Farjeon Benjamin Leopold - The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. A Novel стр 11.

Mrs. Chester gazed at the children, and her tender heart began to bleed. That this strange child should be so beautiful, and rosy, and plump, and her child so forlorn-looking, and pale, and thin, smote her with keenest pain.

"Get up from the cold floor, Sally!" she cried; "you'll catch your death setting there with nothing on!"

Sally staggered to her feet, with the little stranger in her arms.

"Mercy take the child!" cried Mrs. Chester, still more crossly. "You'll let her fall! Here, give her to me!"

But Sally, heavy as her burden was, held her precious possession close to her, and managed to reach the bedroom door, where she stood still awhile.

Mr. Chester brought affairs to some sort of a climax. He looked at the silver shilling and the few coppers upon the table, and his hand stole slowly towards them; but happening to look over his shoulder at Sally, he swiftly withdrew his hand, and left the money undisturbed. Then he turned abruptly to the stranger.

"Now, then," said he, "what's your name when you are at home?"

"When I'm at home I'll tell you," replied the stranger. "Let's come to business. You've got a bedroom to let. What's the rent of it?"

"Three shillings a week. Respectable references, of course?" inquired Mr. Chester, vaguely.

"Stuff!" exclaimed the stranger, taking some silver pieces from his pocket. "Here's my reference."

"Not a bad one," said Mr. Chester, "but I shall require two weeks in advance."

"Here you are," said the stranger, counting out six shillings into Mr. Chester's hand. "And that's settled."

"Not so fast; you're a stranger to us, and a man's got to be careful what kind of people he takes into his house. You see, you're not alone. You bring a little girl with you, and we've got one of our own already. Now we don't wish to be left with another on our hands that don't rightly belong to us. Children are no rarity round about in these parts."

Sally, by this time, had found her burden too heavy for her, and the baby-child, with her golden curls and perfectly beautiful features, was now lying on the ground, and Sally was bending over her.

Mrs. Chester, who had thrown a thin shawl over Sally, listened to the conversation with interest. She was glad to let her room, but she could not make up her mind as to the character of her new tenant. He was a tall spare man, with thin yellow whiskers and light-grey eyes. His hands were somewhat delicately shaped, and his nails were in good condition, denoting that he was not a common workman, nor one who gained a livelihood by manual labour. His clothes were shabby, and an air of shabby refinement pervaded him. Mrs. Chester was puzzled what to think of him.

"You don't want to be left with her on your hands?" exclaimed the stranger boisterously. "Not a likely thing that. Why, every hair of the darling's head is as precious to me as-as-" Not being able to find an appropriate simile, he gave it up, and continued-"Look there. Your little girl seems to have taken a fancy to-to-my little girl. They'll be company for each other. I warrant, if I tried to take her upstairs to bed now, Sally would begin to cry."

He was wrong. Sally did not cry as the stranger approached her, but standing, with flashing eyes before her treasure, she struck at him viciously with her little fists.

"Didn't I tell you?" inquired the stranger of Mr. Chester, without ill-humour. "Sally's a game little bird. What do you say to letting the children sleep together, just for this night? To-morrow we'll make things straight and comfortable."

"All right," replied Mr. Chester, anxious to be off. "The old woman'll see to that. You come along with me now, and have a glass at the Royal George. Goodnight, Sally. Give us a kiss."

He stooped to Sally's face, and kissed her. With her arms round his neck, she pulled him to his knees, and made him kiss the sleeping child on the ground. Then, when he raised his face, she kissed him again, and with her mouth close to his, inhaled his breath, and exclaimed:

"Oh, shouldn't I like some to drink! I can only smell it now."

"Like some what, Sally?" asked the stranger, as in a shame-faced way, Mr. Chester turned from his child. "Some gin," answered Sally, with a smack of her lips.

Mr. Chester rose to his feet, with a rueful look.

"Give me a kiss, too, Sally," said the stranger; "I'm fond of game little girls."

But Sally was not to be won over, and when the stranger tried to force the kiss from her, she dug her fingers into his sandy whiskers with such spiteful intention that he was glad to free himself from her clutches.

"There, get out!" cried Mrs. Chester. "Can't you see the child don't want to have anything to do with you? You'll find your bed ready when you come home, which I expect won't be till you're turned out of the Royal George. Dick'll show you your room."

She caught up the sleeping child, and taking the candle, retired to the inner room, driving Sally before her.

CHAPTER III

"I've enough to reproach myself with one."

These words, spoken by Mr. Chester in the course of his late domestic difference with his wife, brought with them a feeling of deep remorse.

He had another child, a son, now a man, and a sharp pain shot through the hearts of husband and wife as the words were uttered. But Mr. Chester, once more at the Royal George, did his best to drown uncomfortable reminiscences. His new tenant, who accompanied him to the gin-palace, scarcely opened his lips except to drink. His manner of taking his liquor was not attractive; he raised his glass to his lips with a sly furtive air, and conducted himself throughout in so objectionable and jarring a spirit, that when, within half-an-hour of midnight, he said, churlishly: "I think I may as well get home;" Mr. Chester replied: "All right; you'll not be missed in this company." Thereupon, the stranger, with another sly watchful look around took his leave, to everyone's satisfaction.

Within a few moments of his departure, Mr. Chester, in the act of drinking, suddenly held up his hand. His attitude of attention was magnetically repeated in the attitudes of the persons around him. As when a person in the street stands still, and points at nothing in the sky, he speedily draws about him a throng of interested ones, who all look up, and point at nothing also.

What had arrested Mr. Chester's attention was the faint sound of music from without. Only half-a-dozen notes reached his ears, and they were softly borne to him from a wind instrument.

The glass which he held trembled in his hand, and, had he not placed it on the counter, would have fallen to the ground.

He walked slowly to the door, and looked out in the street for the musician. He could not see him, and the sound had died away. Returning to his companions, he abruptly asked:

"Did any of you observe whether that man" referring, with a backward pointing of his thumb, to his new tenant-"had anything in his breast pocket?"

Two or three answered, No, they had not observed any thing particular; but one said he thought, now Mr. Chester mentioned it, that the stranger did have something in his breast pocket.

"Something that stuck out," suggested Mr. Chester vivaciously.

Perceiving that he had made a hit, the man replied that he thought it was something that stuck out.

"Might have been a stick?" proceeded Mr. Chester.

"Yes, it might have been a stick."

"Or a flute?"

"Yes, it might have been a flute."

"Or," asked Mr. Chester, coming now to his climax, "a penny tin whistle?"

Yes, the man thought it might decidedly have been penny tin whistle; which so satisfied Mr. Chester, that he inhaled a long breath of relief, and asked the man what he would take to drink.