome is very contented," remarked Margaret, "but then she would be
+that anywhere, I believe. She is wonderfully happy, and looks so well."
+
+"Yes," Miss Conway agreed, "a regular nut-brown maid; and, last autumn,
+she was such a pale, little soul. Mrs. Moyle was telling me yesterday
+how much she misses her. The Moyles have been good friends to the
+Pethericks."
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Fowler were seated beneath the lilac tree when the
+children and the governess entered the grounds. Gerald was the first
+to spy his parents; and he raced across the lawn to them; and informed
+them that he had told Josiah of their expected guest, and had bidden
+him clean his boat in readiness for use.
+
+When Mrs. Lute arrived on the morrow, she was agreeably surprised
+to note the improvement in Mrs. Fowler's health, and complimented
+her upon her "Cornish roses," as she called the bright colour in her
+friend's cheeks, whilst Margaret listened with secret satisfaction and
+happiness, and meeting her father's eyes, saw that he was delighted,
+too.
+
+Mrs. Fowler was no longer the neurotic, dissatisfied invalid who had
+been brought to Greystone almost against her will; but a bright,
+companionable woman, taking a lively interest in her household, and
+anxious for the welfare of those she loved. She and her little daughter
+had been drawn very closely together during the past few months; and
+they had discovered that they had many interests in common. Both were
+devoted to music, and Mrs. Fowler had of late fallen into the habit of
+accompanying Margaret to the church to hear her practise on the organ;
+and there, often, Salome would join them, and sing at the earnest
+request of the others her favourite hymn.
+
+
+
+It was Gerald who, when the family at Greystone was at breakfast on the
+morning after Mrs. Lute's arrival, began to talk of Josiah Petherick.
+Mrs. Lute had not heard the exciting story of the fire, and the little
+boy told it with considerable gusto, afterwards explaining what the new
+cottage was like.
+
+"You have missed the chief point of the story, Gerald," his father
+said, when at length the tale was brought to a conclusion.
+
+"Have I, father?"
+
+"Yes. You have not told how being burnt out of house and home affected
+Josiah." He turned to Mrs. Lute as he added: "The man has not touched a
+drop of any kind of intoxicating liquor since."
+
+"Well done!" she exclaimed heartily. "That is news worth hearing. I
+have so often wondered this past winter how those Pethericks were
+getting on. The sad, pale face of that lame girl haunted my memory for
+many a day. And, do you know, when I got home, I thought so much of the
+many discussions we had had upon the drink question, with the result
+that I came to the conclusion that I had been wrong all along. And that
+because I only took stimulants sparingly myself, I had no right to put
+temptation in the way of others; and so, I've banished intoxicating
+liquors from my house altogether. What do you say to that?"
+
+There was a murmur of surprise mingled with commendation, and everyone
+agreed that Mrs. Lute had done well. Certain it was that she had acted
+from the best possible motive—consideration for her fellow-creatures.
+She was one of the kindest of women; and the thought that she might do
+harm to a weaker brother or sister by allowing stimulants to be used
+in her household had never crossed her mind, until she had visited at
+Greystone, and the master of the house had unfolded his new principles
+to her. Thinking the matter over quietly afterwards, she had seen that
+he was right.
+
+And now it is time for us to say good-bye to this little village by the
+Cornish sea. But we will linger a moment to take a farewell glimpse
+of those whose lives we have followed for one short year as they are
+gathered together one Sunday evening in the old grey church. The
+Vicar has finished his sermon, and has given out the hymn with which
+the service will be brought to a close, and in another minute the
+congregation is singing "Abide with me."
+
+Margaret, from her position by her mother's side, can easily
+distinguish Salome's clear, bird-like notes, and Josiah Petherick's
+deep, bass voice; and as she joins in the well-known hymn, her soul
+rises to the throne of God in a fervent prayer of thanksgiving and joy.
+The church is growing dim and shadowy in the evening light; but the
+black shadow that threatened to ruin the happiness of two homes has
+fled; and there is no cloud on Margaret Fowler's fair face, whilst the
+lame girl's voice has a ring of triumph in its tone as she sings the
+concluding words of the beautiful hymn—
+
+   "Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
+    In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me."
+
+
+
+
+PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY THE WHITEFRIARS PRESS, LTD.;
+LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.
+
+
+
+
+
+
 *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SALOME'S BURDEN ***
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-      Salome's Burden, or, The Shadow on the Homes, by Eleanora H. Stooke—A Project Gutenberg eBook

-    </title>

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-<body>

-<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SALOME'S BURDEN ***</div>

-

-<p>Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<figure class="figcenter" id="image001" style="max-width: 33.8125em;">

-  <img class="w100" src="images/image001.jpg" alt="image001">

-</figure>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<figure class="figcenter" id="image002" style="max-width: 25.8125em;">

-  <img class="w100" src="images/image002.jpg" alt="image002">

-</figure>

-<p class="t4">

-<b>SALOME'S FRESH, SWEET VOICE RANG CLEARLY</b><br>

-<b>THROUGH THE DIM CHURCH.</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-

-<h1><em>SALOME'S BURDEN</em></h1>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em><b>OR</b></em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="t1">

-<em><b>THE SHADOW ON THE HOMES</b></em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p class="t3">

-BY<br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="t1">

-<em>ELEANORA H. STOOKE</em><br>

-<br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="t4">

-<em>AUTHOR OF</em><br>

-<em>"MOUSIE; OR, COUSIN ROBERT'S TREASURE,"</em><br>

-<em>"A LITTLE TOWN MOUSE," "SIR RICHARD'S GRANDSON,"</em><br>

-<em>"LITTLE MAID MARIGOLD." ETC.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br><br></p>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<p class="t4">

-LONDON<br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="t3">

-S. W. PARTRIDGE &amp; CO., LTD.<br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="t4">

-E.C. 4.<br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<p class="t4">

-Made in Great Britain<br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<p class="t3b">

-CONTENTS.<br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>CHAPTER</p>

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_1">I. SALOME'S TROUBLE</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_2">II. NEW ACQUAINTANCES</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_3">III. THE FOWLERS AT HOME</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_4">IV. "ABIDE WITH ME"</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_5">V. SALOME'S HUMILIATION</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_6">VI. PERFECTLY HAPPY</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_7">VII. AN AFTERNOON'S OUTING</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_8">VIII. AN AWFUL THING</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_9">IX. THE BLOW FALLS</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_10">X. MR. FOWLER'S RETURN</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_11">XI. JOSIAH AT HIS WORST</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_12">XII. A BRIEF REPENTANCE</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_13">XIII. MRS. FOWLER AND SALOME</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_14">XIV. A STORMY NIGHT</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_15">XV. TROUBLE AT GREYSTONE</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_16">XVI. DAYS OF SICKNESS</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_17">XVII. THE SHADOW LIFTED</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_18">XVIII. HAPPIER DAYS</a></p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<p class="t2">

-<em>Salome's Burden.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_1">CHAPTER I.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>Salome's Trouble.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>IT was summer time. The day had been oppressively hot; but now, as the

-sun disappeared like a ball of fire beyond the broad Atlantic, a cool

-breeze sprang up, and the inhabitants of the fishing village of Yelton

-came to their cottage doors and gossiped with each other, as they

-enjoyed the fresh evening air.</p>

-

-<p>Yelton was a small, straggling village on the north coast of Cornwall.

-It owned but two houses of importance—the Vicarage, a roomy old

-dwelling, which stood in its own grounds close to the church; and

-"Greystone," a substantial modern residence on a slight eminence

-beyond the village, overlooking the sea. The fishermen's cottages were

-thatched, and picturesque in appearance, having little gardens in front

-where hardy flowers flourished; these gardens were a-bloom with roses

-and carnations on this peaceful June evening, and the showiest of them

-all was one which, though nearer the sea than the others, yet presented

-the neatest appearance of the lot. This was Salome Petherick's garden,

-and Salome was a cripple girl of fourteen, who lived with her father,

-Josiah Petherick, in the cottage at the end of the village, close to

-the sea.</p>

-

-<p>Salome had been lame from birth, and could not walk at all without her

-crutches; with their help, however, she could move about nimbly enough.

-Many a happy hour did she spend in her garden whilst Josiah was out in

-his fishing boat. She was contented then, as she always was when her

-father was on the broad sea, for she felt he was in God's keeping, and

-away from the drink, which, alas! was becoming the curse of his life.

-Josiah Petherick was a brave man physically, but he was a moral coward.

-He would risk his life at any hour—indeed, he had often done so—for

-the sake of a fellow-creature in peril. He was fearless on the sea,

-though it had robbed him of relations and friends in the past, and if

-help was wanted for any dangerous enterprise, he was always the first

-to be called upon; but, nevertheless, there was no greater coward in

-Yelton, than Josiah Petherick on occasions. He had lost his wife, to

-whom he had been much attached, five years previously; and, left alone

-with his only child, poor little lame Salome, who had been anything but

-a congenial companion for him, he had sought amusement for his leisure

-hours at the "Crab and Cockle," as the village inn was called, and

-there had acquired the habit of drinking to excess.</p>

-

-<p>As Salome stood leaning on her crutches at the garden gate on this

-beautiful summer evening, her face wore a very serious expression,

-for she knew her father was at the "Crab and Cockle," and longed for,

-yet dreaded, his return. She was a small, slight girl, brown-haired

-and brown-eyed, with a clear, brunette complexion, which was somewhat

-sun-burnt, for she spent most of her spare time in the open air. Having

-passed the requisite standard, she had left school, and now did all

-the work of her father's cottage unaided, besides attending to her

-flowers; and Josiah Petherick was wont to declare that no man in Yelton

-had a more capable housekeeper. The neighbours marvelled that it was

-so, for they had not thought the lame girl, who had been decidedly

-cross-grained and selfish during her mother's lifetime, would grow up

-so helpful; but Mrs. Petherick's death had wrought a great change in

-Salome, who had promised faithfully "to look after poor father" in the

-years to come. Salome had endeavoured to be as good as her word; but

-her influence over her father had not proved strong enough to keep him

-in the straight path; and many an evening saw him ramble home from the

-"Crab and Cockle" in a condition of helpless intoxication.</p>

-

-<p>"Enjoying the cool breeze, Salome?"</p>

-

-<p>Salome, whose wistful, brown eyes had been turned in the direction

-of a row of cottages at some distance, outside one of which hung a

-sign-board representing on its varnished surface a gigantic crab and

-a minute cockle, started at the sound of a voice addressing her, but

-smiled brightly as she saw Mr. Amyatt, the vicar of the parish. He was

-an elderly man, with iron-grey hair, stooping shoulders, and a thin,

-clean-shaven face.</p>

-

-<p>Ten years previously, he had accepted the living of Yelton, when,

-broken down in health, he had been forced to resign his arduous

-duties in the large manufacturing town where he had laboured long and

-faithfully. And the fisher-folk had grown to love and respect him,

-though he never overlooked their failings or hesitated to reprove their

-faults.</p>

-

-<p>"I am waiting for father," Salome answered frankly. "His supper is

-ready for him, and I am afraid it will spoil if he does not come soon.

-It is a beautiful evening, is it not, sir?"</p>

-

-<p>"Very beautiful. I have been on the beach for the last two hours. How

-well your carnations are doing, Salome. Ah, they always flourish best

-by the sea."</p>

-

-<p>"Please let me give you some," the little girl said eagerly. "Oh, I

-don't mind picking them in the least. I should like you to have them."

-And moving about with agility on her crutches, she gathered some of the

-choicest blooms and presented them to Mr. Amyatt.</p>

-

-<p>"Thank you, Salome. They are lovely. I have none to be compared to them

-in the Vicarage gardens. You are a born gardener. But what is amiss,

-child?"</p>

-

-<p>"Nothing, sir; at least, nothing more than usual. I am anxious about

-father." She paused for a moment, a painful blush spreading over her

-face, then continued, "He spends more time than ever at the 'Crab and

-Cockle;' he's rarely home of an evening now, and when he returns, he's

-sometimes so—so violent! He used not to be that."</p>

-

-<p>The Vicar looked grave and sorry, He pondered the situation in silence

-for a few minutes ere he responded, "You must have patience, Salome;

-and do not reproach him, my dear. Reproaches never do any good, and

-it's worse than useless remonstrating with a man who is not sober."</p>

-

-<p>"But what can I do, sir?" she cried distressfully. "Oh, you cannot

-imagine what a trouble it is to me!"</p>

-

-<p>"I think I can; but you must not lose heart. Prayer and patience work

-wonders. Ask God to show your father his sin in its true light—"</p>

-

-<p>"I have asked Him so often," Salome interposed, "and father gets worse

-instead of better. It's not as though he had an unhappy home. Oh, Mr.

-Amyatt, it's so dreadful for me! I never have a moment's peace of mind

-unless I know father is out fishing. He isn't a bad father, he doesn't

-mean to be unkind; but when he's been drinking, he doesn't mind what he

-says or does."</p>

-

-<p>"Poor child," said the Vicar softly, glancing at her with great

-compassion.</p>

-

-<p>"Do you think, if you spoke to him—" Salome began in a hesitating

-manner.</p>

-

-<p>"I have already done so several times; but though he listened to

-me respectfully, I saw my words made no impression on him. I will,

-however, try to find a favourable opportunity for remonstrating with

-him again. Cheer up, my dear child. You have a very heavy cross to

-bear, but you have not to carry it alone, you know. God will help you,

-if you will let Him."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," Salome agreed, her face brightening. "I try to remember that,

-but, though indeed I do love God, sometimes He seems so far away."</p>

-

-<p>"He is ever near, Salome. 'The eternal God is thy refuge, and

-underneath are the everlasting arms.' The everlasting arms are of

-unfailing strength and tenderness. See! Is not that your father coming?"</p>

-

-<p>Salome assented, and watched the approaching figure with anxious

-scrutiny.</p>

-

-<p>Josiah Petherick was a tall, strong man, in the prime of life, a

-picture of robust health and strength; he was brown-haired and

-brown-eyed, like his daughter, and his complexion was tanned to a fine

-brick-red hue. He liked the Vicar, though he considered him rather

-too quick in interfering in other people's affairs, so he smiled

-good-humouredly when he found him with Salome at the garden gate.</p>

-

-<p>"Good evening, Petherick," said Mr. Amyatt briskly, his keen eyes

-noticing that, though Josiah had doubtless been drinking, he was very

-far from being intoxicated at present; "you perceive I've been robbing

-your garden," and he held up the carnation blooms.</p>

-

-<p>"'Tis my little maid's garden, sir," was the response, "an' I know well

-you're welcome to take what flowers you please. What a hot day it's

-been, to be sure!"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes; but pleasanter out of doors than in the bar of the 'Crab and

-Cockle,' I expect," Mr. Amyatt answered meaningly.</p>

-

-<p>"'Tis thirsty weather," Josiah said with a smile; "don't you find it

-so, sir?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, indeed I do! But I don't take beer to quench my thirst. Beer's

-heating, and makes you hotter and thirstier, too. If you were a

-teetotaler like me, you wouldn't feel the heat quite so much."</p>

-

-<p>"That's as it may be, sir. I can't argue the point; but I hold that a

-glass of good, sound beer don't hurt anyone."</p>

-

-<p>Salome had retired into the cottage, remarking which fact, the Vicar

-seized the opportunity and spoke plainly.</p>

-

-<p>"Look here, Petherick," he said, "if you'd lived my life, you'd be a

-teetotaler like me—at least, I hope you would. The big town in which

-I worked so long owed most of its vice and misery to drink. I was in

-daily contact there with men and women lower than brute beasts on

-account of the drink you uphold—men and women who would sell their own

-and their children's clothes, and allow their offspring to go hungry

-and almost naked, that they might obtain the vile poison for which they

-were bartering their immortal souls. I made up my mind there, that

-drink was our nation's greatest curse; and here, in this quiet village,

-I see no reason to make me change my opinion, and allow that a glass of

-'good, sound beer,' as you call your favourite beverage, doesn't hurt

-anyone. Your one glass leads to more, and the result? You become unlike

-yourself, rough and threatening in your manner, unkind to your little

-daughter whom I am certain you dearly love, and whose chief aim in life

-is to make your home a happy one. I wish you would make up your mind,

-Petherick, never to enter the doors of the 'Crab and Cockle' again."</p>

-

-<p>"Why, sir, to hear you talk one would think I was drunk," Josiah cried,

-aggrievedly.</p>

-

-<p>"You are not that at this minute, I admit, but you have been drinking;

-and if you don't pull up in time, and turn over a new leaf, you'll

-go from bad to worse. Now, I've had my say, and have finished. Your

-supper's waiting, I know, so I'll bid you good evening."</p>

-

-<p>"Good evening, sir," Josiah responded rather shamefacedly, for in his

-heart, he acknowledged every word Mr. Amyatt had spoken to be truth.</p>

-

-<p>He watched the Vicar out of sight, then entered the cottage and sat

-down at the kitchen table to his supper of fried eggs and bacon.</p>

-

-<p>"I hope the eggs are not spoilt," Salome remarked. "But they've been

-cooked nearly half-an-hour, and I'm afraid they're rather hard, for I

-had to keep them warm in the oven."</p>

-

-<p>"Never mind, my dear," he returned. "If they're hard it's my fault, I

-ought to have been here before. By the way, I've brought you a piece of

-news."</p>

-

-<p>"Have you, father?" she said with a smile.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes. Greystone is taken by a rich gentleman from London, and he

-and his family are expected to arrive to-night. The house has been

-furnished in grand style, so I'm told."</p>

-

-<p>"Did you hear the gentleman's name?" Salome asked, looking interested,

-for Greystone had been untenanted for some time. The house had

-been built by a speculative builder, but it had not proved a good

-speculation, as, beautifully situated though it was, it was very

-lonely. "I wonder if Mr. Amyatt knew," she added reflectively, as her

-father shook his head.</p>

-

-<p>"Mr. Amyatt is a very nice man in his way," Josiah remarked, "an'

-I shall never forget how kind he was when your poor mother died,

-but he don't know how to mind his own business. If he likes to be a

-teetotaler, let him be one. If I enjoy my drops o' beer 'long with my

-friends at the 'Crab an' Cockle,' that's naught to do with him." And

-having finished his supper, he pushed away his plate, rose from the

-table, and strode out into the garden.</p>

-

-<p>Salome stayed to wash up the supper things, then went into the garden

-too, but by that time her father was nowhere to be seen. Hurrying to

-the gate, she caught sight of his stalwart figure disappearing in the

-distance, and knew that he was making his way to the inn again. She

-stood leaning against the garden gate, sore at heart, until a chill

-mist from the sea crept upwards and surrounded her; then she retreated

-into the cottage and waited patiently, listening to the ticking of the

-tall, eight-day clock in the kitchen. She knew her father would not

-return till the doors of the inn were shut for the night.</p>

-

-<p>At last she heard the click of the garden gate, and a minute later

-Josiah Petherick stumbled up the path, and, leaving the cottage door

-unlocked, crawled upstairs to his bedroom, muttering to himself as he

-went. Salome waited till everything was still, then she rose, locked

-the door, and swung herself, step by step, by the aid of her crutches,

-up the stairs.</p>

-

-<p>Before going to her own room, she peeped cautiously into her father's,

-which was flooded with moonlight, the blind being up; and a sob broke

-from her lips at the sight which met her eyes. The man had thrown

-himself, fully dressed as he was, upon the bed, and had already sunk

-into a heavy, drunken slumber. Salome stood looking at him, the tears

-running down her cheeks, mingled love and indignation in her aching

-heart. Then the love overcame all else, and she sank on her knees by

-her father's side, and prayed earnestly for him who was unfit to pray

-for himself, whilst the words the Vicar had spoken to her that evening—</p>

-

-<p class="poem">

-<br>

-"'The eternal God is thy refuge,<br>

-&nbsp;&nbsp;and underneath are the everlasting arms.'"<br>

-<br>

-</p>

-

-<p>—recurred to her memory, and fell like balm upon her sorrowful spirit.

-And she felt that she did not bear her trouble alone.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_2">CHAPTER II.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>New Acquaintances.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>WHEN Josiah Petherick came downstairs to breakfast on the following

-morning, his face wore a furtive, sullen expression, as though he

-expected to be taken to task for his behaviour of the night before.

-On previous occasions, Salome had, by tears and sorrowing words,

-reproached him for his unmanly conduct; but this morning she was

-perfectly composed, and the meal was eaten almost in silence.

-Afterwards, Josiah informed his little daughter that he should probably

-be away all day mackerel fishing, and went off in the direction of the

-beach. There was a fresh breeze blowing, and he looked forward to a

-successful day's work.</p>

-

-<p>Salome moved about the cottage with a very heavy heart. On account of

-her affliction, it took her longer than it would have most people to

-get over her household duties, so that it was past noon before she

-had everything ship-shape, and was at leisure. Then she put on a pink

-sun-bonnet, and went into the garden to look at her flowers, pulling

-weeds here and there, until the sounds of shrill cries made her hurry

-to the garden gate to ascertain what was going on outside.</p>

-

-<p>Salome stood gazing in astonishment at the scene which met her eyes.

-A boy of about six years old was lying on the ground, kicking and

-shrieking with passion, whilst a young woman was bending over him,

-trying to induce him to get up. At a short distance, a pretty little

-girl, apparently about Salome's own age, was looking on, and laughing,

-as though greatly amused.</p>

-

-<p>"Gerald, get up! Do get up, there's a good boy!" implored the young

-woman. "Dear, dear, what a temper you're in. You 're simply ruining

-that nice new sailor's suit of yours, lying there in the dust. Oh,

-Margaret—" and she turned to the little girl—"do try to induce your

-brother to be reasonable."</p>

-

-<p>"I couldn't do that, Miss Conway," was the laughing response, "for

-Gerald never was reasonable yet. Look at him now, his face crimson with

-passion. He's like a mad thing, and deserves to be whipped. He—"</p>

-

-<p>She stopped suddenly, noticing Salome at the garden gate. The boy,

-catching sight of the lame girl at that moment too, abruptly ceased his

-cries, and, as though ashamed of himself, rose to his feet, and stood

-staring at her. He was a fine, handsome little fellow, with dark-blue

-eyes and fair curly hair; but, as Salome afterwards learnt, he was a

-spoilt child, and as disagreeable as spoilt children always are. His

-sister, who was like him in appearance, was a bright-looking little

-girl; and her laughing face softened into sympathy as her eyes rested

-on Salome's crutches.</p>

-

-<p>"I am afraid my brother's naughty temper has shocked you," she said.

-"He likes to have his own way, and wanted to spend a longer time on the

-beach instead of going home. We have been on the beach all the morning

-with Miss Conway—this lady, who is our governess. What a pretty garden

-you have. We noticed it as we passed just now—didn't we, Miss Conway?"</p>

-

-<p>Miss Conway assented, smiling very kindly at Salome.</p>

-

-<p>"I had no idea flowers would flourish so close to the sea," she

-remarked. "It is to be hoped the Greystone gardens will prove equally

-productive."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, are you—do you live at Greystone?" Salome questioned, much

-interested in the strangers.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," nodded the little girl, "we arrived last night. My father, Mr.

-Fowler, has taken the house on a three years' lease. My mother is very

-delicate; she has been very ill, and the doctors say the north coast of

-Cornwall will suit her."</p>

-

-<p>"Let me see your garden," said the little boy imperatively, coming

-close to the gate, and peering between the bars.</p>

-

-<p>"You should say 'please,' Gerald," his governess reminded him

-reprovingly.</p>

-

-<p>Salome invited them all to enter, and when they had admired the

-flowers, Miss Conway asked if she might rest a few minutes on the

-seat under the porch. She was a delicate-looking young woman, and

-the tussle she had had with her unruly pupil had upset her. Gerald,

-however, was quite contented now, watching a bee labouring from flower

-to flower with its load of honey. His sister, Margaret, sat down by the

-governess' side, whilst Salome, leaning on her crutches, watched them

-shyly. There was a little flush of excitement on her cheeks, for it was

-an unusual experience for her to converse with strangers.</p>

-

-<p>"Who lives here with you, my dear?" Miss Conway inquired.</p>

-

-<p>"Only my father, miss. Mother died five years ago. Father's a

-fisherman; his name's Josiah Petherick, and I'm called Salome."</p>

-

-<p>"What a quaint, pretty name," Margaret exclaimed. "And you have you no

-sisters or brothers?"</p>

-

-<p>Salome shook her head.</p>

-

-<p>"Have you—have you always been lame?" Miss Conway questioned.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, miss, always. I can't get about without my crutches."</p>

-

-<p>"How dreadful!" Margaret cried with ready sympathy. "Oh, I am, sorry

-for you."</p>

-

-<p>Salome looked gratefully at the speaker, and smiled as she made answer,

-"You see, miss, I'm accustomed to being a cripple. Often and often I've

-wished my legs were straight and strong like other people's, but as

-they are not, I must just make the best of them. Mr. Amyatt says—"</p>

-

-<p>"Who is Mr. Amyatt?" Miss Conway interposed.</p>

-

-<p>"Our Vicar, miss. He lives in that big house near the church. He's such

-a good, kind gentleman, you'll be sure to like him."</p>

-

-<p>"Well, what does he say?" Miss Conway inquired with a smile.</p>

-

-<p>"That God made me lame for some good purpose. I think myself He did it

-because I should stay at home, and keep house for father," Salome said

-simply. "Perhaps if I was able to get about like other people, I might

-neglect father, and be tempted—"</p>

-

-<p>She had been about to say "be tempted to leave him," but had stopped

-suddenly, remembering that the strangers knew nothing of her father;

-and she earnestly hoped they would never understand how miserable he

-made her at times.</p>

-

-<p>"As it is," she proceeded, "I do all the housework—I can take as long

-as I please about it, you know—and I attend to my flowers besides."</p>

-

-<p>"And have you always lived here?" Margaret asked.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, miss, I was born in this cottage."</p>

-

-<p>"Doesn't the sea make you mournful in the winter?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, no! It's grand then, sometimes. The waves look like great

-mountains of foam. This is a very wild coast."</p>

-

-<p>"So I have heard," Miss Conway replied. "I should like to see a storm,

-if no ship was in danger. I suppose you never saw a wreck?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," said Salome with a shudder; "only last autumn a coasting vessel

-ran ashore on the rocks, and the crew was lost. You will notice in the

-churchyard many graves of people who have been drowned."</p>

-

-<p>"We have always lived in London until now," Margaret explained, "so

-we shall find life in the country a great change. I don't know that I

-shall dislike it during the summer, and Gerald is simply delighted with

-the beach; I expect he'll insist on going there every day, so you'll

-often see us passing here. Gerald generally gets his own way, doesn't

-he, Miss Conway?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," the governess admitted gravely, looking rather serious.</p>

-

-<p>"My mother spoils him," Margaret continued. "Oh, you needn't look at me

-like that, Miss Conway, for you know it's true."</p>

-

-<p>At that moment Gerald ran up to them. He was in high good-humour, for

-he was charmed with Salome's garden; but his face clouded immediately

-when Miss Conway remarked it was time for them to go home.</p>

-

-<p>"No, no," he pouted, "don't go yet, Miss Conway. Stay a little longer."</p>

-

-<p>"But if we do, we shall be late for luncheon, and then your father will

-be displeased."</p>

-

-<p>"You shall have this rose to take home with you," Salome said, in order

-to propitiate the child, and prevent a disturbance. She gathered, as

-she spoke, a beautiful pink moss-rose, and offered it to him. "Wouldn't

-you like to give it to your mother?" she suggested, as he accepted her

-gift with evident pleasure.</p>

-

-<p>"No," Gerald rejoined, "I shan't give it to mother, I shall keep it for

-myself."</p>

-

-<p>His sister laughed at this selfish speech; but the governess' face

-saddened as she took her younger pupil by the hand, and after a kind

-good-bye to Salome, led him away.</p>

-

-<p>"May I come and see you again?" Margaret asked as she lingered at the

-gate.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, please do, miss," was the eager reply. "I should be so glad if you

-would. I really am very lonely sometimes."</p>

-

-<p>"So am I," the other little girl confessed with a sigh; and for the

-first time Salome noticed a look of discontent on her pretty face. The

-expression was gone in a minute, however, and with a smiling farewell

-Margaret Fowler hastened after her governess and Gerald.</p>

-

-<p>These new acquaintances gave Salome plenty of food for thought; and

-when her father returned in the afternoon she greeted him cheerfully,

-and told him that the family had arrived at Greystone. He was in good

-spirits, having caught a nice lot of mackerel; and acting on his

-daughter's suggestion, he selected some of the finest, and started for

-Greystone to see if he could not sell them there. Meanwhile, Salome

-laid the tea cloth, and got the kettle boiling. In the course of

-half-an-hour her father returned, having sold his fish.</p>

-

-<p>"I saw the cook," he informed Salome, "and she said any time I have

-choice fish to sell, she can do business with me. It seems she manages

-everything in the kitchen; she told me the mistress doesn't know what

-there's to be for dinner till it's brought to table."</p>

-

-<p>"How strange!" Salome cried. "But I forgot, Mrs. Fowler has been ill,

-so perhaps she is too great an invalid to attend to anything herself."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't know about that, I'm sure. It's likely to be better for us,

-Salome, now Greystone is occupied. Why, you're quite a business woman,

-my dear! I should never have thought of taking those mackerel up there,

-but for you. I should have let Sam Putt have the lot, as usual."</p>

-

-<p>Sam Putt was the owner of a pony and cart. He lived in the village,

-and often purchased fish, which he conveyed to a neighbouring town for

-sale, hawking it from door to door.</p>

-

-<p>Josiah continued to converse amicably during tea-time; and afterwards

-he went into the garden, and turned up a patch of ground in readiness

-for the reception of winter greens. To Salome's intense relief, he did

-not go to the "Crab and Cockle" that evening; but, instead, as soon as

-he had finished his gardening, suggested taking her for a sail.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, father, how delightful!" she cried, her face flushing with

-pleasure. "Oh, I haven't been on the water for weeks! It will be such a

-treat!"</p>

-

-<p>So father and daughter spent the long summer evening on the sea, much

-to the contentment of both; and the sun had set before they returned to

-Yelton.</p>

-

-<p>Salome chatted merrily as, their boat safely moored, she followed her

-father up the shingly beach; but on reaching their garden gate, Josiah

-paused, glancing towards the swinging sign-board outside the "Crab and

-Cockle," still visible in the gathering dusk.</p>

-

-<p>In a moment, Salome read his thoughts, and cried involuntarily, "Oh,

-father, not to-night! Not to-night!"</p>

-

-<p>"What do you mean, child?" he asked with a decided show of displeasure

-in face and tone.</p>

-

-<p>"I mean, I want you to stay at home with me to-night, father! Do, dear

-father, to please me! I—I can't bear to see you as—as you are sometimes

-when you come back from the 'Crab and Cockle'! Oh, father, if you would

-only give up the drink how happy we should be!"</p>

-

-<p>"How foolishly you talk!" he cried irritably. "It is not seemly for a

-child to dictate to her father!"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, father, I mean no harm! You know I love you dearly! It's supper

-time. Aren't you hungry? I'm sure I am."</p>

-

-<p>Josiah admitted he was, too, and followed his daughter into the

-cottage. He did not leave it again that night, for his good angel

-proved too strong for him; and when he kissed his little daughter at

-bedtime, his manner was unusually gentle, whilst the words he uttered

-sent her to rest with a very happy heart: "God bless you, child! I

-don't know what I should be but for you, Salome. You grow more like

-your dear mother every day you live."</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_3">CHAPTER III.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>The Fowlers at Home.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>"PULL down the blind, Margaret. The sun is streaming right into my

-eyes."</p>

-

-<p>The speaker, Mrs. Fowler, was lying on a sofa in the handsomely

-furnished drawing-room at Greystone. She was a young-looking,

-very pretty woman, with fair hair and blue eyes; and she was most

-fashionably dressed. One would have thought her possessed of everything

-that heart could desire, but the lines of her face were discontented

-ones, and the tone of her voice was decidedly fretful. The only

-occupant of the room besides herself was her little daughter, who put

-down the book she had been reading, and going to the window, obediently

-lowered the blind.</p>

-

-<p>"There," she said, "that's better, isn't it? I won't pull the blind

-down altogether, mother, for that would keep out the fresh air, and you

-know the doctors said the sea breeze would be your best tonic. I do

-think this is a lovely place, don't you?"</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler agreed indifferently; and her little daughter continued,

-"Such a beautiful view we have right over the sea. And doesn't the

-village look pretty, and the old grey church? There are such a quantity

-of jackdaws in the tower. Mother, do you know, from my bedroom window,

-I can see the cottage where that poor lame girl lives? When you are

-strong enough, I'll take you to visit Salome."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't want to see her, Margaret. I don't like looking at deformed

-people, and I cannot think why you should feel so much interest in this

-Salome."</p>

-

-<p>"I have seen her several times now, and I like her so much. The Vicar

-has told me a lot about her, too. She lost her mother five years ago,

-poor girl!"</p>

-

-<p>Margaret paused, and glanced a trifle wistfully at the daintily-clad

-figure on the sofa, wondering if she was lame like Salome, whether

-her mother would cease to care for her altogether. Mrs. Fowler never

-evinced much affection for her daughter, whatever her feelings may have

-been, though she was pleased that she was growing up a pretty little

-girl, and took an interest in dressing her becomingly. But Gerald was

-her favourite of the two children, and upon him she lavished most of

-her love. She was fond of her husband, though she stood in awe of him.

-He was kind and attentive to her, but often grew impatient at the

-persistent way in which she indulged their little son.</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler had led a gay life in London for many years; but latterly,

-she had been in very indifferent health, and after an attack of severe

-illness, which had left her nerves in a shattered condition, Mr. Fowler

-had insisted on shutting up their house in town, and settling in the

-country. He had accordingly taken Greystone, and dismissing their old

-servants had engaged new ones, who received their orders from himself

-instead of from their mistress.</p>

-

-<p>During the first few weeks of her residence at Greystone, Mrs. Fowler

-had indeed been too ill to superintend the household; and though

-she was now better, she was far from strong, and was glad not to be

-troubled about anything. Margaret was very sorry for her mother, whose

-sufferings were apparent to everyone, for she started at the slightest

-unexpected sound, and the least worry brought on the most distressing

-headache.</p>

-

-<p>"Would you like me to read to you, mother?" the little girl inquired.</p>

-

-<p>"No, thank you, Margaret. What is the time?"</p>

-

-<p>"Half-past three."</p>

-

-<p>"Where is Gerald?"</p>

-

-<p>"Miss Conway has taken him down to the beach; she promised him this

-morning he should go, if he was good and attentive during lesson time.

-He likes talking to the fishermen."</p>

-

-<p>"Dear child! I hope they will not teach him to use bad language, though

-I expect they are a rough set."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't think so, mother. Mr. Amyatt says they are mostly sober,

-God-fearing men; of course, there are exceptions—Salome Petherick's

-father, for instance, often gets intoxicated, and it is a terrible

-trouble to her."</p>

-

-<p>"Does she complain of him to you?" Mrs. Fowler queried.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, no, mother! It was Mr. Amyatt who told me. We were talking of

-Salome, and he said her father was very violent at times, quite cruel

-to her, in fact. Do you know, I think father's right, and that it's

-best to have nothing whatever to do with drink."</p>

-

-<p>Lately, since the Fowlers had left London, Mr. Fowler had laid down a

-rule that no intoxicating liquors of any description were to be brought

-into the house. He had become a teetotaler himself, for very good

-reasons, and had insisted on the members of his household following

-suit. No one had objected to this except Mrs. Fowler, and now she

-answered her little daughter in a tone of irritability.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't talk nonsense, child! I believe a glass of wine would do me good

-at this minute, and steady my nerves, only your father won't allow it!

-I haven't patience to speak of this new fad of his without getting

-cross. There, don't look at me so reproachfully. Of course what your

-father does is right in your eyes! Here, feel my pulse, child, and

-you'll know what a wreck I am!"</p>

-

-<p>Margaret complied, and laid her cool fingers on her mother's wrist. The

-pulse was weak and fluttering, and the little girl's heart filled with

-sympathy.</p>

-

-<p>"Poor mother," she said tenderly, kissing Mrs. Fowler's flushed cheek,

-and noticing her eyes were full of tears. "Shall I ring and order tea?

-It's rather early, but no doubt a nice cup of tea would do you good."</p>

-

-<p>"No, no! It's much too hot for tea!" And Mrs. Fowler made a gesture

-indicative of distaste, then broke into a flood of tears.</p>

-

-<p>Margaret soothed her mother as best she could; and presently, much to

-her satisfaction, the invalid grew composed and fell asleep. She was

-subject to these hysterical outbursts, and as Margaret bent anxiously

-over her, she noted how thin she had become, how hectic was the flush

-on her cheeks, and how dark-rimmed were her eyes.</p>

-

-<p>"She does indeed look very ill," the little girl thought sadly. "I

-wonder if she is right, and that some wine would do her good, and make

-her stronger; if so, it seems hard she should not have it. I'll go and

-speak to father at once."</p>

-

-<p>To think was to act with Margaret. She stole noiselessly out of the

-drawing-room, and went in search of her father. He was not in the

-house, but a servant informed her he was in the garden, and there she

-found him, reclining in a swing-chair, beneath the shade of a lilac

-tree. He threw aside the magazine he was reading as she approached, and

-greeted her with a welcoming smile.</p>

-

-<p>Mr. Fowler was a tall, dark man, several years older than his wife;

-his face was a strong one, and determined in expression, but his keen,

-deep-set eyes were wont to look kindly, and he certainly had the

-appearance of a person to be trusted.</p>

-

-<p>"Is anything wrong, my dear?" he inquired quickly, noticing that she

-looked depressed. "Where is your mother?"</p>

-

-<p>"Asleep in the drawing-room, father. She has had one of her crying fits

-again, and that exhausted her, I think. She seems very poorly, and

-low-spirited, doesn't she?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes; but she is better—decidedly better than she was a few weeks ago.

-I have every hope that, ere many months have passed, she will be quite

-well again. There is no cause for you to look so anxious, child."</p>

-

-<p>"But she is so weak and nervous!" Margaret cried distressfully. "I was

-wondering if she had some wine—"</p>

-

-<p>The little girl paused, startled by the look of anger which flashed

-across her father's face. He made a movement as though to rise from the

-chair, then changed his intention, and curtly bade her finish what she

-had been about to say.</p>

-

-<p>"It was only that I was wondering if she had some wine, whether it

-might not do her good," Margaret proceeded timidly. "She told me

-herself she thought it would, and if so—you know, father, you used to

-take wine yourself, and—"</p>

-

-<p>"Did your mother send you to me on this mission?" he interrupted

-sternly.</p>

-

-<p>"No. I came of my own accord."</p>

-

-<p>"I am glad to hear that. But I cannot give my consent to your mother's

-taking wine, or stimulants of any kind; they would be harmful for her,

-the doctors agree upon that point. You have reminded me that I once

-drank wine myself, Margaret. I bitterly regret ever having done so."</p>

-

-<p>"Why?" she asked wonderingly, impressed by the solemnity of his tone.

-Then her thoughts flew to Salome Petherick's father, and she cried,

-"But, father, you never drank too much!"</p>

-

-<p>"I was never tempted to drink to excess, for I had no craving for

-stimulants. It is small credit to me that I was always a sober man;

-but people are differently constituted, and my example may have

-caused others to contract habits of intemperance. The Vicar here is a

-teetotaler from principle. He tells me that the force of example is

-stronger than any amount of preaching. Lately, I have had cause to

-consider this matter very seriously, and I am determined that never,

-with my permission, shall any intoxicating liquors be brought inside

-my doors. The servants understand this: I should instantly dismiss

-one who set my rule at defiance. As to your mother—" he paused a

-moment in hesitation, the expression of his countenance troubled, then

-continued—"she is weak, and still very far from well, but, in her heart

-of hearts, she knows I am right. Do not tell her you have broached this

-subject to me. Come, let us go and see if she is still asleep."</p>

-

-<p>"You are not angry with me, father?" Margaret asked, as she followed

-him into the house.</p>

-

-<p>"No, no! I am not, indeed!"</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler awoke with a start as her husband and little daughter

-entered the drawing-room. Mr. Fowler immediately rang for tea, and when

-it was brought, Margaret poured it out. At first, Mrs. Fowler would not

-touch it, but finally, to please the others, drank a cupful, and felt

-refreshed. A few minutes later, Mr. Amyatt was shown into the room,

-and she brightened up and grew quite animated. Margaret and her father

-exchanged pleased glances, delighted at the interest the invalid was

-evincing in the conversation.</p>

-

-<p>"I think I shall soon be well enough to go to church on Sundays," Mrs.

-Fowler informed the Vicar. "My husband tells me you have a very good

-choir."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, that is so," Mr. Amyatt replied. "We are decidedly primitive in

-our ways at Yelton, and have several women in our choir, notably Salome

-Petherick, the lame girl with whom your daughter has already become

-acquainted."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes. Margaret has been telling me about her. She sings in the

-choir, does she?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes. She has a beautiful voice, as clear and fresh as a bird's! I

-train the choir myself, for our organist comes from N—, a neighbouring

-town, several miles distant."</p>

-

-<p>"By the way," said Mrs. Fowler with a smiling glance at Margaret, "my

-little girl is very desirous of learning to play the organ, and her

-governess would teach her, if you would allow her to practise on the

-organ in the church. Would there be any objection to that plan, Mr.

-Amyatt?"</p>

-

-<p>"None whatever," was the prompt reply.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, thank you!" Margaret cried delightedly.</p>

-

-<p>"You will have to employ Gerald to blow for you," Mr. Fowler remarked

-with a smile.</p>

-

-<p>"I am sure he will not do that!" the little girl exclaimed. "He is far

-too disobliging."</p>

-

-<p>"Margaret, how hard you are on your brother," Mrs. Fowler said

-reproachfully.</p>

-

-<p>"Am I? I don't mean to be. Oh, here he is!"</p>

-

-<p>Gerald came into the room with his hat on his head, but meeting his

-father's eyes, removed it instantly. After he had shaken hands with the

-Vicar, his mother called him to her, pushed back his fair locks from

-his forehead, and made him sit by her side on the sofa whilst she plied

-him with sweet cakes. He was her darling, and she indulged him to his

-bent. When the governess entered the room, having removed her hat and

-gloves, there were no sweet cakes left. Mr. Fowler rang the bell for

-more, and upon the parlour-maid bringing a fresh supply, declined to

-allow Gerald to partake of them, at which the spoilt boy pouted and

-sulked, and his mother threw reproachful glances at her husband.</p>

-

-<p>Mr. Amyatt watched the scene in silence, wondering how anyone could

-allow affection to overcome judgment, as Mrs. Fowler had evidently

-done, as far as her little son was concerned, and marvelling that Mr.

-Fowler did not order the disagreeable child out of the room. When the

-Vicar rose to go, his host accompanied him as far as the garden gate,

-and they stood there talking some while before, at last, the Vicar said

-good-bye, and started down the hill towards the village.</p>

-

-<p>The Fowlers had now been several weeks in residence at Greystone,

-but, up to the present, Mr. Amyatt had been their only visitor. Mrs.

-Fowler had not been outside the grounds surrounding the house yet,

-but talked of going down to the beach the first day she felt strong

-enough to attempt the walk. The children, however, had made several

-acquaintances among the fisher-folk, and a great liking had sprung

-up between Margaret and Salome Petherick, for, though one was a rich

-man's daughter and the other only a poor fisherman's child, they found

-they had much in common, and, wide apart though they were to outward

-appearances, they bade fair to become real friends.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_4">CHAPTER IV.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>"Abide with Me."</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>THE Fowlers had been six weeks at Greystone, when, one evening towards

-the end of July, Mrs. Fowler, who was daily improving in health,

-accompanied Margaret and Miss Conway to the church, and wandered about

-the ancient building, reading the inscriptions on the monuments, whilst

-her little daughter had her music lesson. By-and-by she strolled into

-the graveyard, and, seating herself on the low wall which surrounded

-it, gazed far out over the blue expanse of ocean, which was dotted with

-fishing boats and larger crafts, on this calm summer evening.</p>

-

-<p>The churchyard at Yelton was beautifully situated, commanding a view of

-the whole village straggling nearly down to the beach, whilst on the

-eminence beyond the church was Greystone, against a background of green

-foliage.</p>

-

-<p>"Everything is very lovely," Mrs. Fowler said to herself, "and the air

-is certainly most invigorating. I feel almost well to-night. Who comes

-here? Why, this must be Salome Petherick!"</p>

-

-<p>It was the lame girl who had entered the churchyard, and was now

-approaching the spot where Mrs. Fowler sat. She paused at the sight of

-the figure on the wall, and a look of admiration stole into her soft,

-brown eyes. She had never seen such a pretty lady before, or anyone so

-daintily and becomingly dressed.</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler, who had shrunk with the nervous unreasonableness of a sick

-person from being brought into contact with the cripple girl, now that

-she was actually face to face with her, was interested and sympathetic

-at once. She smiled at Salome and addressed her cordially.</p>

-

-<p>"I think you must be Salome Petherick?" she said. "Yes, I am sure you

-are!"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, ma'am," was the reply, accompanied by a shy glance of pleasure.</p>

-

-<p>"My little girl has spoken of you so often that I seem to know you

-quite well," Mrs. Fowler remarked. "Come and sit down on the wall by my

-side, I want to talk to you."</p>

-

-<p>Then as Salome complied willingly, she continued, "Does it not tire

-you to climb here every evening, as they tell me you do, to listen to

-the organ? The church is a good step from where you live. That is your

-home, is it not?" and she indicated the cottage nearest to the sea.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," Salome assented, "it does tire me a little to come up the hill,

-but I love to hear music. After Miss Margaret has had her organ lesson,

-Miss Conway generally plays something herself."</p>

-

-<p>"Does she? Then I hope she will do so to-night. But my little daughter

-is still at the organ, so we will remain where we are until she has

-finished. Meanwhile we will talk. They tell me you live with your

-father, and that he is often away fishing. You must lead a lonely life."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, ma'am, indeed it is very lonely sometimes," Salome acknowledged,

-"but I don't mind that much. I have plenty to do, keeping the cottage

-clean and tidy, and preparing father's meals, mending his clothes, and

-seeing to the flowers in the garden."</p>

-

-<p>"How busy you must be. And you have lost your mother, poor child."</p>

-

-<p>Salome pointed to a green mound at a little distance, whilst her brown

-eyes filled with tears.</p>

-

-<p>"She was such a good mother," she said softly, "oh, such a very good

-mother! And I was such a fretful, tiresome child. I used to grieve her

-so often, and I can't bear to think of it now."</p>

-

-<p>She paused, but, encouraged by the sympathy on her companion's face,

-she continued, "She used to be so patient with me when I was naughty

-and grumbled because I was not able to run about and play like other

-children. And, until she lay dying, I never thought how sorry I must

-have made her, and what a selfish girl I'd been. Then, I would have

-given anything if I'd been different, but it was too late." And the

-repentant tears streamed down Salome's cheeks.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't grieve," said Mrs. Fowler, a little huskily, for she was much

-touched at the other's evident remorse.</p>

-

-<p>"I am sure Miss Margaret never treated you, ma'am, as I used to treat

-my mother!" Salome exclaimed.</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler was silent as she acknowledged to herself that Margaret

-had always been patient and considerate when she had been an exacting

-invalid.</p>

-

-<p>"I suppose your father is out in his fishing boat?" she asked by way of

-changing the conversation.</p>

-

-<p>"No, ma'am," Salome replied, the look of grief deepening on her face.</p>

-

-<p>"Let us go into the church and hear Miss Conway play," Mrs. Fowler

-said, rising as she spoke. "I hear Margaret's lesson is at an end. Ah,

-here comes the Vicar. How do you do, Mr. Amyatt?"</p>

-

-<p>"I am glad to see you are better, Mrs. Fowler," the Vicar exclaimed.

-"What, you here, Salome? Don't go away; I want Mrs. Fowler to hear you

-sing."</p>

-

-<p>Salome smiled, and blushed. She followed the others into the church

-and seated herself in a pew near the door, whilst the Vicar pointed

-out beauties in the architecture of the building to his companion,

-which she had failed to notice. Miss Conway was at the organ, playing

-"The Heavens are telling," and when the last notes died away the Vicar

-beckoned to Salome, who swung herself up the aisle on her crutches,

-and, at his request, consented to sing.</p>

-

-<p>"I will play the accompaniment," Miss Conway said, smiling

-encouragingly at the lame girl, who felt a little shy at being called

-upon to sing alone. "What shall it be?" she inquired.</p>

-

-<p>"Whatever you please, miss," Salome answered.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, no! You must choose," the Vicar declared decidedly.</p>

-

-<p>"Then I will sing 'Abide with Me.'"</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler and Margaret considerately withdrew to a side seat so that

-the sight of them should not embarrass the singer, and Mr. Amyatt

-followed them. Salome stood a little behind Miss Conway, who softly

-played the accompaniment of the hymn:</p>

-

-<p class="poem">

-<br>

-"Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;<br>

-&nbsp;The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide;<br>

-&nbsp;When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,<br>

-&nbsp;Help of the helpless, O abide with me."<br>

-<br>

-</p>

-

-<p>Salome's fresh, sweet voice rang clearly through the dim church, and

-its tender tones touched the hearts of her audience. She was very fond

-of "Abide with Me," for it had been her mother's favourite hymn, and

-to-night she sang her best.</p>

-

-<p class="poem">

-<br>

-"Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;<br>

-&nbsp;In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me."<br>

-<br>

-</p>

-

-<p>The beautiful voice died lingeringly away, and for a few minutes there

-was a complete silence. Then Mrs. Fowler rose, and coming eagerly

-forward, took Salome by the hand, whilst she thanked her for giving her

-such a "rare treat" as she called it.</p>

-

-<p>Margaret was delighted to see what a favourable impression her lame

-friend had evidently made upon her mother, and great was her surprise

-when, on their all adjourning to the churchyard, Mrs. Fowler asked

-Salome to come and see them at Greystone.</p>

-

-<p>"I think you would be able to get as far as that, don't you?" she said

-with a winning smile. "I should like you to come and sing to me. Will

-you, one evening?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes," Salome replied. She had never been inside the doors of

-Greystone in her life, though she had often desired to see what the

-house was like, having been told it was a fine place.</p>

-

-<p>"Then that is settled. I shall expect you."</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler nodded and turned away, followed by Miss Conway, and

-Margaret who looked back to wave her hand in farewell as she

-disappeared through the churchyard gate. The Vicar accompanied them

-thus far, then turned back to speak a few words to Salome. The village

-lad who had been employed to blow the organ had taken a short cut

-homewards over the low wall.</p>

-

-<p>"You sang remarkably well to-night," Mr. Amyatt said, "I felt quite

-proud of my pupil. You showed excellent taste, too, in the hymn you

-chose. It was most suitable for the occasion. I wonder if you know the

-circumstances under which that hymn came to be written?"</p>

-

-<p>"No," Salome rejoined, shaking her head, "I don't know, sir."</p>

-

-<p>"Then I will tell you. It was composed more than fifty years ago

-by a sick clergyman of the name of Lyte, at a little fishing town

-called Brixham, in South Devon. He had become so seriously ill that

-the doctors had ordered him abroad for his health's sake, and, after

-service on the Sunday evening, prior to his leaving England, he went

-down to the sea-shore, sad at heart, for he was convinced that he

-had spoken to his parishioners, who were very dear to him, for the

-last time. He was sorrowful and low-spirited, but, by-and-by, the

-remembrance that his Saviour was ever near to help and sustain him

-brought him consolation. After watching the sunset, he went home, and

-immediately wrote the beautiful hymn you sang to-night."</p>

-

-<p>Salome had listened with deep interest, and she exclaimed earnestly:

-"Oh, Mr. Amyatt, I am glad you have told me this. I shall love 'Abide

-with Me' better than ever now."</p>

-

-<p>The Vicar smiled, then pointed towards the sea, over which a soft

-summer mist was creeping.</p>

-

-<p>"It is time for you to go home," he reminded her. "Where is your father

-this evening?"</p>

-

-<p>"At the 'Crab and Cockle,' sir."</p>

-

-<p>He shook his head sadly, but refrained from questioning her further.

-He saw she was thinner than she had been a few months previously, and

-wondered if she was sufficiently well fed, or if Josiah Petherick

-expended the money he should have spent on his home, on the friends he

-met at the inn. As he watched the little girl swinging herself slowly

-down the hill by the aid of her crutches, he felt very grieved and

-troubled on her account.</p>

-

-<p>"What a curse this drink is!" he thought. "And it's a curse that creeps

-in everywhere, too."</p>

-

-<p>In the village that afternoon, he had been told that Mr. Fowler had

-summarily dismissed a groom who had been discovered with a bottle of

-beer in the stable, and he had listened to various comments upon the

-strict notions of the master of Greystone. Most of the villagers were

-inclined to think that the man's fault in disobeying his master's rule

-that no intoxicating liquor should be brought on the premises might

-have been overlooked, as it was his first offence, whilst some few

-argued that Mr. Fowler had acted rightly.</p>

-

-<p>As Salome passed the "Crab and Cockle" on her way home, she heard

-sounds of hilarity within, and recognised her father's voice singing

-a rollicking sea song. She sighed, remembering how, during his wife's

-lifetime, Josiah had been a member of the church choir; it appeared

-unseemly to her that a voice which once had been raised to the praise

-and glory of God should lend itself to the entertainment of a set

-of half-drunken men in the bar of a public-house. As she paused,

-involuntarily listening, a whiff of foul air, laden with the mingled

-odour of smoke and beer, was wafted before her nostrils from the open

-doorway, and she moved on with a sickening sense of shame and disgust,

-her heart heavy as lead, her eyes smarting with tears. Oh, hers was a

-hard life, she thought bitterly.</p>

-

-<p>Arrived at home, she laid a frugal supper of bread and cheese, and soon

-afterwards her father reeled up the garden path and into the kitchen.

-Sitting down at the table, he helped himself to bread and cheese in

-silence, and commenced eating, whilst his little daughter took her

-accustomed place opposite to him.</p>

-

-<p>"Where've you been?" he questioned. "I saw you pass the inn."</p>

-

-<p>She told him how she had spent the evening, explaining that she had

-sung at the Vicar's request, and that Mrs. Fowler had invited her to

-Greystone.</p>

-

-<p>"I won't let you go there!" he cried. "I hate those new people! What

-did Mr. Fowler do yesterday, but dismiss as honest a chap as ever

-lived, at a moment's notice, just because he'd got a bottle o' beer in

-the stable! An' the man wasn't drunk either! No, you shan't go nigh

-folks as treats their servants like that."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, father!" Salome exclaimed, disappointedly. She was wise enough,

-however, not to pursue the subject. After a brief silence, she asked,

-with some timidity, "Father, have you any money? Because, when Silas

-Moyle left the bread this afternoon, he said he couldn't supply us with

-any more unless you paid him what you owe."</p>

-

-<p>Silas Moyle was the one baker of the place, and the owner of the

-village shop, in which his wife served. Josiah Petherick had formerly

-paid ready money for everything, but latterly he had been spending at

-the "Crab and Cockle" what should have gone into Silas Moyle's pocket.

-This was an additional trouble to Salome, but her father did not appear

-to care. He was enraged, though, when he heard what the baker had

-said, and, as his creditor was not present to bear the brunt of his

-indignation, Salome had to stand it instead. She turned white when he

-swore at her, and sat perfectly still whilst he abused her roundly, but

-when he called her extravagant she began to protest.</p>

-

-<p>"Father, that's not fair of you! I'm as careful as ever I can be. We're

-obliged to have bread! Won't you see Silas yourself? Perhaps he'll

-continue to supply us, if you can arrange to pay him part of what we

-owe. Of course, he wants his money."</p>

-

-<p>"He's another of your teetotal humbugs!" sneered the angry man.</p>

-

-<p>"He isn't a humbug at all!" Salome retorted hotly, her indignation and

-sense of justice overcoming her fear of her father; "but he did say he

-wasn't minded to wait for his money when it was being squandered with

-that drunken crew at the 'Crab and Cockle.' Oh, father, it was terrible

-for me to hear that, and I couldn't contradict him!"</p>

-

-<p>With a fierce oath, Josiah pushed back his chair and rose from the

-table, declaring things had come to a pretty pass when his own

-daughter, a mere child, thought fit to discuss him with outsiders.</p>

-

-<p>Salome broke into passionate weeping at this, whereupon he flung

-himself out of the kitchen, and the next minute she heard his footsteps

-in the garden.</p>

-

-<p>"He's gone to the 'Crab and Cockle' again," thought the unhappy little

-girl. "Oh, how could he swear at me like that? Oh, how shall I bear

-it!" Presently she arose, put away the supper things and then sat down

-by the open window to wait, as she knew she would have to do, until

-the inn door was closed for the night, and her father would return.

-By-and-by, the soft lap, lap of the sea had a soothing effect upon her

-troubled spirit, the peacefulness of the summer night stole into her

-soul, and she murmured to herself the words of consolation she had sung

-an hour or so before in the dim, old church:</p>

-

-<p class="poem">

-<br>

-"When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,<br>

-&nbsp;Help of the helpless, O abide with me."<br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_5">CHAPTER V.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>Salome's Humiliation.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>JOSIAH PETHERICK sat on the beach mending his fishing nets in the

-shade of a tall rock. It was intensely hot, and there was scarcely a

-ripple on the glassy sea, whilst the sky was a broad canopy of blue.

-Josiah was thinking deeply. That morning, consequent on the information

-his daughter had given him on the previous evening, he had been to

-interview Silas Moyle, and had induced the baker to allow him further

-credit. Never in his life before had Josiah found himself in such

-a humiliating position, and he felt it all the more because it was

-entirely his own fault. He had always prided himself on being able to

-pay his way, and now he was not in the position to do so.</p>

-

-<p>Glancing up from his work presently, the fisherman saw three figures

-come down to the beach—a lady, a gentleman, and a small boy clad

-in a sailor's suit and broad-brimmed straw hat. He knew them to be

-Mr. and Mrs. Fowler and their little son. He had often held lengthy

-conversations with Gerald, who was always delighted to talk with anyone

-who could tell him about the manifold wonders of the sea, but he had

-never spoken to either of the boy's parents. Despite his disapproval of

-the strict teetotal principles of the master of Greystone, he regarded

-that gentleman with considerable interest, and when Mr. Fowler strolled

-up to him, and inquired from whom a boat might be hired, he answered

-him civilly, "You can have a boat from me, if you like, sir; but

-there's no wind for sailing to-day."</p>

-

-<p>"Perhaps you would row us around those high rocks yonder. My wife has a

-fancy to see what lies beyond that point."</p>

-

-<p>Josiah assented willingly, seeing an opportunity of earning a few

-shillings; and so it came to pass that he spent a very pleasant and

-lucrative morning, returning home to dinner in the best of spirits.</p>

-

-<p>"The new folks at Greystone have a liking for boating," he informed

-Salome; "and see here," tossing a half-crown as he spoke upon the

-table, "give that to Silas Moyle when he calls with the bread this

-afternoon."</p>

-

-<p>The lame girl's face brightened as she took up the coin, and looked at

-her father questioningly.</p>

-

-<p>"I saw Mr. and Mrs. Fowler and Master Gerald pass here on their way to

-the beach," she said. "Did you take them out in your boat, father?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes. They treated me very fairly, I must admit that, an' Mrs.

-Fowler—she seems a nice lady—spoke of you."</p>

-

-<p>"Did she?"</p>

-

-<p>"She said you had a lovely voice, an' that she was looking forward to

-hear you sing again. I say, Salome, I shouldn't like to disappoint her,

-so if she really wants you to go and see her, you may—" and Josiah,

-mindful of all he had said on the preceding night, avoided meeting his

-little daughter's eyes as he made this concession.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, thank you, dear father," she cried. "I should like to go to

-Greystone so much."</p>

-

-<p>"That little Master Gerald is a tiresome monkey," Josiah remarked. "He

-wouldn't sit still in the boat at first, though his mother kept on with

-him. At last his father spoke, an' after that, there was no need to

-tell him to be quiet again. Mr. Fowler looks a man as would have his

-own way."</p>

-

-<p>"Master Gerald is very disobedient, I know," Salome said, "and

-sometimes his governess has great trouble with him. Miss Margaret says

-her mother spoils him."</p>

-

-<p>"Then, 'tis a good job he's got a father who doesn't."</p>

-

-<p>After dinner, Josiah went on with his interrupted work of mending his

-fishing nets, whilst Salome tidied up the cottage and waited for Silas

-Moyle.</p>

-

-<p>The baker looked gratified as he took the half-crown the lame girl

-tendered him, for he had not expected to be paid even a small part of

-his account.</p>

-

-<p>"That's right," he said, as he pocketed the money; "it appears I did

-some good by speaking yesterday. Look here, my dear, you must try to

-keep that father of yours up to the mark. Can't you make him stay at

-home of an evening?"</p>

-

-<p>The little girl shook her head, and looked distressed as she replied,

-"I'm afraid not, Mr. Moyle."</p>

-

-<p>"He's not at the 'Crab and Cockle' now, I s'pose?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, he's on the beach mending his nets; and this morning he took Mr.

-and Mrs. Fowler and their little boy for a row in his boat."</p>

-

-<p>"It's a pity Mr. Fowler can't get your father to his way of

-thinking—about drink, I mean. I say the new folks at Greystone set an

-example that many in Yelton might follow with advantage. Theirs is a

-teetotal household, I'm told."</p>

-

-<p>"So I've heard," Salome responded.</p>

-

-<p>Silas Moyle nodded kindly, and took himself off, whilst Salome locked

-up the cottage and joined her father on the beach. She told him the

-baker had been pleased to receive the half-crown, and then tactfully

-changed the subject. Josiah and his daughter were always excellent

-friends when the former had not been drinking.</p>

-

-<p>"Look!" Salome exclaimed suddenly, "There's Master Gerald. Why, he

-seems to be alone. He sees us."</p>

-

-<p>The child came running towards them, laughing as he stumbled over the

-rough shingles, his face aglow with excitement, his broad-brimmed

-sailor's hat at the back of his head, revealing the fair curls which

-clustered thickly around his brow.</p>

-

-<p>"I've run away," he cried merrily. "I wanted Miss Conway to bring me

-down to the beach, but she would not—the disagreeable thing! She said

-it was too hot, and I must stay in the garden. So I came by myself."</p>

-

-<p>"Doesn't Miss Conway know where you are?" Salome inquired.</p>

-

-<p>"No one knows," he replied proudly. "I can take care of myself."</p>

-

-<p>"I'm not so sure of that, young gentleman," Josiah remarked, with a

-chuckle of amusement at Gerald's air of importance.</p>

-

-<p>"It was naughty of you to run away," Salome told him in a tone of

-reproof.</p>

-

-<p>The child made a grimace at her, and ran off towards some rocks which

-the receding tide had left uncovered.</p>

-

-<p>"He's a pretty handful," Josiah exclaimed, shaking his head.</p>

-

-<p>"I expect someone will be here looking for him soon," said Salome. "I

-hope so, for his mother will be anxious if she does not know where he

-is, and she is not strong."</p>

-

-<p>But nobody came in search of Gerald, who at last disappeared from sight

-beyond the rocks. In spite of her father's assurance that the boy could

-come to no harm, the little girl grew uneasy about him; and, by-and-by,

-rose and went to make certain he was safe. She found him lying flat on

-the wet beach, gazing into a pool between two rocks at some beautiful

-anemones; and tried to induce him to retrace his footsteps, but all to

-no purpose. In vain she told him that his mother would be worried about

-him, and that his father would be angry. The wayward child would pay no

-attention to her.</p>

-

-<p>"What's it to do with you?" he demanded rudely. "Mind your own

-business, if you please."</p>

-

-<p>As he absolutely refused to return, Salome left him with the intention

-of persuading her father to interfere; but, to her dismay, she found

-Josiah had deserted his nets, and as the key of the cottage door was in

-her pocket, she knew he had not gone home. In all probability he had

-betaken himself to the "Crab and Cockle" to obtain a drink. Whilst she

-was hesitating how to act, much to her surprise, Gerald appeared around

-the rocks and joined her. He was tired of the beach, he declared, and

-wanted to see her flowers, so she allowed him to accompany her home.

-And thus it was that the young tyrant was discovered in Salome's garden

-half-an-hour later by his much-tried governess.</p>

-

-<p>Poor Miss Conway! She almost wept with joy on finding Gerald in safety,

-and insisted on his return to Greystone immediately. She led him away

-in triumph, paying no attention to his request that he might be allowed

-to remain a little longer.</p>

-

-<p>Josiah did not return for his tea, so after waiting some time, Salome

-had hers, and then seated herself under the porch with her knitting.

-There Margaret Fowler found her as the evening was drawing in.</p>

-

-<p>"Mother has sent me to thank you for taking such good care of Gerald

-this afternoon," Margaret said as she complied with the lame girl's

-invitation to sit down opposite to her. "He is a very tiresome,

-disobedient boy, for father had told him never to go down on the beach

-by himself. He is not to be trusted. Father has punished him for his

-naughtiness by ordering him to bed. It was quite a shock to poor Miss

-Conway when she found Gerald was nowhere on the premises."</p>

-

-<p>"I noticed she looked pale," Salome said. "I am afraid Master Gerald is

-very troublesome."</p>

-

-<p>"Troublesome! I should think he is. It was kind of you to look after

-him, Salome. I have a message from my mother to know if you can come to

-see us to-morrow. Do try to come."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I should like to!" Salome cried, her eyes sparkling with

-excitement.</p>

-

-<p>"Then, will you manage to be at Greystone by five o'clock?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, miss, if all's well. Oh, please thank Mrs. Fowler for asking me!"</p>

-

-<p>"Mother wants to hear you sing again. She has taken quite a fancy to

-you, and I am so glad."</p>

-

-<p>"I think your mother is the prettiest, sweetest lady I ever saw," the

-lame girl said earnestly. "How dearly you must love her, Miss Margaret."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," Margaret answered soberly, "but I do not think she cares for me

-much. Gerald is her favourite, you know. Oh, I'm not jealous of him,

-but I can't help seeing that though he teases and worries her, and I do

-all I can to please her, she loves him much better than she has ever

-loved me."</p>

-

-<p>Salome was surprised, and pained by the look of sadness on her

-companion's face.</p>

-

-<p>"Perhaps your mother shows her affection more to Master Gerald because

-he's so much younger than you," she suggested. "I cannot believe she

-loves him better really."</p>

-

-<p>Margaret made no reply to this, but by-and-by she said, "We have had

-several fusses at home these last few days. Did you hear that father

-dismissed one of the men-servants for bringing beer into the stable?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, I heard about it. I think Mr. Fowler was quite right," Salome

-declared decidedly.</p>

-

-<p>"Do you? I'm glad to hear you say that. Father always means to do

-right, I am sure. He is a teetotaler himself, you know, and so are we

-all, for that matter."</p>

-

-<p>At this point in the conversation the garden gate clicked, and Josiah

-strode up the path and hurried past the little girls into the cottage.

-His bronzed face was crimson; and he walked somewhat unsteadily; but he

-was sufficiently sober to realise that his wisest plan was to take no

-notice of his little daughter's visitor.</p>

-

-<p>Pitying Salome from the depths of her heart, Margaret rose, saying it

-was time for her to go home. The lame girl followed her silently to the

-garden gate, where they stood for a few minutes talking.</p>

-

-<p>"You'll be sure to come to-morrow, won't you?" Margaret said earnestly.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, miss," was the grave reply, "if I possibly can; I hope nothing

-will prevent it, but—you see how it is with him sometimes," and she

-pointed towards the cottage.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," Margaret admitted. "Oh, I'm so sorry! He must be a terrible

-trial for you. May God help you, Salome."</p>

-

-<p>"He does help me," the lame girl replied, "I couldn't bear it alone.

-Oh, how I wish my father was a teetotaler like yours."</p>

-

-<p>"I wish so, too."</p>

-

-<p>"I had hoped you would never find out about my poor father being a

-drinker, but I might have known that sooner or later you would learn

-the truth. Oh, miss, don't, please don't think, he's altogether a bad

-man. He isn't! When he's sober, there's not a kinder or better man in

-the world. But when the drink gets hold of him, he isn't himself at

-all." And Salome laid her head on the top rail of the gate and sobbed

-heartbrokenly.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, don't cry so!" Margaret said imploringly, her own eyes full of

-tears. "Oh, perhaps he'll give up the drink some day."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't know, miss, I'm afraid he won't. He gets worse instead of

-better. The Vicar has spoken to him, but that's done no good. He has

-only come home for supper now; afterwards he'll go back to the 'Crab

-and Cockle.' But there, I mustn't cry any more, or he'll notice it!"</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<figure class="figcenter" id="image003" style="max-width: 25.8125em;">

-  <img class="w100" src="images/image003.jpg" alt="image003">

-</figure>

-<p class="t4">

-<b>SALOME LAID HER HEAD ON THE TOP RAIL OF THE GATE</b><br>

-<b>AND SOBBED HEART-BROKENLY.</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>"Good-bye, Salome! Mind you come to-morrow."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes! I hope I shall. Oh, miss, I feel so ashamed that you should

-have seen my father to-night!"</p>

-

-<p>"There's nothing for you to be ashamed about. I think you're the

-pluckiest girl I know. Good night!" And Margaret ran off with a nod and

-a smile.</p>

-

-<p>She slackened her speed soon, however; and as she went up the hill

-beyond the church towards her home, paused now and again to look back

-the way she had come, and admire the beautiful view. At the entrance to

-the grounds of Greystone she met her father, and together they walked

-towards the house, whilst she told him of Josiah Petherick's condition

-that evening.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, father, you are right to be a teetotaler!" she cried. "Drink is an

-awful thing!"</p>

-

-<p>"It is indeed, my dear," he replied with a deep sigh. "I found

-Petherick a well-informed, civil-spoken man, in fact I was favourably

-impressed with him this morning, and he talked of his little daughter

-as though he really loved her. Drink can slay affection, though," he

-concluded sorrowfully.</p>

-

-<p>"It's dreadful it should, father!"</p>

-

-<p>"When drink once gets hold of people, it makes them slaves, and kills

-their finest feelings. I am very sorry for that poor Salome!"</p>

-

-<p>"So am I. She is so brave, too, and sticks up for her father all she

-can. Oh, I think he ought to give up the drink for her sake. I wonder—I

-wonder if it would be any good for you to speak to him!" And Margaret

-looked wistfully and pleadingly into her father's face.</p>

-

-<p>"I will consider the matter," he rejoined thoughtfully.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, father!" she cried, picturing afresh Salome's grief and

-humiliation, "What should I do, if I had such a trouble as that poor

-lame girl has to bear?"</p>

-

-<p>Mr. Fowler started, and a look of intense pain and trouble momentarily

-crossed his countenance, but he answered quietly, "In that case, I hope

-you would ask God to support and comfort you."</p>

-

-<p>"As Salome does. I could not be patient like she is, though."</p>

-

-<p>"I trust you would, my dear child."</p>

-

-<p>"Well, I am not likely to be tried," and Margaret regarded her father

-with a look of affectionate pride. She wondered at the sadness of

-the smile with which he returned her glance; and his answer, gravely

-spoken, puzzled her not a little.</p>

-

-<p>"We cannot tell how much our patience and our love may be tried," he

-said, "nor what trials the future may hold for us. We can only pray

-that God will help and strengthen us in our time of need."</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_6">CHAPTER VI.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>Perfectly Happy.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>"OH, I do hope she will come! It's nearly five o'clock, and she's not

-in sight yet. I wish I had thought of watching from my bedroom window,

-I could have seen then when she left the cottage."</p>

-

-<p>The speaker, Margaret Fowler, started up from her seat beneath the

-lilac tree, and ran across the lawn in the direction of the gate which

-led from the grounds of Greystone into the road. Beneath the lilac tree

-sat Mrs. Fowler in a comfortably padded wicker chair, with a small

-table laden with papers and magazines at her side. She glanced after

-her little daughter with a slightly amused smile, then remonstrated

-with Gerald, who was playing near by, for making a noise.</p>

-

-<p>"You will give me a headache, if you keep on doing that," she said, as

-he cannoned two croquet balls against each other. "Pray, be quiet!"</p>

-

-<p>Gerald chose not to obey. He continued his game, utterly regardless of

-his mother's command.</p>

-

-<p>"Do stop, Gerald!" she exclaimed. "I really cannot bear that noise any

-longer. Oh, where is Miss Conway? Why isn't she here to look after you?

-Gerald, to oblige me, find some other amusement, there's a dear boy!"</p>

-

-<p>"Why do you not obey your mother, sir?" demanded a stern voice. And

-suddenly the little boy dropped the croquet-mallet from his hand, and

-turned to face his father.</p>

-

-<p>"That's right, Gerald!" Mrs. Fowler said hastily. "He hasn't been doing

-anything wrong, Henry," she continued, glancing apprehensively at her

-husband, "only—you know how absurdly nervous I am—I can't bear any

-sharp, sudden noise. It's foolish of me, I know."</p>

-

-<p>Gerald now ran after his sister, and Mr. Fowler stood with his hand on

-the back of his wife's chair, looking, down at her with grave attention.</p>

-

-<p>"You should make the boy obey you, my dear," he said. "Has not your

-visitor arrived yet?"</p>

-

-<p>"No. Margaret has gone to the gate to see if she is coming. I thought

-we would have tea out here, for it is cooler and pleasanter in the

-garden than in the house, and it will be more informal. I should like

-you to hear this lame girl sing, Henry! I think I never heard a voice

-which touched me so deeply as hers. But you are not listening—"</p>

-

-<p>"I beg your pardon, my dear. I confess my thoughts were wandering. The

-fact is, to-morrow I shall have to go up to town for a few days, and I

-would far rather remain at home. But I am obliged to go."</p>

-

-<p>"You can leave with an easy mind," his wife told him reassuringly. "I

-am really quite strong now, and capable of managing the household, I

-believe I shall be better for something to do. By the way, you cannot

-think how much I enjoyed my drive this morning to N—" mentioning the

-nearest town. "I wanted some trifles from a draper's, and the shops

-were much better than I expected. Oh! Here come the children. They are

-bringing Salome with them."</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler rose and greeted the lame girl very cordially, placing her

-in a chair next to her own. Salome was looking her best, neatly attired

-in a clean cotton frock. There was a flush born of excitement on her

-cheeks, and her brown eyes shone with a happy light as she gave herself

-up to the enjoyment of the present hour.</p>

-

-<p>Tea was served beneath the lilac tree, such a luxuriant tea as Salome

-had never partaken of before, and everyone appeared determined that she

-should make a good meal—Gerald pointing out to her the most delectable

-of the dainties which he pressed her to eat, for in the depths of his

-selfish little heart, there was a warm spot for the lame girl who had

-so often given him flowers from her garden when he had certainly not

-deserved them.</p>

-

-<p>Salome was inclined to be a trifle shy at first of Mr. Fowler. From

-what she had heard of him she had imagined he must be an exceedingly

-stern, strict sort of man, but he talked to her so kindly and

-pleasantly that she soon grew at ease with him, and answered all the

-questions he put to her unreservedly. She told him she had only been a

-member of the choir during the last six months, and explained that she

-had not known she possessed a really good voice until the Vicar had

-informed her that such was the fact.</p>

-

-<p>"I always loved singing, even when I was a tiny thing," she said, "but

-I never thought of joining the choir till one day when Mr. Amyatt

-suggested it. He was passing our cottage, and heard me singing, and he

-came right in and said he would like me to come up to the Vicarage and

-let him try my voice. Father said I might go, so I did, and the next

-Sunday, I sang with the choir in church for the first time."</p>

-

-<p>"You must not sing too much," Mr. Fowler remarked, "for you are very

-young, and might permanently injure your voice if you strained it now.

-You must nurse it a bit."</p>

-

-<p>"That's what Mr. Amyatt says," Salome replied with a smile, "and I'm

-very careful."</p>

-

-<p>"It is a great gift to have a beautiful voice." Mr. Fowler looked with

-kindly interest at his little guest as he spoke; then his eyes wandered

-to the crutches which she had placed on the ground beside her chair,

-and she caught the swift glance of sympathy which crossed his face, and

-from that moment, he stood high in her estimation.</p>

-

-<p>"God is very merciful," he added softly, as though speaking to himself;

-"we are too apt to forget that He never sends a cross without its

-compensation."</p>

-

-<p>Salome was perfectly happy sitting there under the lilac tree, though

-she felt all the while as though she must be in a wonderful dream. Mrs.

-Fowler, in her light summer dress, with her fair hair and her lovely

-blue eyes, looked like a queen, she thought. Salome was more and more

-impressed with her grace and charm on every fresh occasion on which she

-saw her. How proud Miss Margaret must be of her mother! And how happy

-Miss Margaret must be in such a beautiful home, with kind parents, and

-everything that heart could desire! And yet, what was the meaning of

-that wistful look on her face; and why was Mr. Fowler's countenance

-so grave, and almost stern in expression at times? Salome's eyes were

-remarkably shrewd. She noticed how attentive Mr. Fowler was to his

-wife, almost seeming to anticipate her wishes and read her thoughts;

-and she was surprised when he was called away for a few minutes to see

-that Mrs. Fowler talked with greater freedom in his absence, as though

-his presence put a restraint upon her.</p>

-

-<p>As soon as all had finished tea, Margaret took Salome around the

-gardens, and afterwards led the way into the house. She showed Salome

-her own room, the walls of which were crowded with pictures and

-knickknacks. The lame girl had never seen such a pretty bedroom before

-as this one, with its little white-curtained bed, and white-enamelled

-furniture. Then Margaret opened a velvet-lined jewel case, and took out

-a small, gold brooch in the shape of a shell, which she insisted upon

-fastening into the neck of her visitor's gown.</p>

-

-<p>"It is for you," she said, "I bought it with my own money, so you need

-not mind taking it. I told mother I was going to give it to you. I want

-you to wear it for my sake, Salome."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, Miss Margaret, how kind of you! Thank you so much. But ought I to

-take it? Are you sure Mrs. Fowler—"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes!" Margaret interposed eagerly. "Mother would like you to have

-it. She said she thought it would be a very suitable gift for you. It

-is pretty, isn't it?"</p>

-

-<p>"It is lovely!" was the enthusiastic reply. "I shall value it always,

-Miss Margaret, for your sake," and there were tears of pleasure and

-gratitude in Salome's brown eyes as she spoke.</p>

-

-<p>"I am so very glad you like it," Margaret said earnestly; "but now,

-come downstairs to the drawing-room."</p>

-

-<p>Greystone appeared quite a palatial residence to the simple village

-girl, accustomed to her cottage home. She noticed how soft and thick

-were the carpets, how handsome was the furniture; and how everything in

-connection with the house had been done with a view to comfort. A sense

-of awe crept over her, as she cast one swift glance around the spacious

-drawing-room. Miss Conway was at the piano, but she ceased playing as

-the little girls entered; and Mrs. Fowler, who was standing by the open

-window conversing with her husband, turned towards them immediately and

-requested Salome to sing.</p>

-

-<p>So Salome stood, leaning upon her crutches, in the centre of the room,

-and lilted, without accompaniment, a simple little song she had often

-heard from her dead mother's lips. It was a lullaby, and she sang it

-so sweetly and unaffectedly that her listeners were delighted, and Mr.

-Fowler was surprised at the beauty of the voice which had had so little

-training. She gave them several other quaint west-country ballads; and

-then, at Mrs. Fowler's request, sang, "Abide with Me."</p>

-

-<p>"I like that best," Margaret said, as she drew Salome down on a sofa by

-her side. "Why, how you're trembling! And your hands are quite cold!"</p>

-

-<p>"Poor child! We have made her nervous, I fear," Mr. Fowler remarked.

-"Used your mother to sing, my dear?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, sir, sometimes, and father used to sing in the choir, but he

-doesn't now. If you please," she proceeded, glancing from one to the

-other hesitatingly, "I think I ought to go home. Father promised to

-meet me outside the gate at seven o'clock, and it must be that now."</p>

-

-<p>"It is a little after seven," Mr. Fowler replied, glancing at his watch.</p>

-

-<p>"Then I think I must go, sir."</p>

-

-<p>"You must come again soon," Mrs. Fowler said eagerly. "Thank you

-so much, my dear, for singing to us. You have given us very great

-pleasure."</p>

-

-<p>"I am very glad," Salome rejoined simply and earnestly, "and I should

-like to tell you how much I have enjoyed myself; and thank you for all

-your kindness to me."</p>

-

-<p>True to his promise, Josiah Petherick was waiting for his little

-daughter in the road outside the entrance to Greystone. He was

-perfectly sober, and as Salome caught sight of his stalwart figure, her

-face lit up with pleasure.</p>

-

-<p>"Well, have you had an enjoyable time?" he inquired, smilingly.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes," she answered, and proceeded to give him a detailed account

-of all she had seen, and heard, and done. He admired Margaret's gift,

-and was secretly much gratified at the attention and kindness his

-little girl had received from the new-comers. Much to her relief, he

-accompanied her past the "Crab and Cockle," though it must be admitted,

-he cast a longing glance in the direction of the open doorway through

-which the stale odour of tobacco and beer was stealing forth as usual.

-And when they reached home, he followed her into the cottage, and

-continued the conversation whilst she set about getting supper. She

-feared he would take himself to the inn as soon as the meal was over,

-but, instead, he sat down under the porch and gazed thoughtfully out to

-sea.</p>

-

-<p>"That Mr. Fowler's a rare hand to talk," he remarked presently, when

-his little daughter joined him. "That comes of being educated, I

-s'pose. He can argue a bit, he can."</p>

-

-<p>"Can he?" Salome looked surprised. "How do you know, father?" she

-inquired.</p>

-

-<p>"'Cause I was foolish enough to try to argue with him, my maid!"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh! When was that?"</p>

-

-<p>"This morning, on the beach."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh!" she cried again, more and more astonished. "What did you argue

-about, father?" She ventured to ask.</p>

-

-<p>"Drink!" was the brief reply. And there was that in Josiah's manner

-which forbade further questioning.</p>

-

-<p>Salome nestled silently close to her father's side, her head resting

-against his arm, as she thought how nice it was to have him there with

-her, quite himself, and how dearly she loved him. She listened to the

-murmur of the sea, and tried to count the stars appearing in the sky,

-whilst Josiah recalled the argument he had had with Mr. Fowler, in

-which, he was obliged to admit, he had come off worst. At last, a deep

-sigh from Salome drew his attention to her, and he asked what was amiss.</p>

-

-<p>"Amiss?" she echoed in astonishment. "Nothing."</p>

-

-<p>"But you sighed, my dear."</p>

-

-<p>"Did I? Then it must have been for joy. I'm perfectly happy, perfectly!

-And so I should always be, if there was no such place as the 'Crab and

-Cockle' in Yelton."</p>

-

-<p>"Well, Salome, I've not been there to-night."</p>

-

-<p>"No, you have not, dear father," she answered affectionately, "and

-that's why I'm so perfectly happy. My mind's at rest!"</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_7">CHAPTER VII.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>An Afternoon's Outing.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>MR. FOWLER was obliged to breakfast at seven o'clock, which was an

-hour-and-a-half before the usual breakfast hour at Greystone, on the

-morning following Salome's visit, as it was his intention to catch

-the first train to London from N—, and in order to do that he would

-have to leave home before eight o'clock, and drive several miles. His

-journey had been discussed on the previous night, and he had said

-good-bye to Miss Conway and the children then. But, when he entered the

-breakfast-room as the clock struck seven, he found his little daughter

-awaiting him.</p>

-

-<p>"Why, Margaret!" he exclaimed in pleased surprise as he kissed her.

-"I did not expect to see you, my dear! You are not generally an early

-bird."</p>

-

-<p>"I'm afraid I am rather sleepy-headed in the mornings, as a rule,"

-she confessed, "but I made up my mind last night that I would have

-my breakfast with you to-day, dear father, and see you off. Now do

-try to eat as much as ever you can," she added practically, as the

-servant appeared with a tray holding a couple of covered dishes and the

-coffee-pot.</p>

-

-<p>Mr. Fowler laughed, as he seated himself at the table with Margaret

-opposite to him, and said he would take her advice.</p>

-

-<p>"I am sorry I have to go," he remarked, "but I have no choice in the

-matter, as my lawyer wants to consult me upon important business. I

-shall leave your mother in your charge, Margaret."</p>

-

-<p>"In my charge?" Margaret said inquiringly, looking surprised. "But she

-is not ill now, father! See how cheerful and bright she was last night.

-And she has taken several walks. Oh, she is heaps better and stronger

-than she was! I don't think you need worry about her."</p>

-

-<p>"Perhaps not; but, nevertheless, I want you to devote as much of your

-time as you can to her during my absence. I have spoken to Miss Conway,

-and she has consented to give you a holiday till I return. Had I not

-seen you this morning, Miss Conway would have explained my wishes to

-you. I desire you to accompany your mother when she drives out, and

-when she goes into the village, or down to the beach—in short, make

-yourself her companion, my dear, until I return. Do you understand?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, father, I think so," Margaret replied, impressed by his serious

-tone. "I expect mother will be dull when you are gone, so I will do my

-best to brighten her up!"</p>

-

-<p>"That's a good child!"</p>

-

-<p>"Only, sometimes she much prefers to have Gerald with her to me!"</p>

-

-<p>"I would rather she had you. Remember what I have said, Margaret. I

-hope I shall not be away very long, but it will of course depend upon

-circumstances."</p>

-

-<p>Mr. Fowler made an excellent breakfast, and afterwards went upstairs

-to say good-bye to his wife, whilst Margaret waited for him in the

-hall. He kissed his little girl tenderly on his return, then, it being

-quite time for him to leave, entered the carriage which was waiting

-at the door, and was driven off. Margaret felt a little depressed as

-she listened to the sound of the carriage wheels dying away in the

-distance, for she was exceedingly attached to her father, and home did

-not seem like home without him.</p>

-

-<p>Knowing her mother must be awake, she went upstairs, and knocked at her

-bedroom door. On being told to come in, to her surprise, Mrs. Fowler

-declared her intention of getting up to breakfast.</p>

-

-<p>"But do you feel well enough?" Margaret asked, for up to the present

-Mrs. Fowler, having been an invalid, had always breakfasted in her own

-room at Greystone.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes!" was the quick response. "I'm tired of being treated like a

-sick person! What a beautiful, bright morning it is, and not so hot, is

-it? Your father will have a fine day for his journey."</p>

-

-<p>"He did not want to go at all!"</p>

-

-<p>"No. But that was foolish of him!"</p>

-

-<p>"I think he did not like the thought of leaving you, mother. He feared

-you might be ill whilst he was away."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I am not likely to be ill again," Mrs. Fowler declared sanguinely.

-"I mean to throw off my invalid-ish ways now, and surprise your father

-on his return. Send Ross to me, Margaret, to help me dress."</p>

-

-<p>"Shall I help you, mother? Do let me. I am sure I can do your hair as

-well as Ross."</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler hesitated, but finally decided in favour of Ross; so

-Margaret went in search of her. Ross was a well-mannered, good-tempered

-young woman who waited upon Mrs. Fowler, and did the mending and sewing

-of the household. She expressed surprise and pleasure on hearing that

-her mistress intended getting up and joining the family breakfast-table.</p>

-

-<p>"It shows how much stronger she feels, Miss Margaret," she said. "I've

-often thought if she would bestir herself more she would be better in

-health and spirits."</p>

-

-<p>Gerald grumbled loudly when he discovered that he was to do lessons

-whilst his sister was to have a holiday. Why should Margaret be allowed

-nice drives with their mother when he was obliged to stay at home and

-work. It was most unfair, he declared; and it may be imagined that poor

-Miss Conway had rather a trying experience with her younger pupil on

-the first day of his father's absence, when, in the afternoon, Mrs.

-Fowler and Margaret drove to N—, and left him at home.</p>

-

-<p>The road to N— lay through some most beautiful scenery, and Margaret

-thoroughly enjoyed the drive. Now they were on an open common where

-the few trees to be seen were stunted and grown one-sided, a fact

-which puzzled the little girl until it was explained to her that the

-keen breeze blowing across the Atlantic was accountable for it, then

-she remarked that the bare side of the trees was the one which faced

-the sea; now they had left the common and were going down bill into a

-sheltered, wooded coomb, and by-and-by the road led upwards again till

-the town of N— was reached, situated almost at the top of the hill.</p>

-

-<p>At the entrance to the town, Mrs. Fowler and Margaret got out of

-the carriage, and walked up the main street—Fore Street it was

-called—looking into the shop windows. They had paused outside a small

-china shop in which was some pretty pottery, when a familiar voice

-addressed them in accents of pleasure and surprise.</p>

-

-<p>"Can I believe my eyes? Who would have thought of meeting you here!"</p>

-

-<p>Turning instantly they confronted a handsome, middle-aged lady, dressed

-as a widow, whose comely face was wreathed in smiles. She was called

-Mrs. Lute, and had been a near neighbour of theirs in London.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, how glad I am!" Mrs. Fowler exclaimed. "It is good to see you

-again! Are you staying in the neighbourhood?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes; I have taken a furnished house at N— for two months. I saw it

-advertised, came to see it, and the result is that here I am! Why, how

-well you look! And you were such a wreck when you left town! Margaret,

-too, is looking all the better for the change of air! I suppose you are

-still at Yelton?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes! Why haven't you been to see us?"</p>

-

-<p>"I have only been here a week. But, come, walk home with me, and have a

-cup of tea."</p>

-

-<p>"I should like to, but I have some errands to execute. Oh, Margaret!"

-And Mrs. Fowler turned to her little daughter eagerly. "Surely you

-could do the errands! See, here is the list of what I want on this

-paper! Is your home far from here?" she inquired of Mrs. Lute.</p>

-

-<p>"No, you must have passed it—a thatched, whitewashed house, with a

-porch covered with clematis and roses."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes, I noticed it!" Margaret cried. "Mother, why don't you and

-Mrs. Lute drive back in the carriage, and I will join you as soon as I

-have done the shopping?"</p>

-

-<p>Thus it was arranged. Margaret was quite excited at meeting an old

-acquaintance, for Mrs. Lute had long been on the friendliest terms with

-her neighbours in town. She was one of the kindest of women, and had

-been exceedingly sympathetic during Mrs. Fowler's serious illness in

-the spring.</p>

-

-<p>When Margaret had executed her list of errands, she made her way to the

-whitewashed house, outside which the carriage was waiting; and on being

-shown into the drawing-room which faced the road, found her mother and

-Mrs. Lute seated there conversing happily.</p>

-

-<p>"How warm the poor child looks!" the latter exclaimed. "Sit down in

-this comfortable chair, my dear, and let me give you some tea; or would

-you rather have a glass of wine, for you look tired, and—"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, no, thank you!" Margaret interposed hastily.</p>

-

-<p>"Just as you like, my dear; but I persuaded your mother to take a

-little wine; I thought it would do her good after her long drive, and I

-think it has refreshed her. Here's your tea, my dear! Help yourself to

-cream and sugar, and do try this cake."</p>

-

-<p>"Thank you, Mrs. Lute."</p>

-

-<p>Margaret was startled for the moment to hear her mother had been

-drinking wine, remembering how her father had refused to allow her

-to take it. She thought Mrs. Fowler should have declined it; but the

-matter soon passed from her mind as Mrs. Lute began to question her

-about Yelton.</p>

-

-<p>"Everyone tells me it is a charming little village," Mrs. Lute said,

-"but your mother is not enthusiastic about it. I think she is beginning

-to feel the lack of society. I have been telling her she should be

-satisfied to have regained her health. She is looking wonderfully well."</p>

-

-<p>Margaret, glancing at her mother, agreed with Mrs. Lute. No one would

-have guessed at that moment that Mrs. Fowler had been an invalid so

-lately, for there was a pink colour in her cheeks, and her blue eyes

-were shining with a happy light. She was as glad as was Margaret to

-meet their old friend.</p>

-

-<p>"You must pay us a visit at Greystone as soon as my husband returns,"

-she said hospitably, "and then you will be able to form your own ideas

-of Yelton and its inhabitants. Margaret has struck up a friendship with

-a lame girl, Salome Petherick by name, and I believe Gerald has picked

-acquaintance with several fishermen."</p>

-

-<p>"Salome's father is a fisherman," Margaret remarked; "and oh, Salome

-has the most beautiful voice you can possibly imagine, hasn't she,

-mother?"</p>

-

-<p>"She certainly has. When you come to visit us, Mrs. Lute, you shall

-hear this Cornish singing-bird. Poor girl, she is a sad cripple, yet

-she makes herself very useful, attends to her father's cottage, and

-even does gardening!"</p>

-

-<p>"She uses a pair of crutches as a rule," Margaret explained, "but when

-she is gardening, she somehow manages to hop about on one, so that she

-has a hand free to work with. Poor Salome! Her father drinks, and that

-is a great trouble to her."</p>

-

-<p>"I should think so, indeed!" Mrs. Lute commented. "She ought to try to

-persuade him to take the pledge. Total abstinence from all intoxicants

-is the only thing for some people."</p>

-

-<p>"Father says," Margaret was beginning, when Mrs. Fowler somewhat

-abruptly changed the conversation by inquiring for a mutual friend in

-town. It struck the little girl that her mother did not wish her to air

-her father's teetotal views, so during the homeward drive she recurred

-to the subject.</p>

-

-<p>"Mother, I was going to tell Mrs. Lute that we are all teetotalers

-now," she said. "Don't you want her to know?"</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler hesitated and frowned slightly, refraining from meeting her

-little daughter's gravely inquiring gaze.</p>

-

-<p>"I suppose she will have to know, if she comes to stay with us at

-Greystone," she responded in tones of annoyance. "I had forgotten your

-father's fad when I invited her."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, mother, don't call it a fad!" Margaret cried distressfully.</p>

-

-<p>"That's what it is, child! Mrs. Lute is accustomed to take wine, yet no

-one can say she is not a strictly temperate woman. Your father, I do

-not doubt, would like her to be a total abstainer. Such nonsense! He

-used not to be so fastidious!" And Mrs. Fowler looked quite angry.</p>

-

-<p>Margaret made no answer. She had perfect faith in her father's

-judgment, but she felt herself incapable of arguing the matter from his

-point of view.</p>

-

-<p>On reaching home they found a telegram from Mr. Fowler, acquainting

-them with his safe arrival in London. As Mrs. Fowler read it, the

-displeasure left her face for a softer, gentler expression.</p>

-

-<p>"How thoughtful he always is!" she exclaimed.</p>

-

-<p>She was in exceedingly good spirits all the evening, and retired to

-rest apparently perfectly well; but about midnight, Margaret was

-awakened by a sound in the room, and starting up in bed, found her

-mother standing by her side in her night-gown, with a lighted candle in

-her hand.</p>

-

-<p>"What is it, mother? Are you ill?" The little girl inquired in alarm.</p>

-

-<p>"No, but I am nervous, and cannot sleep! I wish your father had not

-gone! Did I frighten you? I hope not. I felt I must have company."</p>

-

-<p>Margaret was greatly astonished, for the thought had continually

-crossed her mind during the day that Mrs. Fowler was relieved at her

-husband's absence. She jumped out of bed immediately, and led her

-mother back to her own room.</p>

-

-<p>"I will stay with you to-night, dear mother," she said gently. "You

-won't feel nervous then."</p>

-

-<p>So mother and daughter lay down side by side, but not to sleep as yet,

-for the latter was restless and sighed continually.</p>

-

-<p>"You are sure you are not ill?" Margaret asked with loving anxiety.</p>

-

-<p>"No, I am not ill, but I am very unhappy," was the response in a tone

-of great sadness. "Oh, child, I wish you had a better mother!"</p>

-

-<p>"You are the dearest mother in the world," Margaret cried earnestly.</p>

-

-<p>"But very far from being the best. I am very troubled—no, I cannot tell

-you what about. No, you couldn't help me. No one can."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, God can, mother," Margaret reminded her; then she quoted softly—</p>

-

-<p class="poem">

-<br>

-"When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,<br>

-&nbsp;Help of the helpless, O abide with me."<br>

-<br>

-</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler caught her breath with a little sob; but doubtless, the

-words of Salome's favourite hymn comforted her, for presently, Margaret

-knew by her regular breathing that she had fallen asleep.</p>

-

-<p>The little girl lay awake wondering what trouble her mother could

-possibly have, or if she was only nervous and imaginative; and it was

-not until the first streaks of dawn peeped into the room that she slept

-too.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_8">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>An Awful Thing.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>WHEN Margaret awoke, she was alone. At first she was surprised to

-find herself in bed in her mother's room, but in a few moments, she

-remembered how that happened to be the case. Before, however, she had

-time to dwell much upon the matter, the door opened and her mother

-entered, fully dressed, bearing a breakfast tray in her hands, which

-she placed on the dressing-table.</p>

-

-<p>"Have I overslept myself?" Margaret inquired. "I am so sorry."</p>

-

-<p>"You need not be, my dear," Mrs. Fowler replied, smiling as she came to

-the bedside and kissed her little daughter. "You had a disturbed night

-on my account. How foolish it was of me to be too nervous to sleep

-alone! I blame myself for spoiling your rest. But, see, I have brought

-your breakfast, so sit up and eat it at once; after you have had it,

-you can dress and come down on the beach with me."</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler looked alert and well. She talked brightly whilst Margaret

-was taking her breakfast, and pulling a letter out of her pocket, which

-she had received from her husband by the morning's post, read it aloud.

-It merely told of his journey to town, and concluded with his love to

-the children, and a hope that Mrs. Fowler would take care of herself.</p>

-

-<p>"I shall not tell him how silly I was last night," she said. "I suppose

-I cannot be quite so strong as I thought. My late illness played sad

-havoc with my nerves. It is such a glorious day, Margaret, that I am

-sure we ought to spend it out of doors."</p>

-

-<p>Margaret assented willingly, and went to her own room to dress.

-By-and-by, she and her mother strolled down to the beach, and passed

-a pleasant morning in the welcome shade of a big rock. And in the

-afternoon, Mrs. Fowler declared her intention of again driving to N—.</p>

-

-<p>"Won't you be very tired, mother?" Margaret asked dubiously. "You

-mustn't overdo it, you know."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I will be careful, my dear!" Mrs. Fowler rejoined. "But I want to

-get some things I forgot yesterday. Meeting Mrs. Lute so unexpectedly

-put everything else quite out of my head. Miss Conway and Gerald can

-accompany us."</p>

-

-<p>It was not such a pleasant drive as the one of the previous day, for

-Gerald was tiresome, and continually stood up in the carriage to look

-at different objects of interest which attracted his attention. Miss

-Conway begged him to sit still, but he would not obey her. And, at

-last, he was jolted into his mother's lap, much to her annoyance and

-to his amusement. She declared she wished she had left him at home,

-and that it would be a long time before she would take him for a drive

-again. Whereupon, he only laughed, for he did not believe she meant

-what she said.</p>

-

-<p>"Are you going to see Mrs. Lute, mother?" Margaret inquired as they

-neared the town.</p>

-

-<p>"No, not to-day. I will get out at the bottom of Fore Street, and you

-others shall drive on a little farther and return for me. No, I will

-not have you, Gerald! You are to stay with Miss Conway and your sister."</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler spoke with decision in her tones; she was evidently

-determined to do her shopping alone.</p>

-

-<p>Accordingly, she got out of the carriage at the entrance to the town,

-and the others saw her go into a grocer's shop as they were driven

-on. When the carriage returned a quarter of an hour later, she was

-standing waiting outside the same shop. The shopman came out and placed

-a parcel in the carriage, then Mrs. Fowler took her seat and gave the

-order—"Home." She seemed lost in deep thought during the remainder

-of the drive, and spoke but seldom, paying slight attention to the

-conversation the others carried on. She was evidently glad to reach

-Greystone.</p>

-

-<p>"I expect she is really very tired," Margaret reflected, "but does not

-like to confess it." And she was confirmed in this opinion when she saw

-how quiet and languid Mrs. Fowler appeared during the evening. She did

-not request Miss Conway to play to her as she usually did, but lay on

-the sofa with a book in her lap, yawning occasionally as though weary

-of the day, so that neither Margaret nor the governess were surprised

-when she declared her intention of going to bed early. She would not

-hear of Margaret sleeping with her, however, but kissed both of her

-children good night in the drawing-room, and told them not to disturb

-her when they went upstairs to bed.</p>

-

-<p>It was only eight o'clock when Mrs. Fowler retired for the night.

-At half-past eight Gerald was put to bed, after which Margaret and

-her governess sat down together to their supper. Each seemed rather

-depressed, Miss Conway even more so than her little pupil.</p>

-

-<p>"It is so dull without father," Margaret sighed. "I hope he will not

-stay away very long. Oh, dear! I think mother is very, very tired

-to-night, don't you? I am afraid she has been doing too much."</p>

-

-<p>"I hope not," was the serious reply. "You did not walk far this

-morning, did you?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, no! We were sitting down on the beach most of the time. Mother

-read the newspaper and talked and seemed all right then."</p>

-

-<p>"Did you see anything of Salome Petherick?"</p>

-

-<p>"Nothing, though we stood outside her garden several minutes looking at

-her flowers. I suppose she was busy in the cottage. Oh, Miss Conway,

-how I do wish Salome's father was a teetotaler! I was telling Mrs. Lute

-about him yesterday, and she said Salome ought to try to persuade him

-to take the pledge."</p>

-

-<p>"I did not know that Mrs. Lute was a teetotaler," Miss Conway

-exclaimed, looking rather surprised.</p>

-

-<p>"She is not. Indeed, she offered me a glass of wine."</p>

-

-<p>"You did not take it?" the governess interposed hastily.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, no!" A painful blush rose to Margaret's cheeks as she remembered

-that her mother had not declined the same offer. "Mrs. Lute said total

-abstinence from all intoxicants is the only thing for some people," she

-added.</p>

-

-<p>"She is quite right," was the grave response.</p>

-

-<p>There was silence for a few minutes. Miss Conway was asking herself

-what was the reason of her pupil's evident confusion, and Margaret was

-hoping she would not be questioned as to its cause.</p>

-

-<p>"I have been a teetotaler all my life," Miss Conway proceeded

-presently. "My father had a great horror of drink because his own

-father had been a drunkard, and he had suffered much on that account.

-It is sad to think that there is scarcely a family that does not

-possess at least one member given over to the vice of drinking to

-excess. Oh, Margaret! Mr. Fowler was right when he laid down the rule

-that no intoxicants should be brought into his house."</p>

-

-<p>"I am sure he was right," Margaret agreed heartily, "though everyone

-does not think so. Mother calls it a fad—"</p>

-

-<p>"Did your mother—" The governess hesitated momentarily, scarcely

-knowing how to put the question which trembled on her lips. "Perhaps

-you will think I have no right to ask you," she continued hastily,

-"but, believe me, Margaret, it is no idle curiosity which prompts me.

-Did your mother have any wine at Mrs. Lute's yesterday?"</p>

-

-<p>Margaret nodded gravely, observing her companion anxiously in order to

-read by her countenance what she thought. She was prepared to see her

-exhibit surprise, and perhaps disapproval, but Miss Conway appeared

-absolutely frightened, and her very lips turned white. She made no

-remark in response however, but when she kissed her pupil ere they

-separated for the night, there was marked tenderness in her manner and

-in her voice as she said, "God bless you, dear Margaret. You look tired

-out yourself. Try to have a good night's rest."</p>

-

-<p>The little girl was very sleepy, so, almost as soon as her head was on

-the pillow, she was in the land of dreams. But such unhappy, disturbing

-dreams they were. She imagined her mother was very ill, and that her

-father could not be sent for, because no one knew his address, and that

-she was in terrible grief and perplexity. At length, frightened and

-shaking in every limb, she awoke, and sprang out of bed with a shriek.

-The conviction was strong upon her that something was wrong with her

-mother, and she felt compelled to go and ascertain what was amiss.

-Lighting a candle, she took it up and hurried to Mrs. Fowler's room.

-A sigh of deep thankfulness escaped her lips as she found everything

-quiet there. Softly she stole to the bedside and saw her mother lying

-asleep, one hand beneath her cheek, her fair hair strewn over the

-pillow. Margaret thought how pretty she looked, and carefully shaded

-the candle with her hand as she gazed at the sleeper with love and

-admiration in her glance; but it would have taken more than the feeble

-rays of the candle to awaken Mrs. Fowler from that deep, dreamless

-sleep.</p>

-

-<p>Margaret would have liked to have kissed her mother's flushed cheek,

-but feared to disturb her; so she contented herself with pressing her

-lips to the soft, white hand which lay outside the counterpane, then

-stole back to her own room as quietly as she had left it, and after

-putting out the candle crept back to bed. She felt she could rest with

-an easy mind now, and was no longer disturbed by distressing dreams.</p>

-

-<p>The following day Mrs. Fowler did not go far. She appeared depressed

-and out of sorts until after tea-time, when her drooping spirits

-revived, and she spent the evening under the lilac tree with Miss

-Conway, whilst the children played croquet on the lawn. Suddenly she

-remembered that a letter she had written to her husband had not been

-posted, and suggested that Margaret and Gerald might take it to the

-post-office.</p>

-

-<p>"I'm afraid it's too late to catch to-night's post," she said

-regretfully, "but never mind. Your father will not be anxious, as he

-heard this morning. Still, you may as well post it. Dear me, what could

-have made me so forgetful!"</p>

-

-<p>So Margaret and Gerald hurried off to the post-office, which was only

-two doors from the village inn, from which it was divided by Samuel

-Moyle's shop.</p>

-

-<p>After posting the letter, they went into the shop to purchase some

-sweets, and whilst they were there, Josiah Petherick came out of the

-"Crab and Cockle," much the worse for drink, and staggered past on his

-way home.</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Moyle, a rosy-cheeked dame, so stout that she appeared to be

-almost as thick as she was long, went to the door to stare after

-Josiah, whilst her husband, who was attending to the requirements of

-his customers, shook his head gravely and prophesied that "such a

-drunken beast," as he called him, "would come to a bad end," adding,

-with a touch of real feeling, "Ah, I'm sorry for that poor motherless

-maid of his!"</p>

-

-<p>Margaret returned to Greystone very sad at heart, full of the lame

-girl's trouble, and informed her mother and Miss Conway of the state

-Josiah was in; whilst Gerald, who had been more amused than disgusted,

-began to imitate the drunken man's rambling walk, a proceeding which

-his governess promptly put a stop to by grasping him forcibly by the

-shoulder and making him stand still.</p>

-

-<p>"For shame!" she cried with unusual severity in her tone. "How can

-you make fun of the unhappy man? Poor wretch! Never make a joke of a

-drunkard again."</p>

-

-<p>"Well, I won't," Gerald returned. "I meant no harm. Please let me go,

-Miss Conway. I promise you I won't do it again."</p>

-

-<p>"No, I do not think you meant any harm," the governess admitted. "You

-acted thoughtlessly, I know. But you must never laugh at what is

-wrong—remember that."</p>

-

-<p>"Isn't it terrible for poor Salome, mother?" Margaret said sadly.</p>

-

-<p>"Very," Mrs. Fowler replied. "It would be better for her if she had no

-father at all."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, mother!" Margaret cried in shocked tones. "Do you mean that?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, I do. What can her father be, but a perpetual shame and trouble

-to her?"</p>

-

-<p>"But she loves him so dearly."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't know how she can!" Mrs. Fowler exclaimed vehemently. "But,

-there, don't let us talk of Josiah any more. Of course, the letter was

-too late for to-night's post?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes. But I posted it all the same. I wonder when father will be

-home."</p>

-

-<p>"Not till the end of the week, I expect. It's getting chilly; we will

-go in." And rising, Mrs. Fowler moved towards the house, the others

-following.</p>

-

-<p>Margaret's thoughts were all of Salome during the remainder of the

-evening. And before she went to rest, she prayed earnestly that God

-would give His help and protection to the lame girl, and reward her

-patience and love in His own good time.</p>

-

-<p>"Drink is an awful thing," was her last waking thought that night, as

-she crept into her little, white-curtained bed, and laid her head down

-on the soft pillow. "I only wish poor Salome's father could be brought

-to see what an awful thing it is."</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_9">CHAPTER IX.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>The Blow Falls.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>IT was nearly noon, and quietude reigned over Yelton. The fishermen

-were all at sea, whilst their wives were busy with their domestic

-duties within doors, and the children were at school. The village

-looked actually deserted as Margaret Fowler walked soberly by the "Crab

-and Cockle." Not a living soul was in sight, and there was no one in

-Silas Moyle's shop, not even behind the counter, where Mrs. Moyle was

-generally to be found. Margaret strolled on to Josiah Petherick's

-cottage, and there was Salome seated in the porch, knitting rapidly

-whilst she sang to herself in a low, soft undertone. The lame girl's

-face lit up with a bright smile of pleasure at sight of Margaret, and

-she turned to reach the crutches by her side.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, please don't get up!" Margaret cried quickly. "I'll sit down in

-the porch with you for a little while, if I may. How nice it is here!"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes. Isn't it a beautiful day, miss? Such a fine breeze! All the

-fishing boats are out. Father was off at daybreak this morning. I got

-up to give him his breakfast; so that's how it is my work's finished so

-early."</p>

-

-<p>"What are you making?" Margaret asked, noticing the thick, navy-blue

-fingering which Salome was knitting.</p>

-

-<p>"A jersey for father, miss. He'll want a new one against the winter."</p>

-

-<p>"What! Do you mean to say you knit your father's jerseys? How clever of

-you!"</p>

-

-<p>The lame girl smiled and blushed as she responded, "Mother taught me

-to knit when I was a very little girl, but it was not until after her

-death that I learnt to make father's jerseys. Mrs. Moyle taught me the

-way."</p>

-

-<p>"Mrs. Moyle? The baker's wife, do you mean?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, miss; she's always most kind to me."</p>

-

-<p>"She looks good-natured," Margaret remarked. "Mother is not very well,"

-she proceeded to explain, "so she is lying in bed this morning, and

-Gerald is at his lessons with Miss Conway, so I thought I would look

-you up, Salome."</p>

-

-<p>"I am very glad to see you, miss. But I am sorry to hear Mrs. Fowler is

-ill."</p>

-

-<p>"She is not ill exactly—at least, I hope not. She complained of a bad

-headache, so Ross advised her to remain in bed and rest. It worries me

-if she's not well, now father's away."</p>

-

-<p>"Then Mr. Fowler is not back yet, miss?"</p>

-

-<p>"No. We expected him to stay away only a few days, but his business is

-keeping him longer than he thought it would, so he will not be at home

-till next week. It is so dull without him."</p>

-

-<p>"I daresay it is, miss."</p>

-

-<p>"Before he went, he told me he left mother in my charge, and that's why

-I'm so anxious about her. You know, she was very, very ill before we

-came here. I never saw her for weeks then, and—oh, it was a terrible

-time!"</p>

-

-<p>"It must have been," Salome said sympathetically.</p>

-

-<p>"How bright you look to-day!" Margaret exclaimed presently, after

-observing her companion in silence for several minutes.</p>

-

-<p>"I feel bright," the lame girl acknowledged with a smile, "for I know

-father'll come home sober by-and-by, when the fishing boats return, and

-that's enough to make one happy."</p>

-

-<p>"How brave you are, Salome!" And Margaret wondered if she had Salome's

-trouble, whether she would ever be happy for a day or even an hour.</p>

-

-<p>The other shook her head. She did not think she was brave at all, but

-she took the sunshine of her life gratefully, and tried not to remember

-the hours of gloom.</p>

-

-<p>"I wish I could knit," said Margaret, as she watched the lame girl's

-busy fingers.</p>

-

-<p>"Why don't you learn, miss? Then you might knit your father's socks."</p>

-

-<p>"Do you think I could?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes, with a little practice. Would you—would you like me to teach

-you?" Salome asked somewhat diffidently.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I should be so much obliged to you if you would! Oh, thank you!

-I'll buy some wool and knitting needles the very next time we drive to

-N—. But I'm afraid you'll find me a very stupid pupil."</p>

-

-<p>"I can't believe that, miss. Besides, knitting is quite easy—of course

-it takes time to learn to knit fast. You can get knitting needles and

-wool at Mrs. Moyle's shop; she keeps a very good supply."</p>

-

-<p>"Does she? That's capital! Oh Salome, whatever has happened to that

-rose-bush by the gate? Why, it's smashed off close to the ground! What

-a pity!"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," was the response, spoken in a low, pained tone.</p>

-

-<p>"How did it happen?" Margaret asked concernedly, noticing the tears had

-sprung into her companion's brown eyes.</p>

-

-<p>"Father did it."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh! Not on purpose?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, no! He—he fell over it. He was sorry—afterwards; but I'm so

-grieved, because mother planted that rose-bush herself not long before

-she died, and now it is quite ruined."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I am sorry!" Margaret cried.</p>

-

-<p>"It was an accident; but—but it wouldn't have happened, if he'd been

-sober. He's as upset about it as I am now—he is indeed. He valued that

-rose-bush for mother's sake."</p>

-

-<p>"Salome, why don't you try to persuade your father to take the pledge?"

-Margaret inquired very seriously.</p>

-

-<p>"I've tried heaps and heaps of times."</p>

-

-<p>"And he won't?"</p>

-

-<p>"No. Father says he hates teetotalers. I can't think he does really,

-though. Only, he likes drink, and he won't give it up."</p>

-

-<p>"It's very selfish of him. He ought to consider you. But, there, I

-won't run out against him, for I know you're very fond of him. Perhaps,

-he'll be different some day."</p>

-

-<p>"I pray every night that God will make him a sober man. He used to be

-so steady when mother was living. Mr. Amyatt will tell you the same. It

-seems so dreadful that her death should have changed him so. It was the

-trouble, I suppose, and having no one to speak to at home but me that

-drove him to the 'Crab and Cockle' first along; then he grew to like

-the drink, and now he can't bear the thought of going without it. Did

-you know Mr. Fowler spoke to father about it, miss?"</p>

-

-<p>"No; did he?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, he did indeed. They had an argument, and I fancy from father's

-manner that he was impressed by what Mr. Fowler said."</p>

-

-<p>Long the little girls talked, until Margaret declared she really must

-go, or she would be late for dinner. She hurried back to Greystone,

-to find that her mother was not up yet. On the landing, at the top of

-the stairs, she met Ross, who had that minute come from Mrs. Fowler's

-bedroom door.</p>

-

-<p>"Is mother's head no better?" Margaret inquired concernedly.</p>

-

-<p>"I'm afraid not," Ross answered. She looked somewhat perturbed, the

-little girl thought. "I've not seen the mistress since breakfast-time,

-miss," she proceeded hurriedly, "for she said she wished to be

-undisturbed, and now she has locked her door."</p>

-

-<p>"Locked her door!" Margaret echoed in utter astonishment.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, and she won't open it, miss. I was going to ask Miss Conway what

-I should do—"</p>

-

-<p>Not waiting to hear the conclusion of the sentence, Margaret ran to

-her mother's bedroom door and tried to open it. The handle turned, but

-the door remained closed. She rapped sharply with her knuckles and

-listened; then, receiving no answer, knocked again.</p>

-

-<p>"Who there?"</p>

-

-<p>It was her mother's voice that asked the question; but something in

-its tone fell discordantly upon the ears of the listeners and did not

-lessen their uneasiness.</p>

-

-<p>"It is I—Margaret. Let me in, mother dear."</p>

-

-<p>"You can't come in; go away."</p>

-

-<p>"But, mother, I want to know how you are. Is your head better?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes—no."</p>

-

-<p>"Please let me in. Why have you locked the door?"</p>

-

-<p>"I wish—to be alone."</p>

-

-<p>At that moment Miss Conway appeared upon the scene. She turned white as

-death when the situation was explained to her, and begged Margaret to

-go away, and let her try to persuade Mrs. Fowler to unlock the door.</p>

-

-<p>"No, no," cried the little girl. "Something must be amiss with mother,

-or she would never act so strangely. Mother, mother, let me in," and

-she knocked at the door louder than before.</p>

-

-<p>There were sounds inside the room of some one moving about, then the

-door was opened, and Mrs. Fowler, clad in a dressing-gown, with her

-hair streaming over her shoulders, appeared in the doorway.</p>

-

-<p>"What do you all want—coming here—disturbing me?" she questioned

-irritably; then she lurched forward, and would have fallen on her face,

-if Miss Conway had not sprung to her assistance and caught her.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, she has fainted!" Margaret cried, terribly frightened and

-distressed.</p>

-

-<p>With the help of Ross, who was looking pale and scared, the governess

-succeeded in dragging Mrs. Fowler across the room, and laying her upon

-the bed; and then turned to her little pupil and told her to shut and

-lock the door. Wondering greatly, Margaret obeyed. Returning to the

-bedside, she looked from one to the other of her companions in mingled

-astonishment and reproach, for neither was making the least attempt to

-bring Mrs. Fowler back to consciousness. The tears were streaming down

-Miss Conway's cheeks, and Ross was murmuring—"I never guessed it. No, I

-never guessed it."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, can't you do anything?" Margaret cried distractedly. "Oh, she is

-very ill!" And she bent over her mother, then suddenly drew back. Mrs.

-Fowler's cheeks were unusually flushed; she was breathing heavily,

-and upon her lips hung the smell of spirit. Margaret experienced a

-sensation as though an icy hand had gripped her heart. She looked

-inquiringly at Miss Conway, who avoided her glance, then her eyes

-travelled slowly around the room. On the dressing-table was a nearly

-empty brandy bottle, and by its side a glass.</p>

-

-<p>With an exceedingly bitter cry, Margaret realised the truth. Her mother

-was not ill—that is, not in the way she had supposed—but intoxicated.

-The blow had fallen, and everything was now plain to her.</p>

-

-<p>As in a dream, she heard Ross whispering to Miss Conway that she had

-never suspected her mistress of this, that she had never had such a

-shock in her life before, and listened to Miss Conway's answer that

-she herself would remain with Mrs. Fowler, and that the servants must

-be told she was ill. Then, the governess put her arms around her pupil

-and kissed her, begging her to be a brave girl. And all the while,

-Margaret was experiencing a strange feeling of unreality, as though she

-was living through a horrible nightmare. She watched Miss Conway fling

-the windows open wide, and place a blanket carefully over her mother's

-unconscious form, and the conviction grew upon her, that though the

-governess was deeply grieved, she was not surprised and shocked as she

-herself was and poor Ross who looked almost scared to death.</p>

-

-<p>Suddenly the governess pointed to the brandy bottle and appealed to the

-maid.</p>

-

-<p>"Did you supply her with that?" she questioned sternly.</p>

-

-<p>"No, miss, on my word of honour, I did not," Ross replied earnestly. "I

-never knew she had it; she must have kept it under lock and key."</p>

-

-<p>There was absolute truth in the girl's voice; and Miss Conway looked

-puzzled.</p>

-

-<p>"I can't make it out—how she obtained it, I mean," she said at

-last. "Ross, I think you had better leave your mistress to me for

-the present. I rely upon you not to speak of this downstairs. And

-Margaret—" the governess's voice softened to the tenderest pity—"will

-you take care of Gerald for the rest of the day? Tell him his mother is

-very poorly, and that he may have a half-holiday. You could take him

-down to the beach this afternoon. God help you to bear this trouble,

-poor child!"</p>

-

-<p>Margaret made no response. Ringing in her ears were words her father

-had spoken to her when they had been discussing Salome's trouble. "We

-cannot tell how much our patience and love may be tried, nor what

-trials and troubles the future may hold for us. We can only pray that

-God will strengthen us in our time of need."</p>

-

-<p>Had her father anticipated this hour for her? She could not tell, but

-she thought it more than likely.</p>

-

-<p>Meanwhile, Miss Conway was leading her to the door, begging her to put

-a brave face on matters, and to go down to dinner without her.</p>

-

-<p>"I feel my duty is here, my dear," she said impressively. "If any one

-questions you about your mother, you can truly say she is ill. Oh,

-Margaret, pray for her; she is greatly to be pitied!" And so saying,

-the governess opened the door and pushed her little pupil gently

-outside.</p>

-

-<p>For a few minutes Margaret stood perfectly still. Then the sound of

-Gerald's voice in the hall below reminded her that she must, as Miss

-Conway had said, put a brave face on matters. So she went downstairs

-and delighted her brother by promising to take him down to the beach.

-She was conscious that the burden of a great sorrow was upon her,

-and she felt bowed down with an intolerable weight of shame. But she

-devoted herself assiduously to Gerald for the remainder of the day;

-and it was not until nearly nine o'clock, when her charge was in bed

-and asleep, that she dared give way to her grief. Then, in the privacy

-of her own room, she flung herself upon the bed and wept as though her

-heart would break.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_10">CHAPTER X.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>Mr. Fowler's Return.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>"MARGARET! Oh, my dear little girl! Do not grieve so terribly. You will

-make yourself ill, if you go on like this."</p>

-

-<p>Margaret tried to stifle her sobs at the sound of the kind, pitying

-voice, and turned a swollen, tear-stained countenance towards

-Miss Conway, who had come in search of her. She longed to ask for

-her mother, but for the present, she was incapable of speech.

-Her governess, however, read aright her questioning eyes, and

-said reassuringly, "Your mother is better, my dear. She regained

-consciousness some time ago, since when she has had a cup of tea, and

-is now asleep. Ross is with her at present."</p>

-

-<p>Miss Conway drew a chair to the bedside and sat down, then she took

-one of her little pupil's hands and pressed it softly. "I have sent

-for your father," she continued; "after—after what has happened I

-considered it was my duty to do so. I did not think there was any

-necessity to alarm him by a telegram though, so I wrote by to-night's

-post and—explained. He will get my letter in the morning, and probably

-return home at once. So, dear Margaret, if all's well, he will

-doubtless be here to-morrow evening."</p>

-

-<p>The little girl was glad to hear this; but at the same time, she

-dreaded meeting her father with this new knowledge concerning her

-mother weighing on her mind. Her sobs had ceased now, and she could

-speak collectedly.</p>

-

-<p>"Miss Conway, do you think Ross has told the other servants?" she asked

-anxiously.</p>

-

-<p>"I am sure she has not, nor do I believe she will. Ross is a thoroughly

-good girl, and most sincerely attached to your mother. At first, I

-confess, I suspected her of having procured that—that poison, but I was

-quite wrong! Mrs. Fowler bought the brandy herself, the afternoon we

-drove to N— with her. Do you remember we drove on whilst she went into

-a grocer's shop? She obtained it there. Oh, it is a shame that grocers

-should be allowed licences for supplying intoxicating liquors! Poor

-soul, she has been telling me how sorely she was tempted! Oh, Margaret,

-this all comes of Mrs. Lute's offering her that glass of wine! She had

-not touched a stimulant since her illness till then, and had almost

-lost her craving for drink. That glass of wine, however, was too much

-for her, and she felt she must have more. I need not dwell on the

-result."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, Miss Conway, how shameful, how degrading!" Margaret cried

-passionately. "Oh, to think that mother should be like that! Oh, no

-wonder father wished us all to be teetotalers!"</p>

-

-<p>She covered her flaming face with her hands and shuddered. "How

-long—how long have you known this—about mother?" she inquired

-hesitatingly.</p>

-

-<p>"Many months. Since—oh, long before her illness."</p>

-

-<p>"Was that illness—"</p>

-

-<p>"Caused by drink? Yes. Oh, my dear, I see you guess it all. Your father

-hoped you would never know. He trusted that the complete change from

-life in town to the quietude of the country, where Mrs. Fowler would

-meet comparatively few people of her own class, and where he believed

-she would be free from temptation, would ultimately cure her of the

-fatal habit she had acquired of drinking to excess, and I believe that

-would have been the happy result, if you had not unfortunately met Mrs.

-Lute. Little does Mrs. Lute—good, kind creature that she is—dream of

-the mischief she has wrought. Your poor mother is full of grief and

-remorse now; and oh, so shocked that you should have seen her to-day.

-She knows I have written to Mr. Fowler, and you can imagine how she is

-dreading his return; yet she knows he will not be hard upon her. He

-loves her too well for that!"</p>

-

-<p>Margaret felt at that moment that her affection for her mother was

-being swallowed up by a sickening sensation of disgust. She had always

-loved her very dearly; and had been so pleased and happy when people

-had admired her for her beauty and winning ways. Even when Mrs. Fowler

-had openly shown her preference for Gerald of her two children, the

-little girl, though often hurt, had never evinced any jealousy or

-resentment. She had accepted the fact that Gerald was her mother's

-favourite, and had loved her none the less on that account. But now,

-her love was being tried very severely.</p>

-

-<p>The remembrance of Mrs. Fowler as she had last seen her, lying on

-the bed with flushed cheeks, breathing stertorously, was absolutely

-revolting to her. She had many times asked herself how Salome could

-continue to love her drunken father; now, she asked herself, was it

-possible that she could continue to love her drunken mother? Oh, the

-horror of the thought that one so gentle and refined should be on a par

-with Josiah Petherick, fellow-victim to a disgraceful, degrading sin!</p>

-

-<p>Perhaps Miss Conway guessed some of the thoughts which were passing

-through her companion's mind, for she watched her anxiously, and

-presently remarked, "I daresay, you can faintly imagine how your poor

-mother is feeling now. She had hoped to keep the secret of her weakness

-and sin from your knowledge. Your father, too, will be terribly

-troubled when he hears you have learnt the truth; but I do not doubt,

-dear child, that God in His wisdom has ordered all for the best. You

-will understand now, as you never did before, how much Mrs. Fowler

-needs all your love and devotion. You can help her, if you will, to

-the restoration of that self-respect which, once lost, is so hard to

-regain. You can show her, by loving her as unfalteringly as Salome

-loves her erring father, that she can rise above this habit which has

-done so much to ruin her health, and happiness, and earn everyone's

-respect and her own as well!"</p>

-

-<p>Miss Conway paused, and there was a solemn silence which Margaret at

-length broke by saying with a sob, "I do love mother, I do indeed."</p>

-

-<p>"I am sure of it. Mrs. Fowler is a very sweet, lovable woman!"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," Margaret agreed. "See what a lot of friends she had in town, and

-how popular she was! She was always going about—"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, dear, I know," the governess interposed, "and that was how it

-was she commenced taking stimulants. She used to get tired with her

-constant gaieties, and then she would take a glass of wine, or some

-other intoxicant, to revive her, until she grew to like stimulants,

-and took more and more. The craving increased, and she drank to the

-injury of her health, yet no outsiders guessed it. Then she had nervous

-attacks, followed at last by a serious illness. The doctors told your

-father she was killing herself, and immeasurably horrified, he took the

-only course he saw could save his wife—became a teetotaler himself, and

-insisted that his household should follow suit. Mrs. Fowler knew he was

-acting wisely, and for her sake, but she would not admit it. However,

-she found total abstinence from all intoxicants was restoring her to

-health, and had made up her mind never to touch a stimulant again when

-temptation was put in her way, and she fell. God grant she may prove

-stronger in the future. Now, my dear, tell me, have you had any supper?"</p>

-

-<p>"No," Margaret replied, "I am not in the least hungry."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, that's nonsense! You must eat whether you are hungry or not. Come

-with me."</p>

-

-<p>Margaret demurred at first, but her governess overruled all her

-objections. And after she had bathed her tear-stained face, the two

-went downstairs and had supper together. Miss Conway did not leave her

-pupil again until she saw her comfortably tucked up in bed for the

-night; then she kissed her, bade her try to sleep well, and left her to

-herself.</p>

-

-<p>And Margaret did sleep well, absolutely worn out with excitement and

-grief, whilst the governess spent the night in Mrs. Fowler's room. At

-daybreak, Ross came to take Miss Conway's place, and found her mistress

-sleeping tranquilly.</p>

-

-<p>"She looks more like herself, miss, doesn't she?" she whispered gladly.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," Miss Conway answered; "I should let her sleep as long as she

-will."</p>

-

-<p>She did not say what a harrowing time she had endured during that night

-watch, or how Mrs. Fowler had implored her to give her a stimulant, and

-had declared she would die without it. But she went away quietly to her

-own room, and before she lay down to rest, prayed earnestly to Almighty

-God for the unhappy woman, whom she pitied from the depths of her heart.</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<figure class="figcenter" id="image004" style="max-width: 25.8125em;">

-  <img class="w100" src="images/image004.jpg" alt="image004">

-</figure>

-<p class="t4">

-<b>SHE WENT TO THE FRONT DOOR TO MEET MR. FOWLER.</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>Early in the morning, a telegram arrived from Mr. Fowler saying he

-would be at home that night, and ordering the carriage to be sent to N—

-to meet him at the railway station. The governess made no secret of the

-fact that she had written to inform him of his wife's illness, and as

-Ross kept her own counsel, the other servants supposed their mistress

-to be suffering from one of the hysterical, nervous attacks to which

-she had been subject on her arrival at Greystone.</p>

-

-<p>It was nearly eight o'clock before Mr. Fowler reached home. Margaret,

-who had spent most of the day on the beach with her brother, shrank

-sensitively from the thought of meeting her father. When she heard the

-carriage wheels nearing the house, she longed to run away and hide, but

-she knew it would never do to act in such a cowardly fashion as that.

-Appearances must be kept up, at any rate before the servants, so she

-went to the front door with Gerald to meet Mr. Fowler, and returned

-his loving kiss as quietly and composedly as though her heart was not

-beating almost to suffocation.</p>

-

-<p>As she had anticipated, he immediately went upstairs to his wife's

-room, and it was not until much later, that she found herself with him

-alone. Then, after Gerald had gone to bed, he joined her in the garden,

-and strolled up and down the lawn by her side, his arm around her

-shoulders. For some minutes he did not speak, and she could not see the

-expression of his face, for there was no moon, and the stars gave but

-little light.</p>

-

-<p>At last he said gravely, "Life is very hard, sometimes, Margaret."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," she agreed, adding with a little sob: "Oh, father, you left her

-in my care, but I did not know, and if I had, it would not have made

-any difference."</p>

-

-<p>"No, no; I understand. She has told me everything herself."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, father, it is shocking! Think of the disgrace. Oh, you can't

-imagine how dreadful I feel about it!"</p>

-

-<p>"I think I can," he replied sadly. "My poor child, I had hoped to

-have been allowed to keep this trouble from you, but God willed it

-otherwise. Have you seen your mother to-day?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, father. She said she did not wish to see me."</p>

-

-<p>"Ah, poor thing, she is ashamed to face you! If I were you, when you

-meet, I would not revert to—to her illness at all."</p>

-

-<p>"I will not."</p>

-

-<p>"I shall try and persuade Mrs. Lute to come and spend a few days with

-us, in order to cheer us all up."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, father, Mrs. Lute was the cause of all this trouble."</p>

-

-<p>"I am aware of it; but her intention in offering your mother wine was

-an excellent one, she had no idea of working mischief. I shall simply

-explain to her that this is a teetotal household, and she is not the

-woman I take her to be if, after that, she refuses an invitation to

-visit us."</p>

-

-<p>"Did you finish your business in London, father?" Margaret questioned.</p>

-

-<p>"Not quite. It must stand over for a few weeks. I shall not leave home

-again for the present."</p>

-

-<p>Though he spoke so quietly, Margaret knew her father must be very sore

-at heart. She had often wondered why her mother was more at her ease

-when not in her husband's presence, and now she understood the reason.

-Mrs. Fowler was conscious that he was always keeping a watch upon her,

-that he did not trust her, and dear though he was to her, she stood in

-awe of him.</p>

-

-<p>Until her illness in the spring, he had always allowed her, her own

-way. But his alarm for her well-being once aroused, he had taken the

-reins of government into his own hands, and had shown her plainly that

-he meant his will to be law. She had always been a pleasure-seeking

-woman and fond of society; but, broken down in health, she had not

-found life at Yelton so utterly unbearable as she had anticipated.

-Her husband had devoted much of his time to her, and, thrown more

-in contact with her little daughter, she had begun to take a deeper

-interest in her than she had done before.</p>

-

-<p>She had always been pleased to notice her beauty, but of late,

-she had discovered that Margaret possessed other and higher

-attractions—goodness and unselfishness—which she could not but admire.

-She saw the little girl had inherited many of her father's excellent

-qualities of mind and heart, and uneasily conscious of her own weakness

-of character, she was delighted that it was so. Unfortunately there had

-never been the same sympathy of feeling between Margaret and her mother

-as there had always been between the little girl and her father.</p>

-

-<p>Now, as she strolled by Mr. Fowler's side up and down the lawn,

-she slipped her hand through his arm, whilst she leaned her head

-confidingly against his shoulder, as she said, "Father, I'm so very

-glad you've come home."</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_11">CHAPTER XI.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>Josiah at His Worst.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>THE afternoon subsequent to her husband's return, Mrs. Fowler was

-sufficiently well to come downstairs and lie on the sofa in the

-drawing-room. Margaret, who had gone back to her usual routine of work

-with Miss Conway, saw little of her mother during the next few days,

-and after Mr. Fowler drove to N— one morning, and brought Mrs. Lute

-home with him, Mrs. Fowler spent most of her time with her friend, and

-avoided her little daughter's society as much as possible.</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Lute, though she had been much astonished when Mr. Fowler had

-frankly explained to her that his was now a teetotal household, was

-far too well-bred a woman to question him concerning what his wife had

-called his "fad;" and though she had been accustomed all her life to

-the sparing use of stimulants, she could very well do without them, and

-was perfectly satisfied and happy at Greystone.</p>

-

-<p>"So many people are teetotalers nowadays," she remarked pleasantly to

-Mr. Fowler on one occasion when she had been several days beneath his

-roof, "so really you are quite in the fashion."</p>

-

-<p>"I wish I could think that," he replied, with rather a sad smile.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, one meets a great many people who are total abstainers!" she

-assured him. "Why, Miss Conway tells me she has always been one. It

-seems drink has been the cause of a great deal of trouble in her

-family. And your good Vicar here is a teetotaler too, so he informed

-me yesterday. He argues truly that he cannot teach what he does not

-practise. I was surprised to hear that even in this quiet little

-village drink is the curse of the place."</p>

-

-<p>"I believe that is so. There are several notorious drunkards amongst

-the fishermen, and one in whom we, as a family, are much interested, on

-his daughter's account, is likely to join their ranks."</p>

-

-<p>"You refer to that fine, strong man who took us out boating yesterday,

-I presume?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes; Josiah Petherick. He is a most reliable man when sober, but when

-he has been drinking—which often happens now, I fear—he is a perfect

-brute. I have been hearing many tales to his discredit lately, and this

-morning I was told on reliable authority in the village, that he spends

-nearly all his earnings at the 'Crab and Cockle' now, and begrudges

-the money for the household accounts. Last night, he went home more

-intoxicated than usual—actually mad drunk—and smashed up some of the

-furniture in his cottage, after which he turned his little daughter

-out-doors. The poor child was forced to beg a night's lodging from Mrs.

-Moyle at the village shop, and to-day, all Yelton is talking about it."</p>

-

-<p>A faint exclamation of dismay caused Mrs. Lute and Mr. Fowler, who had

-been conversing in the garden, close outside the drawing-room window,

-to look around. They encountered Mrs. Fowler's shocked gaze. Hearing

-them talking, she had come to the window and had overheard all that had

-been said.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, Henry, that poor Salome!" she cried, her blue eyes full of tears.

-"Have you seen her to-day?"</p>

-

-<p>"No; but the Vicar has. Hearing what had happened, he went down to

-Petherick's cottage the first thing this morning. Salome had just

-returned and was doing her utmost to put the place to rights, and her

-father had gone out in his boat in a very humbled, repentant state of

-mind, after having apologised to her for his abominable behaviour, and

-having promised he would not act so madly again."</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler sighed, whilst Mrs. Lute said gravely, "Let us hope he will

-keep his word."</p>

-

-<p>"He will not, without he gives up the drink," Mr. Fowler rejoined, with

-conviction in his tone. "No, he will go from bad to worse until, in one

-of his drunken frenzies, he will do something he will never cease to

-regret—perhaps some injury to his child."</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler sank into a chair looking pale and perturbed, whilst her

-husband and friend drifted into another channel of conversation. The

-news she had heard about the Pethericks had upset her, and when, a

-short while later, Margaret entered the room, the first question she

-put to her was to ask if she had seen Salome that day.</p>

-

-<p>"No, mother," the little girl answered. "Why?" she added, struck by the

-almost frightened expression on Mrs. Fowler's face.</p>

-

-<p>She listened in silence, her colour alternately coming and going, to

-all there was to tell, then exclaimed "Oh, I am sorry! Poor Salome! And

-it rained heavily last night. Perhaps she will come up to the church

-this evening to hear me practise the organ. Oh, I hope she will! When

-are you coming to hear me play again, mother?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, some time! Perhaps when Mrs. Lute has gone."</p>

-

-<p>"Wouldn't Mrs. Lute come too?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I don't think you play well enough—" Mrs. Fowler paused abruptly,

-conscious of the hurt look on her little daughter's countenance. She

-had avoided Margaret lately, and Margaret had noticed the fact with

-acute pain. What had she done that her mother should abstain from

-meeting her gaze? An insurmountable barrier seemed to have sprung up

-between mother and child.</p>

-

-<p>Margaret's heart was full of bitterness as she turned away and left the

-room. She had endeavoured to show no feeling but that of love for her

-mother since her recent indisposition, but it had been impossible for

-Mrs. Fowler not to remark a slight difference in her manner, of which

-Margaret was unconscious herself. She thought she read reproach in the

-little girl's eyes, and shrank sensitively from being alone with her.

-She was ashamed in the presence of her own child.</p>

-

-<p>Had Margaret grasped the truth of the situation, she would have judged

-her mother less harshly; but failing to do so, she was deeply pained,

-and told herself that her mother liked her less than ever. Upon Gerald,

-Mrs. Fowler lavished all her affection. She would listen to his chatter

-untiringly, talking gaily in return; and, however much he teased her,

-she always found excuses for him.</p>

-

-<p>Miss Conway did not give Margaret a music lesson that evening, for Mrs.

-Fowler requested her to accompany Mrs. Lute and herself for a walk, and

-to bring Gerald with her, so Margaret went alone to the church.</p>

-

-<p>She practised for an hour, then dismissed the boy who had blown the

-organ for her, and was leaving the church when she caught sight of a

-small figure huddled up in a corner of a pew near the west door. It was

-Salome.</p>

-

-<p>"Is it you, Salome?" Margaret cried, hastening to her side, and laying

-her hand tenderly upon her shoulder. The lame girl lifted her bowed

-head, and in the dim light, Margaret saw she had been weeping, though

-there were no tears in her brown eyes now, and her lips were curved in

-a smile.</p>

-

-<p>"I've been asleep," she said. "I'm glad you didn't go without speaking

-to me, Miss Margaret. I came in whilst you were practising, and I was

-tired. I—I had little rest last night."</p>

-

-<p>"I know—I've heard," Margaret returned hurriedly, as the other paused

-in confusion.</p>

-

-<p>"Have you, miss? I'm glad of that, for now I shan't have to tell you,

-and I'd rather not talk of it."</p>

-

-<p>"Of course you would rather not."</p>

-

-<p>"I was tired," Salome proceeded; "so tired and worn out, that I

-couldn't help crying. My poor legs ached so—but oh! not so badly as

-my heart. The pain here—" clasping her hands against her breast—"was

-almost more than I could bear. Then I fell asleep, and I was dreaming

-when you awoke me."</p>

-

-<p>"I hope it was a pleasant dream," Margaret said softly.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, very pleasant! I thought it was evening time—getting almost dark

-as it is now—and service was going on in the church. I could hear

-father's voice singing with the choir. You can't imagine what a deep,

-beautiful voice father has, Miss Margaret. I was listening to it when

-you awoke me. But I'm glad you happened to catch sight of me, though

-you did disturb my dream. Is anything wrong, miss?" And the lame girl's

-brown eyes peered anxiously at her companion.</p>

-

-<p>"I am not happy," Margaret confessed with a sigh.</p>

-

-<p>"Mrs. Fowler is not ill again?" Salome questioned in concerned tones.</p>

-

-<p>"No, no; she is perfectly well. We have an old friend visiting us, and

-that makes it pleasant for mother."</p>

-

-<p>"I saw a strange lady in church with you on Sunday, miss; and father

-took her out in his boat with Mrs. Fowler. She treated him very

-handsomely, he said; but I wish she hadn't."</p>

-

-<p>"Why?" Margaret asked in surprise.</p>

-

-<p>"Because he spent the money she gave him in drink at the public-house,

-and that was the beginning of the trouble last night. There, I didn't

-mean to talk of it, but, naturally, it's uppermost in my mind."</p>

-

-<p>"Of course it is. Did you—did you get wet last night?"</p>

-

-<p>"Dripping to the skin," Salome admitted. "But Mrs. Moyle—God bless

-her!—took me in and gave me dry clothes, and a bed too. But oh, I

-couldn't sleep for wondering what father was up to at home. You can

-never be certain what a drunken body will not do. How selfish I am,

-though, to talk so much of myself. Won't you tell me what troubles you,

-Miss Margaret?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, Salome, I can't," was the low response. "It's something I can

-never speak of."</p>

-

-<p>"Then try not to think too much about it, miss," the lame girl advised.

-"If I were you, I'd tell my trouble to God, and leave it to Him. That's

-what I do with mine."</p>

-

-<p>"By your trouble, you mean your father?" Margaret inquired diffidently.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, miss. Do you remember saying to me that night you and I had been

-sitting in the porch, and father had come home drunk—'May God help you,

-Salome'? I think you saw God was the only One who could help me; and I

-want to remind you of those words of yours, because maybe He's the only

-One who can help you too! Why, how dark it's getting think, miss, we

-had better go."</p>

-

-<p>She reached for her crutches as she spoke, and swung herself out of the

-pew into the aisle. Margaret followed her silently through the west

-door into the churchyard. It was nearly dark, for it was September now,

-and the evenings were shortening fast; but whilst they lingered at the

-churchyard gate, the edge of the moon appeared in the eastern horizon,

-and slowly sailed upwards into the cloudless sky, illuminating the old

-grey church, surrounded with the graves of the quiet dead, and shedding

-its pale light on the little village and the broad surface of the

-peaceful sea.</p>

-

-<p>"How beautiful!" cried Margaret. "It is the harvest moon, so father

-said last night. But, Salome, it is late for you to be out alone. Shall

-I walk part of the way home with you?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, no, thank you, miss! I shall be perfectly safe. Besides, it's

-quite light now the moon has risen. Good night, miss."</p>

-

-<p>"Good night, Salome."</p>

-

-<p>Margaret went back to Greystone in a very thoughtful frame of mind. She

-considered that her friend was not half so depressed as she herself

-would have been under similar circumstances, not reflecting that

-Salome's trouble had come upon her by slow degrees. It had taken five

-years to change Josiah Petherick from a sober, God-fearing man into the

-desperate drunkard who had turned his only child out-doors last night.</p>

-

-<p>Meanwhile, Salome, as she swung herself down the hill, wondered what

-could be amiss with Miss Margaret. She had grown deeply attached to the

-pretty, fair-haired girl, who had, from the first time they had met,

-treated her with the greatest kindness and consideration. She had given

-her several lessons in the art of knitting, and the lessons had given

-pleasure to teacher and pupil alike; and both were much interested

-in the progression of the sock which Margaret was rather laboriously

-making under the other's instructions.</p>

-

-<p>The "Crab and Cockle" was lit up brightly as Salome passed by, and

-she sighed as she heard the hoarse murmur of voices within, for she

-imagined her father to be there; but great was her surprise on reaching

-home, to find him in the little yard at the back of the cottage bathing

-his face at the pump. When he came into the kitchen, she noticed not

-only that he was intoxicated, but that he had a cut on his cheek, and

-one eye was turning black. She asked no questions, however, for she saw

-he was in one of his worst moods; so she lit the lamp in silence, and

-proceeded to set the supper on the table. Presently, he remarked that

-he had quarrelled with someone, and they had come to blows.</p>

-

-<p>"'Twas Silas Moyle—" he was beginning, when, in her surprise, she

-interrupted him.</p>

-

-<p>"Silas Moyle!" she echoed, for the baker was a steady, peace-loving man.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," he nodded; "the canting humbug!" He looked at her sullenly, even

-resentfully, she thought; and she trembled with fear as she noticed his

-shaking hands and quivering lips.</p>

-

-<p>Then he burst forth into a volley of oaths, and she gleaned that he

-was angry with her for having sought refuge with the Moyles on the

-preceding night. He stormed against her, against Silas and his wife,

-against everyone, in short, who had remonstrated with him that day.

-Apparently, his neighbours had been telling him some plain home truths

-which had not been pleasant hearing.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, father, don't say any more!" Salome pleaded in great distress.

-"Oh, please don't swear so frightfully! What could I do? You turned me

-out of my home, and I did not know where to go, except to Mrs. Moyle's.

-Oh, don't speak of her like that! It was out of pure kindness she took

-me in. You would not have had me spend the night out of doors in that

-lashing rain, would you? Oh, father, you are cruel indeed!"</p>

-

-<p>The reproach in her sorrowful eyes enraged him beyond measure.</p>

-

-<p>"You dare stand up for those who insult your father!" he shouted in a

-fury; and clutching her by the shoulder, he shook her savagely, then

-flung her from him with some violence. Losing her hold of her crutches,

-they fell to the ground; and staggering forward with a frightened cry,

-she knocked her forehead against a corner of the mantelpiece, and the

-next moment, lay white and unconscious at her father's feet.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_12">CHAPTER XII.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>A Brief Repentance.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>IT was about half-past nine o'clock that same night, that the Vicar of

-Yelton opened the Pethericks' garden gate, and stepping determinedly up

-the path, rapped at the door of the cottage.</p>

-

-<p>Returning from an evening's fishing an hour previously, he had been

-stopped in the village, on his way home, by Silas Moyle, who had poured

-into his ears an excited tale about Josiah, whom Silas had taken upon

-himself to remonstrate with upon his cruel conduct to his daughter on

-the previous night, with the result that Josiah, inflamed with drink,

-had struck him, and had received in return a black eye and an injured

-cheek.</p>

-

-<p>"You know, sir, I'm a man of peace, and don't hold with brawling,"

-Silas had said; "but I own I lost my temper to-night. Josiah's a

-regular blackguard when he's drunk."</p>

-

-<p>"It was foolish to remonstrate with a drunken man," Mr. Amyatt had

-answered. "Had you spoken to him in his sober moments, your words might

-have had a very different effect. Where is Josiah now?"</p>

-

-<p>"Gone home, swearing vengeance against me, sir. My great fear is, that

-he'll do some harm to poor Salome."</p>

-

-<p>That had been the Vicar's fear, too. So, instead of going straight to

-the Vicarage as he had intended, he had retraced his footsteps to the

-Pethericks' cottage, and now stood waiting for admittance at the door.</p>

-

-<p>As no one answered his knock, he rapped louder and listened. For a

-few moments there was silence; then came the sound of heavy, dragging

-footsteps, and Josiah opened the door and demanded hoarsely who was

-there.</p>

-

-<p>"It is I, Petherick," the Vicar answered, stepping uninvited across the

-threshold.</p>

-

-<p>"Where is your daughter?" he asked, fixing his eyes upon the fisherman,

-who stood staring at him in a dazed fashion.</p>

-

-<p>Receiving no reply, he turned into the kitchen, an exclamation of

-horror and dismay breaking from his lips, as he caught sight of the

-small, slight figure of the lame girl lying near the fireplace. Very

-tenderly, he lifted her and placed her in the one easy-chair in the

-room, calling to Josiah to bring some water immediately.</p>

-

-<p>"Water!" questioned Josiah stupidly. "What for? She's dead. She's been

-dead this half-hour or more; but I haven't dared touch her. Salome,

-Salome! I've killed you, my poor maid! Your own father's killed you,

-Salome;" and flinging himself on his knees at his daughter's side,

-Josiah wept like a child.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't be foolish, Petherick," Mr. Amyatt said sternly. He had been

-feeling Salome's pulse, and had ascertained that it beat, though

-feebly. "She's not dead, but she has fainted. Come, be a man. Pull

-yourself together, and fetch some water at once."</p>

-

-<p>"Not dead," Josiah cried excitedly. "Are you sure? Then, God be thanked

-for that!" He rose from his knees, and went into the yard, returning in

-a few seconds with a basin of water.</p>

-

-<p>Very gently, the Vicar bathed Salome's white face until her eyelids

-flickered and a faint colour stole to her lips. Josiah, sobered by

-fright, explained what had happened, not sparing himself, but declaring

-he would not have injured a hair of his daughter's head, if he could

-have helped it, for Mr. Amyatt must know how much he loved her.</p>

-

-<p>"Tush, Petherick!" the Vicar responded impatiently, mingled pity and

-disgust in his tone. "Don't talk to me of your love for Salome. A nice

-way you have of showing it. Last night, you turned her out of doors in

-torrents of rain—"</p>

-

-<p>"I was drunk," Josiah interposed hastily. "She riled me, she did, with

-her tears, and—"</p>

-

-<p>"Having been drunk is no excuse," Mr. Amyatt interrupted in his turn.

-"Not content with your scandalous conduct last night, you must continue

-your unmanly behaviour to-day and knock Salome down, and—"</p>

-

-<p>"No, no," said a weak voice at this point. It was Salome who spoke. She

-had regained consciousness, and was sufficiently herself to understand

-what was going on. "No, no," she repeated, "it was an accident. He did

-not mean to hurt me."</p>

-

-<p>"I shook her, and—and pushed her," Josiah admitted, looking thoroughly

-ashamed of himself. "I meant her no harm, sir, but I was rough,

-and—oh, Salome, can you ever forgive me?" And the wretched man turned

-appealingly to the little figure in the easy-chair.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," was the faint response. "I—I don't think I'm much hurt."</p>

-

-<p>"Are you in pain?" Mr. Amyatt asked gently.</p>

-

-<p>"No, sir; but my forehead is very sore. I must have knocked it in

-falling."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, poor child, I see you did; there is a big bruise coming."</p>

-

-<p>"I suppose I fainted?" she inquired, looking wistfully from the Vicar

-to her father, who was regarding her in gloomy silence.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, that was it, you fainted," Mr. Amyatt replied. "But you are much

-better now; and after a good night's rest, I have no doubt you will be

-almost yourself again."</p>

-

-<p>Salome glanced at her crutches, which were lying on the ground. Mr.

-Amyatt picked them up and placed them against her chair.</p>

-

-<p>"Thank you, sir," she said gratefully, lifting her brown eyes shyly to

-his face, which expressed so plainly his sympathy and concern. "I think

-I shall be all right now," she added. "Thank you for being so kind."</p>

-

-<p>"Does that mean you wish me to go?" he queried with a smile. "Well, I

-don't know that I can do any good by remaining longer. Good night, my

-dear."</p>

-

-<p>He took Salome's small, thin hand and pressed it reassuringly, then

-beckoned to her father to follow him to the door.</p>

-

-<p>"You must have someone in to see to that poor child to-night,

-Petherick," he said gravely. "Can you call upon assistance from one of

-your neighbours?"</p>

-

-<p>Josiah shook his head doubtfully.</p>

-

-<p>"Then, shall I ask Mrs. Moyle to look in and help get Salome to bed?"

-the Vicar suggested.</p>

-

-<p>A dull, shamed flush rose to the fisherman's face, and he began to

-stammer something about not knowing whether Mrs. Moyle would come

-inside his doors, seeing he had quarrelled with her husband only that

-evening; but the Vicar cut him short.</p>

-

-<p>"I know all about that, Petherick. Silas Moyle told me the tale himself

-not an hour ago. I heard it with great regret, for Silas is a sincere

-well-wisher of yours, and he and his wife would do anything in the

-world for your little girl. You had better let me send Mrs. Moyle to

-you—that is, if she will come; perhaps she will not. Shall I be the

-bearer of an apology from you to Silas?"</p>

-

-<p>"I'm sorry I hit him," Josiah acknowledged truthfully.</p>

-

-<p>"Shall I tell him that?"</p>

-

-<p>"If you please, sir. I admit, I deserved what he gave me. Oh, sir, I've

-had a fine fright this night! I thought I'd killed Salome."</p>

-

-<p>"You might have done so."</p>

-

-<p>"Then I should have been a murderer," Josiah groaned. "I'm a bad lot,

-sir, that's what I am."</p>

-

-<p>He seemed perfectly sober now, so Mr. Amyatt spoke a few solemn words

-to him, imploring him, for the sake of his little daughter, to give

-up the drink, and take the pledge. Josiah declared he would think

-seriously about doing so, and went back to Salome, whilst the Vicar

-hurried in search of Mrs. Moyle.</p>

-

-<p>At first, that good woman, kind-hearted and fond of the lame girl

-though she was, said nothing would make her enter the doors of one

-who had so insulted her husband as had Josiah. But, on Silas adding

-his entreaties to the Vicar's, she gave in and betook herself to the

-Pethericks' cottage, where, after having assisted Salome upstairs, and

-put her to bed, she declared her intention of remaining for the night.

-She was not going to leave "that poor motherless lamb," as she called

-Salome, "in the house alone with a maniac."</p>

-

-<p>Josiah Petherick did not look much like a maniac, however, as he sat

-in the kitchen listening to Mrs. Moyle's scathing remarks as she put

-away the supper things. He was in a wonderfully subdued and repentant

-frame of mind, and sat with his elbows on the table and his aching

-head resting in his hands. At last, he could bear his companion's home

-thrusts no longer, and exclaimed, "Good gracious, woman, do you imagine

-I don't know what a beast I am?"</p>

-

-<p>"Well, if you do know it, why don't you turn over a new leaf?" she

-inquired. "I mind what a steady young fellow you used to be. You're

-too easily led, that's what you are. Make up your mind to give up the

-drink."</p>

-

-<p>"I can't—not entirely; it's got too strong a hold on me," he confessed.</p>

-

-<p>"That's the way of it. Well, you'll have to choose between drink and

-Salome—that's my opinion—for you're killing her by slow degrees."</p>

-

-<p>Josiah started; but Mrs. Moyle did not pursue the subject further.

-She told him he had better go to bed, and make no noise to disturb

-his daughter. Accordingly, he took off his boots and crept upstairs

-in his stockinged feet, whilst Mrs. Moyle, having put out the lamp,

-and ascertained that the door of the cottage was securely fastened,

-returned to Salome, whom she found sleeping peacefully.</p>

-

-<p>The next day, Josiah put himself in the way of Silas Moyle, and

-actually apologised to him for having struck. And Silas was magnanimous

-and forgave him, though it must be admitted, he regarded the other's

-black eye and swelled cheek with a sense of satisfaction. They were

-marks that would remain to remind Josiah of his ill conduct for some

-days to come.</p>

-

-<p>Salome was poorly for nearly a week, and the first occasion on which

-she showed herself in the village, she was met on all sides by

-commiserating looks and words which showed her plainly that everyone

-was quite aware that her father had been the cause of her accident. The

-sympathy thus evinced towards her, though kindly offered, cut her to

-the heart, and she returned home utterly miserable.</p>

-

-<p>During the days which followed, Mr. Amyatt made several ineffectual

-attempts to induce Josiah to take the pledge. No, Josiah said, there

-was no need for him to do that; but he had made up his mind to turn

-over a new leaf, nevertheless, and the Vicar would see that he could

-take his glass of beer like other men and be none the worse for it. The

-Vicar shook his head at that, but Josiah was not to be moved, so the

-matter was, perforce, dropped.</p>

-

-<p>Margaret was the first of the inmates of Greystone to hear of Salome's

-accident. Mrs. Moyle gave her full particulars of it one morning when

-she had an errand at the shop. And before going home, she went to

-inquire for her lame friend, whom she found sitting in the porch of the

-cottage with such a bright, hopeful expression on her pale countenance,

-that she was surprised, and remarked upon it.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I am ever so much better!" Salome assured her with a smile.</p>

-

-<p>"Are you really?" Margaret asked anxiously. "You have a nasty bruise on

-your forehead."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, that's nothing, indeed, miss! Have you heard how it happened?

-They haven't made you believe father did it on purpose, have they? He

-wouldn't hurt me for anything, if he could help it. Oh, Miss Margaret,

-I do believe father means to be steadier for the future!"</p>

-

-<p>"Is he going to be a teetotaler, then?" Margaret inquired eagerly.</p>

-

-<p>"No—o," was the dubious reply, "I'm afraid not; but he says he won't

-take more beer than is good for him. Oh, I know he has said that lots

-of times before, but I believe he really means it now. Indeed, he has

-been quite different these last few days—more like what he used to be

-when dear mother was alive."</p>

-

-<p>This was quite true. Mrs. Moyle's words that he would have to choose

-between drink and Salome had made a strong impression upon Josiah, and

-had caused him to notice how much thinner and paler his little daughter

-had become of late. His conscience reproached him on her account,

-for he knew that she was not very strong, and that she worked hard,

-besides which, his unsteady habits were a constant trouble to her. In

-his repentance, he felt capable of denying himself anything for her

-sake—except drink, and that, he solemnly vowed he would take sparingly.</p>

-

-<p>Seeing that Salome was so hopeful that her father meant to live a sober

-life for the future, Margaret had not the heart to express the doubts

-which occupied her mind; but on her return to Greystone, she saw, by

-Mr. Fowler's grave face when she explained the situation to him, that

-he did not believe Josiah's repentance would be lasting, and trembled

-for the safety and happiness of her little lame friend.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't you think he means to keep his word, and not get intoxicated

-again?" she questioned.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes!" Mr. Fowler replied, "I think he means all he says. But I

-feel sure, if he does not give up drink altogether, it will soon have

-the mastery over him again. I believe he loves Salome very dearly, but

-he loves drink even better than his little daughter, or he would be

-willing to give it up for her sake. Poor Salome! I greatly fear she has

-more trouble in store for her with that father of hers."</p>

-

-<p>This proved to be the case. For before a fortnight had quite elapsed

-since Salome's accident, Josiah was drinking heavily again, and

-spending his evenings at the "Crab and Cockle," as he had done of

-old. His repentance had been of brief duration; and the lame girl's

-face grew pinched, and her dark brown eyes larger and sadder, as her

-father squandered more and more of his earnings at the village inn;

-whilst Silas Moyle grumbled when the Pethericks' bread account remained

-unpaid, and would have stopped the supply, but for Salome.</p>

-

-<p>"The poor little maid looks half-starved as it is," he remarked to his

-wife when she expressed surprise that he took no steps to obtain his

-rights. "Josiah's drinking what ought to be spent on his child; but it

-shall never be said that we begrudged her bread."</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>Mrs. Fowler and Salome.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>WHEN Mrs. Lute returned to N—, she asked and obtained permission

-for Margaret to visit her. The little girl had not appeared very

-well lately, and it was thought a change would do her good, which it

-certainly did, for she came back at the end of a fortnight decidedly

-better in health and spirits.</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler greeted Margaret on her return with no very great show of

-pleasure, though secretly, she was delighted to see her looking so

-well. She never told her how glad she was to have her at home again, or

-that she had missed her, as she had actually done. And consequently,

-Margaret was not a little disappointed, and the kiss she gave her

-governess was far warmer than the one she imprinted on her mother's

-fair cheek—a fact Mrs. Fowler did not fail to notice.</p>

-

-<p>"I have forfeited her respect and affection," thought the mother

-bitterly.</p>

-

-<p>"She does not care for me, she never did," thought the child.</p>

-

-<p>So the estrangement between the two grew, till it was patent to

-everybody. Perhaps Mr. Fowler and the governess guessed the cause of

-it; but the servants blamed their mistress, and declared she was so

-wrapped up in Master Gerald, that she had no love to spare for her

-daughter.</p>

-

-<p>On her return to Greystone, Margaret resumed her organ lessons; but she

-was obliged to practise in the afternoons now, as the evenings were

-dark.</p>

-

-<p>The golden touch of autumn was upon everything; the orchards were

-being cleared of their fruit; and the village children scoured the

-country around Yelton for blackberries, and sloes, and mushrooms. At

-the end of September, the fine weather broke up, and was followed by

-the equinoctial gales, which did great damage in the Greystone gardens,

-the fierce wind tearing up shrubs by the roots, and the heavy rains

-beating down the summer flowers which had lingered late in bloom. Mr.

-Fowler braved the fury of the elements, and was out of doors every day;

-but the weather was too rough for the other inmates of Greystone, who

-remained in the house till the gales had passed.</p>

-

-<p>Thus it was, that Margaret and Salome did not see as much of each other

-as they had done hitherto. But one fine October afternoon, the former

-paid the latter a visit, and was shocked to see how worried and ill her

-lame friend was looking.</p>

-

-<p>The truth of the matter was, the bad weather had prevented any fishing

-being done, and Josiah Petherick, having no money in hand, it had been

-extremely short commons for him and Salome. Of course, Salome did not

-intimate this to Margaret, she would have been ashamed to do so; she

-merely said, when questioned, that she had not been very well, and

-turned the conversation to Margaret's late visit to N—.</p>

-

-<p>"Mrs. Lute gives up the house shortly, and returns to London," Margaret

-explained. "But she likes Cornwall so much, that she says she shall try

-to come again next year, if not to N—, then perhaps to some place near.

-By the way, Salome, mother and father are going to London for a few

-days soon. Shan't we be lonely at Greystone without them? Mother says

-she hopes you will come and see her before she goes. Will you?"</p>

-

-<p>Salome assented. She liked Mrs. Fowler, who had always been very kind

-to her, and admired her as much as she had ever done; she considered

-her the nicest, prettiest lady she knew.</p>

-

-<p>So one afternoon, a few days later, found the lame girl entering the

-Greystone grounds. She approached the house slowly, marking the havoc

-the late gales had worked, and went around to the back door, where she

-inquired of the servant who opened it in response to her knock, if Mrs.

-Fowler was at home. She was answered in the affirmative, and invited

-into the big, front kitchen to wait, whilst it was ascertained if the

-mistress was disengaged at present.</p>

-

-<p>"Sit down, my dear," said the cook—a stout, middle-aged woman, with a

-round, red face, and a pair of sharp though not unkindly eyes. "There,

-take that easy-chair and rest yourself; maybe the pull up the hill has

-tired you."</p>

-

-<p>She fetched a glass of milk and a big slice of cake, which she placed

-before her visitor. "You'll be better after a little refreshment," she

-added. "I know the mistress would wish you to have it."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, thank you!" Salome replied gratefully, flushing with pleasure, for

-she had had a scanty dinner. She drank the milk and ate the cake, and

-did certainly feel better afterwards.</p>

-

-<p>"Miss Margaret's out," the cook remarked. "She's gone for a walk with

-Miss Conway and Master Gerald. But I daresay, she'll be back before

-long. She'd be sorry to miss you, my dear, for you're a rare favourite

-of hers, I can tell you."</p>

-

-<p>Salome smiled happily, as she replied, "I am so glad to hear you say

-that, for I love her dearly. I expect you're very fond of her yourself,

-aren't you?"</p>

-

-<p>"I believe she's a general favourite—but no, I'm wrong there. There's

-one in the house who doesn't appreciate her, and that's her own mother.

-Yes, you may well look surprised, but I assure you it's true. Mrs.

-Fowler doesn't make half as much of Miss Margaret as she does of Master

-Gerald—tiresome boy that he is. She wanted to take him to town with

-her, if you please, but the master won't allow that. I heard them

-talking about it in the garden. 'We'll take Margaret, if you like,'

-he said. 'No,' said she, 'I don't want Margaret.' She never does want

-her, and that's the fact, and yet, I believe there's not anything Miss

-Margaret would not do for her."</p>

-

-<p>The cook, who was an extremely garrulous person, paused breathlessly

-for a few moments, then proceeded: "And such a pretty, nice-mannered

-little girl Miss Margaret is too. I declare it's a shame her own mother

-shouldn't love her more. It puzzles me, that it does, why it should be

-so."</p>

-

-<p>Salome had listened in pain and surprise, wondering if this accounted

-for the sad expression which she had so often noticed on Margaret's

-pretty face. Was this the trouble that could not be told?</p>

-

-<p>Before, however, she had time to make a reply, Ross entered the

-kitchen, and said her mistress would like Salome to join her in the

-drawing-room.</p>

-

-<p>The lame girl found Mrs. Fowler alone, sitting by the fire, for though

-the weather was not actually cold, the day was dull, and the warmth was

-pleasant. Mrs. Fowler was very glad to have a visitor, and made Salome

-sit down near her and talk.</p>

-

-<p>"My husband and I are going up to town the day after to-morrow," she

-said, "and I wanted to see you before I went. You must stay until the

-others return and have some tea."</p>

-

-<p>Salome explained that the cook had already given her milk and cake;

-but Mrs. Fowler smilingly declared she knew she would be ready for tea

-when tea-time came, which would not be for another hour. She continued

-to talk pleasantly and easily, whilst the lame girl listened; and

-by-and-by, when Salome was questioned kindly and sympathetically as

-to the reason of her wan looks, she confessed, with some hesitation,

-however, that it was very tight times with her and her father at home.</p>

-

-<p>"The weather has been so bad that no boats have been able to go out,"

-she said; "and—" lowering her voice and colouring scarlet—"father's

-been worse than usual lately, and—and—he owes money to Silas Moyle, and

-how can we ever hope to pay it, if he spends so much at the 'Crab and

-Cockle'? It almost seems as though he doesn't care. And every day, I'm

-afraid Silas will say he won't let us have any more bread. Oh, it's

-dreadful—it's all through the drink, ma'am. Father'd be such a dear,

-good father if it wasn't for that."</p>

-

-<p>"And you really love him in spite of the way in which he goes on?" Mrs.

-Fowler asked wonderingly.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes, ma'am, indeed I do!" was the earnest reply. "Whatever father

-did, I think I should love him just the same."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't know how you can, I'm sure; I believe if I were you, I should

-lose all patience with him. Think how selfish he is, how inconsiderate

-for your comfort, how violent—"</p>

-

-<p>"Ah, but that's only when he's been drinking!" Salome interposed

-hastily. "Father isn't like that really; it's only when the drink's in

-him, that he's all you say. If he would but give up the drink, he and I

-should be as happy as the day is long. Oh, I shall never cease hoping

-and praying that some day he may become a teetotaler! If I could get

-him to take the pledge, I believe all would be well."</p>

-

-<p>"Meanwhile, he is wearing you to death, poor child. Well, don't cease

-to pray for him. God knows he needs all your prayers."</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler sighed deeply, whilst she gazed sadly and thoughtfully into

-the fire. She was silent so long that Salome thought she must have

-forgotten her presence; but suddenly she glanced at her with a smile

-and asked, "How is Margaret getting on with her knitting?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, very well, ma'am!" was the reply. "But I am afraid she will not

-come so frequently now the winter days are at hand. Besides, father is

-oftener at home."</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler nodded. She put her hand into her pocket and drew therefrom

-her purse, as she inquired, "How much is it your father owes Silas

-Moyle?"</p>

-

-<p>"Nearly eighteen shillings," Salome admitted. "I know it's a lot of

-money," she added deprecatingly.</p>

-

-<p>"A lot of money!" Mrs. Fowler echoed with a faint, amused smile as she

-opened her purse and took out a sovereign. "Here, my dear," she said,

-pressing the coin into her visitor's hand, "you will be able to pay

-your bread account now. Yes, it is for you—a present—put it in your

-pocket."</p>

-

-<p>Salome was so astonished that she could find no words in which to

-speak her thanks; but her expressive eyes spoke for her, and told how

-deeply thankful she felt. She tied the sovereign up in one corner

-of her handkerchief, which she placed inside the bosom of her frock

-for greater safety. And then, having overcome her first sensation of

-intense surprise, she exclaimed, "Oh, ma'am, thank you! How good and

-kind you are! Oh, what will father say when he knows! It will be such

-a relief to be able to pay Silas Moyle, for we never owed him quite so

-much before. Oh, I shall be grateful to you as long as ever I live!"</p>

-

-<p>"There, there, say no more about it. I am glad it is in my power to

-lift a little of the load of trouble from your young shoulders; your

-heaviest trial is beyond the reach of human aid. But oh! Go on loving

-your father, child, if you can, for he must want all your affection, I

-am sure."</p>

-

-<p>To Salome's astonishment, she saw there were tears in Mrs. Fowler's

-blue eyes, and that her face was quivering with strong emotion. Before

-more could be said, however, Gerald flung open the door and rushed

-into the room, followed at a more decorous pace by his sister and Miss

-Conway, and a little later the master of the house appeared upon the

-scene.</p>

-

-<p>No one would hear of Salome's leaving, till she had had tea, so she

-remained. And afterwards, she willingly consented to sing, so that it

-was quite dark before she left Greystone; and Mrs. Fowler insisted on

-sending a servant to see her home in safety.</p>

-

-<p>Josiah Petherick was not sober that night, but the next morning,

-his daughter told him of the present Mrs. Fowler had made her, and

-expressed her determination of paying the baker that day. Nor would she

-hear of her father's settling the account, for, alas! she knew that he

-was not to be trusted. And that if she let him have the money, he would

-be more likely to betake himself to the "Crab and Cockle" than to Silas

-Moyle's shop.</p>

-

-<p>"The truth is, you won't trust me," he said bitterly.</p>

-

-<p>"I can't, father," she answered, the sound of tears in her voice. "You

-know I can't. Mrs. Fowler gave me the money on purpose for our bread

-account, and I must know it's paid. Oh, it was kind of her!"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, it was," he admitted, adding with unexpected candour, "There

-never should have been need for her to do it; but your father's a

-good-for-naught. Yes, Salome, that's what everybody says. Folks pity

-you an' blame me. I know Mrs. Fowler has done this for your sake."</p>

-

-<p>"And for yours too, father. Oh, yes, I am certain of that. She told me

-to go on loving you, and—"</p>

-

-<p>"Did she though?" Josiah interposed in extreme surprise. "Well, you do

-amaze me. She's a real kind lady, anyway, and has proved herself our

-true friend."</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>A Stormy Night.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>"HARK! What's that, Miss Conway? It sounds like a dog howling. There it

-is again!" And the speaker, Margaret Fowler, put down the book she had

-been reading, and rising from her chair by the fireplace, went to the

-window, and peered into the darkness.</p>

-

-<p>The governess and her two pupils were spending the hours between

-tea-time and supper in the schoolroom at Greystone. A very pleasant

-apartment it was, comfortably carpeted and curtained, with a bright

-wood fire burning in the grate. Miss Conway glanced up from her

-needlework as Margaret spoke, whilst Gerald ceased playing with the cat

-on the hearthrug and listened for a few moments.</p>

-

-<p>"I don't hear anything," the latter said.</p>

-

-<p>He turned his attention to his playfellow again, but puss was tired

-and had no desire to prolong the game. In vain, he dangled a piece

-of string before her eyes to entice her to spring at it. She had had

-enough of him, and sat on the hearthrug, complacently washing her face

-and blinking in the firelight.</p>

-

-<p>"Selfish thing!" he exclaimed, "I—oh, yes, I do hear something now!"

-And he joined his sister at the window.</p>

-

-<p>The sound which fell upon the ears of the listeners was like the low

-wail of some animal in distress. Margaret's fair cheeks paled as she

-listened, for there was something eerie in the faint, indistinct sound.</p>

-

-<p>"I don't think it's a dog," said Miss Conway doubtfully. "No, I believe

-it's the wind rising. If so, we shall have a wild night. Let us open

-the window and make certain what it is."</p>

-

-<p>They did so; and then ascertained that it was indeed the wind which

-they heard. The night was pitch dark, with heavy clouds overhead. It

-had been a still, sombre, autumn day, with that hush in the air which

-generally portends a storm. Now, the wind was rising, whilst the

-breakers could be heard dashing against the base of the cliffs.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, it is only the wind," Miss Conway decided. "How mournful it

-sounds. Shut the window, children, and come back to the fire. How

-thankful we should be that we have a good roof over our heads! Gerald,

-don't tease the cat, my dear; she doesn't want to play any more."</p>

-

-<p>"Josiah Petherick said this afternoon that we were going to have a

-storm," Gerald remarked. "I saw him on the beach, tarring his boat.

-None of the fishermen had gone to sea."</p>

-

-<p>"I suppose they considered the weather too uncertain?" Miss Conway

-interrogated.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," the boy replied. "Father says they are all very weather-wise. I

-don't mind a storm, do you, Miss Conway? I wonder if there will be a

-wreck."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I sincerely trust not!" the governess exclaimed hastily.</p>

-

-<p>"I should like to see a wreck," Gerald informed her. "Josiah Petherick

-has seen several, and he has saved the lives of heaps of people. He

-must be a very brave man. I don't believe he's afraid of anything.

-Can't we have our supper upstairs to-night instead of in the

-dining-room? It's so jolly and cosy here."</p>

-

-<p>Miss Conway assented. Mr. and Mrs. Fowler were in London, and the house

-seemed dull without them. Margaret had taken up her book again; but

-she was not reading, for the sound of the rising gale distracted her

-attention and made her feel restless and uneasy.</p>

-

-<p>"If we have a storm, perhaps there will be a wreck," Gerald proceeded

-presently. "It is so dark, that I should not be surprised, should you,

-Miss Conway, if a ship ran on the rocks?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, Gerald, pray don't suggest such a probability!" she cried, with a

-shudder.</p>

-

-<p>"If there was a wreck, would you let me go down to the beach?" he

-inquired eagerly. "Say you would, Miss Conway!"</p>

-

-<p>"I shall certainly say no such thing. If there was a wreck—which God

-forbid!—I should insist on your remaining in the house. Nothing would

-induce me to give you permission to go out in a storm. But we need not

-speak of it. Ring the bell, Gerald, and I will order supper."</p>

-

-<p>The boy obeyed, though with a cloud on his brow; he realised argument

-was of no avail when his governess spoke in that decided tone. After

-supper, he went to bed at his usual time, and forgetful of the rising

-storm, and the prospect of a wreck, was soon asleep. Miss Conway and

-Margaret sat up till ten o'clock, alternately talking and listening

-to the wind, which was now howling dolefully around the house, almost

-driving in the window-panes, and mingling its sobs and wails with the

-angry roar of the sea; and then they, too, retired to their respective

-rooms. The gale increased in fury however, and then came the rain.</p>

-

-<p>Meanwhile, the villagers were all alert, for there was little rest for

-anyone at Yelton on such a night as this, with a westerly gale raging,

-and the sea like great walls of foam. The fishermen hesitated to seek

-their beds, whilst some of the most venturesome braved the furious

-wind and the heavy rain, which was now descending in torrents, and

-kept watch by the sea-shore, their hearts anxiously expectant, as they

-recalled similar occasions when their assistance had been required to

-help those in peril on the sea.</p>

-

-<p>In the Pethericks' cottage, Salome stood by the kitchen window,

-listening to the storm, and patiently waiting for her father. He was

-not at the "Crab and Cockle," she was certain of that, but on the

-beach; and she felt no anxiety about him. He was accustomed to rough

-weather; and on such a night as this, she knew he would be his true

-self—brave, fearless, and reliable. As was her custom when alone, she

-was singing softly:</p>

-

-<p class="poem">

-<br>

-"Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us<br>

-&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O'er the world's tempestuous sea;<br>

-&nbsp;Guide us, guard us, keep us, feed us,<br>

-&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For we have no help but Thee,<br>

-&nbsp;Yet possessing every blessing<br>

-&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;If our God our Father be."<br>

-<br>

-</p>

-

-<p>Seen by the subdued light of the lamp in the centre of the table, the

-little girl's face wore a look of great contentment. For the time, she

-had forgotten how troublous was her life, as her soul rose on the wings

-of faith to an altitude which set her far above the trials of this

-world. She sang the hymn from beginning to end in a soft undertone,

-with the wailing wind for an accompanyment; then, opening the window,

-she thrust out her head and listened. She heard hurrying footsteps

-passing the cottage, and men's hoarse voices shouting.</p>

-

-<p>"Who goes there?" Salome cried. "Is anything amiss?"</p>

-

-<p>"I hope nothing is wrong," she thought, as she received no answer; "but

-I suppose they are obliged to shout to make themselves heard."</p>

-

-<p>She tried in vain to pierce the darkness.</p>

-

-<p>"If a vessel had been in distress, the crew would fire guns, or send up

-rockets," she reflected.</p>

-

-<p>The rain beat against her face, so she drew back from the window,

-which she shut, and turned her attention to the fire, remembering that

-her father would certainly return drenched to the skin. Suddenly the

-cottage door was flung open, and Margaret Fowler, hatless, and with her

-fair hair hanging around her face, stood before her.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, Salome!" she gasped breathlessly. "Is he here? Have you seen

-Gerald?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, miss. What is wrong?"</p>

-

-<p>"We've lost Gerald, and I thought he might have come here. All the

-servants are looking for him, and Miss Conway too. Oh, what shall we

-do? He went to bed as usual, and was fast asleep at ten o'clock, but

-when Miss Conway peeped into his room half-an-hour ago, to see if the

-storm had disturbed him, his bed was empty. He had dressed, and we

-believe, he must have gone out."</p>

-

-<p>"Perhaps he is somewhere hiding in the house," Salome suggested.

-"Surely he would not go out on a night like this."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, I think he would. He wanted so much to see a wreck—he seemed

-to have made up his mind there would be one to-night—and he is quite

-fearless."</p>

-

-<p>"I expect he is safe. Oh, how wet you are, Miss Margaret!"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, and the wind blew away my hat coming down the hill, but no

-matter. Oh, where can Gerald have gone? I believe he must be on the

-beach."</p>

-

-<p>"If he is, father will be sure to notice him and take care of him,"

-Salome said consolingly. "Don't be frightened, miss; I feel sure Master

-Gerald will come to no harm."</p>

-

-<p>"If he does, it will kill mother!" Margaret cried, despairingly. "She

-loves him so dearly. No, I mustn't stay; I must go and find Gerald if I

-can;" and opening the door, she rushed away into the darkness again.</p>

-

-<p>After a few minutes of indecision, Salome put on her jacket, tied a

-shawl around her head, and leaving the cottage door unlocked, hastened

-towards the beach. She had not gone far, however, before she came upon

-a group of fishermen, one of whom was her father. She explained that

-the little boy from Greystone was missing from his home, but no one

-had seen him. Her father was vexed that she had ventured out in such a

-storm, and peremptorily ordered her to return.</p>

-

-<p>"I'll look around an' see if I can find Master Gerald," he said. "But

-he'll come to no harm, I warrant."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I am so glad to hear you say that!"</p>

-

-<p>It was Margaret who spoke. She had been led in the direction of the

-group by the sound of voices; and clutched Josiah by the arm to steady

-herself, as a fierce gust of wind nearly took her off her feet.</p>

-

-<p>"Do you go back with Salome, miss," he said. "This is no fit place for

-you two little maids. I promise I'll look for Master Gerald, and find

-him, too, if he's hereabouts."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, thank you!" Margaret replied earnestly.</p>

-

-<p>She was really nearly done up with battling against the wind and the

-rain, so she raised no objection to returning with Salome. The little

-girls reached the cottage in safety, and upon entering, found Miss

-Conway in the kitchen. Having knocked in vain at the door, she had

-tried to open it, and finding it unlocked, had gone in; she too had

-thought it possible that Gerald might be there.</p>

-

-<p>"If he's on the beach, father will find him, you may depend upon that,"

-Salome assured her. "And he will bring him straight here. I fear you

-will both catch dreadful colds," and she glanced commiseratingly from

-Margaret to the governess.</p>

-

-<p>"We shan't mind that, so long as Gerald is safe," Margaret returned.

-She was shivering and her teeth were chattering, as much with fright on

-her brother's account as with cold. "Oh, Miss Conway, what shall we do

-if anything has happened to him? Mother will never forgive us if—"</p>

-

-<p>"Dear Margaret, don't be morbid; neither you nor I have been to

-blame," Miss Conway reminded her. "If harm has come to your brother,

-it has been through no fault of ours. Who would imagine that he would

-deliberately get up and dress and steal out of the house unknown to

-anyone? Whatever the result of this mad freak of his proves to be, will

-have been his own doing."</p>

-

-<p>"It is terrible to think what may have happened to him. The wind is

-high enough to blow him into the sea if he is really on the beach. Oh,

-mother will hate the sight of me for ever, if Gerald is drowned!" And

-Margaret burst into tears.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't, dear, don't!" Miss Conway said imploringly.</p>

-

-<p>"You know it is true," Margaret cried passionately. "If I was killed,

-mother would not care—not much; but Gerald is as the apple of her eye."</p>

-

-<p>Before any answer could be made to this, the cottage door opened, and

-Josiah strode into the kitchen, bearing Gerald in his arms. He had

-discovered the little boy crouched in the shelter of a boat which had

-been drawn high up on the beach, out of the reach of the tide.</p>

-

-<p>"There is no wreck," Gerald said disgustedly, as Josiah set him down on

-the floor, "and I'm cold and wet, and should like to go home."</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_15">CHAPTER XV.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>Trouble at Greystone.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>FOR once, Gerald had gone too far, as he discovered on the following

-day, when, for punishment, his governess insisted on keeping him

-locked up in his bedroom. In vain, he cried and protested against such

-treatment, Miss Conway was like adamant, and the boy had perforce

-to endure twenty-four hours of solitary confinement with no one to

-speak to, no one to play with, and nothing to do. A more salutary

-mode of punishment could not have been devised; and in consequence,

-Gerald appeared at the breakfast-table on the morning following his

-imprisonment, in a subdued and repentant frame of mind. He said he was

-sorry for his past conduct; but he could not extract a promise from

-either Miss Conway or Margaret that his father should not be informed

-of the anxiety and trouble he had caused the whole household.</p>

-

-<p>Margaret had caught a severe cold on the night of the storm, and spent

-the next few days shivering over the schoolroom fire, too unwell for

-lessons. Gerald's escapade had been a shock to her; she was overwrought

-and languid, and when, on the morning of the day that Mr. and Mrs.

-Fowler were expected home, she began to dress she felt so shaky that

-she went back to bed again.</p>

-

-<p>"Not up yet, Margaret?" asked Miss Conway's voice outside the door,

-half-an-hour later.</p>

-

-<p>"No," was the reply. "I am so sorry, but my cold is very bad, and I

-have such a dreadful headache."</p>

-

-<p>The governess entered the room immediately on hearing this and

-approached the bed. After kissing Margaret with affectionate concern,

-she felt her pulse and declared her to be a little feverish.</p>

-

-<p>"Stay where you are, my dear," she said kindly. "Why, you're shivering.

-Ross shall bring you a hot-water bottle for your feet and light the

-fire; then, I have no doubt, if you lie in bed and nurse your cold, you

-will soon be better."</p>

-

-<p>"I am so vexed, because mother and father are coming home to-night,"

-Margaret sighed.</p>

-

-<p>"I daresay you will be well enough to get up by the evening," Miss

-Conway responded hopefully. "I shall be with Gerald as usual, but

-I shall tell Ross to devote herself to you. If you want me, do not

-hesitate to send for me."</p>

-

-<p>Margaret could eat no breakfast, but she took a few sips of the milk

-Ross brought her a short while later, and afterwards fell into an

-uneasy sleep. The maid, moving about softly, lit the fire and dusted

-the room, then turned her attention to the flushed face on the pillow.</p>

-

-<p>"Poor little thing, she does look poorly," she murmured. "And it's all

-on account of that tiresome child, Master Gerald. 'Tis a shame of the

-mistress to spoil him so; everyone can see but her that she's ruining

-him, allowing him his own way as she does."</p>

-

-<p>Margaret moved restlessly and began to mutter. Ross bent over her,

-and caught the sound of Gerald's name. She laid her cool hand softly

-against the little girl's cheek and felt how it burnt.</p>

-

-<p>"She's very feverish," she thought. "I do hope she isn't going to be

-really ill. A nice home-coming it will be for master, if she is. I

-wonder if the mistress would trouble much?"</p>

-

-<p>Roes moved away to the fireplace, and taking up some sewing-work,

-stitched industriously, every now and again glancing towards the

-restless sleeper.</p>

-

-<p>Suddenly the little girl uttered a shriek and sprang up in bed,

-whereupon Ross dropped her work and hastened to the bedside.</p>

-

-<p>"What is it, dear?" she asked, putting her arms around Margaret's

-quivering form. "You've had a bad dream, I expect—but it was only a

-dream. See, now, don't tremble so, you're perfectly safe with Ross."</p>

-

-<p>"Where's Gerald?" Margaret demanded in a strange, hoarse voice.</p>

-

-<p>"Doing his lessons with Miss Conway."</p>

-

-<p>"Where's Gerald?" the little girl reiterated.</p>

-

-<p>Ross repeated her former answer, but it did not appear to satisfy

-Margaret.</p>

-

-<p>"Let me go and look for him," she said in a tone of distress.</p>

-

-<p>"No, dear; you're not well, you must lie down again."</p>

-

-<p>"You won't let me go!" Margaret struggled a minute in Ross' restraining

-arms, then sank back on the pillow. "I know why you won't let me go,"

-she cried; "he's dead. He's drowned."</p>

-

-<p>"No, no, darling, he's perfectly safe. Dear Miss Margaret, you've been

-dreaming."</p>

-

-<p>"He's drowned!" the little girl insisted. "And who's going to tell

-mother? Oh, it will kill her!"</p>

-

-<p>"Miss Margaret, I solemnly declare Master Gerald's living and well,"

-said Ross, growing more and more concerned. "I wouldn't tell you a

-story, why should I? You're poorly, dear, and you've had a bad dream."</p>

-

-<p>But Margaret wandered on: "Listen to the rain beating against the

-window, and the wind howling. And Gerald is out in it all! If he is on

-the beach, he will be blown into the sea. Look at that great wave! Oh,

-it has carried him away!" and she uttered a heartrending cry.</p>

-

-<p>"It is a lovely day," Ross assured her; "the sun is shining, and the

-sea is quite blue and calm. You've been dreaming about the storm, miss,

-and fancying all sorts of horrors that never happened."</p>

-

-<p>Margaret's blue eyes, wide open, were fixed upon Ross' face, but she

-evidently had not followed what the woman had said, for after a short

-silence she began to mutter distressfully about Gerald again.</p>

-

-<p>Ross was now exceedingly alarmed. She rang the bell, and sent for Miss

-Conway, who, in her turn, tried to pacify the sick child. But Margaret

-paid no more attention to her governess than she had to Ross.</p>

-

-<p>"I am afraid she is going to be very ill," Miss Conway said in much

-distress. "All her trouble seems to be about her brother. Fetch him,

-Ross; perhaps the sight of him will satisfy her."</p>

-

-<p>So Gerald was brought to his sister's bedside. He was somewhat

-frightened when told Margaret was ill; but in obedience to Miss Conway,

-he stooped over the bed to kiss her. She, however, pushed him away with

-feverish strength, and covered her eyes with her hand.</p>

-

-<p>"Take him away!" she cried. "What is that strange boy doing here?"</p>

-

-<p>"It's Gerald, dear Margaret," said the governess softly. "Your own

-brother come to show you that he is quite well, and—"</p>

-

-<p>"No, no; Gerald's drowned, I tell you! Oh, what will mother say? She

-loves him so."</p>

-

-<p>At this point, Gerald, realising that there was something very strange

-and unusual about his sister, began to cry, and was hurried out of the

-room.</p>

-

-<p>Thoroughly shocked, Miss Conway sent a groom to N— immediately, to

-fetch a doctor; and within a few hours, the news had spread through

-the village of Yelton that the little girl at Greystone was very ill.

-Mr. Amyatt, as soon as he heard the tidings, considerately invited

-Gerald to spend the remainder of the day at the Vicarage; and Salome

-Petherick arrived at the back door of Greystone in the afternoon to

-make inquiries.</p>

-

-<p>The cook, who had been stewing beef-tea, insisted on Salome's coming

-inside and resting in her easy-chair.</p>

-

-<p>"Mrs. Moyle told me of Miss Margaret's illness," the lame girl said,

-her face expressive of the deepest concern. "I hope it is nothing

-serious?"</p>

-

-<p>"I am afraid it is, my dear," was the grave rejoinder. "It's

-inflammation of the lungs. Dr. Vawdry has been here from N—, and he's

-coming again this evening. He says she's very ill; and if Mr. and Mrs.

-Fowler had not been returning to-night, they'd have been telegraphed

-for. Oh, dear, dear, I do trust the poor child's life may be spared!

-She's not been well for days, not since the night of the storm, when

-Master Gerald led us all such a dance after him. He's the one to be

-blamed for this. For once, I should think the mistress would see that."</p>

-

-<p>And the woman poked the fire viciously, as though the act was a vent

-for her feelings. "She's the nicest, sweetest, little creature I ever

-knew is Miss Margaret," she proceeded, "with always a kind word for

-us servants. Ross says she doesn't recognise anyone; she didn't know

-Master Gerald, and her incessant cry is that he is drowned. If only

-Miss Conway had turned the key in his bedroom door on the night of the

-storm. She kept him locked up the next day, and it broke his rebellious

-spirit—quite. She'd soon get him under subjection if his mother didn't

-pamper him so. Don't you take on, now, about Miss Margaret, my dear;

-maybe she'll get over this attack all right. She's young and healthy,

-and she'll have good nursing, and everything money can buy. I ordered

-some lean, gravy beef the minute I heard she was ill, but the doctor

-won't allow her anything but milk and soda water, so there's plenty of

-strong beef-tea going begging, and you'd better have a cupful. Will you

-have bread with it? Yes. I'm sure it will do you good."</p>

-

-<p>Salome was very glad of some refreshment. She took the beef-tea,

-whilst the cook talked on without waiting for replies; but when she

-rose to go, having learnt all there was to know, her heart was very

-heavy indeed. Her eyes were full of unshed tears as she passed out of

-the Greystone grounds, and commenced her descent of the hill. As she

-went by the church, she wondered if she would ever hear Miss Margaret

-practising on the organ again.</p>

-

-<p>And she was so engrossed with her sorrowful thoughts, that she was

-startled when, on reaching the Vicarage gate, a voice addressed her

-from inside. "Hi, Salome! Where have you been?"</p>

-

-<p>She paused and looked at the speaker, Gerald Fowler, who was peering

-at her laughingly between the bars of the gate. The boy was in high

-spirits at being the Vicar's guest, and he had not been informed that

-his sister was really seriously ill. He had been frightened when

-Margaret had failed to recognise him, but the impression he had then

-received had passed, and he was delighted at having this unexpected

-holiday.</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<figure class="figcenter" id="image005" style="max-width: 25.8125em;">

-  <img class="w100" src="images/image005.jpg" alt="image005">

-</figure>

-<p class="t4">

-<b>"YOU'D BETTER MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS,</b><br>

-<b>SALOME PETHERICK."</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>"I've been to Greystone, Master Gerald," Salome returned quietly.</p>

-

-<p>"To see Margaret, I suppose? She's ill, you know."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, and I am so grieved and sorry."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I expect she'll soon be better!" Gerald remarked confidently.</p>

-

-<p>"I hope so," the lame girl replied dubiously. "But the doctor says she

-has inflammation of the lungs."</p>

-

-<p>"Does that ever kill people, Salome?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, Master Gerald, very often."</p>

-

-<p>"But Margaret won't die, will she? You don't think that, do you?"</p>

-

-<p>"No one can tell—but God. We must ask Him to take care of her. Oh,

-Master Gerald, see what has come of your ill conduct!"</p>

-

-<p>"What do you mean?" he inquired in amazement. "It isn't my fault that

-Margaret's ill."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes, indeed it is! If you had not gone down to the beach on the

-night of the storm, she would not have got drenched to the skin and

-have caught such a dreadful cold. Oh, yes, it was your fault!" And

-Salome looked at him severely.</p>

-

-<p>His blue eyes filled with sudden tears, and his rosy cheeks paled as he

-gasped, "Oh, I never thought—I never thought—"</p>

-

-<p>"No, I don't suppose you did, Master Gerald, or if you did, it was

-yourself you thought of and no one else," Salome cried indignantly.

-"You 're the most selfish little boy I know."</p>

-

-<p>"You 're very unkind, and—and nasty."</p>

-

-<p>"I daresay you think I am; but I love Miss Margaret, and I know you've

-been the cause of her illness. I wonder what your mother and father

-will say."</p>

-

-<p>"Mother will say it was not my fault," Gerald declared stoutly. "I

-couldn't tell Margaret would be silly enough to go to look for me; and

-I think you'd better mind your own business, Salome Petherick," he

-concluded.</p>

-

-<p>He was impressed by the lame girl's plain speaking, and put on a show

-of anger to hide the fact.</p>

-

-<p>She shook her head at him gravely, as she turned away from the Vicarage

-gate and went down the hill.</p>

-

-<p>When she reached home, she lit the fire and boiled the kettle for

-tea, and by that time her father had appeared upon the scene, having

-had a good catch of fish. His face grew grave when Salome told him of

-Margaret's illness, and he expressed great regret, for he was grateful

-to the Fowlers for the notice they had taken of his child. And he

-volunteered to go to Greystone later on and inquire for the poor little

-sufferer. This he accordingly did, and brought back the news that

-Dr. Vawdry had visited the patient again, and had declared her to be

-dangerously ill, but that Mr. and Mrs. Fowler had not yet come. The

-carriage had gone to N— to meet them at the railway station, as had

-been arranged, and they were expected very soon now.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't take on so, my dear," said Josiah kindly, as he noticed Salome's

-brown eyes full of tears. "The little maid'll pull through, please

-God. I am grieved about her though—s'pose 'twas you," and he looked at

-his child with great affection as he reflected on the uncertainty of

-life. And because it would please her, and with the laudable desire

-of keeping her from dwelling too much on the thought of Margaret's

-illness, he spent the evening in her company, and that night his

-associates at the "Crab and Cockle" looked for him in vain.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_16">CHAPTER XVI.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>Days of Sickness.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>IT was nearly ten o'clock when Mr. and Mrs. Fowler reached Greystone

-that autumn night. Without waiting for assistance, the latter sprang

-out of the carriage and ran into the house, and almost into the arms

-of Miss Conway, who had come down from the sick-room to meet the

-travellers.</p>

-

-<p>"What is this I hear about Margaret?" Mrs. Fowler inquired, excitedly

-clutching the governess by the arm, and scanning her pale countenance

-with anxiety. "I am told she is ill. It is nothing much, I suppose?

-What ails her? A cold?"</p>

-

-<p>"She certainly did catch cold," Miss Conway rejoined in a grave tone,

-looking from Mrs. Fowler to her husband, who had quickly followed her.

-"She has been poorly for several days, but this morning she was taken

-much worse, and I sent immediately for Dr. Vawdry from N—. He has been

-twice during the day, and—and—" this in a faltering voice—"she is very

-ill with inflammation of the lungs. We are poulticing her; Ross is with

-her now, and—and—I'm so very glad you've come!" And, overwrought with

-anxiety, she burst into tears.</p>

-

-<p>"Come into the drawing-room, Miss Conway," Mr. Fowler said kindly. "No,

-my dear," he continued, laying a restraining hand upon his wife who had

-turned to rush upstairs, "let us hear all details about Margaret first

-of all. Besides, you must not allow her to see you looking frightened

-and distressed."</p>

-

-<p>"She would take no notice," Miss Conway said mournfully. "She

-recognises nobody, and is quite delirious. Dr. Vawdry says that need

-not alarm us, though, for it's frequently the case in inflammation of

-the lungs."</p>

-

-<p>"What has caused her illness?" Mrs. Fowler asked, as she followed the

-others into the drawing-room.</p>

-

-<p>Miss Conway wiped away her tears, and in a few minutes was sufficiently

-composed to explain all that had happened. When she had finished her

-story, Mr. Fowler inquired, "Where is Gerald now?"</p>

-

-<p>"In bed and asleep, I am thankful to say," Miss Conway answered. "Mr.

-Amyatt had him at the Vicarage until eight o'clock, when he brought him

-home. He begged me to allow him to sit up to see you, but I insisted on

-his having his supper and going to bed."</p>

-

-<p>"Quite right." Mr. Fowler's face was very stern, and he would not meet

-the glance of his wife's appealing eyes. "We see now the result of

-indulgence," he added emphatically. "Had Gerald been taught obedience

-and consideration for other people, this trouble would never have come

-upon us."</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler quailed beneath the mingled reproach and reproof of her

-husband's tone; for once she had no excuse to make for her favourite

-child. She had spent a very pleasant time in London, where she had met

-many old friends, including Mrs. Lute; but she had not been sorry to

-return to Greystone, acknowledging to herself that the quiet, healthful

-life there suited her. With her husband's presence to strengthen her,

-it had not been so very difficult to refuse stimulants when they had

-been offered to her. She was fully conscious of her own weakness now,

-and no longer deceived herself, as she had formerly done, with the

-fallacious idea that a little wine or spirit was good for her.</p>

-

-<p>When she recalled how, during her husband's brief absence from home a

-few weeks previously, she had been tempted from the mere fact of having

-taken one glass of wine to purchase a bottle of brandy, and drink it

-by stealth, she was obliged to confess that total abstinence from all

-intoxicating liquors was the only course for her to adopt to prevent

-the ruin of her happiness, and that of those she loved. At Greystone,

-she felt she was out of temptation's way. The news of her little

-daughter's illness, which had been imparted to her and Mr. Fowler at

-N—, had startled and shocked her immeasurably; and she had begged the

-coachman to drive home as quickly as possible, which he had accordingly

-done.</p>

-

-<p>Margaret was lying in a kind of stupor when her parents entered her

-bedroom, and they were careful not to disturb her. Mr. Fowler saw she

-was very ill, and his heart ached as he bent over her and listened to

-her laboured breathing. Glancing at his wife, he was astonished at the

-expression of her countenance, for, like everyone else, he had never

-thought she had cared for Margaret overmuch. But all the mother's love

-was alive in Mrs. Fowler at that moment, shining in her blue eyes, and

-illuminating her fair face with additional beauty.</p>

-

-<p>Anxious days and nights followed, during which Margaret lay between

-life and death. Her mother constituted herself head nurse, and showed

-wonderful ability in that capacity. Naturally a nervous, excitable

-woman, it was quite wonderful how she put a check upon her feelings,

-and was calm, and capable, and seemingly untiring. It was nothing to

-Margaret, at that time, who was attending to her, for she was utterly

-unconscious, sometimes in a drowsy condition, sometimes murmuring

-distressfully, going over again all that had happened on the night of

-the storm, always with the impression in her mind that Gerald had been

-drowned.</p>

-

-<p>"Who will tell mother?" she demanded again and again in an agony of

-grief. "She loves him so! He is her favourite."</p>

-

-<p>Meanwhile Gerald had been taken to task by his father for his conduct

-on the night of the storm. Mr. Fowler took no steps to punish him,

-but he talked to him so seriously, and pointed out to him that he was

-responsible for his sister's illness, that Gerald was reduced to tears,

-and for the first time in his life, on seeking his mother's support and

-sympathy, he found both lacking.</p>

-

-<p>"The blame is all yours," she told him gravely. "What your father has

-said to you is perfectly true."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, mother, don't you think Margaret will get well again?" he asked

-with quivering lips, for beneath a veneer of selfishness, he owned an

-affectionate heart, and he was really much attached to his sister.</p>

-

-<p>"Only God knows that," was the solemn reply.</p>

-

-<p>"That's what Salome Petherick says," he remarked tearfully. "She was

-here inquiring for Margaret at the back door this morning. She comes

-every day, and she said all I could do was to pray."</p>

-

-<p>"She was right, Gerald; your sister is in God's hands. The doctor can

-do nothing for her—he has acknowledged that; but oh, my son, pray for

-her! Pray for her!"</p>

-

-<p>The little boy was greatly impressed by the solemnity of his mother's

-tone, and impetuously flinging his arms around her neck, he assured

-her, he would be a better boy for the future, and that he would pray to

-God to make his sister well. He was having a holiday from lessons, for

-Miss Conway was assisting Mrs. Fowler and Ross with the nursing, and so

-he spent most of his time with his father, from whom he had begged and

-obtained forgiveness for his past misbehaviour.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, I forgive you, Gerald," Mr. Fowler had said sadly. "But you see,

-wrongdoing always brings its own punishment," he had added, noting the

-little boy's troubled countenance, and making a shrewd guess as to the

-state of his feelings with regard to Margaret.</p>

-

-<p>The servants crept quietly about the house speaking in hushed tones,

-for the angel of death seemed hovering near; and those who loved

-Margaret Fowler waited and watched unwearyingly. A second doctor from

-Plymouth had visited the patient. But he had agreed with Dr. Vawdry

-that nothing more could be done for her, and that it was merely a

-question of whether or not her strength would hold out and vanquish the

-disease.</p>

-

-<p>At last, the crisis came. And then, the glad news that the little

-sufferer was sleeping quietly and naturally was whispered through the

-house, and spread to the Vicarage, and from thence to the village,

-where Salome Petherick heard the good tidings in Silas Moyle's shop,

-and returned home with a joyful, thankful heart.</p>

-

-<p>The golden, autumn days were passing swiftly now, and there was a sharp

-feeling in the air in the morning, but a few hardy flowers lingered

-in Salome's garden; a big bush fuchsia which grew beneath the kitchen

-window was still in bloom, and the verbena close to the porch had not

-commenced to shed its leaves, whilst the white chrysanthemums which

-flourished year by year in the shelter of the wall which protected the

-garden on the side nearest to the sea were in full flower. The lame

-girl gathered a posy, and took it up to Greystone, where she left it at

-the back door with a request that it might be given to Miss Margaret,

-if she was well enough to receive it. She declined an invitation to

-rest awhile, saying she must hurry home to get her father's tea.</p>

-

-<p>So it came to pass, that when Margaret awoke from her refreshing sleep,

-she was conscious of a delightful perfume, and opening her eyes, they

-rested on a homely nosegay, composed of chrysanthemums, intermingled

-with sprigs of verbena, and drooping fuchsia sprays. The flowers lay on

-the counterpane, but when she tried to put out her hand to reach them,

-she found she could not. Then the bed curtain stirred, and she saw a

-face bending over her—a beautiful face full of love and a great joy.</p>

-

-<p>"Mother," she said weakly.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, my dear," was the soft reply. "You have been ill, but you are

-better, and have had such a nice, long sleep. I want you to drink this

-milk and then go to sleep again."</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler slipped her arm beneath the pillow, and gently raised the

-little girl's head, whilst she held a cup to her lips. Margaret took a

-few sips of milk, but refused more.</p>

-

-<p>"The flowers," she said, as her mother laid her head down again.</p>

-

-<p>"Salome sent them to you with her love."</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler placed the nosegay close to Margaret's hand, and her thin

-fingers fastened around the stems of the flowers, then her tired eyes

-closed, and she slept once more.</p>

-

-<p>From that hour, Margaret commenced to recover. For days, she was too

-weak to move hand or foot—too weak almost to think; but by-and-by, with

-returning strength, she began to notice more what was going on around

-her. The tormenting thought that Gerald was dead had left her entirely,

-and she was conscious that it had been her mother who had nursed her so

-tenderly all along, and not a figure of her imagination as she had at

-first thought.</p>

-

-<p>She watched Mrs. Fowler with an inquiring expression which that lady

-failed to interpret, but which made her both anxious and uneasy. It

-was as though Margaret wondered at her solicitude, and was trying to

-find a reason for it. And as the little girl grew better, it was quite

-apparent that she preferred to have Miss Conway or Ross in attendance

-upon her to Mrs. Fowler. It was always—"Don't trouble, mother, Ross

-will do it," or "Miss Conway will read to me, I know." Till, deeply

-hurt, Mrs. Fowler made up her mind that she had for ever destroyed her

-little daughter's affection. And once Margaret had loved her so dearly,

-too!</p>

-

-<p>On the first occasion on which the patient was allowed to sit out in a

-chair by the fire, Mrs. Fowler wrapped her in a dressing-gown made of

-quilted silk which she had brought home for her from London. Margaret

-expressed great pleasure in the pretty garment, and called everyone's

-attention to it. Her father sat with her for a short while, and Gerald,

-at his earnest request, was permitted ten minutes of her society.</p>

-

-<p>"How white you look!" the latter exclaimed, regarding her with awe.

-"And your eyes are so big! But you're heaps better, aren't you,

-Margaret?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes!" she answered, smiling brightly.</p>

-

-<p>"That's right. I prayed to God to make you well, and so did everyone, I

-think."</p>

-

-<p>"That was very kind of everyone," Margaret murmured, much touched.</p>

-

-<p>"Josiah Petherick's drunk nearly every night now," Gerald next informed

-his sister. "I heard Mr. Amyatt tell father so."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, dear!" cried Margaret in much distress. "Poor Salome!" At that

-moment, she caught her mother's eyes, and the sensitive colour flooded

-her face from chin to brow. Noticing the painful blush, Mrs. Fowler

-turned away, and walking to the window, gazed out unseeingly, her mind

-a tumult of conflicting thoughts.</p>

-

-<p>Meanwhile, Gerald chattered on, passing from Josiah to other of the

-villagers, until Mrs. Fowler, suddenly remembering that Margaret must

-not be allowed to overtire herself, interrupted the conversation, and

-sent the little boy away, promising he should come and sit with his

-sister again to-morrow.</p>

-

-<p>"Remember to give my love to Salome the next time you see her,"

-Margaret said. "Tell her, I hope we shall meet again soon."</p>

-

-<p>Then, as the door shut on her brother, she sighed, and her mother

-guessed aright by the sad expression of her face that her thoughts were

-troubled ones and anything but conducive to peace of mind.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_17">CHAPTER XVII.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>The Shadow Lifted.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>NOVEMBER was an unusually mild month that year, so that Margaret,

-during her convalescence, was enabled to take long drives without any

-risk of catching cold. On one occasion, Salome Petherick was invited

-to accompany her and Mrs. Fowler when they drove to N—. And it was

-pleasant to see how the lame girl's countenance shone with happiness

-as, forgetful of her worries for the time, she enjoyed the novelty of

-viewing hitherto unknown scenery, for she had never been beyond walking

-distance of Yelton before.</p>

-

-<p>"It was quite pathetic to watch the varying expressions on the poor

-little thing's face," Mrs. Fowler confided to her husband afterwards.

-"She shall accompany us again, if all's well. Have you noticed how she

-has changed lately? The first time I saw her, she had such a pretty

-brown complexion, and now she is so pale, and her eyes so big and

-hollow. I wonder what ails the child."</p>

-

-<p>"Privation and trouble, I'm afraid, judging from what I hear," Mr.

-Fowler responded gravely. "She is badly fed, works hard, and is always

-grieving on her father's account."</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler sighed. She was deeply interested in Salome, but there

-seemed little she could do for her. The idea crossed her mind that she

-might remonstrate with Josiah concerning his treatment of his little

-daughter, but she shrank sensitively from doing so.</p>

-

-<p>Meanwhile, there was little fishing being done at Yelton during those

-mild November days, when the ocean was as smooth as a duck pond, and

-there was not a breath of wind blowing, so that Josiah and his boon

-companions had plenty of time on their hands. The "Crab and Cockle" had

-most of their society, and their homes suffered in consequence.</p>

-

-<p>One night, after the inn was closed and most of the inhabitants of

-Yelton had gone to rest, the alarming cry of "Fire!" was heard. And

-men, women, and children dressed with all speed, and rushed out of

-doors exclaiming, questioning, and running against each other in their

-excitement and hurry.</p>

-

-<p>"Fire! Fire! Oh, help; for mercy's sake, help my father!"</p>

-

-<p>It was the lame girl who had raised the alarm, and who now stood

-outside Silas Moyle's shop, her face livid with terror. She managed

-somehow to explain that it was her home that was on fire, and that her

-father, on his return from the "Crab and Cockle," had clutched at the

-table-cloth which had covered the kitchen table, and had thus upset the

-lamp and caused the conflagration.</p>

-

-<p>On hearing this, there was a general rush in the direction of the

-Pethericks' cottage, but Silas Moyle, who had now arrived upon the

-scene, insisted upon Salome's staying with his wife, and lingered to

-inquire what had become of Josiah.</p>

-

-<p>"He's at home," Salome wailed. "I couldn't get him to leave; he was

-pouring buckets of water on the fire; but oh! He couldn't put it out,

-it was spreading terribly. Please, Mr. Moyle, do go and see that he's

-all right. He isn't sober, and oh, I'm so afraid for him."</p>

-

-<p>"There, there, don't you take on," said Mrs. Moyle, kindly. "Silas'll

-see to Josiah. Come you in, my dear," and the good woman led Salome

-into the parlour behind the shop and placed her in an easy-chair.</p>

-

-<p>Meanwhile, willing hands were helping Josiah in his attempts to put out

-the fire. But assistance proved of no avail, and in less than two hours

-the Pethericks' cottage was actually gutted, and all their possessions

-had been burnt. It had been impossible to save anything, for the

-woodwork of the cottage being old, and the roof of thatch, the flames

-had spread with great rapidity. Daybreak found Josiah, sober enough

-now, staring disconsolately at the four stone walls which was the only

-portion of his home that was left intact. He was feeling inexpressibly

-shocked, for his furniture was not insured, and he realised that he

-and his little daughter had nothing in the world but the clothes they

-were wearing. What was he to do? He could not tell, and he groaned in

-despair, as he looked at the smoking ruins, and the erstwhile trim

-garden, now spoilt by the trampling of many feet.</p>

-

-<p>"This is a bad business, Petherick."</p>

-

-<p>Turning at the sound of a voice addressing him, he saw Mr. Amyatt. The

-Vicar had been there some time, but Josiah had not noticed him amongst

-the rest.</p>

-

-<p>"Ay," was the gloomy response. "I'm ruined—that's what I am."</p>

-

-<p>"I daresay your landlord will rebuild the cottage, for no doubt it is

-insured."</p>

-

-<p>"What's the good of a cottage without furniture?" Josiah demanded

-almost fiercely. "Salome's homeless, an' through me. I ought to be

-thrashed."</p>

-

-<p>"Salome can bide with my missus," Silas Moyle interposed at that point.

-"She's a handy maid, and can make herself useful, an' you'll be able

-to get a lodging somewhere, Josiah, for the time; but you'd best come

-along with me now, an' get a bit of breakfast."</p>

-

-<p>Josiah hesitated. He was very grateful to the baker for his kindness,

-but he dreaded the meeting with Salome. He felt more ashamed of himself

-than he had ever done in his life before, and as he turned his back on

-the smoking ruins, he pictured the pretty, thatched cottage of which

-he had been so proud once upon a time. There he had brought his young

-bride, there Salome had been born, and his happy married life had been

-spent, and there his wife had died. Josiah rubbed his hard, brown hand

-across his eyes as memory was busy with him.</p>

-

-<p>"Come," said Silas, "pull yourself together, man. Let's go and get some

-breakfast. Your little maid's wanting you, I'll warrant."</p>

-

-<p>Such proved to be the case. For the minute Salome saw her father, she

-threw herself into his arms, and whispered how thankful she was that he

-was safe, and that nothing mattered besides—nothing.</p>

-

-<p>The first person to convey the news of the fire to Greystone was

-the postman, and great was the excitement when it became known that

-the Pethericks' cottage had been burnt down. Mr. Fowler started off

-immediately, with Gerald, to learn all particulars, and, in the

-afternoon, Mrs. Fowler, at Margaret's earnest request, went to see

-Salome. She found the little girl in better spirits than she had

-anticipated, though her brown eyes grew very wistful when she talked of

-her late home.</p>

-

-<p>"All my plants are trampled into the ground," she said, "but, never

-mind, father's safe, and that's the chief thing. I was so afraid for

-him."</p>

-

-<p>"And so you are to remain here?" Mrs. Fowler questioned, glancing

-around Mrs. Moyle's little parlour, which was a picture of neatness and

-cleanliness.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, ma'am, for the time. Mrs. Moyle has kindly asked me to stay."</p>

-

-<p>"And your father?"</p>

-

-<p>"He's going to find out if our landlord will rebuild the cottage, and

-if so, father will get a lodging somewhere in the village. The worst

-of it is, all our furniture is burnt; but father says he'll be able to

-replace it by degrees, he hopes."</p>

-

-<p>After leaving Salome, Mrs. Fowler thought she would like to see the

-ruined cottage, so she turned her footsteps in that direction, and

-found Josiah leaning over the garden gate in conversation with the

-Vicar. The former would have moved away on her approach, but she

-stopped him, and explained that she had been to visit his little

-daughter.</p>

-

-<p>"I'm so sorry for you both," she told him kindly. "It is terrible to be

-burnt out of house and home."</p>

-

-<p>"It was my doing," Josiah confessed. "Maybe you've heard how it

-happened?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," she admitted, "you caught hold of the table-cloth, and pulled

-over the lamp, did you not?"</p>

-

-<p>The fisherman nodded, whilst the Vicar regarded him attentively.</p>

-

-<p>"I've been talking to Petherick very seriously," the latter said. "And

-have been trying to induce him to become a teetotaler and sign the

-pledge. I do earnestly entreat you, Petherick, to take warning by last

-night's work."</p>

-

-<p>"Why won't you take the pledge?" Mrs. Fowler asked, her fair face

-alternately paling and flushing. "I am sure it would be for your

-happiness and well-being if you did. And you should consider Salome.

-Oh, drink is a terrible curse! It kills all one's best qualities, and

-ruins one's self-respect."</p>

-

-<p>"I'm ashamed of myself," Josiah acknowledged, "but think how folks

-would laugh if I took the pledge. I'll be a teetotaler if I can; but

-no, I won't pledge myself to it."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, don't say that!" Mrs. Fowler cried imploringly. "Think the matter

-over. I believe if you took the pledge, you would keep it, for I am

-sure you are a man of your word."</p>

-

-<p>Josiah's face expressed irresolution. He had solemnly vowed to himself

-that he would never touch intoxicating liquors again, so deeply had the

-past night affected him, but he hated the idea of taking the pledge,

-whilst Mr. Amyatt realised that his so doing would be the only thing

-which would hold him to his determination to abstain from drink.</p>

-

-<p>"I'm going to give up drink," Josiah declared decidedly, at length,

-"but I won't take the pledge. I understand everyone's a teetotaler at

-Greystone," he continued, as Mrs. Fowler was about to speak again,

-"but, excuse me, ma'am, I don't suppose you've signed the pledge, have

-you?"</p>

-

-<p>"No," Mrs. Fowler acknowledged, "I have not."</p>

-

-<p>Josiah was silent. He was evidently thinking, "Then, why should I?"</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler was silent too, and Mr. Amyatt regarded her a trifle

-curiously, for he saw she was struggling with some strong emotion.

-Presently she said very quietly, "I have made up my mind. I will

-certainly take the pledge."</p>

-

-<p>"You!" Josiah exclaimed in amazement. "You, ma'am!"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," Mrs. Fowler rejoined, "it is the right thing for me to do, and

-you must do the same. Why should you object if I do not?"</p>

-

-<p>"You must give in now, Petherick," Mr. Amyatt said quickly, "if Mrs.

-Fowler is ready to do this for your sake—"</p>

-

-<p>"I will do it for his sake, and for my own, and for the sake of all

-those we love," she interposed. "Oh, think of Salome!" she said

-earnestly to Josiah. "You have brought her untold trouble, and have

-made her homeless all through drink. Look at this ruined cottage, and

-reflect that but for the kindness of the Moyles, your child would be

-without shelter and food. How can you hesitate?"</p>

-

-<p>"I don't, ma'am."</p>

-

-<p>"Then, if I take the pledge, will you?" Mrs. Fowler inquired eagerly.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," Josiah answered, "I don't see that I can say 'no' to that."</p>

-

-<p>An hour later, Mrs. Fowler entered the drawing-room at Greystone, where

-her little daughter was seated alone near the fire, reading. Margaret

-put down her book, whilst her mother, who had removed her walking

-garments, sank rather wearily into an easy-chair.</p>

-

-<p>"I have been talking to your father, my dear," Mrs. Fowler said with

-a smile. "I suppose, like him, you want to hear about Salome first of

-all," and she proceeded to give an account of her interview with the

-lame girl, and to explain the arrangement that had been made for her to

-remain with the Moyles for the present.</p>

-

-<p>"And did her father really set the cottage on fire?" Margaret inquired.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes. He was intoxicated, and pulled off the lamp in clutching at the

-table-cloth. It is fortunate neither he nor Salome was burnt. My dear,

-I have a piece of news for you."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes?" Margaret said, interrogatively, as Mrs. Fowler paused.</p>

-

-<p>"Josiah Petherick has consented to take the pledge, and I am going to

-take the pledge too!"</p>

-

-<p>"Mother!"</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler gave a brief account of her interview with the fisherman

-and Mr. Amyatt, to which her little daughter listened with breathless

-interest. When she had ceased speaking, Margaret went to her side and

-kissed her.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, child!" cried Mrs. Fowler, encircling the slender form with her

-arms. "Do you really care for me? I thought I had for ever forfeited

-your love and respect. My dear, I never properly valued your affection

-until I feared I had lost it. I have been a selfish mother, but, please

-God, I'll be different in the future. When I faced the possibility of

-losing you, it nearly broke my heart."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, mother! And I feared you did not like to have me with you! I

-thought—"</p>

-

-<p>"Was that why you shrank from me? Margaret—" and Mrs. Fowler spoke very

-impressively. "There has been a black shadow over my life for a long,

-long time. It stood between me and your father, between you and me, and

-even between my soul and God. I believe, and pray that it is gone."</p>

-

-<p>The little girl pressed her lips again to her mother's cheek, and

-though she made no reply, that gentle kiss, so tenderly and lovingly

-given, was the seal of a better understanding between these two who had

-been slowly drifting apart. And neither was likely to doubt the other's

-affection again.</p>

-

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_18">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<em>Happier Days.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>ONCE more, it was summer time. Eight months had elapsed since the night

-when the Pethericks' home had been destroyed by fire. And in the place

-of the old thatched dwelling, a modern red-brick cottage had been

-built, which, though certainly not so picturesque as the former one,

-was very comfortable, and possessed a bow window to its little parlour,

-which was the envy and admiration of all the villagers. Already young

-ivy plants had been placed against the bare, red walls; and the garden

-had been coaxed into good order, and was now making a fine show with

-its summer flowers.</p>

-

-<p>The cottage was barely furnished, for though to the amazement of all

-Yelton, Josiah had become a pledged teetotaler, and had in very truth

-turned over a new leaf, he had not been able to earn much money during

-the winter months. And when the new home had been completed a fortnight

-previously, he had only been in a position to purchase a few cheap

-articles of furniture which were absolute necessaries, such as beds,

-and cooking utensils.</p>

-

-<p>One beautiful June evening, Salome sat inside the bow window from which

-there was an uninterrupted view of the beach, and the wide expanse

-of sea, her busy fingers knitting as usual, her fresh, sweet voice

-trilling a merry song. She was blissfully happy, for at that moment

-she had not a care in the world. Her father, now he had really given

-up drink, was kind and considerate as he had been in her mother's

-lifetime, and was doing all he possibly could to make up to her for the

-sorrow he had caused her in the past.</p>

-

-<p>God had been good to her, she told herself, for He had answered her

-earnest prayers on her father's behalf. And her love and patience, so

-often sorely tried, had not been in vain.</p>

-

-<p>A step on the gravel path caused Salome to raise her eyes from her

-work, and her face lit up with a glad, welcoming smile as she saw

-Margaret Fowler coming to the door.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't get up," Margaret called to her, "I'll let myself in, if I

-may," and a minute later she entered the room, her fair countenance

-aglow with health and happiness. She seated herself in the bow

-window opposite to Salome, and glanced around the bare, little

-parlour with smiling eyes undimmed by any shadow of trouble now.

-"I've been practising the organ," she said. "Mother and father have

-been listening, and criticising my performance. They both think I've

-improved wonderfully of late."</p>

-

-<p>"Indeed you have, Miss Margaret," Salome agreed heartily.</p>

-

-<p>"Mother and father have gone home; but I thought I would like a chat

-with you. I like this bow window, don't you?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, miss; it makes the room so light and airy. I'm afraid the place

-looks very bare, though, with no carpet, and no furniture but that deal

-table and these two chairs."</p>

-

-<p>"Never mind. I daresay you'll add to your stock of furniture later on."</p>

-

-<p>"That's what father says. We must try to pick things together gradually

-again. People have been so kind to us, you can't imagine how kind. Mrs.

-Moyle gave us her old dinner set, and some odd cups and plates; and Mr.

-Amyatt's housekeeper sent down some bedding from the Vicarage—of course

-Mr. Amyatt must have told her to do so. Then your dear mother, miss!

-See what she has done for us. Why, she made us a present of the very

-chairs we're sitting on, and—"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes, I know!" Margaret interposed. "I think there's little mother

-wouldn't do for you, Salome."</p>

-

-<p>"But the best thing she ever did, was when she induced father to take

-the pledge. I am sure he would never have done so, if she had not set

-him the example. Oh, miss, I believe he regretted it, at first; but

-now, I'm certain, in his heart, he knows it has been his salvation. He

-isn't like the same man he was a year ago. Look at him now," pointing

-to a stalwart figure seated on the beach bending over a fishing net.

-"Last summer, you wouldn't have found him content to mind his business

-like that, he'd have been at the 'Crab and Cockle' drinking. I little

-thought when I heard Greystone was taken, what kind friends you all

-would be to father and me."</p>

-

-<p>"And I little thought when I first saw you leaning over the garden

-gate, Salome, how much you would do for me."</p>

-

-<p>"I!" cried the lame girl, opening her dark eyes wide in astonishment.

-"Why, I've done nothing, I've had no opportunity—"</p>

-

-<p>"Ah, you don't know all! I've learnt a great deal from you, I have

-indeed, though you mayn't know it—a great deal besides knitting,"

-Margaret said with a smile. "It was you who taught me, by your

-self-sacrificing love for your father, what love ought to be—faithful

-and long-suffering. That was a lesson I never learnt till I met you."</p>

-

-<p>Salome looked earnestly at her companion's expressive face, and was

-emboldened to put a question that had trembled on her lips many times

-of late:</p>

-

-<p>"That trouble you spoke to me about, Miss Margaret—is it gone?"</p>

-

-<p>Margaret nodded in silence.</p>

-

-<p>"I'm so glad," said Salome, simply.</p>

-

-<p>"Do you remember Mrs. Lute, the lady who stayed with us at Greystone

-last summer?" Margaret questioned presently. "Yes. Well, we are

-expecting her to visit us again. And mother says she hopes your father

-will be able to take us out boating frequently, because Mrs. Lute is

-so fond of being on the water. And mother feels safer with your father

-than with anyone else, because he knows the coast so well. You know,

-mother is still a little nervous at times."</p>

-

-<p>"But she is wonderfully better, isn't she?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes. Look! Surely I see Miss Conway and Gerald talking to your

-father on the beach. When they pass here, I'll join them, and we can

-walk home together."</p>

-

-<p>"How Master Gerald does grow!" Salome exclaimed. "And he has so

-improved too! That's come about since your illness last autumn, miss.

-He was in a terrible state of distress then."</p>

-

-<p>"So mother has since told me," Margaret replied. "Yes, he has improved;

-he's much more obedient than he used to be; Miss Conway was saying,

-only this morning, how little trouble she has with him now."</p>

-

-<p>The truth was, Mrs. Fowler had come to understand that her foolish

-indulgence had been likely to ruin her little son. And though she

-loved him no less, she wielded a firmer sway over him, and upheld

-his governess' discipline. With the result that he was a much more

-contented little boy than he had been, when he had had his own way. He

-still sometimes gave way to exhibitions of violent temper, but he was

-growing ashamed of these paroxysms, and they were becoming less and

-less frequent.</p>

-

-<p>When Miss Conway and Gerald left the beach, Margaret said good-bye to

-Salome, and joined the governess and her charge as they were passing

-the cottage.</p>

-

-<p>"We've been talking to Josiah Petherick," the little boy informed his

-sister, "and I've been telling him that Mrs. Lute's coming. Do you

-know, Margaret, that Josiah is going to be in the choir?"</p>

-

-<p>"No. Salome did not tell me; but I left her rather hurriedly when I saw

-you coming. I know he used to be in the choir before—"</p>

-

-<p>"Before he took to drink," said Gerald, finishing the sentence as she

-paused in hesitation. "Well, he doesn't drink now; wasn't it a good

-thing he gave it up? I like Josiah, he's so brave, and he knows such a

-lot about the sea, and ships."</p>

-

-<p>They had left the village, and were ascending the hill towards

-Greystone, now and again pausing, to look back the way they had come.</p>

-

-<p>"I don't think the Pethericks' new cottage is half so pretty as their

-old one, do you, Miss Conway?" Gerald asked, appealing to the governess.</p>

-

-<p>"Perhaps not—in spite of the bow window," she replied. "But the colour

-of the bricks will tone down with time."</p>

-

-<p>"Salome is very contented," remarked Margaret, "but then she would be

-that anywhere, I believe. She is wonderfully happy, and looks so well."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," Miss Conway agreed, "a regular nut-brown maid; and, last autumn,

-she was such a pale, little soul. Mrs. Moyle was telling me yesterday

-how much she misses her. The Moyles have been good friends to the

-Pethericks."</p>

-

-<p>Mr. and Mrs. Fowler were seated beneath the lilac tree when the

-children and the governess entered the grounds. Gerald was the first

-to spy his parents; and he raced across the lawn to them; and informed

-them that he had told Josiah of their expected guest, and had bidden

-him clean his boat in readiness for use.</p>

-

-<p>When Mrs. Lute arrived on the morrow, she was agreeably surprised

-to note the improvement in Mrs. Fowler's health, and complimented

-her upon her "Cornish roses," as she called the bright colour in her

-friend's cheeks, whilst Margaret listened with secret satisfaction and

-happiness, and meeting her father's eyes, saw that he was delighted,

-too.</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Fowler was no longer the neurotic, dissatisfied invalid who had

-been brought to Greystone almost against her will; but a bright,

-companionable woman, taking a lively interest in her household, and

-anxious for the welfare of those she loved. She and her little daughter

-had been drawn very closely together during the past few months; and

-they had discovered that they had many interests in common. Both were

-devoted to music, and Mrs. Fowler had of late fallen into the habit of

-accompanying Margaret to the church to hear her practise on the organ;

-and there, often, Salome would join them, and sing at the earnest

-request of the others her favourite hymn.</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>It was Gerald who, when the family at Greystone was at breakfast on the

-morning after Mrs. Lute's arrival, began to talk of Josiah Petherick.

-Mrs. Lute had not heard the exciting story of the fire, and the little

-boy told it with considerable gusto, afterwards explaining what the new

-cottage was like.</p>

-

-<p>"You have missed the chief point of the story, Gerald," his father

-said, when at length the tale was brought to a conclusion.</p>

-

-<p>"Have I, father?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes. You have not told how being burnt out of house and home affected

-Josiah." He turned to Mrs. Lute as he added: "The man has not touched a

-drop of any kind of intoxicating liquor since."</p>

-

-<p>"Well done!" she exclaimed heartily. "That is news worth hearing. I

-have so often wondered this past winter how those Pethericks were

-getting on. The sad, pale face of that lame girl haunted my memory for

-many a day. And, do you know, when I got home, I thought so much of the

-many discussions we had had upon the drink question, with the result

-that I came to the conclusion that I had been wrong all along. And that

-because I only took stimulants sparingly myself, I had no right to put

-temptation in the way of others; and so, I've banished intoxicating

-liquors from my house altogether. What do you say to that?"</p>

-

-<p>There was a murmur of surprise mingled with commendation, and everyone

-agreed that Mrs. Lute had done well. Certain it was that she had acted

-from the best possible motive—consideration for her fellow-creatures.

-She was one of the kindest of women; and the thought that she might do

-harm to a weaker brother or sister by allowing stimulants to be used

-in her household had never crossed her mind, until she had visited at

-Greystone, and the master of the house had unfolded his new principles

-to her. Thinking the matter over quietly afterwards, she had seen that

-he was right.</p>

-

-<p>And now it is time for us to say good-bye to this little village by the

-Cornish sea. But we will linger a moment to take a farewell glimpse

-of those whose lives we have followed for one short year as they are

-gathered together one Sunday evening in the old grey church. The

-Vicar has finished his sermon, and has given out the hymn with which

-the service will be brought to a close, and in another minute the

-congregation is singing "Abide with me."</p>

-

-<p>Margaret, from her position by her mother's side, can easily

-distinguish Salome's clear, bird-like notes, and Josiah Petherick's

-deep, bass voice; and as she joins in the well-known hymn, her soul

-rises to the throne of God in a fervent prayer of thanksgiving and joy.

-The church is growing dim and shadowy in the evening light; but the

-black shadow that threatened to ruin the happiness of two homes has

-fled; and there is no cloud on Margaret Fowler's fair face, whilst the

-lame girl's voice has a ring of triumph in its tone as she sings the

-concluding words of the beautiful hymn—</p>

-

-<p class="poem">

-<br>

-"Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;<br>

-&nbsp;In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me."<br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<p>PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY THE WHITEFRIARS PRESS, LTD.;</p>

-<p>LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SALOME'S BURDEN ***</div>

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+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SALOME'S BURDEN ***</div>
+
+<p>Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image001" style="max-width: 33.8125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image001.jpg" alt="image001">
+</figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image002" style="max-width: 25.8125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image002.jpg" alt="image002">
+</figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>SALOME'S FRESH, SWEET VOICE RANG CLEARLY</b><br>
+<b>THROUGH THE DIM CHURCH.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+
+<h1><em>SALOME'S BURDEN</em></h1>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em><b>OR</b></em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t1">
+<em><b>THE SHADOW ON THE HOMES</b></em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+BY<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t1">
+<em>ELEANORA H. STOOKE</em><br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+<em>AUTHOR OF</em><br>
+<em>"MOUSIE; OR, COUSIN ROBERT'S TREASURE,"</em><br>
+<em>"A LITTLE TOWN MOUSE," "SIR RICHARD'S GRANDSON,"</em><br>
+<em>"LITTLE MAID MARIGOLD." ETC.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+LONDON<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+S. W. PARTRIDGE &amp; CO., LTD.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+E.C. 4.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+Made in Great Britain<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3b">
+CONTENTS.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>CHAPTER</p>
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_1">I. SALOME'S TROUBLE</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_2">II. NEW ACQUAINTANCES</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_3">III. THE FOWLERS AT HOME</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_4">IV. "ABIDE WITH ME"</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_5">V. SALOME'S HUMILIATION</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_6">VI. PERFECTLY HAPPY</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_7">VII. AN AFTERNOON'S OUTING</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_8">VIII. AN AWFUL THING</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_9">IX. THE BLOW FALLS</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_10">X. MR. FOWLER'S RETURN</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_11">XI. JOSIAH AT HIS WORST</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_12">XII. A BRIEF REPENTANCE</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_13">XIII. MRS. FOWLER AND SALOME</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_14">XIV. A STORMY NIGHT</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_15">XV. TROUBLE AT GREYSTONE</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_16">XVI. DAYS OF SICKNESS</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_17">XVII. THE SHADOW LIFTED</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_18">XVIII. HAPPIER DAYS</a></p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t2">
+<em>Salome's Burden.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_1">CHAPTER I.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>Salome's Trouble.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>IT was summer time. The day had been oppressively hot; but now, as the
+sun disappeared like a ball of fire beyond the broad Atlantic, a cool
+breeze sprang up, and the inhabitants of the fishing village of Yelton
+came to their cottage doors and gossiped with each other, as they
+enjoyed the fresh evening air.</p>
+
+<p>Yelton was a small, straggling village on the north coast of Cornwall.
+It owned but two houses of importance—the Vicarage, a roomy old
+dwelling, which stood in its own grounds close to the church; and
+"Greystone," a substantial modern residence on a slight eminence
+beyond the village, overlooking the sea. The fishermen's cottages were
+thatched, and picturesque in appearance, having little gardens in front
+where hardy flowers flourished; these gardens were a-bloom with roses
+and carnations on this peaceful June evening, and the showiest of them
+all was one which, though nearer the sea than the others, yet presented
+the neatest appearance of the lot. This was Salome Petherick's garden,
+and Salome was a cripple girl of fourteen, who lived with her father,
+Josiah Petherick, in the cottage at the end of the village, close to
+the sea.</p>
+
+<p>Salome had been lame from birth, and could not walk at all without her
+crutches; with their help, however, she could move about nimbly enough.
+Many a happy hour did she spend in her garden whilst Josiah was out in
+his fishing boat. She was contented then, as she always was when her
+father was on the broad sea, for she felt he was in God's keeping, and
+away from the drink, which, alas! was becoming the curse of his life.
+Josiah Petherick was a brave man physically, but he was a moral coward.
+He would risk his life at any hour—indeed, he had often done so—for
+the sake of a fellow-creature in peril. He was fearless on the sea,
+though it had robbed him of relations and friends in the past, and if
+help was wanted for any dangerous enterprise, he was always the first
+to be called upon; but, nevertheless, there was no greater coward in
+Yelton, than Josiah Petherick on occasions. He had lost his wife, to
+whom he had been much attached, five years previously; and, left alone
+with his only child, poor little lame Salome, who had been anything but
+a congenial companion for him, he had sought amusement for his leisure
+hours at the "Crab and Cockle," as the village inn was called, and
+there had acquired the habit of drinking to excess.</p>
+
+<p>As Salome stood leaning on her crutches at the garden gate on this
+beautiful summer evening, her face wore a very serious expression,
+for she knew her father was at the "Crab and Cockle," and longed for,
+yet dreaded, his return. She was a small, slight girl, brown-haired
+and brown-eyed, with a clear, brunette complexion, which was somewhat
+sun-burnt, for she spent most of her spare time in the open air. Having
+passed the requisite standard, she had left school, and now did all
+the work of her father's cottage unaided, besides attending to her
+flowers; and Josiah Petherick was wont to declare that no man in Yelton
+had a more capable housekeeper. The neighbours marvelled that it was
+so, for they had not thought the lame girl, who had been decidedly
+cross-grained and selfish during her mother's lifetime, would grow up
+so helpful; but Mrs. Petherick's death had wrought a great change in
+Salome, who had promised faithfully "to look after poor father" in the
+years to come. Salome had endeavoured to be as good as her word; but
+her influence over her father had not proved strong enough to keep him
+in the straight path; and many an evening saw him ramble home from the
+"Crab and Cockle" in a condition of helpless intoxication.</p>
+
+<p>"Enjoying the cool breeze, Salome?"</p>
+
+<p>Salome, whose wistful, brown eyes had been turned in the direction
+of a row of cottages at some distance, outside one of which hung a
+sign-board representing on its varnished surface a gigantic crab and
+a minute cockle, started at the sound of a voice addressing her, but
+smiled brightly as she saw Mr. Amyatt, the vicar of the parish. He was
+an elderly man, with iron-grey hair, stooping shoulders, and a thin,
+clean-shaven face.</p>
+
+<p>Ten years previously, he had accepted the living of Yelton, when,
+broken down in health, he had been forced to resign his arduous
+duties in the large manufacturing town where he had laboured long and
+faithfully. And the fisher-folk had grown to love and respect him,
+though he never overlooked their failings or hesitated to reprove their
+faults.</p>
+
+<p>"I am waiting for father," Salome answered frankly. "His supper is
+ready for him, and I am afraid it will spoil if he does not come soon.
+It is a beautiful evening, is it not, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very beautiful. I have been on the beach for the last two hours. How
+well your carnations are doing, Salome. Ah, they always flourish best
+by the sea."</p>
+
+<p>"Please let me give you some," the little girl said eagerly. "Oh, I
+don't mind picking them in the least. I should like you to have them."
+And moving about with agility on her crutches, she gathered some of the
+choicest blooms and presented them to Mr. Amyatt.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Salome. They are lovely. I have none to be compared to them
+in the Vicarage gardens. You are a born gardener. But what is amiss,
+child?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing, sir; at least, nothing more than usual. I am anxious about
+father." She paused for a moment, a painful blush spreading over her
+face, then continued, "He spends more time than ever at the 'Crab and
+Cockle;' he's rarely home of an evening now, and when he returns, he's
+sometimes so—so violent! He used not to be that."</p>
+
+<p>The Vicar looked grave and sorry, He pondered the situation in silence
+for a few minutes ere he responded, "You must have patience, Salome;
+and do not reproach him, my dear. Reproaches never do any good, and
+it's worse than useless remonstrating with a man who is not sober."</p>
+
+<p>"But what can I do, sir?" she cried distressfully. "Oh, you cannot
+imagine what a trouble it is to me!"</p>
+
+<p>"I think I can; but you must not lose heart. Prayer and patience work
+wonders. Ask God to show your father his sin in its true light—"</p>
+
+<p>"I have asked Him so often," Salome interposed, "and father gets worse
+instead of better. It's not as though he had an unhappy home. Oh, Mr.
+Amyatt, it's so dreadful for me! I never have a moment's peace of mind
+unless I know father is out fishing. He isn't a bad father, he doesn't
+mean to be unkind; but when he's been drinking, he doesn't mind what he
+says or does."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor child," said the Vicar softly, glancing at her with great
+compassion.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think, if you spoke to him—" Salome began in a hesitating
+manner.</p>
+
+<p>"I have already done so several times; but though he listened to
+me respectfully, I saw my words made no impression on him. I will,
+however, try to find a favourable opportunity for remonstrating with
+him again. Cheer up, my dear child. You have a very heavy cross to
+bear, but you have not to carry it alone, you know. God will help you,
+if you will let Him."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Salome agreed, her face brightening. "I try to remember that,
+but, though indeed I do love God, sometimes He seems so far away."</p>
+
+<p>"He is ever near, Salome. 'The eternal God is thy refuge, and
+underneath are the everlasting arms.' The everlasting arms are of
+unfailing strength and tenderness. See! Is not that your father coming?"</p>
+
+<p>Salome assented, and watched the approaching figure with anxious
+scrutiny.</p>
+
+<p>Josiah Petherick was a tall, strong man, in the prime of life, a
+picture of robust health and strength; he was brown-haired and
+brown-eyed, like his daughter, and his complexion was tanned to a fine
+brick-red hue. He liked the Vicar, though he considered him rather
+too quick in interfering in other people's affairs, so he smiled
+good-humouredly when he found him with Salome at the garden gate.</p>
+
+<p>"Good evening, Petherick," said Mr. Amyatt briskly, his keen eyes
+noticing that, though Josiah had doubtless been drinking, he was very
+far from being intoxicated at present; "you perceive I've been robbing
+your garden," and he held up the carnation blooms.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis my little maid's garden, sir," was the response, "an' I know well
+you're welcome to take what flowers you please. What a hot day it's
+been, to be sure!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but pleasanter out of doors than in the bar of the 'Crab and
+Cockle,' I expect," Mr. Amyatt answered meaningly.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis thirsty weather," Josiah said with a smile; "don't you find it
+so, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, indeed I do! But I don't take beer to quench my thirst. Beer's
+heating, and makes you hotter and thirstier, too. If you were a
+teetotaler like me, you wouldn't feel the heat quite so much."</p>
+
+<p>"That's as it may be, sir. I can't argue the point; but I hold that a
+glass of good, sound beer don't hurt anyone."</p>
+
+<p>Salome had retired into the cottage, remarking which fact, the Vicar
+seized the opportunity and spoke plainly.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Petherick," he said, "if you'd lived my life, you'd be a
+teetotaler like me—at least, I hope you would. The big town in which
+I worked so long owed most of its vice and misery to drink. I was in
+daily contact there with men and women lower than brute beasts on
+account of the drink you uphold—men and women who would sell their own
+and their children's clothes, and allow their offspring to go hungry
+and almost naked, that they might obtain the vile poison for which they
+were bartering their immortal souls. I made up my mind there, that
+drink was our nation's greatest curse; and here, in this quiet village,
+I see no reason to make me change my opinion, and allow that a glass of
+'good, sound beer,' as you call your favourite beverage, doesn't hurt
+anyone. Your one glass leads to more, and the result? You become unlike
+yourself, rough and threatening in your manner, unkind to your little
+daughter whom I am certain you dearly love, and whose chief aim in life
+is to make your home a happy one. I wish you would make up your mind,
+Petherick, never to enter the doors of the 'Crab and Cockle' again."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, sir, to hear you talk one would think I was drunk," Josiah cried,
+aggrievedly.</p>
+
+<p>"You are not that at this minute, I admit, but you have been drinking;
+and if you don't pull up in time, and turn over a new leaf, you'll
+go from bad to worse. Now, I've had my say, and have finished. Your
+supper's waiting, I know, so I'll bid you good evening."</p>
+
+<p>"Good evening, sir," Josiah responded rather shamefacedly, for in his
+heart, he acknowledged every word Mr. Amyatt had spoken to be truth.</p>
+
+<p>He watched the Vicar out of sight, then entered the cottage and sat
+down at the kitchen table to his supper of fried eggs and bacon.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope the eggs are not spoilt," Salome remarked. "But they've been
+cooked nearly half-an-hour, and I'm afraid they're rather hard, for I
+had to keep them warm in the oven."</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind, my dear," he returned. "If they're hard it's my fault, I
+ought to have been here before. By the way, I've brought you a piece of
+news."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you, father?" she said with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Greystone is taken by a rich gentleman from London, and he
+and his family are expected to arrive to-night. The house has been
+furnished in grand style, so I'm told."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you hear the gentleman's name?" Salome asked, looking interested,
+for Greystone had been untenanted for some time. The house had
+been built by a speculative builder, but it had not proved a good
+speculation, as, beautifully situated though it was, it was very
+lonely. "I wonder if Mr. Amyatt knew," she added reflectively, as her
+father shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Amyatt is a very nice man in his way," Josiah remarked, "an'
+I shall never forget how kind he was when your poor mother died,
+but he don't know how to mind his own business. If he likes to be a
+teetotaler, let him be one. If I enjoy my drops o' beer 'long with my
+friends at the 'Crab an' Cockle,' that's naught to do with him." And
+having finished his supper, he pushed away his plate, rose from the
+table, and strode out into the garden.</p>
+
+<p>Salome stayed to wash up the supper things, then went into the garden
+too, but by that time her father was nowhere to be seen. Hurrying to
+the gate, she caught sight of his stalwart figure disappearing in the
+distance, and knew that he was making his way to the inn again. She
+stood leaning against the garden gate, sore at heart, until a chill
+mist from the sea crept upwards and surrounded her; then she retreated
+into the cottage and waited patiently, listening to the ticking of the
+tall, eight-day clock in the kitchen. She knew her father would not
+return till the doors of the inn were shut for the night.</p>
+
+<p>At last she heard the click of the garden gate, and a minute later
+Josiah Petherick stumbled up the path, and, leaving the cottage door
+unlocked, crawled upstairs to his bedroom, muttering to himself as he
+went. Salome waited till everything was still, then she rose, locked
+the door, and swung herself, step by step, by the aid of her crutches,
+up the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Before going to her own room, she peeped cautiously into her father's,
+which was flooded with moonlight, the blind being up; and a sob broke
+from her lips at the sight which met her eyes. The man had thrown
+himself, fully dressed as he was, upon the bed, and had already sunk
+into a heavy, drunken slumber. Salome stood looking at him, the tears
+running down her cheeks, mingled love and indignation in her aching
+heart. Then the love overcame all else, and she sank on her knees by
+her father's side, and prayed earnestly for him who was unfit to pray
+for himself, whilst the words the Vicar had spoken to her that evening—</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<br>
+"'The eternal God is thy refuge,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;and underneath are the everlasting arms.'"<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>—recurred to her memory, and fell like balm upon her sorrowful spirit.
+And she felt that she did not bear her trouble alone.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_2">CHAPTER II.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>New Acquaintances.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>WHEN Josiah Petherick came downstairs to breakfast on the following
+morning, his face wore a furtive, sullen expression, as though he
+expected to be taken to task for his behaviour of the night before.
+On previous occasions, Salome had, by tears and sorrowing words,
+reproached him for his unmanly conduct; but this morning she was
+perfectly composed, and the meal was eaten almost in silence.
+Afterwards, Josiah informed his little daughter that he should probably
+be away all day mackerel fishing, and went off in the direction of the
+beach. There was a fresh breeze blowing, and he looked forward to a
+successful day's work.</p>
+
+<p>Salome moved about the cottage with a very heavy heart. On account of
+her affliction, it took her longer than it would have most people to
+get over her household duties, so that it was past noon before she
+had everything ship-shape, and was at leisure. Then she put on a pink
+sun-bonnet, and went into the garden to look at her flowers, pulling
+weeds here and there, until the sounds of shrill cries made her hurry
+to the garden gate to ascertain what was going on outside.</p>
+
+<p>Salome stood gazing in astonishment at the scene which met her eyes.
+A boy of about six years old was lying on the ground, kicking and
+shrieking with passion, whilst a young woman was bending over him,
+trying to induce him to get up. At a short distance, a pretty little
+girl, apparently about Salome's own age, was looking on, and laughing,
+as though greatly amused.</p>
+
+<p>"Gerald, get up! Do get up, there's a good boy!" implored the young
+woman. "Dear, dear, what a temper you're in. You 're simply ruining
+that nice new sailor's suit of yours, lying there in the dust. Oh,
+Margaret—" and she turned to the little girl—"do try to induce your
+brother to be reasonable."</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't do that, Miss Conway," was the laughing response, "for
+Gerald never was reasonable yet. Look at him now, his face crimson with
+passion. He's like a mad thing, and deserves to be whipped. He—"</p>
+
+<p>She stopped suddenly, noticing Salome at the garden gate. The boy,
+catching sight of the lame girl at that moment too, abruptly ceased his
+cries, and, as though ashamed of himself, rose to his feet, and stood
+staring at her. He was a fine, handsome little fellow, with dark-blue
+eyes and fair curly hair; but, as Salome afterwards learnt, he was a
+spoilt child, and as disagreeable as spoilt children always are. His
+sister, who was like him in appearance, was a bright-looking little
+girl; and her laughing face softened into sympathy as her eyes rested
+on Salome's crutches.</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid my brother's naughty temper has shocked you," she said.
+"He likes to have his own way, and wanted to spend a longer time on the
+beach instead of going home. We have been on the beach all the morning
+with Miss Conway—this lady, who is our governess. What a pretty garden
+you have. We noticed it as we passed just now—didn't we, Miss Conway?"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Conway assented, smiling very kindly at Salome.</p>
+
+<p>"I had no idea flowers would flourish so close to the sea," she
+remarked. "It is to be hoped the Greystone gardens will prove equally
+productive."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, are you—do you live at Greystone?" Salome questioned, much
+interested in the strangers.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," nodded the little girl, "we arrived last night. My father, Mr.
+Fowler, has taken the house on a three years' lease. My mother is very
+delicate; she has been very ill, and the doctors say the north coast of
+Cornwall will suit her."</p>
+
+<p>"Let me see your garden," said the little boy imperatively, coming
+close to the gate, and peering between the bars.</p>
+
+<p>"You should say 'please,' Gerald," his governess reminded him
+reprovingly.</p>
+
+<p>Salome invited them all to enter, and when they had admired the
+flowers, Miss Conway asked if she might rest a few minutes on the
+seat under the porch. She was a delicate-looking young woman, and
+the tussle she had had with her unruly pupil had upset her. Gerald,
+however, was quite contented now, watching a bee labouring from flower
+to flower with its load of honey. His sister, Margaret, sat down by the
+governess' side, whilst Salome, leaning on her crutches, watched them
+shyly. There was a little flush of excitement on her cheeks, for it was
+an unusual experience for her to converse with strangers.</p>
+
+<p>"Who lives here with you, my dear?" Miss Conway inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"Only my father, miss. Mother died five years ago. Father's a
+fisherman; his name's Josiah Petherick, and I'm called Salome."</p>
+
+<p>"What a quaint, pretty name," Margaret exclaimed. "And you have you no
+sisters or brothers?"</p>
+
+<p>Salome shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you—have you always been lame?" Miss Conway questioned.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, miss, always. I can't get about without my crutches."</p>
+
+<p>"How dreadful!" Margaret cried with ready sympathy. "Oh, I am, sorry
+for you."</p>
+
+<p>Salome looked gratefully at the speaker, and smiled as she made answer,
+"You see, miss, I'm accustomed to being a cripple. Often and often I've
+wished my legs were straight and strong like other people's, but as
+they are not, I must just make the best of them. Mr. Amyatt says—"</p>
+
+<p>"Who is Mr. Amyatt?" Miss Conway interposed.</p>
+
+<p>"Our Vicar, miss. He lives in that big house near the church. He's such
+a good, kind gentleman, you'll be sure to like him."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what does he say?" Miss Conway inquired with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"That God made me lame for some good purpose. I think myself He did it
+because I should stay at home, and keep house for father," Salome said
+simply. "Perhaps if I was able to get about like other people, I might
+neglect father, and be tempted—"</p>
+
+<p>She had been about to say "be tempted to leave him," but had stopped
+suddenly, remembering that the strangers knew nothing of her father;
+and she earnestly hoped they would never understand how miserable he
+made her at times.</p>
+
+<p>"As it is," she proceeded, "I do all the housework—I can take as long
+as I please about it, you know—and I attend to my flowers besides."</p>
+
+<p>"And have you always lived here?" Margaret asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, miss, I was born in this cottage."</p>
+
+<p>"Doesn't the sea make you mournful in the winter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no! It's grand then, sometimes. The waves look like great
+mountains of foam. This is a very wild coast."</p>
+
+<p>"So I have heard," Miss Conway replied. "I should like to see a storm,
+if no ship was in danger. I suppose you never saw a wreck?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Salome with a shudder; "only last autumn a coasting vessel
+ran ashore on the rocks, and the crew was lost. You will notice in the
+churchyard many graves of people who have been drowned."</p>
+
+<p>"We have always lived in London until now," Margaret explained, "so
+we shall find life in the country a great change. I don't know that I
+shall dislike it during the summer, and Gerald is simply delighted with
+the beach; I expect he'll insist on going there every day, so you'll
+often see us passing here. Gerald generally gets his own way, doesn't
+he, Miss Conway?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," the governess admitted gravely, looking rather serious.</p>
+
+<p>"My mother spoils him," Margaret continued. "Oh, you needn't look at me
+like that, Miss Conway, for you know it's true."</p>
+
+<p>At that moment Gerald ran up to them. He was in high good-humour, for
+he was charmed with Salome's garden; but his face clouded immediately
+when Miss Conway remarked it was time for them to go home.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," he pouted, "don't go yet, Miss Conway. Stay a little longer."</p>
+
+<p>"But if we do, we shall be late for luncheon, and then your father will
+be displeased."</p>
+
+<p>"You shall have this rose to take home with you," Salome said, in order
+to propitiate the child, and prevent a disturbance. She gathered, as
+she spoke, a beautiful pink moss-rose, and offered it to him. "Wouldn't
+you like to give it to your mother?" she suggested, as he accepted her
+gift with evident pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>"No," Gerald rejoined, "I shan't give it to mother, I shall keep it for
+myself."</p>
+
+<p>His sister laughed at this selfish speech; but the governess' face
+saddened as she took her younger pupil by the hand, and after a kind
+good-bye to Salome, led him away.</p>
+
+<p>"May I come and see you again?" Margaret asked as she lingered at the
+gate.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, please do, miss," was the eager reply. "I should be so glad if you
+would. I really am very lonely sometimes."</p>
+
+<p>"So am I," the other little girl confessed with a sigh; and for the
+first time Salome noticed a look of discontent on her pretty face. The
+expression was gone in a minute, however, and with a smiling farewell
+Margaret Fowler hastened after her governess and Gerald.</p>
+
+<p>These new acquaintances gave Salome plenty of food for thought; and
+when her father returned in the afternoon she greeted him cheerfully,
+and told him that the family had arrived at Greystone. He was in good
+spirits, having caught a nice lot of mackerel; and acting on his
+daughter's suggestion, he selected some of the finest, and started for
+Greystone to see if he could not sell them there. Meanwhile, Salome
+laid the tea cloth, and got the kettle boiling. In the course of
+half-an-hour her father returned, having sold his fish.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw the cook," he informed Salome, "and she said any time I have
+choice fish to sell, she can do business with me. It seems she manages
+everything in the kitchen; she told me the mistress doesn't know what
+there's to be for dinner till it's brought to table."</p>
+
+<p>"How strange!" Salome cried. "But I forgot, Mrs. Fowler has been ill,
+so perhaps she is too great an invalid to attend to anything herself."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know about that, I'm sure. It's likely to be better for us,
+Salome, now Greystone is occupied. Why, you're quite a business woman,
+my dear! I should never have thought of taking those mackerel up there,
+but for you. I should have let Sam Putt have the lot, as usual."</p>
+
+<p>Sam Putt was the owner of a pony and cart. He lived in the village,
+and often purchased fish, which he conveyed to a neighbouring town for
+sale, hawking it from door to door.</p>
+
+<p>Josiah continued to converse amicably during tea-time; and afterwards
+he went into the garden, and turned up a patch of ground in readiness
+for the reception of winter greens. To Salome's intense relief, he did
+not go to the "Crab and Cockle" that evening; but, instead, as soon as
+he had finished his gardening, suggested taking her for a sail.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, father, how delightful!" she cried, her face flushing with
+pleasure. "Oh, I haven't been on the water for weeks! It will be such a
+treat!"</p>
+
+<p>So father and daughter spent the long summer evening on the sea, much
+to the contentment of both; and the sun had set before they returned to
+Yelton.</p>
+
+<p>Salome chatted merrily as, their boat safely moored, she followed her
+father up the shingly beach; but on reaching their garden gate, Josiah
+paused, glancing towards the swinging sign-board outside the "Crab and
+Cockle," still visible in the gathering dusk.</p>
+
+<p>In a moment, Salome read his thoughts, and cried involuntarily, "Oh,
+father, not to-night! Not to-night!"</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean, child?" he asked with a decided show of displeasure
+in face and tone.</p>
+
+<p>"I mean, I want you to stay at home with me to-night, father! Do, dear
+father, to please me! I—I can't bear to see you as—as you are sometimes
+when you come back from the 'Crab and Cockle'! Oh, father, if you would
+only give up the drink how happy we should be!"</p>
+
+<p>"How foolishly you talk!" he cried irritably. "It is not seemly for a
+child to dictate to her father!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, father, I mean no harm! You know I love you dearly! It's supper
+time. Aren't you hungry? I'm sure I am."</p>
+
+<p>Josiah admitted he was, too, and followed his daughter into the
+cottage. He did not leave it again that night, for his good angel
+proved too strong for him; and when he kissed his little daughter at
+bedtime, his manner was unusually gentle, whilst the words he uttered
+sent her to rest with a very happy heart: "God bless you, child! I
+don't know what I should be but for you, Salome. You grow more like
+your dear mother every day you live."</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_3">CHAPTER III.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>The Fowlers at Home.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"PULL down the blind, Margaret. The sun is streaming right into my
+eyes."</p>
+
+<p>The speaker, Mrs. Fowler, was lying on a sofa in the handsomely
+furnished drawing-room at Greystone. She was a young-looking,
+very pretty woman, with fair hair and blue eyes; and she was most
+fashionably dressed. One would have thought her possessed of everything
+that heart could desire, but the lines of her face were discontented
+ones, and the tone of her voice was decidedly fretful. The only
+occupant of the room besides herself was her little daughter, who put
+down the book she had been reading, and going to the window, obediently
+lowered the blind.</p>
+
+<p>"There," she said, "that's better, isn't it? I won't pull the blind
+down altogether, mother, for that would keep out the fresh air, and you
+know the doctors said the sea breeze would be your best tonic. I do
+think this is a lovely place, don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler agreed indifferently; and her little daughter continued,
+"Such a beautiful view we have right over the sea. And doesn't the
+village look pretty, and the old grey church? There are such a quantity
+of jackdaws in the tower. Mother, do you know, from my bedroom window,
+I can see the cottage where that poor lame girl lives? When you are
+strong enough, I'll take you to visit Salome."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want to see her, Margaret. I don't like looking at deformed
+people, and I cannot think why you should feel so much interest in this
+Salome."</p>
+
+<p>"I have seen her several times now, and I like her so much. The Vicar
+has told me a lot about her, too. She lost her mother five years ago,
+poor girl!"</p>
+
+<p>Margaret paused, and glanced a trifle wistfully at the daintily-clad
+figure on the sofa, wondering if she was lame like Salome, whether
+her mother would cease to care for her altogether. Mrs. Fowler never
+evinced much affection for her daughter, whatever her feelings may have
+been, though she was pleased that she was growing up a pretty little
+girl, and took an interest in dressing her becomingly. But Gerald was
+her favourite of the two children, and upon him she lavished most of
+her love. She was fond of her husband, though she stood in awe of him.
+He was kind and attentive to her, but often grew impatient at the
+persistent way in which she indulged their little son.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler had led a gay life in London for many years; but latterly,
+she had been in very indifferent health, and after an attack of severe
+illness, which had left her nerves in a shattered condition, Mr. Fowler
+had insisted on shutting up their house in town, and settling in the
+country. He had accordingly taken Greystone, and dismissing their old
+servants had engaged new ones, who received their orders from himself
+instead of from their mistress.</p>
+
+<p>During the first few weeks of her residence at Greystone, Mrs. Fowler
+had indeed been too ill to superintend the household; and though
+she was now better, she was far from strong, and was glad not to be
+troubled about anything. Margaret was very sorry for her mother, whose
+sufferings were apparent to everyone, for she started at the slightest
+unexpected sound, and the least worry brought on the most distressing
+headache.</p>
+
+<p>"Would you like me to read to you, mother?" the little girl inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"No, thank you, Margaret. What is the time?"</p>
+
+<p>"Half-past three."</p>
+
+<p>"Where is Gerald?"</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Conway has taken him down to the beach; she promised him this
+morning he should go, if he was good and attentive during lesson time.
+He likes talking to the fishermen."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear child! I hope they will not teach him to use bad language, though
+I expect they are a rough set."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think so, mother. Mr. Amyatt says they are mostly sober,
+God-fearing men; of course, there are exceptions—Salome Petherick's
+father, for instance, often gets intoxicated, and it is a terrible
+trouble to her."</p>
+
+<p>"Does she complain of him to you?" Mrs. Fowler queried.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, mother! It was Mr. Amyatt who told me. We were talking of
+Salome, and he said her father was very violent at times, quite cruel
+to her, in fact. Do you know, I think father's right, and that it's
+best to have nothing whatever to do with drink."</p>
+
+<p>Lately, since the Fowlers had left London, Mr. Fowler had laid down a
+rule that no intoxicating liquors of any description were to be brought
+into the house. He had become a teetotaler himself, for very good
+reasons, and had insisted on the members of his household following
+suit. No one had objected to this except Mrs. Fowler, and now she
+answered her little daughter in a tone of irritability.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't talk nonsense, child! I believe a glass of wine would do me good
+at this minute, and steady my nerves, only your father won't allow it!
+I haven't patience to speak of this new fad of his without getting
+cross. There, don't look at me so reproachfully. Of course what your
+father does is right in your eyes! Here, feel my pulse, child, and
+you'll know what a wreck I am!"</p>
+
+<p>Margaret complied, and laid her cool fingers on her mother's wrist. The
+pulse was weak and fluttering, and the little girl's heart filled with
+sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor mother," she said tenderly, kissing Mrs. Fowler's flushed cheek,
+and noticing her eyes were full of tears. "Shall I ring and order tea?
+It's rather early, but no doubt a nice cup of tea would do you good."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no! It's much too hot for tea!" And Mrs. Fowler made a gesture
+indicative of distaste, then broke into a flood of tears.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret soothed her mother as best she could; and presently, much to
+her satisfaction, the invalid grew composed and fell asleep. She was
+subject to these hysterical outbursts, and as Margaret bent anxiously
+over her, she noted how thin she had become, how hectic was the flush
+on her cheeks, and how dark-rimmed were her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"She does indeed look very ill," the little girl thought sadly. "I
+wonder if she is right, and that some wine would do her good, and make
+her stronger; if so, it seems hard she should not have it. I'll go and
+speak to father at once."</p>
+
+<p>To think was to act with Margaret. She stole noiselessly out of the
+drawing-room, and went in search of her father. He was not in the
+house, but a servant informed her he was in the garden, and there she
+found him, reclining in a swing-chair, beneath the shade of a lilac
+tree. He threw aside the magazine he was reading as she approached, and
+greeted her with a welcoming smile.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Fowler was a tall, dark man, several years older than his wife;
+his face was a strong one, and determined in expression, but his keen,
+deep-set eyes were wont to look kindly, and he certainly had the
+appearance of a person to be trusted.</p>
+
+<p>"Is anything wrong, my dear?" he inquired quickly, noticing that she
+looked depressed. "Where is your mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"Asleep in the drawing-room, father. She has had one of her crying fits
+again, and that exhausted her, I think. She seems very poorly, and
+low-spirited, doesn't she?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but she is better—decidedly better than she was a few weeks ago.
+I have every hope that, ere many months have passed, she will be quite
+well again. There is no cause for you to look so anxious, child."</p>
+
+<p>"But she is so weak and nervous!" Margaret cried distressfully. "I was
+wondering if she had some wine—"</p>
+
+<p>The little girl paused, startled by the look of anger which flashed
+across her father's face. He made a movement as though to rise from the
+chair, then changed his intention, and curtly bade her finish what she
+had been about to say.</p>
+
+<p>"It was only that I was wondering if she had some wine, whether it
+might not do her good," Margaret proceeded timidly. "She told me
+herself she thought it would, and if so—you know, father, you used to
+take wine yourself, and—"</p>
+
+<p>"Did your mother send you to me on this mission?" he interrupted
+sternly.</p>
+
+<p>"No. I came of my own accord."</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad to hear that. But I cannot give my consent to your mother's
+taking wine, or stimulants of any kind; they would be harmful for her,
+the doctors agree upon that point. You have reminded me that I once
+drank wine myself, Margaret. I bitterly regret ever having done so."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" she asked wonderingly, impressed by the solemnity of his tone.
+Then her thoughts flew to Salome Petherick's father, and she cried,
+"But, father, you never drank too much!"</p>
+
+<p>"I was never tempted to drink to excess, for I had no craving for
+stimulants. It is small credit to me that I was always a sober man;
+but people are differently constituted, and my example may have
+caused others to contract habits of intemperance. The Vicar here is a
+teetotaler from principle. He tells me that the force of example is
+stronger than any amount of preaching. Lately, I have had cause to
+consider this matter very seriously, and I am determined that never,
+with my permission, shall any intoxicating liquors be brought inside
+my doors. The servants understand this: I should instantly dismiss
+one who set my rule at defiance. As to your mother—" he paused a
+moment in hesitation, the expression of his countenance troubled, then
+continued—"she is weak, and still very far from well, but, in her heart
+of hearts, she knows I am right. Do not tell her you have broached this
+subject to me. Come, let us go and see if she is still asleep."</p>
+
+<p>"You are not angry with me, father?" Margaret asked, as she followed
+him into the house.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no! I am not, indeed!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler awoke with a start as her husband and little daughter
+entered the drawing-room. Mr. Fowler immediately rang for tea, and when
+it was brought, Margaret poured it out. At first, Mrs. Fowler would not
+touch it, but finally, to please the others, drank a cupful, and felt
+refreshed. A few minutes later, Mr. Amyatt was shown into the room,
+and she brightened up and grew quite animated. Margaret and her father
+exchanged pleased glances, delighted at the interest the invalid was
+evincing in the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I shall soon be well enough to go to church on Sundays," Mrs.
+Fowler informed the Vicar. "My husband tells me you have a very good
+choir."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that is so," Mr. Amyatt replied. "We are decidedly primitive in
+our ways at Yelton, and have several women in our choir, notably Salome
+Petherick, the lame girl with whom your daughter has already become
+acquainted."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes. Margaret has been telling me about her. She sings in the
+choir, does she?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. She has a beautiful voice, as clear and fresh as a bird's! I
+train the choir myself, for our organist comes from N—, a neighbouring
+town, several miles distant."</p>
+
+<p>"By the way," said Mrs. Fowler with a smiling glance at Margaret, "my
+little girl is very desirous of learning to play the organ, and her
+governess would teach her, if you would allow her to practise on the
+organ in the church. Would there be any objection to that plan, Mr.
+Amyatt?"</p>
+
+<p>"None whatever," was the prompt reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, thank you!" Margaret cried delightedly.</p>
+
+<p>"You will have to employ Gerald to blow for you," Mr. Fowler remarked
+with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure he will not do that!" the little girl exclaimed. "He is far
+too disobliging."</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret, how hard you are on your brother," Mrs. Fowler said
+reproachfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Am I? I don't mean to be. Oh, here he is!"</p>
+
+<p>Gerald came into the room with his hat on his head, but meeting his
+father's eyes, removed it instantly. After he had shaken hands with the
+Vicar, his mother called him to her, pushed back his fair locks from
+his forehead, and made him sit by her side on the sofa whilst she plied
+him with sweet cakes. He was her darling, and she indulged him to his
+bent. When the governess entered the room, having removed her hat and
+gloves, there were no sweet cakes left. Mr. Fowler rang the bell for
+more, and upon the parlour-maid bringing a fresh supply, declined to
+allow Gerald to partake of them, at which the spoilt boy pouted and
+sulked, and his mother threw reproachful glances at her husband.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Amyatt watched the scene in silence, wondering how anyone could
+allow affection to overcome judgment, as Mrs. Fowler had evidently
+done, as far as her little son was concerned, and marvelling that Mr.
+Fowler did not order the disagreeable child out of the room. When the
+Vicar rose to go, his host accompanied him as far as the garden gate,
+and they stood there talking some while before, at last, the Vicar said
+good-bye, and started down the hill towards the village.</p>
+
+<p>The Fowlers had now been several weeks in residence at Greystone,
+but, up to the present, Mr. Amyatt had been their only visitor. Mrs.
+Fowler had not been outside the grounds surrounding the house yet,
+but talked of going down to the beach the first day she felt strong
+enough to attempt the walk. The children, however, had made several
+acquaintances among the fisher-folk, and a great liking had sprung
+up between Margaret and Salome Petherick, for, though one was a rich
+man's daughter and the other only a poor fisherman's child, they found
+they had much in common, and, wide apart though they were to outward
+appearances, they bade fair to become real friends.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_4">CHAPTER IV.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>"Abide with Me."</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>THE Fowlers had been six weeks at Greystone, when, one evening towards
+the end of July, Mrs. Fowler, who was daily improving in health,
+accompanied Margaret and Miss Conway to the church, and wandered about
+the ancient building, reading the inscriptions on the monuments, whilst
+her little daughter had her music lesson. By-and-by she strolled into
+the graveyard, and, seating herself on the low wall which surrounded
+it, gazed far out over the blue expanse of ocean, which was dotted with
+fishing boats and larger crafts, on this calm summer evening.</p>
+
+<p>The churchyard at Yelton was beautifully situated, commanding a view of
+the whole village straggling nearly down to the beach, whilst on the
+eminence beyond the church was Greystone, against a background of green
+foliage.</p>
+
+<p>"Everything is very lovely," Mrs. Fowler said to herself, "and the air
+is certainly most invigorating. I feel almost well to-night. Who comes
+here? Why, this must be Salome Petherick!"</p>
+
+<p>It was the lame girl who had entered the churchyard, and was now
+approaching the spot where Mrs. Fowler sat. She paused at the sight of
+the figure on the wall, and a look of admiration stole into her soft,
+brown eyes. She had never seen such a pretty lady before, or anyone so
+daintily and becomingly dressed.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler, who had shrunk with the nervous unreasonableness of a sick
+person from being brought into contact with the cripple girl, now that
+she was actually face to face with her, was interested and sympathetic
+at once. She smiled at Salome and addressed her cordially.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you must be Salome Petherick?" she said. "Yes, I am sure you
+are!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'am," was the reply, accompanied by a shy glance of pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>"My little girl has spoken of you so often that I seem to know you
+quite well," Mrs. Fowler remarked. "Come and sit down on the wall by my
+side, I want to talk to you."</p>
+
+<p>Then as Salome complied willingly, she continued, "Does it not tire
+you to climb here every evening, as they tell me you do, to listen to
+the organ? The church is a good step from where you live. That is your
+home, is it not?" and she indicated the cottage nearest to the sea.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Salome assented, "it does tire me a little to come up the hill,
+but I love to hear music. After Miss Margaret has had her organ lesson,
+Miss Conway generally plays something herself."</p>
+
+<p>"Does she? Then I hope she will do so to-night. But my little daughter
+is still at the organ, so we will remain where we are until she has
+finished. Meanwhile we will talk. They tell me you live with your
+father, and that he is often away fishing. You must lead a lonely life."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'am, indeed it is very lonely sometimes," Salome acknowledged,
+"but I don't mind that much. I have plenty to do, keeping the cottage
+clean and tidy, and preparing father's meals, mending his clothes, and
+seeing to the flowers in the garden."</p>
+
+<p>"How busy you must be. And you have lost your mother, poor child."</p>
+
+<p>Salome pointed to a green mound at a little distance, whilst her brown
+eyes filled with tears.</p>
+
+<p>"She was such a good mother," she said softly, "oh, such a very good
+mother! And I was such a fretful, tiresome child. I used to grieve her
+so often, and I can't bear to think of it now."</p>
+
+<p>She paused, but, encouraged by the sympathy on her companion's face,
+she continued, "She used to be so patient with me when I was naughty
+and grumbled because I was not able to run about and play like other
+children. And, until she lay dying, I never thought how sorry I must
+have made her, and what a selfish girl I'd been. Then, I would have
+given anything if I'd been different, but it was too late." And the
+repentant tears streamed down Salome's cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't grieve," said Mrs. Fowler, a little huskily, for she was much
+touched at the other's evident remorse.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure Miss Margaret never treated you, ma'am, as I used to treat
+my mother!" Salome exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler was silent as she acknowledged to herself that Margaret
+had always been patient and considerate when she had been an exacting
+invalid.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose your father is out in his fishing boat?" she asked by way of
+changing the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"No, ma'am," Salome replied, the look of grief deepening on her face.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us go into the church and hear Miss Conway play," Mrs. Fowler
+said, rising as she spoke. "I hear Margaret's lesson is at an end. Ah,
+here comes the Vicar. How do you do, Mr. Amyatt?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad to see you are better, Mrs. Fowler," the Vicar exclaimed.
+"What, you here, Salome? Don't go away; I want Mrs. Fowler to hear you
+sing."</p>
+
+<p>Salome smiled, and blushed. She followed the others into the church
+and seated herself in a pew near the door, whilst the Vicar pointed
+out beauties in the architecture of the building to his companion,
+which she had failed to notice. Miss Conway was at the organ, playing
+"The Heavens are telling," and when the last notes died away the Vicar
+beckoned to Salome, who swung herself up the aisle on her crutches,
+and, at his request, consented to sing.</p>
+
+<p>"I will play the accompaniment," Miss Conway said, smiling
+encouragingly at the lame girl, who felt a little shy at being called
+upon to sing alone. "What shall it be?" she inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"Whatever you please, miss," Salome answered.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no! You must choose," the Vicar declared decidedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I will sing 'Abide with Me.'"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler and Margaret considerately withdrew to a side seat so that
+the sight of them should not embarrass the singer, and Mr. Amyatt
+followed them. Salome stood a little behind Miss Conway, who softly
+played the accompaniment of the hymn:</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<br>
+"Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;<br>
+&nbsp;The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide;<br>
+&nbsp;When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,<br>
+&nbsp;Help of the helpless, O abide with me."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>Salome's fresh, sweet voice rang clearly through the dim church, and
+its tender tones touched the hearts of her audience. She was very fond
+of "Abide with Me," for it had been her mother's favourite hymn, and
+to-night she sang her best.</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<br>
+"Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;<br>
+&nbsp;In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>The beautiful voice died lingeringly away, and for a few minutes there
+was a complete silence. Then Mrs. Fowler rose, and coming eagerly
+forward, took Salome by the hand, whilst she thanked her for giving her
+such a "rare treat" as she called it.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret was delighted to see what a favourable impression her lame
+friend had evidently made upon her mother, and great was her surprise
+when, on their all adjourning to the churchyard, Mrs. Fowler asked
+Salome to come and see them at Greystone.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you would be able to get as far as that, don't you?" she said
+with a winning smile. "I should like you to come and sing to me. Will
+you, one evening?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes," Salome replied. She had never been inside the doors of
+Greystone in her life, though she had often desired to see what the
+house was like, having been told it was a fine place.</p>
+
+<p>"Then that is settled. I shall expect you."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler nodded and turned away, followed by Miss Conway, and
+Margaret who looked back to wave her hand in farewell as she
+disappeared through the churchyard gate. The Vicar accompanied them
+thus far, then turned back to speak a few words to Salome. The village
+lad who had been employed to blow the organ had taken a short cut
+homewards over the low wall.</p>
+
+<p>"You sang remarkably well to-night," Mr. Amyatt said, "I felt quite
+proud of my pupil. You showed excellent taste, too, in the hymn you
+chose. It was most suitable for the occasion. I wonder if you know the
+circumstances under which that hymn came to be written?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," Salome rejoined, shaking her head, "I don't know, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I will tell you. It was composed more than fifty years ago
+by a sick clergyman of the name of Lyte, at a little fishing town
+called Brixham, in South Devon. He had become so seriously ill that
+the doctors had ordered him abroad for his health's sake, and, after
+service on the Sunday evening, prior to his leaving England, he went
+down to the sea-shore, sad at heart, for he was convinced that he
+had spoken to his parishioners, who were very dear to him, for the
+last time. He was sorrowful and low-spirited, but, by-and-by, the
+remembrance that his Saviour was ever near to help and sustain him
+brought him consolation. After watching the sunset, he went home, and
+immediately wrote the beautiful hymn you sang to-night."</p>
+
+<p>Salome had listened with deep interest, and she exclaimed earnestly:
+"Oh, Mr. Amyatt, I am glad you have told me this. I shall love 'Abide
+with Me' better than ever now."</p>
+
+<p>The Vicar smiled, then pointed towards the sea, over which a soft
+summer mist was creeping.</p>
+
+<p>"It is time for you to go home," he reminded her. "Where is your father
+this evening?"</p>
+
+<p>"At the 'Crab and Cockle,' sir."</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head sadly, but refrained from questioning her further.
+He saw she was thinner than she had been a few months previously, and
+wondered if she was sufficiently well fed, or if Josiah Petherick
+expended the money he should have spent on his home, on the friends he
+met at the inn. As he watched the little girl swinging herself slowly
+down the hill by the aid of her crutches, he felt very grieved and
+troubled on her account.</p>
+
+<p>"What a curse this drink is!" he thought. "And it's a curse that creeps
+in everywhere, too."</p>
+
+<p>In the village that afternoon, he had been told that Mr. Fowler had
+summarily dismissed a groom who had been discovered with a bottle of
+beer in the stable, and he had listened to various comments upon the
+strict notions of the master of Greystone. Most of the villagers were
+inclined to think that the man's fault in disobeying his master's rule
+that no intoxicating liquor should be brought on the premises might
+have been overlooked, as it was his first offence, whilst some few
+argued that Mr. Fowler had acted rightly.</p>
+
+<p>As Salome passed the "Crab and Cockle" on her way home, she heard
+sounds of hilarity within, and recognised her father's voice singing
+a rollicking sea song. She sighed, remembering how, during his wife's
+lifetime, Josiah had been a member of the church choir; it appeared
+unseemly to her that a voice which once had been raised to the praise
+and glory of God should lend itself to the entertainment of a set
+of half-drunken men in the bar of a public-house. As she paused,
+involuntarily listening, a whiff of foul air, laden with the mingled
+odour of smoke and beer, was wafted before her nostrils from the open
+doorway, and she moved on with a sickening sense of shame and disgust,
+her heart heavy as lead, her eyes smarting with tears. Oh, hers was a
+hard life, she thought bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>Arrived at home, she laid a frugal supper of bread and cheese, and soon
+afterwards her father reeled up the garden path and into the kitchen.
+Sitting down at the table, he helped himself to bread and cheese in
+silence, and commenced eating, whilst his little daughter took her
+accustomed place opposite to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Where've you been?" he questioned. "I saw you pass the inn."</p>
+
+<p>She told him how she had spent the evening, explaining that she had
+sung at the Vicar's request, and that Mrs. Fowler had invited her to
+Greystone.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't let you go there!" he cried. "I hate those new people! What
+did Mr. Fowler do yesterday, but dismiss as honest a chap as ever
+lived, at a moment's notice, just because he'd got a bottle o' beer in
+the stable! An' the man wasn't drunk either! No, you shan't go nigh
+folks as treats their servants like that."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, father!" Salome exclaimed, disappointedly. She was wise enough,
+however, not to pursue the subject. After a brief silence, she asked,
+with some timidity, "Father, have you any money? Because, when Silas
+Moyle left the bread this afternoon, he said he couldn't supply us with
+any more unless you paid him what you owe."</p>
+
+<p>Silas Moyle was the one baker of the place, and the owner of the
+village shop, in which his wife served. Josiah Petherick had formerly
+paid ready money for everything, but latterly he had been spending at
+the "Crab and Cockle" what should have gone into Silas Moyle's pocket.
+This was an additional trouble to Salome, but her father did not appear
+to care. He was enraged, though, when he heard what the baker had
+said, and, as his creditor was not present to bear the brunt of his
+indignation, Salome had to stand it instead. She turned white when he
+swore at her, and sat perfectly still whilst he abused her roundly, but
+when he called her extravagant she began to protest.</p>
+
+<p>"Father, that's not fair of you! I'm as careful as ever I can be. We're
+obliged to have bread! Won't you see Silas yourself? Perhaps he'll
+continue to supply us, if you can arrange to pay him part of what we
+owe. Of course, he wants his money."</p>
+
+<p>"He's another of your teetotal humbugs!" sneered the angry man.</p>
+
+<p>"He isn't a humbug at all!" Salome retorted hotly, her indignation and
+sense of justice overcoming her fear of her father; "but he did say he
+wasn't minded to wait for his money when it was being squandered with
+that drunken crew at the 'Crab and Cockle.' Oh, father, it was terrible
+for me to hear that, and I couldn't contradict him!"</p>
+
+<p>With a fierce oath, Josiah pushed back his chair and rose from the
+table, declaring things had come to a pretty pass when his own
+daughter, a mere child, thought fit to discuss him with outsiders.</p>
+
+<p>Salome broke into passionate weeping at this, whereupon he flung
+himself out of the kitchen, and the next minute she heard his footsteps
+in the garden.</p>
+
+<p>"He's gone to the 'Crab and Cockle' again," thought the unhappy little
+girl. "Oh, how could he swear at me like that? Oh, how shall I bear
+it!" Presently she arose, put away the supper things and then sat down
+by the open window to wait, as she knew she would have to do, until
+the inn door was closed for the night, and her father would return.
+By-and-by, the soft lap, lap of the sea had a soothing effect upon her
+troubled spirit, the peacefulness of the summer night stole into her
+soul, and she murmured to herself the words of consolation she had sung
+an hour or so before in the dim, old church:</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<br>
+"When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,<br>
+&nbsp;Help of the helpless, O abide with me."<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_5">CHAPTER V.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>Salome's Humiliation.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>JOSIAH PETHERICK sat on the beach mending his fishing nets in the
+shade of a tall rock. It was intensely hot, and there was scarcely a
+ripple on the glassy sea, whilst the sky was a broad canopy of blue.
+Josiah was thinking deeply. That morning, consequent on the information
+his daughter had given him on the previous evening, he had been to
+interview Silas Moyle, and had induced the baker to allow him further
+credit. Never in his life before had Josiah found himself in such
+a humiliating position, and he felt it all the more because it was
+entirely his own fault. He had always prided himself on being able to
+pay his way, and now he was not in the position to do so.</p>
+
+<p>Glancing up from his work presently, the fisherman saw three figures
+come down to the beach—a lady, a gentleman, and a small boy clad
+in a sailor's suit and broad-brimmed straw hat. He knew them to be
+Mr. and Mrs. Fowler and their little son. He had often held lengthy
+conversations with Gerald, who was always delighted to talk with anyone
+who could tell him about the manifold wonders of the sea, but he had
+never spoken to either of the boy's parents. Despite his disapproval of
+the strict teetotal principles of the master of Greystone, he regarded
+that gentleman with considerable interest, and when Mr. Fowler strolled
+up to him, and inquired from whom a boat might be hired, he answered
+him civilly, "You can have a boat from me, if you like, sir; but
+there's no wind for sailing to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps you would row us around those high rocks yonder. My wife has a
+fancy to see what lies beyond that point."</p>
+
+<p>Josiah assented willingly, seeing an opportunity of earning a few
+shillings; and so it came to pass that he spent a very pleasant and
+lucrative morning, returning home to dinner in the best of spirits.</p>
+
+<p>"The new folks at Greystone have a liking for boating," he informed
+Salome; "and see here," tossing a half-crown as he spoke upon the
+table, "give that to Silas Moyle when he calls with the bread this
+afternoon."</p>
+
+<p>The lame girl's face brightened as she took up the coin, and looked at
+her father questioningly.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw Mr. and Mrs. Fowler and Master Gerald pass here on their way to
+the beach," she said. "Did you take them out in your boat, father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. They treated me very fairly, I must admit that, an' Mrs.
+Fowler—she seems a nice lady—spoke of you."</p>
+
+<p>"Did she?"</p>
+
+<p>"She said you had a lovely voice, an' that she was looking forward to
+hear you sing again. I say, Salome, I shouldn't like to disappoint her,
+so if she really wants you to go and see her, you may—" and Josiah,
+mindful of all he had said on the preceding night, avoided meeting his
+little daughter's eyes as he made this concession.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, thank you, dear father," she cried. "I should like to go to
+Greystone so much."</p>
+
+<p>"That little Master Gerald is a tiresome monkey," Josiah remarked. "He
+wouldn't sit still in the boat at first, though his mother kept on with
+him. At last his father spoke, an' after that, there was no need to
+tell him to be quiet again. Mr. Fowler looks a man as would have his
+own way."</p>
+
+<p>"Master Gerald is very disobedient, I know," Salome said, "and
+sometimes his governess has great trouble with him. Miss Margaret says
+her mother spoils him."</p>
+
+<p>"Then, 'tis a good job he's got a father who doesn't."</p>
+
+<p>After dinner, Josiah went on with his interrupted work of mending his
+fishing nets, whilst Salome tidied up the cottage and waited for Silas
+Moyle.</p>
+
+<p>The baker looked gratified as he took the half-crown the lame girl
+tendered him, for he had not expected to be paid even a small part of
+his account.</p>
+
+<p>"That's right," he said, as he pocketed the money; "it appears I did
+some good by speaking yesterday. Look here, my dear, you must try to
+keep that father of yours up to the mark. Can't you make him stay at
+home of an evening?"</p>
+
+<p>The little girl shook her head, and looked distressed as she replied,
+"I'm afraid not, Mr. Moyle."</p>
+
+<p>"He's not at the 'Crab and Cockle' now, I s'pose?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, he's on the beach mending his nets; and this morning he took Mr.
+and Mrs. Fowler and their little boy for a row in his boat."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a pity Mr. Fowler can't get your father to his way of
+thinking—about drink, I mean. I say the new folks at Greystone set an
+example that many in Yelton might follow with advantage. Theirs is a
+teetotal household, I'm told."</p>
+
+<p>"So I've heard," Salome responded.</p>
+
+<p>Silas Moyle nodded kindly, and took himself off, whilst Salome locked
+up the cottage and joined her father on the beach. She told him the
+baker had been pleased to receive the half-crown, and then tactfully
+changed the subject. Josiah and his daughter were always excellent
+friends when the former had not been drinking.</p>
+
+<p>"Look!" Salome exclaimed suddenly, "There's Master Gerald. Why, he
+seems to be alone. He sees us."</p>
+
+<p>The child came running towards them, laughing as he stumbled over the
+rough shingles, his face aglow with excitement, his broad-brimmed
+sailor's hat at the back of his head, revealing the fair curls which
+clustered thickly around his brow.</p>
+
+<p>"I've run away," he cried merrily. "I wanted Miss Conway to bring me
+down to the beach, but she would not—the disagreeable thing! She said
+it was too hot, and I must stay in the garden. So I came by myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Doesn't Miss Conway know where you are?" Salome inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"No one knows," he replied proudly. "I can take care of myself."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not so sure of that, young gentleman," Josiah remarked, with a
+chuckle of amusement at Gerald's air of importance.</p>
+
+<p>"It was naughty of you to run away," Salome told him in a tone of
+reproof.</p>
+
+<p>The child made a grimace at her, and ran off towards some rocks which
+the receding tide had left uncovered.</p>
+
+<p>"He's a pretty handful," Josiah exclaimed, shaking his head.</p>
+
+<p>"I expect someone will be here looking for him soon," said Salome. "I
+hope so, for his mother will be anxious if she does not know where he
+is, and she is not strong."</p>
+
+<p>But nobody came in search of Gerald, who at last disappeared from sight
+beyond the rocks. In spite of her father's assurance that the boy could
+come to no harm, the little girl grew uneasy about him; and, by-and-by,
+rose and went to make certain he was safe. She found him lying flat on
+the wet beach, gazing into a pool between two rocks at some beautiful
+anemones; and tried to induce him to retrace his footsteps, but all to
+no purpose. In vain she told him that his mother would be worried about
+him, and that his father would be angry. The wayward child would pay no
+attention to her.</p>
+
+<p>"What's it to do with you?" he demanded rudely. "Mind your own
+business, if you please."</p>
+
+<p>As he absolutely refused to return, Salome left him with the intention
+of persuading her father to interfere; but, to her dismay, she found
+Josiah had deserted his nets, and as the key of the cottage door was in
+her pocket, she knew he had not gone home. In all probability he had
+betaken himself to the "Crab and Cockle" to obtain a drink. Whilst she
+was hesitating how to act, much to her surprise, Gerald appeared around
+the rocks and joined her. He was tired of the beach, he declared, and
+wanted to see her flowers, so she allowed him to accompany her home.
+And thus it was that the young tyrant was discovered in Salome's garden
+half-an-hour later by his much-tried governess.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Miss Conway! She almost wept with joy on finding Gerald in safety,
+and insisted on his return to Greystone immediately. She led him away
+in triumph, paying no attention to his request that he might be allowed
+to remain a little longer.</p>
+
+<p>Josiah did not return for his tea, so after waiting some time, Salome
+had hers, and then seated herself under the porch with her knitting.
+There Margaret Fowler found her as the evening was drawing in.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother has sent me to thank you for taking such good care of Gerald
+this afternoon," Margaret said as she complied with the lame girl's
+invitation to sit down opposite to her. "He is a very tiresome,
+disobedient boy, for father had told him never to go down on the beach
+by himself. He is not to be trusted. Father has punished him for his
+naughtiness by ordering him to bed. It was quite a shock to poor Miss
+Conway when she found Gerald was nowhere on the premises."</p>
+
+<p>"I noticed she looked pale," Salome said. "I am afraid Master Gerald is
+very troublesome."</p>
+
+<p>"Troublesome! I should think he is. It was kind of you to look after
+him, Salome. I have a message from my mother to know if you can come to
+see us to-morrow. Do try to come."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I should like to!" Salome cried, her eyes sparkling with
+excitement.</p>
+
+<p>"Then, will you manage to be at Greystone by five o'clock?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, miss, if all's well. Oh, please thank Mrs. Fowler for asking me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mother wants to hear you sing again. She has taken quite a fancy to
+you, and I am so glad."</p>
+
+<p>"I think your mother is the prettiest, sweetest lady I ever saw," the
+lame girl said earnestly. "How dearly you must love her, Miss Margaret."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Margaret answered soberly, "but I do not think she cares for me
+much. Gerald is her favourite, you know. Oh, I'm not jealous of him,
+but I can't help seeing that though he teases and worries her, and I do
+all I can to please her, she loves him much better than she has ever
+loved me."</p>
+
+<p>Salome was surprised, and pained by the look of sadness on her
+companion's face.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps your mother shows her affection more to Master Gerald because
+he's so much younger than you," she suggested. "I cannot believe she
+loves him better really."</p>
+
+<p>Margaret made no reply to this, but by-and-by she said, "We have had
+several fusses at home these last few days. Did you hear that father
+dismissed one of the men-servants for bringing beer into the stable?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I heard about it. I think Mr. Fowler was quite right," Salome
+declared decidedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you? I'm glad to hear you say that. Father always means to do
+right, I am sure. He is a teetotaler himself, you know, and so are we
+all, for that matter."</p>
+
+<p>At this point in the conversation the garden gate clicked, and Josiah
+strode up the path and hurried past the little girls into the cottage.
+His bronzed face was crimson; and he walked somewhat unsteadily; but he
+was sufficiently sober to realise that his wisest plan was to take no
+notice of his little daughter's visitor.</p>
+
+<p>Pitying Salome from the depths of her heart, Margaret rose, saying it
+was time for her to go home. The lame girl followed her silently to the
+garden gate, where they stood for a few minutes talking.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll be sure to come to-morrow, won't you?" Margaret said earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, miss," was the grave reply, "if I possibly can; I hope nothing
+will prevent it, but—you see how it is with him sometimes," and she
+pointed towards the cottage.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Margaret admitted. "Oh, I'm so sorry! He must be a terrible
+trial for you. May God help you, Salome."</p>
+
+<p>"He does help me," the lame girl replied, "I couldn't bear it alone.
+Oh, how I wish my father was a teetotaler like yours."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish so, too."</p>
+
+<p>"I had hoped you would never find out about my poor father being a
+drinker, but I might have known that sooner or later you would learn
+the truth. Oh, miss, don't, please don't think, he's altogether a bad
+man. He isn't! When he's sober, there's not a kinder or better man in
+the world. But when the drink gets hold of him, he isn't himself at
+all." And Salome laid her head on the top rail of the gate and sobbed
+heartbrokenly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't cry so!" Margaret said imploringly, her own eyes full of
+tears. "Oh, perhaps he'll give up the drink some day."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, miss, I'm afraid he won't. He gets worse instead of
+better. The Vicar has spoken to him, but that's done no good. He has
+only come home for supper now; afterwards he'll go back to the 'Crab
+and Cockle.' But there, I mustn't cry any more, or he'll notice it!"</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image003" style="max-width: 25.8125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image003.jpg" alt="image003">
+</figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>SALOME LAID HER HEAD ON THE TOP RAIL OF THE GATE</b><br>
+<b>AND SOBBED HEART-BROKENLY.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Salome! Mind you come to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes! I hope I shall. Oh, miss, I feel so ashamed that you should
+have seen my father to-night!"</p>
+
+<p>"There's nothing for you to be ashamed about. I think you're the
+pluckiest girl I know. Good night!" And Margaret ran off with a nod and
+a smile.</p>
+
+<p>She slackened her speed soon, however; and as she went up the hill
+beyond the church towards her home, paused now and again to look back
+the way she had come, and admire the beautiful view. At the entrance to
+the grounds of Greystone she met her father, and together they walked
+towards the house, whilst she told him of Josiah Petherick's condition
+that evening.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, father, you are right to be a teetotaler!" she cried. "Drink is an
+awful thing!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is indeed, my dear," he replied with a deep sigh. "I found
+Petherick a well-informed, civil-spoken man, in fact I was favourably
+impressed with him this morning, and he talked of his little daughter
+as though he really loved her. Drink can slay affection, though," he
+concluded sorrowfully.</p>
+
+<p>"It's dreadful it should, father!"</p>
+
+<p>"When drink once gets hold of people, it makes them slaves, and kills
+their finest feelings. I am very sorry for that poor Salome!"</p>
+
+<p>"So am I. She is so brave, too, and sticks up for her father all she
+can. Oh, I think he ought to give up the drink for her sake. I wonder—I
+wonder if it would be any good for you to speak to him!" And Margaret
+looked wistfully and pleadingly into her father's face.</p>
+
+<p>"I will consider the matter," he rejoined thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, father!" she cried, picturing afresh Salome's grief and
+humiliation, "What should I do, if I had such a trouble as that poor
+lame girl has to bear?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Fowler started, and a look of intense pain and trouble momentarily
+crossed his countenance, but he answered quietly, "In that case, I hope
+you would ask God to support and comfort you."</p>
+
+<p>"As Salome does. I could not be patient like she is, though."</p>
+
+<p>"I trust you would, my dear child."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I am not likely to be tried," and Margaret regarded her father
+with a look of affectionate pride. She wondered at the sadness of
+the smile with which he returned her glance; and his answer, gravely
+spoken, puzzled her not a little.</p>
+
+<p>"We cannot tell how much our patience and our love may be tried," he
+said, "nor what trials the future may hold for us. We can only pray
+that God will help and strengthen us in our time of need."</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_6">CHAPTER VI.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>Perfectly Happy.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"OH, I do hope she will come! It's nearly five o'clock, and she's not
+in sight yet. I wish I had thought of watching from my bedroom window,
+I could have seen then when she left the cottage."</p>
+
+<p>The speaker, Margaret Fowler, started up from her seat beneath the
+lilac tree, and ran across the lawn in the direction of the gate which
+led from the grounds of Greystone into the road. Beneath the lilac tree
+sat Mrs. Fowler in a comfortably padded wicker chair, with a small
+table laden with papers and magazines at her side. She glanced after
+her little daughter with a slightly amused smile, then remonstrated
+with Gerald, who was playing near by, for making a noise.</p>
+
+<p>"You will give me a headache, if you keep on doing that," she said, as
+he cannoned two croquet balls against each other. "Pray, be quiet!"</p>
+
+<p>Gerald chose not to obey. He continued his game, utterly regardless of
+his mother's command.</p>
+
+<p>"Do stop, Gerald!" she exclaimed. "I really cannot bear that noise any
+longer. Oh, where is Miss Conway? Why isn't she here to look after you?
+Gerald, to oblige me, find some other amusement, there's a dear boy!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you not obey your mother, sir?" demanded a stern voice. And
+suddenly the little boy dropped the croquet-mallet from his hand, and
+turned to face his father.</p>
+
+<p>"That's right, Gerald!" Mrs. Fowler said hastily. "He hasn't been doing
+anything wrong, Henry," she continued, glancing apprehensively at her
+husband, "only—you know how absurdly nervous I am—I can't bear any
+sharp, sudden noise. It's foolish of me, I know."</p>
+
+<p>Gerald now ran after his sister, and Mr. Fowler stood with his hand on
+the back of his wife's chair, looking, down at her with grave attention.</p>
+
+<p>"You should make the boy obey you, my dear," he said. "Has not your
+visitor arrived yet?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Margaret has gone to the gate to see if she is coming. I thought
+we would have tea out here, for it is cooler and pleasanter in the
+garden than in the house, and it will be more informal. I should like
+you to hear this lame girl sing, Henry! I think I never heard a voice
+which touched me so deeply as hers. But you are not listening—"</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon, my dear. I confess my thoughts were wandering. The
+fact is, to-morrow I shall have to go up to town for a few days, and I
+would far rather remain at home. But I am obliged to go."</p>
+
+<p>"You can leave with an easy mind," his wife told him reassuringly. "I
+am really quite strong now, and capable of managing the household, I
+believe I shall be better for something to do. By the way, you cannot
+think how much I enjoyed my drive this morning to N—" mentioning the
+nearest town. "I wanted some trifles from a draper's, and the shops
+were much better than I expected. Oh! Here come the children. They are
+bringing Salome with them."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler rose and greeted the lame girl very cordially, placing her
+in a chair next to her own. Salome was looking her best, neatly attired
+in a clean cotton frock. There was a flush born of excitement on her
+cheeks, and her brown eyes shone with a happy light as she gave herself
+up to the enjoyment of the present hour.</p>
+
+<p>Tea was served beneath the lilac tree, such a luxuriant tea as Salome
+had never partaken of before, and everyone appeared determined that she
+should make a good meal—Gerald pointing out to her the most delectable
+of the dainties which he pressed her to eat, for in the depths of his
+selfish little heart, there was a warm spot for the lame girl who had
+so often given him flowers from her garden when he had certainly not
+deserved them.</p>
+
+<p>Salome was inclined to be a trifle shy at first of Mr. Fowler. From
+what she had heard of him she had imagined he must be an exceedingly
+stern, strict sort of man, but he talked to her so kindly and
+pleasantly that she soon grew at ease with him, and answered all the
+questions he put to her unreservedly. She told him she had only been a
+member of the choir during the last six months, and explained that she
+had not known she possessed a really good voice until the Vicar had
+informed her that such was the fact.</p>
+
+<p>"I always loved singing, even when I was a tiny thing," she said, "but
+I never thought of joining the choir till one day when Mr. Amyatt
+suggested it. He was passing our cottage, and heard me singing, and he
+came right in and said he would like me to come up to the Vicarage and
+let him try my voice. Father said I might go, so I did, and the next
+Sunday, I sang with the choir in church for the first time."</p>
+
+<p>"You must not sing too much," Mr. Fowler remarked, "for you are very
+young, and might permanently injure your voice if you strained it now.
+You must nurse it a bit."</p>
+
+<p>"That's what Mr. Amyatt says," Salome replied with a smile, "and I'm
+very careful."</p>
+
+<p>"It is a great gift to have a beautiful voice." Mr. Fowler looked with
+kindly interest at his little guest as he spoke; then his eyes wandered
+to the crutches which she had placed on the ground beside her chair,
+and she caught the swift glance of sympathy which crossed his face, and
+from that moment, he stood high in her estimation.</p>
+
+<p>"God is very merciful," he added softly, as though speaking to himself;
+"we are too apt to forget that He never sends a cross without its
+compensation."</p>
+
+<p>Salome was perfectly happy sitting there under the lilac tree, though
+she felt all the while as though she must be in a wonderful dream. Mrs.
+Fowler, in her light summer dress, with her fair hair and her lovely
+blue eyes, looked like a queen, she thought. Salome was more and more
+impressed with her grace and charm on every fresh occasion on which she
+saw her. How proud Miss Margaret must be of her mother! And how happy
+Miss Margaret must be in such a beautiful home, with kind parents, and
+everything that heart could desire! And yet, what was the meaning of
+that wistful look on her face; and why was Mr. Fowler's countenance
+so grave, and almost stern in expression at times? Salome's eyes were
+remarkably shrewd. She noticed how attentive Mr. Fowler was to his
+wife, almost seeming to anticipate her wishes and read her thoughts;
+and she was surprised when he was called away for a few minutes to see
+that Mrs. Fowler talked with greater freedom in his absence, as though
+his presence put a restraint upon her.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as all had finished tea, Margaret took Salome around the
+gardens, and afterwards led the way into the house. She showed Salome
+her own room, the walls of which were crowded with pictures and
+knickknacks. The lame girl had never seen such a pretty bedroom before
+as this one, with its little white-curtained bed, and white-enamelled
+furniture. Then Margaret opened a velvet-lined jewel case, and took out
+a small, gold brooch in the shape of a shell, which she insisted upon
+fastening into the neck of her visitor's gown.</p>
+
+<p>"It is for you," she said, "I bought it with my own money, so you need
+not mind taking it. I told mother I was going to give it to you. I want
+you to wear it for my sake, Salome."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Miss Margaret, how kind of you! Thank you so much. But ought I to
+take it? Are you sure Mrs. Fowler—"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes!" Margaret interposed eagerly. "Mother would like you to have
+it. She said she thought it would be a very suitable gift for you. It
+is pretty, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is lovely!" was the enthusiastic reply. "I shall value it always,
+Miss Margaret, for your sake," and there were tears of pleasure and
+gratitude in Salome's brown eyes as she spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"I am so very glad you like it," Margaret said earnestly; "but now,
+come downstairs to the drawing-room."</p>
+
+<p>Greystone appeared quite a palatial residence to the simple village
+girl, accustomed to her cottage home. She noticed how soft and thick
+were the carpets, how handsome was the furniture; and how everything in
+connection with the house had been done with a view to comfort. A sense
+of awe crept over her, as she cast one swift glance around the spacious
+drawing-room. Miss Conway was at the piano, but she ceased playing as
+the little girls entered; and Mrs. Fowler, who was standing by the open
+window conversing with her husband, turned towards them immediately and
+requested Salome to sing.</p>
+
+<p>So Salome stood, leaning upon her crutches, in the centre of the room,
+and lilted, without accompaniment, a simple little song she had often
+heard from her dead mother's lips. It was a lullaby, and she sang it
+so sweetly and unaffectedly that her listeners were delighted, and Mr.
+Fowler was surprised at the beauty of the voice which had had so little
+training. She gave them several other quaint west-country ballads; and
+then, at Mrs. Fowler's request, sang, "Abide with Me."</p>
+
+<p>"I like that best," Margaret said, as she drew Salome down on a sofa by
+her side. "Why, how you're trembling! And your hands are quite cold!"</p>
+
+<p>"Poor child! We have made her nervous, I fear," Mr. Fowler remarked.
+"Used your mother to sing, my dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir, sometimes, and father used to sing in the choir, but he
+doesn't now. If you please," she proceeded, glancing from one to the
+other hesitatingly, "I think I ought to go home. Father promised to
+meet me outside the gate at seven o'clock, and it must be that now."</p>
+
+<p>"It is a little after seven," Mr. Fowler replied, glancing at his watch.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I think I must go, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"You must come again soon," Mrs. Fowler said eagerly. "Thank you
+so much, my dear, for singing to us. You have given us very great
+pleasure."</p>
+
+<p>"I am very glad," Salome rejoined simply and earnestly, "and I should
+like to tell you how much I have enjoyed myself; and thank you for all
+your kindness to me."</p>
+
+<p>True to his promise, Josiah Petherick was waiting for his little
+daughter in the road outside the entrance to Greystone. He was
+perfectly sober, and as Salome caught sight of his stalwart figure, her
+face lit up with pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, have you had an enjoyable time?" he inquired, smilingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes," she answered, and proceeded to give him a detailed account
+of all she had seen, and heard, and done. He admired Margaret's gift,
+and was secretly much gratified at the attention and kindness his
+little girl had received from the new-comers. Much to her relief, he
+accompanied her past the "Crab and Cockle," though it must be admitted,
+he cast a longing glance in the direction of the open doorway through
+which the stale odour of tobacco and beer was stealing forth as usual.
+And when they reached home, he followed her into the cottage, and
+continued the conversation whilst she set about getting supper. She
+feared he would take himself to the inn as soon as the meal was over,
+but, instead, he sat down under the porch and gazed thoughtfully out to
+sea.</p>
+
+<p>"That Mr. Fowler's a rare hand to talk," he remarked presently, when
+his little daughter joined him. "That comes of being educated, I
+s'pose. He can argue a bit, he can."</p>
+
+<p>"Can he?" Salome looked surprised. "How do you know, father?" she
+inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"'Cause I was foolish enough to try to argue with him, my maid!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! When was that?"</p>
+
+<p>"This morning, on the beach."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" she cried again, more and more astonished. "What did you argue
+about, father?" She ventured to ask.</p>
+
+<p>"Drink!" was the brief reply. And there was that in Josiah's manner
+which forbade further questioning.</p>
+
+<p>Salome nestled silently close to her father's side, her head resting
+against his arm, as she thought how nice it was to have him there with
+her, quite himself, and how dearly she loved him. She listened to the
+murmur of the sea, and tried to count the stars appearing in the sky,
+whilst Josiah recalled the argument he had had with Mr. Fowler, in
+which, he was obliged to admit, he had come off worst. At last, a deep
+sigh from Salome drew his attention to her, and he asked what was amiss.</p>
+
+<p>"Amiss?" she echoed in astonishment. "Nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"But you sighed, my dear."</p>
+
+<p>"Did I? Then it must have been for joy. I'm perfectly happy, perfectly!
+And so I should always be, if there was no such place as the 'Crab and
+Cockle' in Yelton."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Salome, I've not been there to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"No, you have not, dear father," she answered affectionately, "and
+that's why I'm so perfectly happy. My mind's at rest!"</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_7">CHAPTER VII.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>An Afternoon's Outing.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>MR. FOWLER was obliged to breakfast at seven o'clock, which was an
+hour-and-a-half before the usual breakfast hour at Greystone, on the
+morning following Salome's visit, as it was his intention to catch
+the first train to London from N—, and in order to do that he would
+have to leave home before eight o'clock, and drive several miles. His
+journey had been discussed on the previous night, and he had said
+good-bye to Miss Conway and the children then. But, when he entered the
+breakfast-room as the clock struck seven, he found his little daughter
+awaiting him.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Margaret!" he exclaimed in pleased surprise as he kissed her.
+"I did not expect to see you, my dear! You are not generally an early
+bird."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid I am rather sleepy-headed in the mornings, as a rule,"
+she confessed, "but I made up my mind last night that I would have
+my breakfast with you to-day, dear father, and see you off. Now do
+try to eat as much as ever you can," she added practically, as the
+servant appeared with a tray holding a couple of covered dishes and the
+coffee-pot.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Fowler laughed, as he seated himself at the table with Margaret
+opposite to him, and said he would take her advice.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry I have to go," he remarked, "but I have no choice in the
+matter, as my lawyer wants to consult me upon important business. I
+shall leave your mother in your charge, Margaret."</p>
+
+<p>"In my charge?" Margaret said inquiringly, looking surprised. "But she
+is not ill now, father! See how cheerful and bright she was last night.
+And she has taken several walks. Oh, she is heaps better and stronger
+than she was! I don't think you need worry about her."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps not; but, nevertheless, I want you to devote as much of your
+time as you can to her during my absence. I have spoken to Miss Conway,
+and she has consented to give you a holiday till I return. Had I not
+seen you this morning, Miss Conway would have explained my wishes to
+you. I desire you to accompany your mother when she drives out, and
+when she goes into the village, or down to the beach—in short, make
+yourself her companion, my dear, until I return. Do you understand?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, father, I think so," Margaret replied, impressed by his serious
+tone. "I expect mother will be dull when you are gone, so I will do my
+best to brighten her up!"</p>
+
+<p>"That's a good child!"</p>
+
+<p>"Only, sometimes she much prefers to have Gerald with her to me!"</p>
+
+<p>"I would rather she had you. Remember what I have said, Margaret. I
+hope I shall not be away very long, but it will of course depend upon
+circumstances."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Fowler made an excellent breakfast, and afterwards went upstairs
+to say good-bye to his wife, whilst Margaret waited for him in the
+hall. He kissed his little girl tenderly on his return, then, it being
+quite time for him to leave, entered the carriage which was waiting
+at the door, and was driven off. Margaret felt a little depressed as
+she listened to the sound of the carriage wheels dying away in the
+distance, for she was exceedingly attached to her father, and home did
+not seem like home without him.</p>
+
+<p>Knowing her mother must be awake, she went upstairs, and knocked at her
+bedroom door. On being told to come in, to her surprise, Mrs. Fowler
+declared her intention of getting up to breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>"But do you feel well enough?" Margaret asked, for up to the present
+Mrs. Fowler, having been an invalid, had always breakfasted in her own
+room at Greystone.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes!" was the quick response. "I'm tired of being treated like a
+sick person! What a beautiful, bright morning it is, and not so hot, is
+it? Your father will have a fine day for his journey."</p>
+
+<p>"He did not want to go at all!"</p>
+
+<p>"No. But that was foolish of him!"</p>
+
+<p>"I think he did not like the thought of leaving you, mother. He feared
+you might be ill whilst he was away."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I am not likely to be ill again," Mrs. Fowler declared sanguinely.
+"I mean to throw off my invalid-ish ways now, and surprise your father
+on his return. Send Ross to me, Margaret, to help me dress."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I help you, mother? Do let me. I am sure I can do your hair as
+well as Ross."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler hesitated, but finally decided in favour of Ross; so
+Margaret went in search of her. Ross was a well-mannered, good-tempered
+young woman who waited upon Mrs. Fowler, and did the mending and sewing
+of the household. She expressed surprise and pleasure on hearing that
+her mistress intended getting up and joining the family breakfast-table.</p>
+
+<p>"It shows how much stronger she feels, Miss Margaret," she said. "I've
+often thought if she would bestir herself more she would be better in
+health and spirits."</p>
+
+<p>Gerald grumbled loudly when he discovered that he was to do lessons
+whilst his sister was to have a holiday. Why should Margaret be allowed
+nice drives with their mother when he was obliged to stay at home and
+work. It was most unfair, he declared; and it may be imagined that poor
+Miss Conway had rather a trying experience with her younger pupil on
+the first day of his father's absence, when, in the afternoon, Mrs.
+Fowler and Margaret drove to N—, and left him at home.</p>
+
+<p>The road to N— lay through some most beautiful scenery, and Margaret
+thoroughly enjoyed the drive. Now they were on an open common where
+the few trees to be seen were stunted and grown one-sided, a fact
+which puzzled the little girl until it was explained to her that the
+keen breeze blowing across the Atlantic was accountable for it, then
+she remarked that the bare side of the trees was the one which faced
+the sea; now they had left the common and were going down bill into a
+sheltered, wooded coomb, and by-and-by the road led upwards again till
+the town of N— was reached, situated almost at the top of the hill.</p>
+
+<p>At the entrance to the town, Mrs. Fowler and Margaret got out of
+the carriage, and walked up the main street—Fore Street it was
+called—looking into the shop windows. They had paused outside a small
+china shop in which was some pretty pottery, when a familiar voice
+addressed them in accents of pleasure and surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Can I believe my eyes? Who would have thought of meeting you here!"</p>
+
+<p>Turning instantly they confronted a handsome, middle-aged lady, dressed
+as a widow, whose comely face was wreathed in smiles. She was called
+Mrs. Lute, and had been a near neighbour of theirs in London.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, how glad I am!" Mrs. Fowler exclaimed. "It is good to see you
+again! Are you staying in the neighbourhood?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; I have taken a furnished house at N— for two months. I saw it
+advertised, came to see it, and the result is that here I am! Why, how
+well you look! And you were such a wreck when you left town! Margaret,
+too, is looking all the better for the change of air! I suppose you are
+still at Yelton?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes! Why haven't you been to see us?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have only been here a week. But, come, walk home with me, and have a
+cup of tea."</p>
+
+<p>"I should like to, but I have some errands to execute. Oh, Margaret!"
+And Mrs. Fowler turned to her little daughter eagerly. "Surely you
+could do the errands! See, here is the list of what I want on this
+paper! Is your home far from here?" she inquired of Mrs. Lute.</p>
+
+<p>"No, you must have passed it—a thatched, whitewashed house, with a
+porch covered with clematis and roses."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, I noticed it!" Margaret cried. "Mother, why don't you and
+Mrs. Lute drive back in the carriage, and I will join you as soon as I
+have done the shopping?"</p>
+
+<p>Thus it was arranged. Margaret was quite excited at meeting an old
+acquaintance, for Mrs. Lute had long been on the friendliest terms with
+her neighbours in town. She was one of the kindest of women, and had
+been exceedingly sympathetic during Mrs. Fowler's serious illness in
+the spring.</p>
+
+<p>When Margaret had executed her list of errands, she made her way to the
+whitewashed house, outside which the carriage was waiting; and on being
+shown into the drawing-room which faced the road, found her mother and
+Mrs. Lute seated there conversing happily.</p>
+
+<p>"How warm the poor child looks!" the latter exclaimed. "Sit down in
+this comfortable chair, my dear, and let me give you some tea; or would
+you rather have a glass of wine, for you look tired, and—"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, thank you!" Margaret interposed hastily.</p>
+
+<p>"Just as you like, my dear; but I persuaded your mother to take a
+little wine; I thought it would do her good after her long drive, and I
+think it has refreshed her. Here's your tea, my dear! Help yourself to
+cream and sugar, and do try this cake."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Mrs. Lute."</p>
+
+<p>Margaret was startled for the moment to hear her mother had been
+drinking wine, remembering how her father had refused to allow her
+to take it. She thought Mrs. Fowler should have declined it; but the
+matter soon passed from her mind as Mrs. Lute began to question her
+about Yelton.</p>
+
+<p>"Everyone tells me it is a charming little village," Mrs. Lute said,
+"but your mother is not enthusiastic about it. I think she is beginning
+to feel the lack of society. I have been telling her she should be
+satisfied to have regained her health. She is looking wonderfully well."</p>
+
+<p>Margaret, glancing at her mother, agreed with Mrs. Lute. No one would
+have guessed at that moment that Mrs. Fowler had been an invalid so
+lately, for there was a pink colour in her cheeks, and her blue eyes
+were shining with a happy light. She was as glad as was Margaret to
+meet their old friend.</p>
+
+<p>"You must pay us a visit at Greystone as soon as my husband returns,"
+she said hospitably, "and then you will be able to form your own ideas
+of Yelton and its inhabitants. Margaret has struck up a friendship with
+a lame girl, Salome Petherick by name, and I believe Gerald has picked
+acquaintance with several fishermen."</p>
+
+<p>"Salome's father is a fisherman," Margaret remarked; "and oh, Salome
+has the most beautiful voice you can possibly imagine, hasn't she,
+mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"She certainly has. When you come to visit us, Mrs. Lute, you shall
+hear this Cornish singing-bird. Poor girl, she is a sad cripple, yet
+she makes herself very useful, attends to her father's cottage, and
+even does gardening!"</p>
+
+<p>"She uses a pair of crutches as a rule," Margaret explained, "but when
+she is gardening, she somehow manages to hop about on one, so that she
+has a hand free to work with. Poor Salome! Her father drinks, and that
+is a great trouble to her."</p>
+
+<p>"I should think so, indeed!" Mrs. Lute commented. "She ought to try to
+persuade him to take the pledge. Total abstinence from all intoxicants
+is the only thing for some people."</p>
+
+<p>"Father says," Margaret was beginning, when Mrs. Fowler somewhat
+abruptly changed the conversation by inquiring for a mutual friend in
+town. It struck the little girl that her mother did not wish her to air
+her father's teetotal views, so during the homeward drive she recurred
+to the subject.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother, I was going to tell Mrs. Lute that we are all teetotalers
+now," she said. "Don't you want her to know?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler hesitated and frowned slightly, refraining from meeting her
+little daughter's gravely inquiring gaze.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose she will have to know, if she comes to stay with us at
+Greystone," she responded in tones of annoyance. "I had forgotten your
+father's fad when I invited her."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mother, don't call it a fad!" Margaret cried distressfully.</p>
+
+<p>"That's what it is, child! Mrs. Lute is accustomed to take wine, yet no
+one can say she is not a strictly temperate woman. Your father, I do
+not doubt, would like her to be a total abstainer. Such nonsense! He
+used not to be so fastidious!" And Mrs. Fowler looked quite angry.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret made no answer. She had perfect faith in her father's
+judgment, but she felt herself incapable of arguing the matter from his
+point of view.</p>
+
+<p>On reaching home they found a telegram from Mr. Fowler, acquainting
+them with his safe arrival in London. As Mrs. Fowler read it, the
+displeasure left her face for a softer, gentler expression.</p>
+
+<p>"How thoughtful he always is!" she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>She was in exceedingly good spirits all the evening, and retired to
+rest apparently perfectly well; but about midnight, Margaret was
+awakened by a sound in the room, and starting up in bed, found her
+mother standing by her side in her night-gown, with a lighted candle in
+her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, mother? Are you ill?" The little girl inquired in alarm.</p>
+
+<p>"No, but I am nervous, and cannot sleep! I wish your father had not
+gone! Did I frighten you? I hope not. I felt I must have company."</p>
+
+<p>Margaret was greatly astonished, for the thought had continually
+crossed her mind during the day that Mrs. Fowler was relieved at her
+husband's absence. She jumped out of bed immediately, and led her
+mother back to her own room.</p>
+
+<p>"I will stay with you to-night, dear mother," she said gently. "You
+won't feel nervous then."</p>
+
+<p>So mother and daughter lay down side by side, but not to sleep as yet,
+for the latter was restless and sighed continually.</p>
+
+<p>"You are sure you are not ill?" Margaret asked with loving anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I am not ill, but I am very unhappy," was the response in a tone
+of great sadness. "Oh, child, I wish you had a better mother!"</p>
+
+<p>"You are the dearest mother in the world," Margaret cried earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>"But very far from being the best. I am very troubled—no, I cannot tell
+you what about. No, you couldn't help me. No one can."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, God can, mother," Margaret reminded her; then she quoted softly—</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<br>
+"When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,<br>
+&nbsp;Help of the helpless, O abide with me."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler caught her breath with a little sob; but doubtless, the
+words of Salome's favourite hymn comforted her, for presently, Margaret
+knew by her regular breathing that she had fallen asleep.</p>
+
+<p>The little girl lay awake wondering what trouble her mother could
+possibly have, or if she was only nervous and imaginative; and it was
+not until the first streaks of dawn peeped into the room that she slept
+too.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_8">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>An Awful Thing.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>WHEN Margaret awoke, she was alone. At first she was surprised to
+find herself in bed in her mother's room, but in a few moments, she
+remembered how that happened to be the case. Before, however, she had
+time to dwell much upon the matter, the door opened and her mother
+entered, fully dressed, bearing a breakfast tray in her hands, which
+she placed on the dressing-table.</p>
+
+<p>"Have I overslept myself?" Margaret inquired. "I am so sorry."</p>
+
+<p>"You need not be, my dear," Mrs. Fowler replied, smiling as she came to
+the bedside and kissed her little daughter. "You had a disturbed night
+on my account. How foolish it was of me to be too nervous to sleep
+alone! I blame myself for spoiling your rest. But, see, I have brought
+your breakfast, so sit up and eat it at once; after you have had it,
+you can dress and come down on the beach with me."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler looked alert and well. She talked brightly whilst Margaret
+was taking her breakfast, and pulling a letter out of her pocket, which
+she had received from her husband by the morning's post, read it aloud.
+It merely told of his journey to town, and concluded with his love to
+the children, and a hope that Mrs. Fowler would take care of herself.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall not tell him how silly I was last night," she said. "I suppose
+I cannot be quite so strong as I thought. My late illness played sad
+havoc with my nerves. It is such a glorious day, Margaret, that I am
+sure we ought to spend it out of doors."</p>
+
+<p>Margaret assented willingly, and went to her own room to dress.
+By-and-by, she and her mother strolled down to the beach, and passed
+a pleasant morning in the welcome shade of a big rock. And in the
+afternoon, Mrs. Fowler declared her intention of again driving to N—.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you be very tired, mother?" Margaret asked dubiously. "You
+mustn't overdo it, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I will be careful, my dear!" Mrs. Fowler rejoined. "But I want to
+get some things I forgot yesterday. Meeting Mrs. Lute so unexpectedly
+put everything else quite out of my head. Miss Conway and Gerald can
+accompany us."</p>
+
+<p>It was not such a pleasant drive as the one of the previous day, for
+Gerald was tiresome, and continually stood up in the carriage to look
+at different objects of interest which attracted his attention. Miss
+Conway begged him to sit still, but he would not obey her. And, at
+last, he was jolted into his mother's lap, much to her annoyance and
+to his amusement. She declared she wished she had left him at home,
+and that it would be a long time before she would take him for a drive
+again. Whereupon, he only laughed, for he did not believe she meant
+what she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going to see Mrs. Lute, mother?" Margaret inquired as they
+neared the town.</p>
+
+<p>"No, not to-day. I will get out at the bottom of Fore Street, and you
+others shall drive on a little farther and return for me. No, I will
+not have you, Gerald! You are to stay with Miss Conway and your sister."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler spoke with decision in her tones; she was evidently
+determined to do her shopping alone.</p>
+
+<p>Accordingly, she got out of the carriage at the entrance to the town,
+and the others saw her go into a grocer's shop as they were driven
+on. When the carriage returned a quarter of an hour later, she was
+standing waiting outside the same shop. The shopman came out and placed
+a parcel in the carriage, then Mrs. Fowler took her seat and gave the
+order—"Home." She seemed lost in deep thought during the remainder
+of the drive, and spoke but seldom, paying slight attention to the
+conversation the others carried on. She was evidently glad to reach
+Greystone.</p>
+
+<p>"I expect she is really very tired," Margaret reflected, "but does not
+like to confess it." And she was confirmed in this opinion when she saw
+how quiet and languid Mrs. Fowler appeared during the evening. She did
+not request Miss Conway to play to her as she usually did, but lay on
+the sofa with a book in her lap, yawning occasionally as though weary
+of the day, so that neither Margaret nor the governess were surprised
+when she declared her intention of going to bed early. She would not
+hear of Margaret sleeping with her, however, but kissed both of her
+children good night in the drawing-room, and told them not to disturb
+her when they went upstairs to bed.</p>
+
+<p>It was only eight o'clock when Mrs. Fowler retired for the night.
+At half-past eight Gerald was put to bed, after which Margaret and
+her governess sat down together to their supper. Each seemed rather
+depressed, Miss Conway even more so than her little pupil.</p>
+
+<p>"It is so dull without father," Margaret sighed. "I hope he will not
+stay away very long. Oh, dear! I think mother is very, very tired
+to-night, don't you? I am afraid she has been doing too much."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope not," was the serious reply. "You did not walk far this
+morning, did you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no! We were sitting down on the beach most of the time. Mother
+read the newspaper and talked and seemed all right then."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you see anything of Salome Petherick?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing, though we stood outside her garden several minutes looking at
+her flowers. I suppose she was busy in the cottage. Oh, Miss Conway,
+how I do wish Salome's father was a teetotaler! I was telling Mrs. Lute
+about him yesterday, and she said Salome ought to try to persuade him
+to take the pledge."</p>
+
+<p>"I did not know that Mrs. Lute was a teetotaler," Miss Conway
+exclaimed, looking rather surprised.</p>
+
+<p>"She is not. Indeed, she offered me a glass of wine."</p>
+
+<p>"You did not take it?" the governess interposed hastily.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no!" A painful blush rose to Margaret's cheeks as she remembered
+that her mother had not declined the same offer. "Mrs. Lute said total
+abstinence from all intoxicants is the only thing for some people," she
+added.</p>
+
+<p>"She is quite right," was the grave response.</p>
+
+<p>There was silence for a few minutes. Miss Conway was asking herself
+what was the reason of her pupil's evident confusion, and Margaret was
+hoping she would not be questioned as to its cause.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been a teetotaler all my life," Miss Conway proceeded
+presently. "My father had a great horror of drink because his own
+father had been a drunkard, and he had suffered much on that account.
+It is sad to think that there is scarcely a family that does not
+possess at least one member given over to the vice of drinking to
+excess. Oh, Margaret! Mr. Fowler was right when he laid down the rule
+that no intoxicants should be brought into his house."</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure he was right," Margaret agreed heartily, "though everyone
+does not think so. Mother calls it a fad—"</p>
+
+<p>"Did your mother—" The governess hesitated momentarily, scarcely
+knowing how to put the question which trembled on her lips. "Perhaps
+you will think I have no right to ask you," she continued hastily,
+"but, believe me, Margaret, it is no idle curiosity which prompts me.
+Did your mother have any wine at Mrs. Lute's yesterday?"</p>
+
+<p>Margaret nodded gravely, observing her companion anxiously in order to
+read by her countenance what she thought. She was prepared to see her
+exhibit surprise, and perhaps disapproval, but Miss Conway appeared
+absolutely frightened, and her very lips turned white. She made no
+remark in response however, but when she kissed her pupil ere they
+separated for the night, there was marked tenderness in her manner and
+in her voice as she said, "God bless you, dear Margaret. You look tired
+out yourself. Try to have a good night's rest."</p>
+
+<p>The little girl was very sleepy, so, almost as soon as her head was on
+the pillow, she was in the land of dreams. But such unhappy, disturbing
+dreams they were. She imagined her mother was very ill, and that her
+father could not be sent for, because no one knew his address, and that
+she was in terrible grief and perplexity. At length, frightened and
+shaking in every limb, she awoke, and sprang out of bed with a shriek.
+The conviction was strong upon her that something was wrong with her
+mother, and she felt compelled to go and ascertain what was amiss.
+Lighting a candle, she took it up and hurried to Mrs. Fowler's room.
+A sigh of deep thankfulness escaped her lips as she found everything
+quiet there. Softly she stole to the bedside and saw her mother lying
+asleep, one hand beneath her cheek, her fair hair strewn over the
+pillow. Margaret thought how pretty she looked, and carefully shaded
+the candle with her hand as she gazed at the sleeper with love and
+admiration in her glance; but it would have taken more than the feeble
+rays of the candle to awaken Mrs. Fowler from that deep, dreamless
+sleep.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret would have liked to have kissed her mother's flushed cheek,
+but feared to disturb her; so she contented herself with pressing her
+lips to the soft, white hand which lay outside the counterpane, then
+stole back to her own room as quietly as she had left it, and after
+putting out the candle crept back to bed. She felt she could rest with
+an easy mind now, and was no longer disturbed by distressing dreams.</p>
+
+<p>The following day Mrs. Fowler did not go far. She appeared depressed
+and out of sorts until after tea-time, when her drooping spirits
+revived, and she spent the evening under the lilac tree with Miss
+Conway, whilst the children played croquet on the lawn. Suddenly she
+remembered that a letter she had written to her husband had not been
+posted, and suggested that Margaret and Gerald might take it to the
+post-office.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid it's too late to catch to-night's post," she said
+regretfully, "but never mind. Your father will not be anxious, as he
+heard this morning. Still, you may as well post it. Dear me, what could
+have made me so forgetful!"</p>
+
+<p>So Margaret and Gerald hurried off to the post-office, which was only
+two doors from the village inn, from which it was divided by Samuel
+Moyle's shop.</p>
+
+<p>After posting the letter, they went into the shop to purchase some
+sweets, and whilst they were there, Josiah Petherick came out of the
+"Crab and Cockle," much the worse for drink, and staggered past on his
+way home.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Moyle, a rosy-cheeked dame, so stout that she appeared to be
+almost as thick as she was long, went to the door to stare after
+Josiah, whilst her husband, who was attending to the requirements of
+his customers, shook his head gravely and prophesied that "such a
+drunken beast," as he called him, "would come to a bad end," adding,
+with a touch of real feeling, "Ah, I'm sorry for that poor motherless
+maid of his!"</p>
+
+<p>Margaret returned to Greystone very sad at heart, full of the lame
+girl's trouble, and informed her mother and Miss Conway of the state
+Josiah was in; whilst Gerald, who had been more amused than disgusted,
+began to imitate the drunken man's rambling walk, a proceeding which
+his governess promptly put a stop to by grasping him forcibly by the
+shoulder and making him stand still.</p>
+
+<p>"For shame!" she cried with unusual severity in her tone. "How can
+you make fun of the unhappy man? Poor wretch! Never make a joke of a
+drunkard again."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I won't," Gerald returned. "I meant no harm. Please let me go,
+Miss Conway. I promise you I won't do it again."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I do not think you meant any harm," the governess admitted. "You
+acted thoughtlessly, I know. But you must never laugh at what is
+wrong—remember that."</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it terrible for poor Salome, mother?" Margaret said sadly.</p>
+
+<p>"Very," Mrs. Fowler replied. "It would be better for her if she had no
+father at all."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mother!" Margaret cried in shocked tones. "Do you mean that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I do. What can her father be, but a perpetual shame and trouble
+to her?"</p>
+
+<p>"But she loves him so dearly."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know how she can!" Mrs. Fowler exclaimed vehemently. "But,
+there, don't let us talk of Josiah any more. Of course, the letter was
+too late for to-night's post?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes. But I posted it all the same. I wonder when father will be
+home."</p>
+
+<p>"Not till the end of the week, I expect. It's getting chilly; we will
+go in." And rising, Mrs. Fowler moved towards the house, the others
+following.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret's thoughts were all of Salome during the remainder of the
+evening. And before she went to rest, she prayed earnestly that God
+would give His help and protection to the lame girl, and reward her
+patience and love in His own good time.</p>
+
+<p>"Drink is an awful thing," was her last waking thought that night, as
+she crept into her little, white-curtained bed, and laid her head down
+on the soft pillow. "I only wish poor Salome's father could be brought
+to see what an awful thing it is."</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_9">CHAPTER IX.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>The Blow Falls.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>IT was nearly noon, and quietude reigned over Yelton. The fishermen
+were all at sea, whilst their wives were busy with their domestic
+duties within doors, and the children were at school. The village
+looked actually deserted as Margaret Fowler walked soberly by the "Crab
+and Cockle." Not a living soul was in sight, and there was no one in
+Silas Moyle's shop, not even behind the counter, where Mrs. Moyle was
+generally to be found. Margaret strolled on to Josiah Petherick's
+cottage, and there was Salome seated in the porch, knitting rapidly
+whilst she sang to herself in a low, soft undertone. The lame girl's
+face lit up with a bright smile of pleasure at sight of Margaret, and
+she turned to reach the crutches by her side.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, please don't get up!" Margaret cried quickly. "I'll sit down in
+the porch with you for a little while, if I may. How nice it is here!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Isn't it a beautiful day, miss? Such a fine breeze! All the
+fishing boats are out. Father was off at daybreak this morning. I got
+up to give him his breakfast; so that's how it is my work's finished so
+early."</p>
+
+<p>"What are you making?" Margaret asked, noticing the thick, navy-blue
+fingering which Salome was knitting.</p>
+
+<p>"A jersey for father, miss. He'll want a new one against the winter."</p>
+
+<p>"What! Do you mean to say you knit your father's jerseys? How clever of
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>The lame girl smiled and blushed as she responded, "Mother taught me
+to knit when I was a very little girl, but it was not until after her
+death that I learnt to make father's jerseys. Mrs. Moyle taught me the
+way."</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Moyle? The baker's wife, do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, miss; she's always most kind to me."</p>
+
+<p>"She looks good-natured," Margaret remarked. "Mother is not very well,"
+she proceeded to explain, "so she is lying in bed this morning, and
+Gerald is at his lessons with Miss Conway, so I thought I would look
+you up, Salome."</p>
+
+<p>"I am very glad to see you, miss. But I am sorry to hear Mrs. Fowler is
+ill."</p>
+
+<p>"She is not ill exactly—at least, I hope not. She complained of a bad
+headache, so Ross advised her to remain in bed and rest. It worries me
+if she's not well, now father's away."</p>
+
+<p>"Then Mr. Fowler is not back yet, miss?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. We expected him to stay away only a few days, but his business is
+keeping him longer than he thought it would, so he will not be at home
+till next week. It is so dull without him."</p>
+
+<p>"I daresay it is, miss."</p>
+
+<p>"Before he went, he told me he left mother in my charge, and that's why
+I'm so anxious about her. You know, she was very, very ill before we
+came here. I never saw her for weeks then, and—oh, it was a terrible
+time!"</p>
+
+<p>"It must have been," Salome said sympathetically.</p>
+
+<p>"How bright you look to-day!" Margaret exclaimed presently, after
+observing her companion in silence for several minutes.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel bright," the lame girl acknowledged with a smile, "for I know
+father'll come home sober by-and-by, when the fishing boats return, and
+that's enough to make one happy."</p>
+
+<p>"How brave you are, Salome!" And Margaret wondered if she had Salome's
+trouble, whether she would ever be happy for a day or even an hour.</p>
+
+<p>The other shook her head. She did not think she was brave at all, but
+she took the sunshine of her life gratefully, and tried not to remember
+the hours of gloom.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could knit," said Margaret, as she watched the lame girl's
+busy fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you learn, miss? Then you might knit your father's socks."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think I could?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, with a little practice. Would you—would you like me to teach
+you?" Salome asked somewhat diffidently.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I should be so much obliged to you if you would! Oh, thank you!
+I'll buy some wool and knitting needles the very next time we drive to
+N—. But I'm afraid you'll find me a very stupid pupil."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't believe that, miss. Besides, knitting is quite easy—of course
+it takes time to learn to knit fast. You can get knitting needles and
+wool at Mrs. Moyle's shop; she keeps a very good supply."</p>
+
+<p>"Does she? That's capital! Oh Salome, whatever has happened to that
+rose-bush by the gate? Why, it's smashed off close to the ground! What
+a pity!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," was the response, spoken in a low, pained tone.</p>
+
+<p>"How did it happen?" Margaret asked concernedly, noticing the tears had
+sprung into her companion's brown eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Father did it."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Not on purpose?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no! He—he fell over it. He was sorry—afterwards; but I'm so
+grieved, because mother planted that rose-bush herself not long before
+she died, and now it is quite ruined."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I am sorry!" Margaret cried.</p>
+
+<p>"It was an accident; but—but it wouldn't have happened, if he'd been
+sober. He's as upset about it as I am now—he is indeed. He valued that
+rose-bush for mother's sake."</p>
+
+<p>"Salome, why don't you try to persuade your father to take the pledge?"
+Margaret inquired very seriously.</p>
+
+<p>"I've tried heaps and heaps of times."</p>
+
+<p>"And he won't?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Father says he hates teetotalers. I can't think he does really,
+though. Only, he likes drink, and he won't give it up."</p>
+
+<p>"It's very selfish of him. He ought to consider you. But, there, I
+won't run out against him, for I know you're very fond of him. Perhaps,
+he'll be different some day."</p>
+
+<p>"I pray every night that God will make him a sober man. He used to be
+so steady when mother was living. Mr. Amyatt will tell you the same. It
+seems so dreadful that her death should have changed him so. It was the
+trouble, I suppose, and having no one to speak to at home but me that
+drove him to the 'Crab and Cockle' first along; then he grew to like
+the drink, and now he can't bear the thought of going without it. Did
+you know Mr. Fowler spoke to father about it, miss?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; did he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he did indeed. They had an argument, and I fancy from father's
+manner that he was impressed by what Mr. Fowler said."</p>
+
+<p>Long the little girls talked, until Margaret declared she really must
+go, or she would be late for dinner. She hurried back to Greystone,
+to find that her mother was not up yet. On the landing, at the top of
+the stairs, she met Ross, who had that minute come from Mrs. Fowler's
+bedroom door.</p>
+
+<p>"Is mother's head no better?" Margaret inquired concernedly.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid not," Ross answered. She looked somewhat perturbed, the
+little girl thought. "I've not seen the mistress since breakfast-time,
+miss," she proceeded hurriedly, "for she said she wished to be
+undisturbed, and now she has locked her door."</p>
+
+<p>"Locked her door!" Margaret echoed in utter astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and she won't open it, miss. I was going to ask Miss Conway what
+I should do—"</p>
+
+<p>Not waiting to hear the conclusion of the sentence, Margaret ran to
+her mother's bedroom door and tried to open it. The handle turned, but
+the door remained closed. She rapped sharply with her knuckles and
+listened; then, receiving no answer, knocked again.</p>
+
+<p>"Who there?"</p>
+
+<p>It was her mother's voice that asked the question; but something in
+its tone fell discordantly upon the ears of the listeners and did not
+lessen their uneasiness.</p>
+
+<p>"It is I—Margaret. Let me in, mother dear."</p>
+
+<p>"You can't come in; go away."</p>
+
+<p>"But, mother, I want to know how you are. Is your head better?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes—no."</p>
+
+<p>"Please let me in. Why have you locked the door?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish—to be alone."</p>
+
+<p>At that moment Miss Conway appeared upon the scene. She turned white as
+death when the situation was explained to her, and begged Margaret to
+go away, and let her try to persuade Mrs. Fowler to unlock the door.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," cried the little girl. "Something must be amiss with mother,
+or she would never act so strangely. Mother, mother, let me in," and
+she knocked at the door louder than before.</p>
+
+<p>There were sounds inside the room of some one moving about, then the
+door was opened, and Mrs. Fowler, clad in a dressing-gown, with her
+hair streaming over her shoulders, appeared in the doorway.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you all want—coming here—disturbing me?" she questioned
+irritably; then she lurched forward, and would have fallen on her face,
+if Miss Conway had not sprung to her assistance and caught her.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, she has fainted!" Margaret cried, terribly frightened and
+distressed.</p>
+
+<p>With the help of Ross, who was looking pale and scared, the governess
+succeeded in dragging Mrs. Fowler across the room, and laying her upon
+the bed; and then turned to her little pupil and told her to shut and
+lock the door. Wondering greatly, Margaret obeyed. Returning to the
+bedside, she looked from one to the other of her companions in mingled
+astonishment and reproach, for neither was making the least attempt to
+bring Mrs. Fowler back to consciousness. The tears were streaming down
+Miss Conway's cheeks, and Ross was murmuring—"I never guessed it. No, I
+never guessed it."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, can't you do anything?" Margaret cried distractedly. "Oh, she is
+very ill!" And she bent over her mother, then suddenly drew back. Mrs.
+Fowler's cheeks were unusually flushed; she was breathing heavily,
+and upon her lips hung the smell of spirit. Margaret experienced a
+sensation as though an icy hand had gripped her heart. She looked
+inquiringly at Miss Conway, who avoided her glance, then her eyes
+travelled slowly around the room. On the dressing-table was a nearly
+empty brandy bottle, and by its side a glass.</p>
+
+<p>With an exceedingly bitter cry, Margaret realised the truth. Her mother
+was not ill—that is, not in the way she had supposed—but intoxicated.
+The blow had fallen, and everything was now plain to her.</p>
+
+<p>As in a dream, she heard Ross whispering to Miss Conway that she had
+never suspected her mistress of this, that she had never had such a
+shock in her life before, and listened to Miss Conway's answer that
+she herself would remain with Mrs. Fowler, and that the servants must
+be told she was ill. Then, the governess put her arms around her pupil
+and kissed her, begging her to be a brave girl. And all the while,
+Margaret was experiencing a strange feeling of unreality, as though she
+was living through a horrible nightmare. She watched Miss Conway fling
+the windows open wide, and place a blanket carefully over her mother's
+unconscious form, and the conviction grew upon her, that though the
+governess was deeply grieved, she was not surprised and shocked as she
+herself was and poor Ross who looked almost scared to death.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the governess pointed to the brandy bottle and appealed to the
+maid.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you supply her with that?" she questioned sternly.</p>
+
+<p>"No, miss, on my word of honour, I did not," Ross replied earnestly. "I
+never knew she had it; she must have kept it under lock and key."</p>
+
+<p>There was absolute truth in the girl's voice; and Miss Conway looked
+puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't make it out—how she obtained it, I mean," she said at
+last. "Ross, I think you had better leave your mistress to me for
+the present. I rely upon you not to speak of this downstairs. And
+Margaret—" the governess's voice softened to the tenderest pity—"will
+you take care of Gerald for the rest of the day? Tell him his mother is
+very poorly, and that he may have a half-holiday. You could take him
+down to the beach this afternoon. God help you to bear this trouble,
+poor child!"</p>
+
+<p>Margaret made no response. Ringing in her ears were words her father
+had spoken to her when they had been discussing Salome's trouble. "We
+cannot tell how much our patience and love may be tried, nor what
+trials and troubles the future may hold for us. We can only pray that
+God will strengthen us in our time of need."</p>
+
+<p>Had her father anticipated this hour for her? She could not tell, but
+she thought it more than likely.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Miss Conway was leading her to the door, begging her to put
+a brave face on matters, and to go down to dinner without her.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel my duty is here, my dear," she said impressively. "If any one
+questions you about your mother, you can truly say she is ill. Oh,
+Margaret, pray for her; she is greatly to be pitied!" And so saying,
+the governess opened the door and pushed her little pupil gently
+outside.</p>
+
+<p>For a few minutes Margaret stood perfectly still. Then the sound of
+Gerald's voice in the hall below reminded her that she must, as Miss
+Conway had said, put a brave face on matters. So she went downstairs
+and delighted her brother by promising to take him down to the beach.
+She was conscious that the burden of a great sorrow was upon her,
+and she felt bowed down with an intolerable weight of shame. But she
+devoted herself assiduously to Gerald for the remainder of the day;
+and it was not until nearly nine o'clock, when her charge was in bed
+and asleep, that she dared give way to her grief. Then, in the privacy
+of her own room, she flung herself upon the bed and wept as though her
+heart would break.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_10">CHAPTER X.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>Mr. Fowler's Return.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"MARGARET! Oh, my dear little girl! Do not grieve so terribly. You will
+make yourself ill, if you go on like this."</p>
+
+<p>Margaret tried to stifle her sobs at the sound of the kind, pitying
+voice, and turned a swollen, tear-stained countenance towards
+Miss Conway, who had come in search of her. She longed to ask for
+her mother, but for the present, she was incapable of speech.
+Her governess, however, read aright her questioning eyes, and
+said reassuringly, "Your mother is better, my dear. She regained
+consciousness some time ago, since when she has had a cup of tea, and
+is now asleep. Ross is with her at present."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Conway drew a chair to the bedside and sat down, then she took
+one of her little pupil's hands and pressed it softly. "I have sent
+for your father," she continued; "after—after what has happened I
+considered it was my duty to do so. I did not think there was any
+necessity to alarm him by a telegram though, so I wrote by to-night's
+post and—explained. He will get my letter in the morning, and probably
+return home at once. So, dear Margaret, if all's well, he will
+doubtless be here to-morrow evening."</p>
+
+<p>The little girl was glad to hear this; but at the same time, she
+dreaded meeting her father with this new knowledge concerning her
+mother weighing on her mind. Her sobs had ceased now, and she could
+speak collectedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Conway, do you think Ross has told the other servants?" she asked
+anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure she has not, nor do I believe she will. Ross is a thoroughly
+good girl, and most sincerely attached to your mother. At first, I
+confess, I suspected her of having procured that—that poison, but I was
+quite wrong! Mrs. Fowler bought the brandy herself, the afternoon we
+drove to N— with her. Do you remember we drove on whilst she went into
+a grocer's shop? She obtained it there. Oh, it is a shame that grocers
+should be allowed licences for supplying intoxicating liquors! Poor
+soul, she has been telling me how sorely she was tempted! Oh, Margaret,
+this all comes of Mrs. Lute's offering her that glass of wine! She had
+not touched a stimulant since her illness till then, and had almost
+lost her craving for drink. That glass of wine, however, was too much
+for her, and she felt she must have more. I need not dwell on the
+result."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Miss Conway, how shameful, how degrading!" Margaret cried
+passionately. "Oh, to think that mother should be like that! Oh, no
+wonder father wished us all to be teetotalers!"</p>
+
+<p>She covered her flaming face with her hands and shuddered. "How
+long—how long have you known this—about mother?" she inquired
+hesitatingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Many months. Since—oh, long before her illness."</p>
+
+<p>"Was that illness—"</p>
+
+<p>"Caused by drink? Yes. Oh, my dear, I see you guess it all. Your father
+hoped you would never know. He trusted that the complete change from
+life in town to the quietude of the country, where Mrs. Fowler would
+meet comparatively few people of her own class, and where he believed
+she would be free from temptation, would ultimately cure her of the
+fatal habit she had acquired of drinking to excess, and I believe that
+would have been the happy result, if you had not unfortunately met Mrs.
+Lute. Little does Mrs. Lute—good, kind creature that she is—dream of
+the mischief she has wrought. Your poor mother is full of grief and
+remorse now; and oh, so shocked that you should have seen her to-day.
+She knows I have written to Mr. Fowler, and you can imagine how she is
+dreading his return; yet she knows he will not be hard upon her. He
+loves her too well for that!"</p>
+
+<p>Margaret felt at that moment that her affection for her mother was
+being swallowed up by a sickening sensation of disgust. She had always
+loved her very dearly; and had been so pleased and happy when people
+had admired her for her beauty and winning ways. Even when Mrs. Fowler
+had openly shown her preference for Gerald of her two children, the
+little girl, though often hurt, had never evinced any jealousy or
+resentment. She had accepted the fact that Gerald was her mother's
+favourite, and had loved her none the less on that account. But now,
+her love was being tried very severely.</p>
+
+<p>The remembrance of Mrs. Fowler as she had last seen her, lying on
+the bed with flushed cheeks, breathing stertorously, was absolutely
+revolting to her. She had many times asked herself how Salome could
+continue to love her drunken father; now, she asked herself, was it
+possible that she could continue to love her drunken mother? Oh, the
+horror of the thought that one so gentle and refined should be on a par
+with Josiah Petherick, fellow-victim to a disgraceful, degrading sin!</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps Miss Conway guessed some of the thoughts which were passing
+through her companion's mind, for she watched her anxiously, and
+presently remarked, "I daresay, you can faintly imagine how your poor
+mother is feeling now. She had hoped to keep the secret of her weakness
+and sin from your knowledge. Your father, too, will be terribly
+troubled when he hears you have learnt the truth; but I do not doubt,
+dear child, that God in His wisdom has ordered all for the best. You
+will understand now, as you never did before, how much Mrs. Fowler
+needs all your love and devotion. You can help her, if you will, to
+the restoration of that self-respect which, once lost, is so hard to
+regain. You can show her, by loving her as unfalteringly as Salome
+loves her erring father, that she can rise above this habit which has
+done so much to ruin her health, and happiness, and earn everyone's
+respect and her own as well!"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Conway paused, and there was a solemn silence which Margaret at
+length broke by saying with a sob, "I do love mother, I do indeed."</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure of it. Mrs. Fowler is a very sweet, lovable woman!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Margaret agreed. "See what a lot of friends she had in town, and
+how popular she was! She was always going about—"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear, I know," the governess interposed, "and that was how it
+was she commenced taking stimulants. She used to get tired with her
+constant gaieties, and then she would take a glass of wine, or some
+other intoxicant, to revive her, until she grew to like stimulants,
+and took more and more. The craving increased, and she drank to the
+injury of her health, yet no outsiders guessed it. Then she had nervous
+attacks, followed at last by a serious illness. The doctors told your
+father she was killing herself, and immeasurably horrified, he took the
+only course he saw could save his wife—became a teetotaler himself, and
+insisted that his household should follow suit. Mrs. Fowler knew he was
+acting wisely, and for her sake, but she would not admit it. However,
+she found total abstinence from all intoxicants was restoring her to
+health, and had made up her mind never to touch a stimulant again when
+temptation was put in her way, and she fell. God grant she may prove
+stronger in the future. Now, my dear, tell me, have you had any supper?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," Margaret replied, "I am not in the least hungry."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's nonsense! You must eat whether you are hungry or not. Come
+with me."</p>
+
+<p>Margaret demurred at first, but her governess overruled all her
+objections. And after she had bathed her tear-stained face, the two
+went downstairs and had supper together. Miss Conway did not leave her
+pupil again until she saw her comfortably tucked up in bed for the
+night; then she kissed her, bade her try to sleep well, and left her to
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>And Margaret did sleep well, absolutely worn out with excitement and
+grief, whilst the governess spent the night in Mrs. Fowler's room. At
+daybreak, Ross came to take Miss Conway's place, and found her mistress
+sleeping tranquilly.</p>
+
+<p>"She looks more like herself, miss, doesn't she?" she whispered gladly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Miss Conway answered; "I should let her sleep as long as she
+will."</p>
+
+<p>She did not say what a harrowing time she had endured during that night
+watch, or how Mrs. Fowler had implored her to give her a stimulant, and
+had declared she would die without it. But she went away quietly to her
+own room, and before she lay down to rest, prayed earnestly to Almighty
+God for the unhappy woman, whom she pitied from the depths of her heart.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image004" style="max-width: 25.8125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image004.jpg" alt="image004">
+</figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>SHE WENT TO THE FRONT DOOR TO MEET MR. FOWLER.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Early in the morning, a telegram arrived from Mr. Fowler saying he
+would be at home that night, and ordering the carriage to be sent to N—
+to meet him at the railway station. The governess made no secret of the
+fact that she had written to inform him of his wife's illness, and as
+Ross kept her own counsel, the other servants supposed their mistress
+to be suffering from one of the hysterical, nervous attacks to which
+she had been subject on her arrival at Greystone.</p>
+
+<p>It was nearly eight o'clock before Mr. Fowler reached home. Margaret,
+who had spent most of the day on the beach with her brother, shrank
+sensitively from the thought of meeting her father. When she heard the
+carriage wheels nearing the house, she longed to run away and hide, but
+she knew it would never do to act in such a cowardly fashion as that.
+Appearances must be kept up, at any rate before the servants, so she
+went to the front door with Gerald to meet Mr. Fowler, and returned
+his loving kiss as quietly and composedly as though her heart was not
+beating almost to suffocation.</p>
+
+<p>As she had anticipated, he immediately went upstairs to his wife's
+room, and it was not until much later, that she found herself with him
+alone. Then, after Gerald had gone to bed, he joined her in the garden,
+and strolled up and down the lawn by her side, his arm around her
+shoulders. For some minutes he did not speak, and she could not see the
+expression of his face, for there was no moon, and the stars gave but
+little light.</p>
+
+<p>At last he said gravely, "Life is very hard, sometimes, Margaret."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she agreed, adding with a little sob: "Oh, father, you left her
+in my care, but I did not know, and if I had, it would not have made
+any difference."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no; I understand. She has told me everything herself."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, father, it is shocking! Think of the disgrace. Oh, you can't
+imagine how dreadful I feel about it!"</p>
+
+<p>"I think I can," he replied sadly. "My poor child, I had hoped to
+have been allowed to keep this trouble from you, but God willed it
+otherwise. Have you seen your mother to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, father. She said she did not wish to see me."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, poor thing, she is ashamed to face you! If I were you, when you
+meet, I would not revert to—to her illness at all."</p>
+
+<p>"I will not."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall try and persuade Mrs. Lute to come and spend a few days with
+us, in order to cheer us all up."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, father, Mrs. Lute was the cause of all this trouble."</p>
+
+<p>"I am aware of it; but her intention in offering your mother wine was
+an excellent one, she had no idea of working mischief. I shall simply
+explain to her that this is a teetotal household, and she is not the
+woman I take her to be if, after that, she refuses an invitation to
+visit us."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you finish your business in London, father?" Margaret questioned.</p>
+
+<p>"Not quite. It must stand over for a few weeks. I shall not leave home
+again for the present."</p>
+
+<p>Though he spoke so quietly, Margaret knew her father must be very sore
+at heart. She had often wondered why her mother was more at her ease
+when not in her husband's presence, and now she understood the reason.
+Mrs. Fowler was conscious that he was always keeping a watch upon her,
+that he did not trust her, and dear though he was to her, she stood in
+awe of him.</p>
+
+<p>Until her illness in the spring, he had always allowed her, her own
+way. But his alarm for her well-being once aroused, he had taken the
+reins of government into his own hands, and had shown her plainly that
+he meant his will to be law. She had always been a pleasure-seeking
+woman and fond of society; but, broken down in health, she had not
+found life at Yelton so utterly unbearable as she had anticipated.
+Her husband had devoted much of his time to her, and, thrown more
+in contact with her little daughter, she had begun to take a deeper
+interest in her than she had done before.</p>
+
+<p>She had always been pleased to notice her beauty, but of late,
+she had discovered that Margaret possessed other and higher
+attractions—goodness and unselfishness—which she could not but admire.
+She saw the little girl had inherited many of her father's excellent
+qualities of mind and heart, and uneasily conscious of her own weakness
+of character, she was delighted that it was so. Unfortunately there had
+never been the same sympathy of feeling between Margaret and her mother
+as there had always been between the little girl and her father.</p>
+
+<p>Now, as she strolled by Mr. Fowler's side up and down the lawn,
+she slipped her hand through his arm, whilst she leaned her head
+confidingly against his shoulder, as she said, "Father, I'm so very
+glad you've come home."</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_11">CHAPTER XI.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>Josiah at His Worst.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>THE afternoon subsequent to her husband's return, Mrs. Fowler was
+sufficiently well to come downstairs and lie on the sofa in the
+drawing-room. Margaret, who had gone back to her usual routine of work
+with Miss Conway, saw little of her mother during the next few days,
+and after Mr. Fowler drove to N— one morning, and brought Mrs. Lute
+home with him, Mrs. Fowler spent most of her time with her friend, and
+avoided her little daughter's society as much as possible.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Lute, though she had been much astonished when Mr. Fowler had
+frankly explained to her that his was now a teetotal household, was
+far too well-bred a woman to question him concerning what his wife had
+called his "fad;" and though she had been accustomed all her life to
+the sparing use of stimulants, she could very well do without them, and
+was perfectly satisfied and happy at Greystone.</p>
+
+<p>"So many people are teetotalers nowadays," she remarked pleasantly to
+Mr. Fowler on one occasion when she had been several days beneath his
+roof, "so really you are quite in the fashion."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could think that," he replied, with rather a sad smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, one meets a great many people who are total abstainers!" she
+assured him. "Why, Miss Conway tells me she has always been one. It
+seems drink has been the cause of a great deal of trouble in her
+family. And your good Vicar here is a teetotaler too, so he informed
+me yesterday. He argues truly that he cannot teach what he does not
+practise. I was surprised to hear that even in this quiet little
+village drink is the curse of the place."</p>
+
+<p>"I believe that is so. There are several notorious drunkards amongst
+the fishermen, and one in whom we, as a family, are much interested, on
+his daughter's account, is likely to join their ranks."</p>
+
+<p>"You refer to that fine, strong man who took us out boating yesterday,
+I presume?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; Josiah Petherick. He is a most reliable man when sober, but when
+he has been drinking—which often happens now, I fear—he is a perfect
+brute. I have been hearing many tales to his discredit lately, and this
+morning I was told on reliable authority in the village, that he spends
+nearly all his earnings at the 'Crab and Cockle' now, and begrudges
+the money for the household accounts. Last night, he went home more
+intoxicated than usual—actually mad drunk—and smashed up some of the
+furniture in his cottage, after which he turned his little daughter
+out-doors. The poor child was forced to beg a night's lodging from Mrs.
+Moyle at the village shop, and to-day, all Yelton is talking about it."</p>
+
+<p>A faint exclamation of dismay caused Mrs. Lute and Mr. Fowler, who had
+been conversing in the garden, close outside the drawing-room window,
+to look around. They encountered Mrs. Fowler's shocked gaze. Hearing
+them talking, she had come to the window and had overheard all that had
+been said.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Henry, that poor Salome!" she cried, her blue eyes full of tears.
+"Have you seen her to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; but the Vicar has. Hearing what had happened, he went down to
+Petherick's cottage the first thing this morning. Salome had just
+returned and was doing her utmost to put the place to rights, and her
+father had gone out in his boat in a very humbled, repentant state of
+mind, after having apologised to her for his abominable behaviour, and
+having promised he would not act so madly again."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler sighed, whilst Mrs. Lute said gravely, "Let us hope he will
+keep his word."</p>
+
+<p>"He will not, without he gives up the drink," Mr. Fowler rejoined, with
+conviction in his tone. "No, he will go from bad to worse until, in one
+of his drunken frenzies, he will do something he will never cease to
+regret—perhaps some injury to his child."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler sank into a chair looking pale and perturbed, whilst her
+husband and friend drifted into another channel of conversation. The
+news she had heard about the Pethericks had upset her, and when, a
+short while later, Margaret entered the room, the first question she
+put to her was to ask if she had seen Salome that day.</p>
+
+<p>"No, mother," the little girl answered. "Why?" she added, struck by the
+almost frightened expression on Mrs. Fowler's face.</p>
+
+<p>She listened in silence, her colour alternately coming and going, to
+all there was to tell, then exclaimed "Oh, I am sorry! Poor Salome! And
+it rained heavily last night. Perhaps she will come up to the church
+this evening to hear me practise the organ. Oh, I hope she will! When
+are you coming to hear me play again, mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, some time! Perhaps when Mrs. Lute has gone."</p>
+
+<p>"Wouldn't Mrs. Lute come too?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't think you play well enough—" Mrs. Fowler paused abruptly,
+conscious of the hurt look on her little daughter's countenance. She
+had avoided Margaret lately, and Margaret had noticed the fact with
+acute pain. What had she done that her mother should abstain from
+meeting her gaze? An insurmountable barrier seemed to have sprung up
+between mother and child.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret's heart was full of bitterness as she turned away and left the
+room. She had endeavoured to show no feeling but that of love for her
+mother since her recent indisposition, but it had been impossible for
+Mrs. Fowler not to remark a slight difference in her manner, of which
+Margaret was unconscious herself. She thought she read reproach in the
+little girl's eyes, and shrank sensitively from being alone with her.
+She was ashamed in the presence of her own child.</p>
+
+<p>Had Margaret grasped the truth of the situation, she would have judged
+her mother less harshly; but failing to do so, she was deeply pained,
+and told herself that her mother liked her less than ever. Upon Gerald,
+Mrs. Fowler lavished all her affection. She would listen to his chatter
+untiringly, talking gaily in return; and, however much he teased her,
+she always found excuses for him.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Conway did not give Margaret a music lesson that evening, for Mrs.
+Fowler requested her to accompany Mrs. Lute and herself for a walk, and
+to bring Gerald with her, so Margaret went alone to the church.</p>
+
+<p>She practised for an hour, then dismissed the boy who had blown the
+organ for her, and was leaving the church when she caught sight of a
+small figure huddled up in a corner of a pew near the west door. It was
+Salome.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it you, Salome?" Margaret cried, hastening to her side, and laying
+her hand tenderly upon her shoulder. The lame girl lifted her bowed
+head, and in the dim light, Margaret saw she had been weeping, though
+there were no tears in her brown eyes now, and her lips were curved in
+a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"I've been asleep," she said. "I'm glad you didn't go without speaking
+to me, Miss Margaret. I came in whilst you were practising, and I was
+tired. I—I had little rest last night."</p>
+
+<p>"I know—I've heard," Margaret returned hurriedly, as the other paused
+in confusion.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you, miss? I'm glad of that, for now I shan't have to tell you,
+and I'd rather not talk of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you would rather not."</p>
+
+<p>"I was tired," Salome proceeded; "so tired and worn out, that I
+couldn't help crying. My poor legs ached so—but oh! not so badly as
+my heart. The pain here—" clasping her hands against her breast—"was
+almost more than I could bear. Then I fell asleep, and I was dreaming
+when you awoke me."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope it was a pleasant dream," Margaret said softly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, very pleasant! I thought it was evening time—getting almost dark
+as it is now—and service was going on in the church. I could hear
+father's voice singing with the choir. You can't imagine what a deep,
+beautiful voice father has, Miss Margaret. I was listening to it when
+you awoke me. But I'm glad you happened to catch sight of me, though
+you did disturb my dream. Is anything wrong, miss?" And the lame girl's
+brown eyes peered anxiously at her companion.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not happy," Margaret confessed with a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Fowler is not ill again?" Salome questioned in concerned tones.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no; she is perfectly well. We have an old friend visiting us, and
+that makes it pleasant for mother."</p>
+
+<p>"I saw a strange lady in church with you on Sunday, miss; and father
+took her out in his boat with Mrs. Fowler. She treated him very
+handsomely, he said; but I wish she hadn't."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" Margaret asked in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Because he spent the money she gave him in drink at the public-house,
+and that was the beginning of the trouble last night. There, I didn't
+mean to talk of it, but, naturally, it's uppermost in my mind."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course it is. Did you—did you get wet last night?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dripping to the skin," Salome admitted. "But Mrs. Moyle—God bless
+her!—took me in and gave me dry clothes, and a bed too. But oh, I
+couldn't sleep for wondering what father was up to at home. You can
+never be certain what a drunken body will not do. How selfish I am,
+though, to talk so much of myself. Won't you tell me what troubles you,
+Miss Margaret?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Salome, I can't," was the low response. "It's something I can
+never speak of."</p>
+
+<p>"Then try not to think too much about it, miss," the lame girl advised.
+"If I were you, I'd tell my trouble to God, and leave it to Him. That's
+what I do with mine."</p>
+
+<p>"By your trouble, you mean your father?" Margaret inquired diffidently.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, miss. Do you remember saying to me that night you and I had been
+sitting in the porch, and father had come home drunk—'May God help you,
+Salome'? I think you saw God was the only One who could help me; and I
+want to remind you of those words of yours, because maybe He's the only
+One who can help you too! Why, how dark it's getting think, miss, we
+had better go."</p>
+
+<p>She reached for her crutches as she spoke, and swung herself out of the
+pew into the aisle. Margaret followed her silently through the west
+door into the churchyard. It was nearly dark, for it was September now,
+and the evenings were shortening fast; but whilst they lingered at the
+churchyard gate, the edge of the moon appeared in the eastern horizon,
+and slowly sailed upwards into the cloudless sky, illuminating the old
+grey church, surrounded with the graves of the quiet dead, and shedding
+its pale light on the little village and the broad surface of the
+peaceful sea.</p>
+
+<p>"How beautiful!" cried Margaret. "It is the harvest moon, so father
+said last night. But, Salome, it is late for you to be out alone. Shall
+I walk part of the way home with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, thank you, miss! I shall be perfectly safe. Besides, it's
+quite light now the moon has risen. Good night, miss."</p>
+
+<p>"Good night, Salome."</p>
+
+<p>Margaret went back to Greystone in a very thoughtful frame of mind. She
+considered that her friend was not half so depressed as she herself
+would have been under similar circumstances, not reflecting that
+Salome's trouble had come upon her by slow degrees. It had taken five
+years to change Josiah Petherick from a sober, God-fearing man into the
+desperate drunkard who had turned his only child out-doors last night.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Salome, as she swung herself down the hill, wondered what
+could be amiss with Miss Margaret. She had grown deeply attached to the
+pretty, fair-haired girl, who had, from the first time they had met,
+treated her with the greatest kindness and consideration. She had given
+her several lessons in the art of knitting, and the lessons had given
+pleasure to teacher and pupil alike; and both were much interested
+in the progression of the sock which Margaret was rather laboriously
+making under the other's instructions.</p>
+
+<p>The "Crab and Cockle" was lit up brightly as Salome passed by, and
+she sighed as she heard the hoarse murmur of voices within, for she
+imagined her father to be there; but great was her surprise on reaching
+home, to find him in the little yard at the back of the cottage bathing
+his face at the pump. When he came into the kitchen, she noticed not
+only that he was intoxicated, but that he had a cut on his cheek, and
+one eye was turning black. She asked no questions, however, for she saw
+he was in one of his worst moods; so she lit the lamp in silence, and
+proceeded to set the supper on the table. Presently, he remarked that
+he had quarrelled with someone, and they had come to blows.</p>
+
+<p>"'Twas Silas Moyle—" he was beginning, when, in her surprise, she
+interrupted him.</p>
+
+<p>"Silas Moyle!" she echoed, for the baker was a steady, peace-loving man.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he nodded; "the canting humbug!" He looked at her sullenly, even
+resentfully, she thought; and she trembled with fear as she noticed his
+shaking hands and quivering lips.</p>
+
+<p>Then he burst forth into a volley of oaths, and she gleaned that he
+was angry with her for having sought refuge with the Moyles on the
+preceding night. He stormed against her, against Silas and his wife,
+against everyone, in short, who had remonstrated with him that day.
+Apparently, his neighbours had been telling him some plain home truths
+which had not been pleasant hearing.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, father, don't say any more!" Salome pleaded in great distress.
+"Oh, please don't swear so frightfully! What could I do? You turned me
+out of my home, and I did not know where to go, except to Mrs. Moyle's.
+Oh, don't speak of her like that! It was out of pure kindness she took
+me in. You would not have had me spend the night out of doors in that
+lashing rain, would you? Oh, father, you are cruel indeed!"</p>
+
+<p>The reproach in her sorrowful eyes enraged him beyond measure.</p>
+
+<p>"You dare stand up for those who insult your father!" he shouted in a
+fury; and clutching her by the shoulder, he shook her savagely, then
+flung her from him with some violence. Losing her hold of her crutches,
+they fell to the ground; and staggering forward with a frightened cry,
+she knocked her forehead against a corner of the mantelpiece, and the
+next moment, lay white and unconscious at her father's feet.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_12">CHAPTER XII.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>A Brief Repentance.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>IT was about half-past nine o'clock that same night, that the Vicar of
+Yelton opened the Pethericks' garden gate, and stepping determinedly up
+the path, rapped at the door of the cottage.</p>
+
+<p>Returning from an evening's fishing an hour previously, he had been
+stopped in the village, on his way home, by Silas Moyle, who had poured
+into his ears an excited tale about Josiah, whom Silas had taken upon
+himself to remonstrate with upon his cruel conduct to his daughter on
+the previous night, with the result that Josiah, inflamed with drink,
+had struck him, and had received in return a black eye and an injured
+cheek.</p>
+
+<p>"You know, sir, I'm a man of peace, and don't hold with brawling,"
+Silas had said; "but I own I lost my temper to-night. Josiah's a
+regular blackguard when he's drunk."</p>
+
+<p>"It was foolish to remonstrate with a drunken man," Mr. Amyatt had
+answered. "Had you spoken to him in his sober moments, your words might
+have had a very different effect. Where is Josiah now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Gone home, swearing vengeance against me, sir. My great fear is, that
+he'll do some harm to poor Salome."</p>
+
+<p>That had been the Vicar's fear, too. So, instead of going straight to
+the Vicarage as he had intended, he had retraced his footsteps to the
+Pethericks' cottage, and now stood waiting for admittance at the door.</p>
+
+<p>As no one answered his knock, he rapped louder and listened. For a
+few moments there was silence; then came the sound of heavy, dragging
+footsteps, and Josiah opened the door and demanded hoarsely who was
+there.</p>
+
+<p>"It is I, Petherick," the Vicar answered, stepping uninvited across the
+threshold.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is your daughter?" he asked, fixing his eyes upon the fisherman,
+who stood staring at him in a dazed fashion.</p>
+
+<p>Receiving no reply, he turned into the kitchen, an exclamation of
+horror and dismay breaking from his lips, as he caught sight of the
+small, slight figure of the lame girl lying near the fireplace. Very
+tenderly, he lifted her and placed her in the one easy-chair in the
+room, calling to Josiah to bring some water immediately.</p>
+
+<p>"Water!" questioned Josiah stupidly. "What for? She's dead. She's been
+dead this half-hour or more; but I haven't dared touch her. Salome,
+Salome! I've killed you, my poor maid! Your own father's killed you,
+Salome;" and flinging himself on his knees at his daughter's side,
+Josiah wept like a child.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be foolish, Petherick," Mr. Amyatt said sternly. He had been
+feeling Salome's pulse, and had ascertained that it beat, though
+feebly. "She's not dead, but she has fainted. Come, be a man. Pull
+yourself together, and fetch some water at once."</p>
+
+<p>"Not dead," Josiah cried excitedly. "Are you sure? Then, God be thanked
+for that!" He rose from his knees, and went into the yard, returning in
+a few seconds with a basin of water.</p>
+
+<p>Very gently, the Vicar bathed Salome's white face until her eyelids
+flickered and a faint colour stole to her lips. Josiah, sobered by
+fright, explained what had happened, not sparing himself, but declaring
+he would not have injured a hair of his daughter's head, if he could
+have helped it, for Mr. Amyatt must know how much he loved her.</p>
+
+<p>"Tush, Petherick!" the Vicar responded impatiently, mingled pity and
+disgust in his tone. "Don't talk to me of your love for Salome. A nice
+way you have of showing it. Last night, you turned her out of doors in
+torrents of rain—"</p>
+
+<p>"I was drunk," Josiah interposed hastily. "She riled me, she did, with
+her tears, and—"</p>
+
+<p>"Having been drunk is no excuse," Mr. Amyatt interrupted in his turn.
+"Not content with your scandalous conduct last night, you must continue
+your unmanly behaviour to-day and knock Salome down, and—"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," said a weak voice at this point. It was Salome who spoke. She
+had regained consciousness, and was sufficiently herself to understand
+what was going on. "No, no," she repeated, "it was an accident. He did
+not mean to hurt me."</p>
+
+<p>"I shook her, and—and pushed her," Josiah admitted, looking thoroughly
+ashamed of himself. "I meant her no harm, sir, but I was rough,
+and—oh, Salome, can you ever forgive me?" And the wretched man turned
+appealingly to the little figure in the easy-chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," was the faint response. "I—I don't think I'm much hurt."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you in pain?" Mr. Amyatt asked gently.</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir; but my forehead is very sore. I must have knocked it in
+falling."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, poor child, I see you did; there is a big bruise coming."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I fainted?" she inquired, looking wistfully from the Vicar
+to her father, who was regarding her in gloomy silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that was it, you fainted," Mr. Amyatt replied. "But you are much
+better now; and after a good night's rest, I have no doubt you will be
+almost yourself again."</p>
+
+<p>Salome glanced at her crutches, which were lying on the ground. Mr.
+Amyatt picked them up and placed them against her chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, sir," she said gratefully, lifting her brown eyes shyly to
+his face, which expressed so plainly his sympathy and concern. "I think
+I shall be all right now," she added. "Thank you for being so kind."</p>
+
+<p>"Does that mean you wish me to go?" he queried with a smile. "Well, I
+don't know that I can do any good by remaining longer. Good night, my
+dear."</p>
+
+<p>He took Salome's small, thin hand and pressed it reassuringly, then
+beckoned to her father to follow him to the door.</p>
+
+<p>"You must have someone in to see to that poor child to-night,
+Petherick," he said gravely. "Can you call upon assistance from one of
+your neighbours?"</p>
+
+<p>Josiah shook his head doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Then, shall I ask Mrs. Moyle to look in and help get Salome to bed?"
+the Vicar suggested.</p>
+
+<p>A dull, shamed flush rose to the fisherman's face, and he began to
+stammer something about not knowing whether Mrs. Moyle would come
+inside his doors, seeing he had quarrelled with her husband only that
+evening; but the Vicar cut him short.</p>
+
+<p>"I know all about that, Petherick. Silas Moyle told me the tale himself
+not an hour ago. I heard it with great regret, for Silas is a sincere
+well-wisher of yours, and he and his wife would do anything in the
+world for your little girl. You had better let me send Mrs. Moyle to
+you—that is, if she will come; perhaps she will not. Shall I be the
+bearer of an apology from you to Silas?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry I hit him," Josiah acknowledged truthfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I tell him that?"</p>
+
+<p>"If you please, sir. I admit, I deserved what he gave me. Oh, sir, I've
+had a fine fright this night! I thought I'd killed Salome."</p>
+
+<p>"You might have done so."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I should have been a murderer," Josiah groaned. "I'm a bad lot,
+sir, that's what I am."</p>
+
+<p>He seemed perfectly sober now, so Mr. Amyatt spoke a few solemn words
+to him, imploring him, for the sake of his little daughter, to give
+up the drink, and take the pledge. Josiah declared he would think
+seriously about doing so, and went back to Salome, whilst the Vicar
+hurried in search of Mrs. Moyle.</p>
+
+<p>At first, that good woman, kind-hearted and fond of the lame girl
+though she was, said nothing would make her enter the doors of one
+who had so insulted her husband as had Josiah. But, on Silas adding
+his entreaties to the Vicar's, she gave in and betook herself to the
+Pethericks' cottage, where, after having assisted Salome upstairs, and
+put her to bed, she declared her intention of remaining for the night.
+She was not going to leave "that poor motherless lamb," as she called
+Salome, "in the house alone with a maniac."</p>
+
+<p>Josiah Petherick did not look much like a maniac, however, as he sat
+in the kitchen listening to Mrs. Moyle's scathing remarks as she put
+away the supper things. He was in a wonderfully subdued and repentant
+frame of mind, and sat with his elbows on the table and his aching
+head resting in his hands. At last, he could bear his companion's home
+thrusts no longer, and exclaimed, "Good gracious, woman, do you imagine
+I don't know what a beast I am?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if you do know it, why don't you turn over a new leaf?" she
+inquired. "I mind what a steady young fellow you used to be. You're
+too easily led, that's what you are. Make up your mind to give up the
+drink."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't—not entirely; it's got too strong a hold on me," he confessed.</p>
+
+<p>"That's the way of it. Well, you'll have to choose between drink and
+Salome—that's my opinion—for you're killing her by slow degrees."</p>
+
+<p>Josiah started; but Mrs. Moyle did not pursue the subject further.
+She told him he had better go to bed, and make no noise to disturb
+his daughter. Accordingly, he took off his boots and crept upstairs
+in his stockinged feet, whilst Mrs. Moyle, having put out the lamp,
+and ascertained that the door of the cottage was securely fastened,
+returned to Salome, whom she found sleeping peacefully.</p>
+
+<p>The next day, Josiah put himself in the way of Silas Moyle, and
+actually apologised to him for having struck. And Silas was magnanimous
+and forgave him, though it must be admitted, he regarded the other's
+black eye and swelled cheek with a sense of satisfaction. They were
+marks that would remain to remind Josiah of his ill conduct for some
+days to come.</p>
+
+<p>Salome was poorly for nearly a week, and the first occasion on which
+she showed herself in the village, she was met on all sides by
+commiserating looks and words which showed her plainly that everyone
+was quite aware that her father had been the cause of her accident. The
+sympathy thus evinced towards her, though kindly offered, cut her to
+the heart, and she returned home utterly miserable.</p>
+
+<p>During the days which followed, Mr. Amyatt made several ineffectual
+attempts to induce Josiah to take the pledge. No, Josiah said, there
+was no need for him to do that; but he had made up his mind to turn
+over a new leaf, nevertheless, and the Vicar would see that he could
+take his glass of beer like other men and be none the worse for it. The
+Vicar shook his head at that, but Josiah was not to be moved, so the
+matter was, perforce, dropped.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret was the first of the inmates of Greystone to hear of Salome's
+accident. Mrs. Moyle gave her full particulars of it one morning when
+she had an errand at the shop. And before going home, she went to
+inquire for her lame friend, whom she found sitting in the porch of the
+cottage with such a bright, hopeful expression on her pale countenance,
+that she was surprised, and remarked upon it.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I am ever so much better!" Salome assured her with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you really?" Margaret asked anxiously. "You have a nasty bruise on
+your forehead."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's nothing, indeed, miss! Have you heard how it happened?
+They haven't made you believe father did it on purpose, have they? He
+wouldn't hurt me for anything, if he could help it. Oh, Miss Margaret,
+I do believe father means to be steadier for the future!"</p>
+
+<p>"Is he going to be a teetotaler, then?" Margaret inquired eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"No—o," was the dubious reply, "I'm afraid not; but he says he won't
+take more beer than is good for him. Oh, I know he has said that lots
+of times before, but I believe he really means it now. Indeed, he has
+been quite different these last few days—more like what he used to be
+when dear mother was alive."</p>
+
+<p>This was quite true. Mrs. Moyle's words that he would have to choose
+between drink and Salome had made a strong impression upon Josiah, and
+had caused him to notice how much thinner and paler his little daughter
+had become of late. His conscience reproached him on her account,
+for he knew that she was not very strong, and that she worked hard,
+besides which, his unsteady habits were a constant trouble to her. In
+his repentance, he felt capable of denying himself anything for her
+sake—except drink, and that, he solemnly vowed he would take sparingly.</p>
+
+<p>Seeing that Salome was so hopeful that her father meant to live a sober
+life for the future, Margaret had not the heart to express the doubts
+which occupied her mind; but on her return to Greystone, she saw, by
+Mr. Fowler's grave face when she explained the situation to him, that
+he did not believe Josiah's repentance would be lasting, and trembled
+for the safety and happiness of her little lame friend.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think he means to keep his word, and not get intoxicated
+again?" she questioned.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes!" Mr. Fowler replied, "I think he means all he says. But I
+feel sure, if he does not give up drink altogether, it will soon have
+the mastery over him again. I believe he loves Salome very dearly, but
+he loves drink even better than his little daughter, or he would be
+willing to give it up for her sake. Poor Salome! I greatly fear she has
+more trouble in store for her with that father of hers."</p>
+
+<p>This proved to be the case. For before a fortnight had quite elapsed
+since Salome's accident, Josiah was drinking heavily again, and
+spending his evenings at the "Crab and Cockle," as he had done of
+old. His repentance had been of brief duration; and the lame girl's
+face grew pinched, and her dark brown eyes larger and sadder, as her
+father squandered more and more of his earnings at the village inn;
+whilst Silas Moyle grumbled when the Pethericks' bread account remained
+unpaid, and would have stopped the supply, but for Salome.</p>
+
+<p>"The poor little maid looks half-starved as it is," he remarked to his
+wife when she expressed surprise that he took no steps to obtain his
+rights. "Josiah's drinking what ought to be spent on his child; but it
+shall never be said that we begrudged her bread."</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>Mrs. Fowler and Salome.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>WHEN Mrs. Lute returned to N—, she asked and obtained permission
+for Margaret to visit her. The little girl had not appeared very
+well lately, and it was thought a change would do her good, which it
+certainly did, for she came back at the end of a fortnight decidedly
+better in health and spirits.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler greeted Margaret on her return with no very great show of
+pleasure, though secretly, she was delighted to see her looking so
+well. She never told her how glad she was to have her at home again, or
+that she had missed her, as she had actually done. And consequently,
+Margaret was not a little disappointed, and the kiss she gave her
+governess was far warmer than the one she imprinted on her mother's
+fair cheek—a fact Mrs. Fowler did not fail to notice.</p>
+
+<p>"I have forfeited her respect and affection," thought the mother
+bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>"She does not care for me, she never did," thought the child.</p>
+
+<p>So the estrangement between the two grew, till it was patent to
+everybody. Perhaps Mr. Fowler and the governess guessed the cause of
+it; but the servants blamed their mistress, and declared she was so
+wrapped up in Master Gerald, that she had no love to spare for her
+daughter.</p>
+
+<p>On her return to Greystone, Margaret resumed her organ lessons; but she
+was obliged to practise in the afternoons now, as the evenings were
+dark.</p>
+
+<p>The golden touch of autumn was upon everything; the orchards were
+being cleared of their fruit; and the village children scoured the
+country around Yelton for blackberries, and sloes, and mushrooms. At
+the end of September, the fine weather broke up, and was followed by
+the equinoctial gales, which did great damage in the Greystone gardens,
+the fierce wind tearing up shrubs by the roots, and the heavy rains
+beating down the summer flowers which had lingered late in bloom. Mr.
+Fowler braved the fury of the elements, and was out of doors every day;
+but the weather was too rough for the other inmates of Greystone, who
+remained in the house till the gales had passed.</p>
+
+<p>Thus it was, that Margaret and Salome did not see as much of each other
+as they had done hitherto. But one fine October afternoon, the former
+paid the latter a visit, and was shocked to see how worried and ill her
+lame friend was looking.</p>
+
+<p>The truth of the matter was, the bad weather had prevented any fishing
+being done, and Josiah Petherick, having no money in hand, it had been
+extremely short commons for him and Salome. Of course, Salome did not
+intimate this to Margaret, she would have been ashamed to do so; she
+merely said, when questioned, that she had not been very well, and
+turned the conversation to Margaret's late visit to N—.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Lute gives up the house shortly, and returns to London," Margaret
+explained. "But she likes Cornwall so much, that she says she shall try
+to come again next year, if not to N—, then perhaps to some place near.
+By the way, Salome, mother and father are going to London for a few
+days soon. Shan't we be lonely at Greystone without them? Mother says
+she hopes you will come and see her before she goes. Will you?"</p>
+
+<p>Salome assented. She liked Mrs. Fowler, who had always been very kind
+to her, and admired her as much as she had ever done; she considered
+her the nicest, prettiest lady she knew.</p>
+
+<p>So one afternoon, a few days later, found the lame girl entering the
+Greystone grounds. She approached the house slowly, marking the havoc
+the late gales had worked, and went around to the back door, where she
+inquired of the servant who opened it in response to her knock, if Mrs.
+Fowler was at home. She was answered in the affirmative, and invited
+into the big, front kitchen to wait, whilst it was ascertained if the
+mistress was disengaged at present.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down, my dear," said the cook—a stout, middle-aged woman, with a
+round, red face, and a pair of sharp though not unkindly eyes. "There,
+take that easy-chair and rest yourself; maybe the pull up the hill has
+tired you."</p>
+
+<p>She fetched a glass of milk and a big slice of cake, which she placed
+before her visitor. "You'll be better after a little refreshment," she
+added. "I know the mistress would wish you to have it."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, thank you!" Salome replied gratefully, flushing with pleasure, for
+she had had a scanty dinner. She drank the milk and ate the cake, and
+did certainly feel better afterwards.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Margaret's out," the cook remarked. "She's gone for a walk with
+Miss Conway and Master Gerald. But I daresay, she'll be back before
+long. She'd be sorry to miss you, my dear, for you're a rare favourite
+of hers, I can tell you."</p>
+
+<p>Salome smiled happily, as she replied, "I am so glad to hear you say
+that, for I love her dearly. I expect you're very fond of her yourself,
+aren't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe she's a general favourite—but no, I'm wrong there. There's
+one in the house who doesn't appreciate her, and that's her own mother.
+Yes, you may well look surprised, but I assure you it's true. Mrs.
+Fowler doesn't make half as much of Miss Margaret as she does of Master
+Gerald—tiresome boy that he is. She wanted to take him to town with
+her, if you please, but the master won't allow that. I heard them
+talking about it in the garden. 'We'll take Margaret, if you like,'
+he said. 'No,' said she, 'I don't want Margaret.' She never does want
+her, and that's the fact, and yet, I believe there's not anything Miss
+Margaret would not do for her."</p>
+
+<p>The cook, who was an extremely garrulous person, paused breathlessly
+for a few moments, then proceeded: "And such a pretty, nice-mannered
+little girl Miss Margaret is too. I declare it's a shame her own mother
+shouldn't love her more. It puzzles me, that it does, why it should be
+so."</p>
+
+<p>Salome had listened in pain and surprise, wondering if this accounted
+for the sad expression which she had so often noticed on Margaret's
+pretty face. Was this the trouble that could not be told?</p>
+
+<p>Before, however, she had time to make a reply, Ross entered the
+kitchen, and said her mistress would like Salome to join her in the
+drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>The lame girl found Mrs. Fowler alone, sitting by the fire, for though
+the weather was not actually cold, the day was dull, and the warmth was
+pleasant. Mrs. Fowler was very glad to have a visitor, and made Salome
+sit down near her and talk.</p>
+
+<p>"My husband and I are going up to town the day after to-morrow," she
+said, "and I wanted to see you before I went. You must stay until the
+others return and have some tea."</p>
+
+<p>Salome explained that the cook had already given her milk and cake;
+but Mrs. Fowler smilingly declared she knew she would be ready for tea
+when tea-time came, which would not be for another hour. She continued
+to talk pleasantly and easily, whilst the lame girl listened; and
+by-and-by, when Salome was questioned kindly and sympathetically as
+to the reason of her wan looks, she confessed, with some hesitation,
+however, that it was very tight times with her and her father at home.</p>
+
+<p>"The weather has been so bad that no boats have been able to go out,"
+she said; "and—" lowering her voice and colouring scarlet—"father's
+been worse than usual lately, and—and—he owes money to Silas Moyle, and
+how can we ever hope to pay it, if he spends so much at the 'Crab and
+Cockle'? It almost seems as though he doesn't care. And every day, I'm
+afraid Silas will say he won't let us have any more bread. Oh, it's
+dreadful—it's all through the drink, ma'am. Father'd be such a dear,
+good father if it wasn't for that."</p>
+
+<p>"And you really love him in spite of the way in which he goes on?" Mrs.
+Fowler asked wonderingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, ma'am, indeed I do!" was the earnest reply. "Whatever father
+did, I think I should love him just the same."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know how you can, I'm sure; I believe if I were you, I should
+lose all patience with him. Think how selfish he is, how inconsiderate
+for your comfort, how violent—"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but that's only when he's been drinking!" Salome interposed
+hastily. "Father isn't like that really; it's only when the drink's in
+him, that he's all you say. If he would but give up the drink, he and I
+should be as happy as the day is long. Oh, I shall never cease hoping
+and praying that some day he may become a teetotaler! If I could get
+him to take the pledge, I believe all would be well."</p>
+
+<p>"Meanwhile, he is wearing you to death, poor child. Well, don't cease
+to pray for him. God knows he needs all your prayers."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler sighed deeply, whilst she gazed sadly and thoughtfully into
+the fire. She was silent so long that Salome thought she must have
+forgotten her presence; but suddenly she glanced at her with a smile
+and asked, "How is Margaret getting on with her knitting?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, very well, ma'am!" was the reply. "But I am afraid she will not
+come so frequently now the winter days are at hand. Besides, father is
+oftener at home."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler nodded. She put her hand into her pocket and drew therefrom
+her purse, as she inquired, "How much is it your father owes Silas
+Moyle?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nearly eighteen shillings," Salome admitted. "I know it's a lot of
+money," she added deprecatingly.</p>
+
+<p>"A lot of money!" Mrs. Fowler echoed with a faint, amused smile as she
+opened her purse and took out a sovereign. "Here, my dear," she said,
+pressing the coin into her visitor's hand, "you will be able to pay
+your bread account now. Yes, it is for you—a present—put it in your
+pocket."</p>
+
+<p>Salome was so astonished that she could find no words in which to
+speak her thanks; but her expressive eyes spoke for her, and told how
+deeply thankful she felt. She tied the sovereign up in one corner
+of her handkerchief, which she placed inside the bosom of her frock
+for greater safety. And then, having overcome her first sensation of
+intense surprise, she exclaimed, "Oh, ma'am, thank you! How good and
+kind you are! Oh, what will father say when he knows! It will be such
+a relief to be able to pay Silas Moyle, for we never owed him quite so
+much before. Oh, I shall be grateful to you as long as ever I live!"</p>
+
+<p>"There, there, say no more about it. I am glad it is in my power to
+lift a little of the load of trouble from your young shoulders; your
+heaviest trial is beyond the reach of human aid. But oh! Go on loving
+your father, child, if you can, for he must want all your affection, I
+am sure."</p>
+
+<p>To Salome's astonishment, she saw there were tears in Mrs. Fowler's
+blue eyes, and that her face was quivering with strong emotion. Before
+more could be said, however, Gerald flung open the door and rushed
+into the room, followed at a more decorous pace by his sister and Miss
+Conway, and a little later the master of the house appeared upon the
+scene.</p>
+
+<p>No one would hear of Salome's leaving, till she had had tea, so she
+remained. And afterwards, she willingly consented to sing, so that it
+was quite dark before she left Greystone; and Mrs. Fowler insisted on
+sending a servant to see her home in safety.</p>
+
+<p>Josiah Petherick was not sober that night, but the next morning,
+his daughter told him of the present Mrs. Fowler had made her, and
+expressed her determination of paying the baker that day. Nor would she
+hear of her father's settling the account, for, alas! she knew that he
+was not to be trusted. And that if she let him have the money, he would
+be more likely to betake himself to the "Crab and Cockle" than to Silas
+Moyle's shop.</p>
+
+<p>"The truth is, you won't trust me," he said bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't, father," she answered, the sound of tears in her voice. "You
+know I can't. Mrs. Fowler gave me the money on purpose for our bread
+account, and I must know it's paid. Oh, it was kind of her!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it was," he admitted, adding with unexpected candour, "There
+never should have been need for her to do it; but your father's a
+good-for-naught. Yes, Salome, that's what everybody says. Folks pity
+you an' blame me. I know Mrs. Fowler has done this for your sake."</p>
+
+<p>"And for yours too, father. Oh, yes, I am certain of that. She told me
+to go on loving you, and—"</p>
+
+<p>"Did she though?" Josiah interposed in extreme surprise. "Well, you do
+amaze me. She's a real kind lady, anyway, and has proved herself our
+true friend."</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>A Stormy Night.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"HARK! What's that, Miss Conway? It sounds like a dog howling. There it
+is again!" And the speaker, Margaret Fowler, put down the book she had
+been reading, and rising from her chair by the fireplace, went to the
+window, and peered into the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>The governess and her two pupils were spending the hours between
+tea-time and supper in the schoolroom at Greystone. A very pleasant
+apartment it was, comfortably carpeted and curtained, with a bright
+wood fire burning in the grate. Miss Conway glanced up from her
+needlework as Margaret spoke, whilst Gerald ceased playing with the cat
+on the hearthrug and listened for a few moments.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't hear anything," the latter said.</p>
+
+<p>He turned his attention to his playfellow again, but puss was tired
+and had no desire to prolong the game. In vain, he dangled a piece
+of string before her eyes to entice her to spring at it. She had had
+enough of him, and sat on the hearthrug, complacently washing her face
+and blinking in the firelight.</p>
+
+<p>"Selfish thing!" he exclaimed, "I—oh, yes, I do hear something now!"
+And he joined his sister at the window.</p>
+
+<p>The sound which fell upon the ears of the listeners was like the low
+wail of some animal in distress. Margaret's fair cheeks paled as she
+listened, for there was something eerie in the faint, indistinct sound.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think it's a dog," said Miss Conway doubtfully. "No, I believe
+it's the wind rising. If so, we shall have a wild night. Let us open
+the window and make certain what it is."</p>
+
+<p>They did so; and then ascertained that it was indeed the wind which
+they heard. The night was pitch dark, with heavy clouds overhead. It
+had been a still, sombre, autumn day, with that hush in the air which
+generally portends a storm. Now, the wind was rising, whilst the
+breakers could be heard dashing against the base of the cliffs.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it is only the wind," Miss Conway decided. "How mournful it
+sounds. Shut the window, children, and come back to the fire. How
+thankful we should be that we have a good roof over our heads! Gerald,
+don't tease the cat, my dear; she doesn't want to play any more."</p>
+
+<p>"Josiah Petherick said this afternoon that we were going to have a
+storm," Gerald remarked. "I saw him on the beach, tarring his boat.
+None of the fishermen had gone to sea."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose they considered the weather too uncertain?" Miss Conway
+interrogated.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," the boy replied. "Father says they are all very weather-wise. I
+don't mind a storm, do you, Miss Conway? I wonder if there will be a
+wreck."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I sincerely trust not!" the governess exclaimed hastily.</p>
+
+<p>"I should like to see a wreck," Gerald informed her. "Josiah Petherick
+has seen several, and he has saved the lives of heaps of people. He
+must be a very brave man. I don't believe he's afraid of anything.
+Can't we have our supper upstairs to-night instead of in the
+dining-room? It's so jolly and cosy here."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Conway assented. Mr. and Mrs. Fowler were in London, and the house
+seemed dull without them. Margaret had taken up her book again; but
+she was not reading, for the sound of the rising gale distracted her
+attention and made her feel restless and uneasy.</p>
+
+<p>"If we have a storm, perhaps there will be a wreck," Gerald proceeded
+presently. "It is so dark, that I should not be surprised, should you,
+Miss Conway, if a ship ran on the rocks?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Gerald, pray don't suggest such a probability!" she cried, with a
+shudder.</p>
+
+<p>"If there was a wreck, would you let me go down to the beach?" he
+inquired eagerly. "Say you would, Miss Conway!"</p>
+
+<p>"I shall certainly say no such thing. If there was a wreck—which God
+forbid!—I should insist on your remaining in the house. Nothing would
+induce me to give you permission to go out in a storm. But we need not
+speak of it. Ring the bell, Gerald, and I will order supper."</p>
+
+<p>The boy obeyed, though with a cloud on his brow; he realised argument
+was of no avail when his governess spoke in that decided tone. After
+supper, he went to bed at his usual time, and forgetful of the rising
+storm, and the prospect of a wreck, was soon asleep. Miss Conway and
+Margaret sat up till ten o'clock, alternately talking and listening
+to the wind, which was now howling dolefully around the house, almost
+driving in the window-panes, and mingling its sobs and wails with the
+angry roar of the sea; and then they, too, retired to their respective
+rooms. The gale increased in fury however, and then came the rain.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, the villagers were all alert, for there was little rest for
+anyone at Yelton on such a night as this, with a westerly gale raging,
+and the sea like great walls of foam. The fishermen hesitated to seek
+their beds, whilst some of the most venturesome braved the furious
+wind and the heavy rain, which was now descending in torrents, and
+kept watch by the sea-shore, their hearts anxiously expectant, as they
+recalled similar occasions when their assistance had been required to
+help those in peril on the sea.</p>
+
+<p>In the Pethericks' cottage, Salome stood by the kitchen window,
+listening to the storm, and patiently waiting for her father. He was
+not at the "Crab and Cockle," she was certain of that, but on the
+beach; and she felt no anxiety about him. He was accustomed to rough
+weather; and on such a night as this, she knew he would be his true
+self—brave, fearless, and reliable. As was her custom when alone, she
+was singing softly:</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<br>
+"Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O'er the world's tempestuous sea;<br>
+&nbsp;Guide us, guard us, keep us, feed us,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For we have no help but Thee,<br>
+&nbsp;Yet possessing every blessing<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;If our God our Father be."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>Seen by the subdued light of the lamp in the centre of the table, the
+little girl's face wore a look of great contentment. For the time, she
+had forgotten how troublous was her life, as her soul rose on the wings
+of faith to an altitude which set her far above the trials of this
+world. She sang the hymn from beginning to end in a soft undertone,
+with the wailing wind for an accompanyment; then, opening the window,
+she thrust out her head and listened. She heard hurrying footsteps
+passing the cottage, and men's hoarse voices shouting.</p>
+
+<p>"Who goes there?" Salome cried. "Is anything amiss?"</p>
+
+<p>"I hope nothing is wrong," she thought, as she received no answer; "but
+I suppose they are obliged to shout to make themselves heard."</p>
+
+<p>She tried in vain to pierce the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>"If a vessel had been in distress, the crew would fire guns, or send up
+rockets," she reflected.</p>
+
+<p>The rain beat against her face, so she drew back from the window,
+which she shut, and turned her attention to the fire, remembering that
+her father would certainly return drenched to the skin. Suddenly the
+cottage door was flung open, and Margaret Fowler, hatless, and with her
+fair hair hanging around her face, stood before her.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Salome!" she gasped breathlessly. "Is he here? Have you seen
+Gerald?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, miss. What is wrong?"</p>
+
+<p>"We've lost Gerald, and I thought he might have come here. All the
+servants are looking for him, and Miss Conway too. Oh, what shall we
+do? He went to bed as usual, and was fast asleep at ten o'clock, but
+when Miss Conway peeped into his room half-an-hour ago, to see if the
+storm had disturbed him, his bed was empty. He had dressed, and we
+believe, he must have gone out."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps he is somewhere hiding in the house," Salome suggested.
+"Surely he would not go out on a night like this."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I think he would. He wanted so much to see a wreck—he seemed
+to have made up his mind there would be one to-night—and he is quite
+fearless."</p>
+
+<p>"I expect he is safe. Oh, how wet you are, Miss Margaret!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and the wind blew away my hat coming down the hill, but no
+matter. Oh, where can Gerald have gone? I believe he must be on the
+beach."</p>
+
+<p>"If he is, father will be sure to notice him and take care of him,"
+Salome said consolingly. "Don't be frightened, miss; I feel sure Master
+Gerald will come to no harm."</p>
+
+<p>"If he does, it will kill mother!" Margaret cried, despairingly. "She
+loves him so dearly. No, I mustn't stay; I must go and find Gerald if I
+can;" and opening the door, she rushed away into the darkness again.</p>
+
+<p>After a few minutes of indecision, Salome put on her jacket, tied a
+shawl around her head, and leaving the cottage door unlocked, hastened
+towards the beach. She had not gone far, however, before she came upon
+a group of fishermen, one of whom was her father. She explained that
+the little boy from Greystone was missing from his home, but no one
+had seen him. Her father was vexed that she had ventured out in such a
+storm, and peremptorily ordered her to return.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll look around an' see if I can find Master Gerald," he said. "But
+he'll come to no harm, I warrant."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I am so glad to hear you say that!"</p>
+
+<p>It was Margaret who spoke. She had been led in the direction of the
+group by the sound of voices; and clutched Josiah by the arm to steady
+herself, as a fierce gust of wind nearly took her off her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you go back with Salome, miss," he said. "This is no fit place for
+you two little maids. I promise I'll look for Master Gerald, and find
+him, too, if he's hereabouts."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, thank you!" Margaret replied earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>She was really nearly done up with battling against the wind and the
+rain, so she raised no objection to returning with Salome. The little
+girls reached the cottage in safety, and upon entering, found Miss
+Conway in the kitchen. Having knocked in vain at the door, she had
+tried to open it, and finding it unlocked, had gone in; she too had
+thought it possible that Gerald might be there.</p>
+
+<p>"If he's on the beach, father will find him, you may depend upon that,"
+Salome assured her. "And he will bring him straight here. I fear you
+will both catch dreadful colds," and she glanced commiseratingly from
+Margaret to the governess.</p>
+
+<p>"We shan't mind that, so long as Gerald is safe," Margaret returned.
+She was shivering and her teeth were chattering, as much with fright on
+her brother's account as with cold. "Oh, Miss Conway, what shall we do
+if anything has happened to him? Mother will never forgive us if—"</p>
+
+<p>"Dear Margaret, don't be morbid; neither you nor I have been to
+blame," Miss Conway reminded her. "If harm has come to your brother,
+it has been through no fault of ours. Who would imagine that he would
+deliberately get up and dress and steal out of the house unknown to
+anyone? Whatever the result of this mad freak of his proves to be, will
+have been his own doing."</p>
+
+<p>"It is terrible to think what may have happened to him. The wind is
+high enough to blow him into the sea if he is really on the beach. Oh,
+mother will hate the sight of me for ever, if Gerald is drowned!" And
+Margaret burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't, dear, don't!" Miss Conway said imploringly.</p>
+
+<p>"You know it is true," Margaret cried passionately. "If I was killed,
+mother would not care—not much; but Gerald is as the apple of her eye."</p>
+
+<p>Before any answer could be made to this, the cottage door opened, and
+Josiah strode into the kitchen, bearing Gerald in his arms. He had
+discovered the little boy crouched in the shelter of a boat which had
+been drawn high up on the beach, out of the reach of the tide.</p>
+
+<p>"There is no wreck," Gerald said disgustedly, as Josiah set him down on
+the floor, "and I'm cold and wet, and should like to go home."</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_15">CHAPTER XV.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>Trouble at Greystone.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>FOR once, Gerald had gone too far, as he discovered on the following
+day, when, for punishment, his governess insisted on keeping him
+locked up in his bedroom. In vain, he cried and protested against such
+treatment, Miss Conway was like adamant, and the boy had perforce
+to endure twenty-four hours of solitary confinement with no one to
+speak to, no one to play with, and nothing to do. A more salutary
+mode of punishment could not have been devised; and in consequence,
+Gerald appeared at the breakfast-table on the morning following his
+imprisonment, in a subdued and repentant frame of mind. He said he was
+sorry for his past conduct; but he could not extract a promise from
+either Miss Conway or Margaret that his father should not be informed
+of the anxiety and trouble he had caused the whole household.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret had caught a severe cold on the night of the storm, and spent
+the next few days shivering over the schoolroom fire, too unwell for
+lessons. Gerald's escapade had been a shock to her; she was overwrought
+and languid, and when, on the morning of the day that Mr. and Mrs.
+Fowler were expected home, she began to dress she felt so shaky that
+she went back to bed again.</p>
+
+<p>"Not up yet, Margaret?" asked Miss Conway's voice outside the door,
+half-an-hour later.</p>
+
+<p>"No," was the reply. "I am so sorry, but my cold is very bad, and I
+have such a dreadful headache."</p>
+
+<p>The governess entered the room immediately on hearing this and
+approached the bed. After kissing Margaret with affectionate concern,
+she felt her pulse and declared her to be a little feverish.</p>
+
+<p>"Stay where you are, my dear," she said kindly. "Why, you're shivering.
+Ross shall bring you a hot-water bottle for your feet and light the
+fire; then, I have no doubt, if you lie in bed and nurse your cold, you
+will soon be better."</p>
+
+<p>"I am so vexed, because mother and father are coming home to-night,"
+Margaret sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"I daresay you will be well enough to get up by the evening," Miss
+Conway responded hopefully. "I shall be with Gerald as usual, but
+I shall tell Ross to devote herself to you. If you want me, do not
+hesitate to send for me."</p>
+
+<p>Margaret could eat no breakfast, but she took a few sips of the milk
+Ross brought her a short while later, and afterwards fell into an
+uneasy sleep. The maid, moving about softly, lit the fire and dusted
+the room, then turned her attention to the flushed face on the pillow.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor little thing, she does look poorly," she murmured. "And it's all
+on account of that tiresome child, Master Gerald. 'Tis a shame of the
+mistress to spoil him so; everyone can see but her that she's ruining
+him, allowing him his own way as she does."</p>
+
+<p>Margaret moved restlessly and began to mutter. Ross bent over her,
+and caught the sound of Gerald's name. She laid her cool hand softly
+against the little girl's cheek and felt how it burnt.</p>
+
+<p>"She's very feverish," she thought. "I do hope she isn't going to be
+really ill. A nice home-coming it will be for master, if she is. I
+wonder if the mistress would trouble much?"</p>
+
+<p>Roes moved away to the fireplace, and taking up some sewing-work,
+stitched industriously, every now and again glancing towards the
+restless sleeper.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the little girl uttered a shriek and sprang up in bed,
+whereupon Ross dropped her work and hastened to the bedside.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, dear?" she asked, putting her arms around Margaret's
+quivering form. "You've had a bad dream, I expect—but it was only a
+dream. See, now, don't tremble so, you're perfectly safe with Ross."</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Gerald?" Margaret demanded in a strange, hoarse voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Doing his lessons with Miss Conway."</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Gerald?" the little girl reiterated.</p>
+
+<p>Ross repeated her former answer, but it did not appear to satisfy
+Margaret.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me go and look for him," she said in a tone of distress.</p>
+
+<p>"No, dear; you're not well, you must lie down again."</p>
+
+<p>"You won't let me go!" Margaret struggled a minute in Ross' restraining
+arms, then sank back on the pillow. "I know why you won't let me go,"
+she cried; "he's dead. He's drowned."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, darling, he's perfectly safe. Dear Miss Margaret, you've been
+dreaming."</p>
+
+<p>"He's drowned!" the little girl insisted. "And who's going to tell
+mother? Oh, it will kill her!"</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Margaret, I solemnly declare Master Gerald's living and well,"
+said Ross, growing more and more concerned. "I wouldn't tell you a
+story, why should I? You're poorly, dear, and you've had a bad dream."</p>
+
+<p>But Margaret wandered on: "Listen to the rain beating against the
+window, and the wind howling. And Gerald is out in it all! If he is on
+the beach, he will be blown into the sea. Look at that great wave! Oh,
+it has carried him away!" and she uttered a heartrending cry.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a lovely day," Ross assured her; "the sun is shining, and the
+sea is quite blue and calm. You've been dreaming about the storm, miss,
+and fancying all sorts of horrors that never happened."</p>
+
+<p>Margaret's blue eyes, wide open, were fixed upon Ross' face, but she
+evidently had not followed what the woman had said, for after a short
+silence she began to mutter distressfully about Gerald again.</p>
+
+<p>Ross was now exceedingly alarmed. She rang the bell, and sent for Miss
+Conway, who, in her turn, tried to pacify the sick child. But Margaret
+paid no more attention to her governess than she had to Ross.</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid she is going to be very ill," Miss Conway said in much
+distress. "All her trouble seems to be about her brother. Fetch him,
+Ross; perhaps the sight of him will satisfy her."</p>
+
+<p>So Gerald was brought to his sister's bedside. He was somewhat
+frightened when told Margaret was ill; but in obedience to Miss Conway,
+he stooped over the bed to kiss her. She, however, pushed him away with
+feverish strength, and covered her eyes with her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Take him away!" she cried. "What is that strange boy doing here?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's Gerald, dear Margaret," said the governess softly. "Your own
+brother come to show you that he is quite well, and—"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no; Gerald's drowned, I tell you! Oh, what will mother say? She
+loves him so."</p>
+
+<p>At this point, Gerald, realising that there was something very strange
+and unusual about his sister, began to cry, and was hurried out of the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>Thoroughly shocked, Miss Conway sent a groom to N— immediately, to
+fetch a doctor; and within a few hours, the news had spread through
+the village of Yelton that the little girl at Greystone was very ill.
+Mr. Amyatt, as soon as he heard the tidings, considerately invited
+Gerald to spend the remainder of the day at the Vicarage; and Salome
+Petherick arrived at the back door of Greystone in the afternoon to
+make inquiries.</p>
+
+<p>The cook, who had been stewing beef-tea, insisted on Salome's coming
+inside and resting in her easy-chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Moyle told me of Miss Margaret's illness," the lame girl said,
+her face expressive of the deepest concern. "I hope it is nothing
+serious?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid it is, my dear," was the grave rejoinder. "It's
+inflammation of the lungs. Dr. Vawdry has been here from N—, and he's
+coming again this evening. He says she's very ill; and if Mr. and Mrs.
+Fowler had not been returning to-night, they'd have been telegraphed
+for. Oh, dear, dear, I do trust the poor child's life may be spared!
+She's not been well for days, not since the night of the storm, when
+Master Gerald led us all such a dance after him. He's the one to be
+blamed for this. For once, I should think the mistress would see that."</p>
+
+<p>And the woman poked the fire viciously, as though the act was a vent
+for her feelings. "She's the nicest, sweetest, little creature I ever
+knew is Miss Margaret," she proceeded, "with always a kind word for
+us servants. Ross says she doesn't recognise anyone; she didn't know
+Master Gerald, and her incessant cry is that he is drowned. If only
+Miss Conway had turned the key in his bedroom door on the night of the
+storm. She kept him locked up the next day, and it broke his rebellious
+spirit—quite. She'd soon get him under subjection if his mother didn't
+pamper him so. Don't you take on, now, about Miss Margaret, my dear;
+maybe she'll get over this attack all right. She's young and healthy,
+and she'll have good nursing, and everything money can buy. I ordered
+some lean, gravy beef the minute I heard she was ill, but the doctor
+won't allow her anything but milk and soda water, so there's plenty of
+strong beef-tea going begging, and you'd better have a cupful. Will you
+have bread with it? Yes. I'm sure it will do you good."</p>
+
+<p>Salome was very glad of some refreshment. She took the beef-tea,
+whilst the cook talked on without waiting for replies; but when she
+rose to go, having learnt all there was to know, her heart was very
+heavy indeed. Her eyes were full of unshed tears as she passed out of
+the Greystone grounds, and commenced her descent of the hill. As she
+went by the church, she wondered if she would ever hear Miss Margaret
+practising on the organ again.</p>
+
+<p>And she was so engrossed with her sorrowful thoughts, that she was
+startled when, on reaching the Vicarage gate, a voice addressed her
+from inside. "Hi, Salome! Where have you been?"</p>
+
+<p>She paused and looked at the speaker, Gerald Fowler, who was peering
+at her laughingly between the bars of the gate. The boy was in high
+spirits at being the Vicar's guest, and he had not been informed that
+his sister was really seriously ill. He had been frightened when
+Margaret had failed to recognise him, but the impression he had then
+received had passed, and he was delighted at having this unexpected
+holiday.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image005" style="max-width: 25.8125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image005.jpg" alt="image005">
+</figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>"YOU'D BETTER MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS,</b><br>
+<b>SALOME PETHERICK."</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"I've been to Greystone, Master Gerald," Salome returned quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"To see Margaret, I suppose? She's ill, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and I am so grieved and sorry."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I expect she'll soon be better!" Gerald remarked confidently.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope so," the lame girl replied dubiously. "But the doctor says she
+has inflammation of the lungs."</p>
+
+<p>"Does that ever kill people, Salome?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Master Gerald, very often."</p>
+
+<p>"But Margaret won't die, will she? You don't think that, do you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No one can tell—but God. We must ask Him to take care of her. Oh,
+Master Gerald, see what has come of your ill conduct!"</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?" he inquired in amazement. "It isn't my fault that
+Margaret's ill."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, indeed it is! If you had not gone down to the beach on the
+night of the storm, she would not have got drenched to the skin and
+have caught such a dreadful cold. Oh, yes, it was your fault!" And
+Salome looked at him severely.</p>
+
+<p>His blue eyes filled with sudden tears, and his rosy cheeks paled as he
+gasped, "Oh, I never thought—I never thought—"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't suppose you did, Master Gerald, or if you did, it was
+yourself you thought of and no one else," Salome cried indignantly.
+"You 're the most selfish little boy I know."</p>
+
+<p>"You 're very unkind, and—and nasty."</p>
+
+<p>"I daresay you think I am; but I love Miss Margaret, and I know you've
+been the cause of her illness. I wonder what your mother and father
+will say."</p>
+
+<p>"Mother will say it was not my fault," Gerald declared stoutly. "I
+couldn't tell Margaret would be silly enough to go to look for me; and
+I think you'd better mind your own business, Salome Petherick," he
+concluded.</p>
+
+<p>He was impressed by the lame girl's plain speaking, and put on a show
+of anger to hide the fact.</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head at him gravely, as she turned away from the Vicarage
+gate and went down the hill.</p>
+
+<p>When she reached home, she lit the fire and boiled the kettle for
+tea, and by that time her father had appeared upon the scene, having
+had a good catch of fish. His face grew grave when Salome told him of
+Margaret's illness, and he expressed great regret, for he was grateful
+to the Fowlers for the notice they had taken of his child. And he
+volunteered to go to Greystone later on and inquire for the poor little
+sufferer. This he accordingly did, and brought back the news that
+Dr. Vawdry had visited the patient again, and had declared her to be
+dangerously ill, but that Mr. and Mrs. Fowler had not yet come. The
+carriage had gone to N— to meet them at the railway station, as had
+been arranged, and they were expected very soon now.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't take on so, my dear," said Josiah kindly, as he noticed Salome's
+brown eyes full of tears. "The little maid'll pull through, please
+God. I am grieved about her though—s'pose 'twas you," and he looked at
+his child with great affection as he reflected on the uncertainty of
+life. And because it would please her, and with the laudable desire
+of keeping her from dwelling too much on the thought of Margaret's
+illness, he spent the evening in her company, and that night his
+associates at the "Crab and Cockle" looked for him in vain.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_16">CHAPTER XVI.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>Days of Sickness.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>IT was nearly ten o'clock when Mr. and Mrs. Fowler reached Greystone
+that autumn night. Without waiting for assistance, the latter sprang
+out of the carriage and ran into the house, and almost into the arms
+of Miss Conway, who had come down from the sick-room to meet the
+travellers.</p>
+
+<p>"What is this I hear about Margaret?" Mrs. Fowler inquired, excitedly
+clutching the governess by the arm, and scanning her pale countenance
+with anxiety. "I am told she is ill. It is nothing much, I suppose?
+What ails her? A cold?"</p>
+
+<p>"She certainly did catch cold," Miss Conway rejoined in a grave tone,
+looking from Mrs. Fowler to her husband, who had quickly followed her.
+"She has been poorly for several days, but this morning she was taken
+much worse, and I sent immediately for Dr. Vawdry from N—. He has been
+twice during the day, and—and—" this in a faltering voice—"she is very
+ill with inflammation of the lungs. We are poulticing her; Ross is with
+her now, and—and—I'm so very glad you've come!" And, overwrought with
+anxiety, she burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Come into the drawing-room, Miss Conway," Mr. Fowler said kindly. "No,
+my dear," he continued, laying a restraining hand upon his wife who had
+turned to rush upstairs, "let us hear all details about Margaret first
+of all. Besides, you must not allow her to see you looking frightened
+and distressed."</p>
+
+<p>"She would take no notice," Miss Conway said mournfully. "She
+recognises nobody, and is quite delirious. Dr. Vawdry says that need
+not alarm us, though, for it's frequently the case in inflammation of
+the lungs."</p>
+
+<p>"What has caused her illness?" Mrs. Fowler asked, as she followed the
+others into the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Conway wiped away her tears, and in a few minutes was sufficiently
+composed to explain all that had happened. When she had finished her
+story, Mr. Fowler inquired, "Where is Gerald now?"</p>
+
+<p>"In bed and asleep, I am thankful to say," Miss Conway answered. "Mr.
+Amyatt had him at the Vicarage until eight o'clock, when he brought him
+home. He begged me to allow him to sit up to see you, but I insisted on
+his having his supper and going to bed."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite right." Mr. Fowler's face was very stern, and he would not meet
+the glance of his wife's appealing eyes. "We see now the result of
+indulgence," he added emphatically. "Had Gerald been taught obedience
+and consideration for other people, this trouble would never have come
+upon us."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler quailed beneath the mingled reproach and reproof of her
+husband's tone; for once she had no excuse to make for her favourite
+child. She had spent a very pleasant time in London, where she had met
+many old friends, including Mrs. Lute; but she had not been sorry to
+return to Greystone, acknowledging to herself that the quiet, healthful
+life there suited her. With her husband's presence to strengthen her,
+it had not been so very difficult to refuse stimulants when they had
+been offered to her. She was fully conscious of her own weakness now,
+and no longer deceived herself, as she had formerly done, with the
+fallacious idea that a little wine or spirit was good for her.</p>
+
+<p>When she recalled how, during her husband's brief absence from home a
+few weeks previously, she had been tempted from the mere fact of having
+taken one glass of wine to purchase a bottle of brandy, and drink it
+by stealth, she was obliged to confess that total abstinence from all
+intoxicating liquors was the only course for her to adopt to prevent
+the ruin of her happiness, and that of those she loved. At Greystone,
+she felt she was out of temptation's way. The news of her little
+daughter's illness, which had been imparted to her and Mr. Fowler at
+N—, had startled and shocked her immeasurably; and she had begged the
+coachman to drive home as quickly as possible, which he had accordingly
+done.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret was lying in a kind of stupor when her parents entered her
+bedroom, and they were careful not to disturb her. Mr. Fowler saw she
+was very ill, and his heart ached as he bent over her and listened to
+her laboured breathing. Glancing at his wife, he was astonished at the
+expression of her countenance, for, like everyone else, he had never
+thought she had cared for Margaret overmuch. But all the mother's love
+was alive in Mrs. Fowler at that moment, shining in her blue eyes, and
+illuminating her fair face with additional beauty.</p>
+
+<p>Anxious days and nights followed, during which Margaret lay between
+life and death. Her mother constituted herself head nurse, and showed
+wonderful ability in that capacity. Naturally a nervous, excitable
+woman, it was quite wonderful how she put a check upon her feelings,
+and was calm, and capable, and seemingly untiring. It was nothing to
+Margaret, at that time, who was attending to her, for she was utterly
+unconscious, sometimes in a drowsy condition, sometimes murmuring
+distressfully, going over again all that had happened on the night of
+the storm, always with the impression in her mind that Gerald had been
+drowned.</p>
+
+<p>"Who will tell mother?" she demanded again and again in an agony of
+grief. "She loves him so! He is her favourite."</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Gerald had been taken to task by his father for his conduct
+on the night of the storm. Mr. Fowler took no steps to punish him,
+but he talked to him so seriously, and pointed out to him that he was
+responsible for his sister's illness, that Gerald was reduced to tears,
+and for the first time in his life, on seeking his mother's support and
+sympathy, he found both lacking.</p>
+
+<p>"The blame is all yours," she told him gravely. "What your father has
+said to you is perfectly true."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mother, don't you think Margaret will get well again?" he asked
+with quivering lips, for beneath a veneer of selfishness, he owned an
+affectionate heart, and he was really much attached to his sister.</p>
+
+<p>"Only God knows that," was the solemn reply.</p>
+
+<p>"That's what Salome Petherick says," he remarked tearfully. "She was
+here inquiring for Margaret at the back door this morning. She comes
+every day, and she said all I could do was to pray."</p>
+
+<p>"She was right, Gerald; your sister is in God's hands. The doctor can
+do nothing for her—he has acknowledged that; but oh, my son, pray for
+her! Pray for her!"</p>
+
+<p>The little boy was greatly impressed by the solemnity of his mother's
+tone, and impetuously flinging his arms around her neck, he assured
+her, he would be a better boy for the future, and that he would pray to
+God to make his sister well. He was having a holiday from lessons, for
+Miss Conway was assisting Mrs. Fowler and Ross with the nursing, and so
+he spent most of his time with his father, from whom he had begged and
+obtained forgiveness for his past misbehaviour.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I forgive you, Gerald," Mr. Fowler had said sadly. "But you see,
+wrongdoing always brings its own punishment," he had added, noting the
+little boy's troubled countenance, and making a shrewd guess as to the
+state of his feelings with regard to Margaret.</p>
+
+<p>The servants crept quietly about the house speaking in hushed tones,
+for the angel of death seemed hovering near; and those who loved
+Margaret Fowler waited and watched unwearyingly. A second doctor from
+Plymouth had visited the patient. But he had agreed with Dr. Vawdry
+that nothing more could be done for her, and that it was merely a
+question of whether or not her strength would hold out and vanquish the
+disease.</p>
+
+<p>At last, the crisis came. And then, the glad news that the little
+sufferer was sleeping quietly and naturally was whispered through the
+house, and spread to the Vicarage, and from thence to the village,
+where Salome Petherick heard the good tidings in Silas Moyle's shop,
+and returned home with a joyful, thankful heart.</p>
+
+<p>The golden, autumn days were passing swiftly now, and there was a sharp
+feeling in the air in the morning, but a few hardy flowers lingered
+in Salome's garden; a big bush fuchsia which grew beneath the kitchen
+window was still in bloom, and the verbena close to the porch had not
+commenced to shed its leaves, whilst the white chrysanthemums which
+flourished year by year in the shelter of the wall which protected the
+garden on the side nearest to the sea were in full flower. The lame
+girl gathered a posy, and took it up to Greystone, where she left it at
+the back door with a request that it might be given to Miss Margaret,
+if she was well enough to receive it. She declined an invitation to
+rest awhile, saying she must hurry home to get her father's tea.</p>
+
+<p>So it came to pass, that when Margaret awoke from her refreshing sleep,
+she was conscious of a delightful perfume, and opening her eyes, they
+rested on a homely nosegay, composed of chrysanthemums, intermingled
+with sprigs of verbena, and drooping fuchsia sprays. The flowers lay on
+the counterpane, but when she tried to put out her hand to reach them,
+she found she could not. Then the bed curtain stirred, and she saw a
+face bending over her—a beautiful face full of love and a great joy.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother," she said weakly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my dear," was the soft reply. "You have been ill, but you are
+better, and have had such a nice, long sleep. I want you to drink this
+milk and then go to sleep again."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler slipped her arm beneath the pillow, and gently raised the
+little girl's head, whilst she held a cup to her lips. Margaret took a
+few sips of milk, but refused more.</p>
+
+<p>"The flowers," she said, as her mother laid her head down again.</p>
+
+<p>"Salome sent them to you with her love."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler placed the nosegay close to Margaret's hand, and her thin
+fingers fastened around the stems of the flowers, then her tired eyes
+closed, and she slept once more.</p>
+
+<p>From that hour, Margaret commenced to recover. For days, she was too
+weak to move hand or foot—too weak almost to think; but by-and-by, with
+returning strength, she began to notice more what was going on around
+her. The tormenting thought that Gerald was dead had left her entirely,
+and she was conscious that it had been her mother who had nursed her so
+tenderly all along, and not a figure of her imagination as she had at
+first thought.</p>
+
+<p>She watched Mrs. Fowler with an inquiring expression which that lady
+failed to interpret, but which made her both anxious and uneasy. It
+was as though Margaret wondered at her solicitude, and was trying to
+find a reason for it. And as the little girl grew better, it was quite
+apparent that she preferred to have Miss Conway or Ross in attendance
+upon her to Mrs. Fowler. It was always—"Don't trouble, mother, Ross
+will do it," or "Miss Conway will read to me, I know." Till, deeply
+hurt, Mrs. Fowler made up her mind that she had for ever destroyed her
+little daughter's affection. And once Margaret had loved her so dearly,
+too!</p>
+
+<p>On the first occasion on which the patient was allowed to sit out in a
+chair by the fire, Mrs. Fowler wrapped her in a dressing-gown made of
+quilted silk which she had brought home for her from London. Margaret
+expressed great pleasure in the pretty garment, and called everyone's
+attention to it. Her father sat with her for a short while, and Gerald,
+at his earnest request, was permitted ten minutes of her society.</p>
+
+<p>"How white you look!" the latter exclaimed, regarding her with awe.
+"And your eyes are so big! But you're heaps better, aren't you,
+Margaret?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes!" she answered, smiling brightly.</p>
+
+<p>"That's right. I prayed to God to make you well, and so did everyone, I
+think."</p>
+
+<p>"That was very kind of everyone," Margaret murmured, much touched.</p>
+
+<p>"Josiah Petherick's drunk nearly every night now," Gerald next informed
+his sister. "I heard Mr. Amyatt tell father so."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, dear!" cried Margaret in much distress. "Poor Salome!" At that
+moment, she caught her mother's eyes, and the sensitive colour flooded
+her face from chin to brow. Noticing the painful blush, Mrs. Fowler
+turned away, and walking to the window, gazed out unseeingly, her mind
+a tumult of conflicting thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Gerald chattered on, passing from Josiah to other of the
+villagers, until Mrs. Fowler, suddenly remembering that Margaret must
+not be allowed to overtire herself, interrupted the conversation, and
+sent the little boy away, promising he should come and sit with his
+sister again to-morrow.</p>
+
+<p>"Remember to give my love to Salome the next time you see her,"
+Margaret said. "Tell her, I hope we shall meet again soon."</p>
+
+<p>Then, as the door shut on her brother, she sighed, and her mother
+guessed aright by the sad expression of her face that her thoughts were
+troubled ones and anything but conducive to peace of mind.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_17">CHAPTER XVII.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>The Shadow Lifted.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>NOVEMBER was an unusually mild month that year, so that Margaret,
+during her convalescence, was enabled to take long drives without any
+risk of catching cold. On one occasion, Salome Petherick was invited
+to accompany her and Mrs. Fowler when they drove to N—. And it was
+pleasant to see how the lame girl's countenance shone with happiness
+as, forgetful of her worries for the time, she enjoyed the novelty of
+viewing hitherto unknown scenery, for she had never been beyond walking
+distance of Yelton before.</p>
+
+<p>"It was quite pathetic to watch the varying expressions on the poor
+little thing's face," Mrs. Fowler confided to her husband afterwards.
+"She shall accompany us again, if all's well. Have you noticed how she
+has changed lately? The first time I saw her, she had such a pretty
+brown complexion, and now she is so pale, and her eyes so big and
+hollow. I wonder what ails the child."</p>
+
+<p>"Privation and trouble, I'm afraid, judging from what I hear," Mr.
+Fowler responded gravely. "She is badly fed, works hard, and is always
+grieving on her father's account."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler sighed. She was deeply interested in Salome, but there
+seemed little she could do for her. The idea crossed her mind that she
+might remonstrate with Josiah concerning his treatment of his little
+daughter, but she shrank sensitively from doing so.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, there was little fishing being done at Yelton during those
+mild November days, when the ocean was as smooth as a duck pond, and
+there was not a breath of wind blowing, so that Josiah and his boon
+companions had plenty of time on their hands. The "Crab and Cockle" had
+most of their society, and their homes suffered in consequence.</p>
+
+<p>One night, after the inn was closed and most of the inhabitants of
+Yelton had gone to rest, the alarming cry of "Fire!" was heard. And
+men, women, and children dressed with all speed, and rushed out of
+doors exclaiming, questioning, and running against each other in their
+excitement and hurry.</p>
+
+<p>"Fire! Fire! Oh, help; for mercy's sake, help my father!"</p>
+
+<p>It was the lame girl who had raised the alarm, and who now stood
+outside Silas Moyle's shop, her face livid with terror. She managed
+somehow to explain that it was her home that was on fire, and that her
+father, on his return from the "Crab and Cockle," had clutched at the
+table-cloth which had covered the kitchen table, and had thus upset the
+lamp and caused the conflagration.</p>
+
+<p>On hearing this, there was a general rush in the direction of the
+Pethericks' cottage, but Silas Moyle, who had now arrived upon the
+scene, insisted upon Salome's staying with his wife, and lingered to
+inquire what had become of Josiah.</p>
+
+<p>"He's at home," Salome wailed. "I couldn't get him to leave; he was
+pouring buckets of water on the fire; but oh! He couldn't put it out,
+it was spreading terribly. Please, Mr. Moyle, do go and see that he's
+all right. He isn't sober, and oh, I'm so afraid for him."</p>
+
+<p>"There, there, don't you take on," said Mrs. Moyle, kindly. "Silas'll
+see to Josiah. Come you in, my dear," and the good woman led Salome
+into the parlour behind the shop and placed her in an easy-chair.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, willing hands were helping Josiah in his attempts to put out
+the fire. But assistance proved of no avail, and in less than two hours
+the Pethericks' cottage was actually gutted, and all their possessions
+had been burnt. It had been impossible to save anything, for the
+woodwork of the cottage being old, and the roof of thatch, the flames
+had spread with great rapidity. Daybreak found Josiah, sober enough
+now, staring disconsolately at the four stone walls which was the only
+portion of his home that was left intact. He was feeling inexpressibly
+shocked, for his furniture was not insured, and he realised that he
+and his little daughter had nothing in the world but the clothes they
+were wearing. What was he to do? He could not tell, and he groaned in
+despair, as he looked at the smoking ruins, and the erstwhile trim
+garden, now spoilt by the trampling of many feet.</p>
+
+<p>"This is a bad business, Petherick."</p>
+
+<p>Turning at the sound of a voice addressing him, he saw Mr. Amyatt. The
+Vicar had been there some time, but Josiah had not noticed him amongst
+the rest.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay," was the gloomy response. "I'm ruined—that's what I am."</p>
+
+<p>"I daresay your landlord will rebuild the cottage, for no doubt it is
+insured."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the good of a cottage without furniture?" Josiah demanded
+almost fiercely. "Salome's homeless, an' through me. I ought to be
+thrashed."</p>
+
+<p>"Salome can bide with my missus," Silas Moyle interposed at that point.
+"She's a handy maid, and can make herself useful, an' you'll be able
+to get a lodging somewhere, Josiah, for the time; but you'd best come
+along with me now, an' get a bit of breakfast."</p>
+
+<p>Josiah hesitated. He was very grateful to the baker for his kindness,
+but he dreaded the meeting with Salome. He felt more ashamed of himself
+than he had ever done in his life before, and as he turned his back on
+the smoking ruins, he pictured the pretty, thatched cottage of which
+he had been so proud once upon a time. There he had brought his young
+bride, there Salome had been born, and his happy married life had been
+spent, and there his wife had died. Josiah rubbed his hard, brown hand
+across his eyes as memory was busy with him.</p>
+
+<p>"Come," said Silas, "pull yourself together, man. Let's go and get some
+breakfast. Your little maid's wanting you, I'll warrant."</p>
+
+<p>Such proved to be the case. For the minute Salome saw her father, she
+threw herself into his arms, and whispered how thankful she was that he
+was safe, and that nothing mattered besides—nothing.</p>
+
+<p>The first person to convey the news of the fire to Greystone was
+the postman, and great was the excitement when it became known that
+the Pethericks' cottage had been burnt down. Mr. Fowler started off
+immediately, with Gerald, to learn all particulars, and, in the
+afternoon, Mrs. Fowler, at Margaret's earnest request, went to see
+Salome. She found the little girl in better spirits than she had
+anticipated, though her brown eyes grew very wistful when she talked of
+her late home.</p>
+
+<p>"All my plants are trampled into the ground," she said, "but, never
+mind, father's safe, and that's the chief thing. I was so afraid for
+him."</p>
+
+<p>"And so you are to remain here?" Mrs. Fowler questioned, glancing
+around Mrs. Moyle's little parlour, which was a picture of neatness and
+cleanliness.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'am, for the time. Mrs. Moyle has kindly asked me to stay."</p>
+
+<p>"And your father?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's going to find out if our landlord will rebuild the cottage, and
+if so, father will get a lodging somewhere in the village. The worst
+of it is, all our furniture is burnt; but father says he'll be able to
+replace it by degrees, he hopes."</p>
+
+<p>After leaving Salome, Mrs. Fowler thought she would like to see the
+ruined cottage, so she turned her footsteps in that direction, and
+found Josiah leaning over the garden gate in conversation with the
+Vicar. The former would have moved away on her approach, but she
+stopped him, and explained that she had been to visit his little
+daughter.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm so sorry for you both," she told him kindly. "It is terrible to be
+burnt out of house and home."</p>
+
+<p>"It was my doing," Josiah confessed. "Maybe you've heard how it
+happened?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she admitted, "you caught hold of the table-cloth, and pulled
+over the lamp, did you not?"</p>
+
+<p>The fisherman nodded, whilst the Vicar regarded him attentively.</p>
+
+<p>"I've been talking to Petherick very seriously," the latter said. "And
+have been trying to induce him to become a teetotaler and sign the
+pledge. I do earnestly entreat you, Petherick, to take warning by last
+night's work."</p>
+
+<p>"Why won't you take the pledge?" Mrs. Fowler asked, her fair face
+alternately paling and flushing. "I am sure it would be for your
+happiness and well-being if you did. And you should consider Salome.
+Oh, drink is a terrible curse! It kills all one's best qualities, and
+ruins one's self-respect."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm ashamed of myself," Josiah acknowledged, "but think how folks
+would laugh if I took the pledge. I'll be a teetotaler if I can; but
+no, I won't pledge myself to it."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't say that!" Mrs. Fowler cried imploringly. "Think the matter
+over. I believe if you took the pledge, you would keep it, for I am
+sure you are a man of your word."</p>
+
+<p>Josiah's face expressed irresolution. He had solemnly vowed to himself
+that he would never touch intoxicating liquors again, so deeply had the
+past night affected him, but he hated the idea of taking the pledge,
+whilst Mr. Amyatt realised that his so doing would be the only thing
+which would hold him to his determination to abstain from drink.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to give up drink," Josiah declared decidedly, at length,
+"but I won't take the pledge. I understand everyone's a teetotaler at
+Greystone," he continued, as Mrs. Fowler was about to speak again,
+"but, excuse me, ma'am, I don't suppose you've signed the pledge, have
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," Mrs. Fowler acknowledged, "I have not."</p>
+
+<p>Josiah was silent. He was evidently thinking, "Then, why should I?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler was silent too, and Mr. Amyatt regarded her a trifle
+curiously, for he saw she was struggling with some strong emotion.
+Presently she said very quietly, "I have made up my mind. I will
+certainly take the pledge."</p>
+
+<p>"You!" Josiah exclaimed in amazement. "You, ma'am!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Mrs. Fowler rejoined, "it is the right thing for me to do, and
+you must do the same. Why should you object if I do not?"</p>
+
+<p>"You must give in now, Petherick," Mr. Amyatt said quickly, "if Mrs.
+Fowler is ready to do this for your sake—"</p>
+
+<p>"I will do it for his sake, and for my own, and for the sake of all
+those we love," she interposed. "Oh, think of Salome!" she said
+earnestly to Josiah. "You have brought her untold trouble, and have
+made her homeless all through drink. Look at this ruined cottage, and
+reflect that but for the kindness of the Moyles, your child would be
+without shelter and food. How can you hesitate?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't, ma'am."</p>
+
+<p>"Then, if I take the pledge, will you?" Mrs. Fowler inquired eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Josiah answered, "I don't see that I can say 'no' to that."</p>
+
+<p>An hour later, Mrs. Fowler entered the drawing-room at Greystone, where
+her little daughter was seated alone near the fire, reading. Margaret
+put down her book, whilst her mother, who had removed her walking
+garments, sank rather wearily into an easy-chair.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been talking to your father, my dear," Mrs. Fowler said with
+a smile. "I suppose, like him, you want to hear about Salome first of
+all," and she proceeded to give an account of her interview with the
+lame girl, and to explain the arrangement that had been made for her to
+remain with the Moyles for the present.</p>
+
+<p>"And did her father really set the cottage on fire?" Margaret inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. He was intoxicated, and pulled off the lamp in clutching at the
+table-cloth. It is fortunate neither he nor Salome was burnt. My dear,
+I have a piece of news for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?" Margaret said, interrogatively, as Mrs. Fowler paused.</p>
+
+<p>"Josiah Petherick has consented to take the pledge, and I am going to
+take the pledge too!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mother!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler gave a brief account of her interview with the fisherman
+and Mr. Amyatt, to which her little daughter listened with breathless
+interest. When she had ceased speaking, Margaret went to her side and
+kissed her.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, child!" cried Mrs. Fowler, encircling the slender form with her
+arms. "Do you really care for me? I thought I had for ever forfeited
+your love and respect. My dear, I never properly valued your affection
+until I feared I had lost it. I have been a selfish mother, but, please
+God, I'll be different in the future. When I faced the possibility of
+losing you, it nearly broke my heart."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mother! And I feared you did not like to have me with you! I
+thought—"</p>
+
+<p>"Was that why you shrank from me? Margaret—" and Mrs. Fowler spoke very
+impressively. "There has been a black shadow over my life for a long,
+long time. It stood between me and your father, between you and me, and
+even between my soul and God. I believe, and pray that it is gone."</p>
+
+<p>The little girl pressed her lips again to her mother's cheek, and
+though she made no reply, that gentle kiss, so tenderly and lovingly
+given, was the seal of a better understanding between these two who had
+been slowly drifting apart. And neither was likely to doubt the other's
+affection again.</p>
+
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_18">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<em>Happier Days.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>ONCE more, it was summer time. Eight months had elapsed since the night
+when the Pethericks' home had been destroyed by fire. And in the place
+of the old thatched dwelling, a modern red-brick cottage had been
+built, which, though certainly not so picturesque as the former one,
+was very comfortable, and possessed a bow window to its little parlour,
+which was the envy and admiration of all the villagers. Already young
+ivy plants had been placed against the bare, red walls; and the garden
+had been coaxed into good order, and was now making a fine show with
+its summer flowers.</p>
+
+<p>The cottage was barely furnished, for though to the amazement of all
+Yelton, Josiah had become a pledged teetotaler, and had in very truth
+turned over a new leaf, he had not been able to earn much money during
+the winter months. And when the new home had been completed a fortnight
+previously, he had only been in a position to purchase a few cheap
+articles of furniture which were absolute necessaries, such as beds,
+and cooking utensils.</p>
+
+<p>One beautiful June evening, Salome sat inside the bow window from which
+there was an uninterrupted view of the beach, and the wide expanse
+of sea, her busy fingers knitting as usual, her fresh, sweet voice
+trilling a merry song. She was blissfully happy, for at that moment
+she had not a care in the world. Her father, now he had really given
+up drink, was kind and considerate as he had been in her mother's
+lifetime, and was doing all he possibly could to make up to her for the
+sorrow he had caused her in the past.</p>
+
+<p>God had been good to her, she told herself, for He had answered her
+earnest prayers on her father's behalf. And her love and patience, so
+often sorely tried, had not been in vain.</p>
+
+<p>A step on the gravel path caused Salome to raise her eyes from her
+work, and her face lit up with a glad, welcoming smile as she saw
+Margaret Fowler coming to the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't get up," Margaret called to her, "I'll let myself in, if I
+may," and a minute later she entered the room, her fair countenance
+aglow with health and happiness. She seated herself in the bow
+window opposite to Salome, and glanced around the bare, little
+parlour with smiling eyes undimmed by any shadow of trouble now.
+"I've been practising the organ," she said. "Mother and father have
+been listening, and criticising my performance. They both think I've
+improved wonderfully of late."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed you have, Miss Margaret," Salome agreed heartily.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother and father have gone home; but I thought I would like a chat
+with you. I like this bow window, don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, miss; it makes the room so light and airy. I'm afraid the place
+looks very bare, though, with no carpet, and no furniture but that deal
+table and these two chairs."</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind. I daresay you'll add to your stock of furniture later on."</p>
+
+<p>"That's what father says. We must try to pick things together gradually
+again. People have been so kind to us, you can't imagine how kind. Mrs.
+Moyle gave us her old dinner set, and some odd cups and plates; and Mr.
+Amyatt's housekeeper sent down some bedding from the Vicarage—of course
+Mr. Amyatt must have told her to do so. Then your dear mother, miss!
+See what she has done for us. Why, she made us a present of the very
+chairs we're sitting on, and—"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, I know!" Margaret interposed. "I think there's little mother
+wouldn't do for you, Salome."</p>
+
+<p>"But the best thing she ever did, was when she induced father to take
+the pledge. I am sure he would never have done so, if she had not set
+him the example. Oh, miss, I believe he regretted it, at first; but
+now, I'm certain, in his heart, he knows it has been his salvation. He
+isn't like the same man he was a year ago. Look at him now," pointing
+to a stalwart figure seated on the beach bending over a fishing net.
+"Last summer, you wouldn't have found him content to mind his business
+like that, he'd have been at the 'Crab and Cockle' drinking. I little
+thought when I heard Greystone was taken, what kind friends you all
+would be to father and me."</p>
+
+<p>"And I little thought when I first saw you leaning over the garden
+gate, Salome, how much you would do for me."</p>
+
+<p>"I!" cried the lame girl, opening her dark eyes wide in astonishment.
+"Why, I've done nothing, I've had no opportunity—"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you don't know all! I've learnt a great deal from you, I have
+indeed, though you mayn't know it—a great deal besides knitting,"
+Margaret said with a smile. "It was you who taught me, by your
+self-sacrificing love for your father, what love ought to be—faithful
+and long-suffering. That was a lesson I never learnt till I met you."</p>
+
+<p>Salome looked earnestly at her companion's expressive face, and was
+emboldened to put a question that had trembled on her lips many times
+of late:</p>
+
+<p>"That trouble you spoke to me about, Miss Margaret—is it gone?"</p>
+
+<p>Margaret nodded in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm so glad," said Salome, simply.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you remember Mrs. Lute, the lady who stayed with us at Greystone
+last summer?" Margaret questioned presently. "Yes. Well, we are
+expecting her to visit us again. And mother says she hopes your father
+will be able to take us out boating frequently, because Mrs. Lute is
+so fond of being on the water. And mother feels safer with your father
+than with anyone else, because he knows the coast so well. You know,
+mother is still a little nervous at times."</p>
+
+<p>"But she is wonderfully better, isn't she?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes. Look! Surely I see Miss Conway and Gerald talking to your
+father on the beach. When they pass here, I'll join them, and we can
+walk home together."</p>
+
+<p>"How Master Gerald does grow!" Salome exclaimed. "And he has so
+improved too! That's come about since your illness last autumn, miss.
+He was in a terrible state of distress then."</p>
+
+<p>"So mother has since told me," Margaret replied. "Yes, he has improved;
+he's much more obedient than he used to be; Miss Conway was saying,
+only this morning, how little trouble she has with him now."</p>
+
+<p>The truth was, Mrs. Fowler had come to understand that her foolish
+indulgence had been likely to ruin her little son. And though she
+loved him no less, she wielded a firmer sway over him, and upheld
+his governess' discipline. With the result that he was a much more
+contented little boy than he had been, when he had had his own way. He
+still sometimes gave way to exhibitions of violent temper, but he was
+growing ashamed of these paroxysms, and they were becoming less and
+less frequent.</p>
+
+<p>When Miss Conway and Gerald left the beach, Margaret said good-bye to
+Salome, and joined the governess and her charge as they were passing
+the cottage.</p>
+
+<p>"We've been talking to Josiah Petherick," the little boy informed his
+sister, "and I've been telling him that Mrs. Lute's coming. Do you
+know, Margaret, that Josiah is going to be in the choir?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Salome did not tell me; but I left her rather hurriedly when I saw
+you coming. I know he used to be in the choir before—"</p>
+
+<p>"Before he took to drink," said Gerald, finishing the sentence as she
+paused in hesitation. "Well, he doesn't drink now; wasn't it a good
+thing he gave it up? I like Josiah, he's so brave, and he knows such a
+lot about the sea, and ships."</p>
+
+<p>They had left the village, and were ascending the hill towards
+Greystone, now and again pausing, to look back the way they had come.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think the Pethericks' new cottage is half so pretty as their
+old one, do you, Miss Conway?" Gerald asked, appealing to the governess.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps not—in spite of the bow window," she replied. "But the colour
+of the bricks will tone down with time."</p>
+
+<p>"Salome is very contented," remarked Margaret, "but then she would be
+that anywhere, I believe. She is wonderfully happy, and looks so well."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Miss Conway agreed, "a regular nut-brown maid; and, last autumn,
+she was such a pale, little soul. Mrs. Moyle was telling me yesterday
+how much she misses her. The Moyles have been good friends to the
+Pethericks."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. and Mrs. Fowler were seated beneath the lilac tree when the
+children and the governess entered the grounds. Gerald was the first
+to spy his parents; and he raced across the lawn to them; and informed
+them that he had told Josiah of their expected guest, and had bidden
+him clean his boat in readiness for use.</p>
+
+<p>When Mrs. Lute arrived on the morrow, she was agreeably surprised
+to note the improvement in Mrs. Fowler's health, and complimented
+her upon her "Cornish roses," as she called the bright colour in her
+friend's cheeks, whilst Margaret listened with secret satisfaction and
+happiness, and meeting her father's eyes, saw that he was delighted,
+too.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fowler was no longer the neurotic, dissatisfied invalid who had
+been brought to Greystone almost against her will; but a bright,
+companionable woman, taking a lively interest in her household, and
+anxious for the welfare of those she loved. She and her little daughter
+had been drawn very closely together during the past few months; and
+they had discovered that they had many interests in common. Both were
+devoted to music, and Mrs. Fowler had of late fallen into the habit of
+accompanying Margaret to the church to hear her practise on the organ;
+and there, often, Salome would join them, and sing at the earnest
+request of the others her favourite hymn.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>It was Gerald who, when the family at Greystone was at breakfast on the
+morning after Mrs. Lute's arrival, began to talk of Josiah Petherick.
+Mrs. Lute had not heard the exciting story of the fire, and the little
+boy told it with considerable gusto, afterwards explaining what the new
+cottage was like.</p>
+
+<p>"You have missed the chief point of the story, Gerald," his father
+said, when at length the tale was brought to a conclusion.</p>
+
+<p>"Have I, father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. You have not told how being burnt out of house and home affected
+Josiah." He turned to Mrs. Lute as he added: "The man has not touched a
+drop of any kind of intoxicating liquor since."</p>
+
+<p>"Well done!" she exclaimed heartily. "That is news worth hearing. I
+have so often wondered this past winter how those Pethericks were
+getting on. The sad, pale face of that lame girl haunted my memory for
+many a day. And, do you know, when I got home, I thought so much of the
+many discussions we had had upon the drink question, with the result
+that I came to the conclusion that I had been wrong all along. And that
+because I only took stimulants sparingly myself, I had no right to put
+temptation in the way of others; and so, I've banished intoxicating
+liquors from my house altogether. What do you say to that?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a murmur of surprise mingled with commendation, and everyone
+agreed that Mrs. Lute had done well. Certain it was that she had acted
+from the best possible motive—consideration for her fellow-creatures.
+She was one of the kindest of women; and the thought that she might do
+harm to a weaker brother or sister by allowing stimulants to be used
+in her household had never crossed her mind, until she had visited at
+Greystone, and the master of the house had unfolded his new principles
+to her. Thinking the matter over quietly afterwards, she had seen that
+he was right.</p>
+
+<p>And now it is time for us to say good-bye to this little village by the
+Cornish sea. But we will linger a moment to take a farewell glimpse
+of those whose lives we have followed for one short year as they are
+gathered together one Sunday evening in the old grey church. The
+Vicar has finished his sermon, and has given out the hymn with which
+the service will be brought to a close, and in another minute the
+congregation is singing "Abide with me."</p>
+
+<p>Margaret, from her position by her mother's side, can easily
+distinguish Salome's clear, bird-like notes, and Josiah Petherick's
+deep, bass voice; and as she joins in the well-known hymn, her soul
+rises to the throne of God in a fervent prayer of thanksgiving and joy.
+The church is growing dim and shadowy in the evening light; but the
+black shadow that threatened to ruin the happiness of two homes has
+fled; and there is no cloud on Margaret Fowler's fair face, whilst the
+lame girl's voice has a ring of triumph in its tone as she sings the
+concluding words of the beautiful hymn—</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<br>
+"Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;<br>
+&nbsp;In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me."<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p>PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY THE WHITEFRIARS PRESS, LTD.;</p>
+<p>LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SALOME'S BURDEN ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>