Fan by Henry Harford (page 2)

“Captain Horton is in the drawing-room, ma’am,” she said.

Miss Starbrow rose to go to her visitor.

“You can stay where you are, Fan, until bed-time,” she said. “And by-and- by the maid will give you some supper in the back room. Is Rosie impudent to you–how has she been treating you to-day?”

Fan was filled with distress, remembering her promise, and cast down her eyes.

“Very well, say nothing; that’s the best way, Fan. Take no notice of what anyone says to you. Servants are always vile, spiteful creatures, and will act after their kind. Good-night, my girl,” and with that she went downstairs.

Fan sat there for half an hour longer in the grateful twilight and warmth of that luxurious room, and then Rosie’s voice startled her crying at the door:

“Doggie! doggie! come and have its supper.”

Fan got up and went to the next room, where her supper and a lighted lamp were on the centre table. Rosie followed her.

“Can you tell the truth?” she said.

“Yes,” returned Fan.

“Well, then, have you told Miss Starbrow?”

“No.”

“Did she ask you anything?”

“Yes, and I didn’t tell her.”

“Oh, how very kind!” said Rosie; and giving her a box on the ear, ran out of the room.

Not much hurt, and not caring much, Fan sat down to her supper. Returning to the bedroom she heard the sound of the piano, and paused on the landing to listen. Then a fine baritone voice began singing, and was succeeded by a woman’s voice, a rich contralto, for they were singing a duet; and voice following voice, and anon mingling in passionate harmony, the song floated out loud from the open door, and rose and seemed to fill the whole house, while Fan stood there listening, trembling with joy at the sound.

The singing and playing continued for upwards of an hour, and Fan still kept her place, until the maid came up with a candle to show her to her bedroom. They went up together to the next floor into a small neatly- furnished room which had been prepared for her.

“Here’s your room,” said Rosie, setting down the candle on the table, “and now I’m going to give you a good spanking before you go to bed.”

“If you touch me again I’ll scream and tell Miss Starbrow everything,” said Fan, plucking up a spirit.

Rosie shut and locked the door. “Now you can scream your loudest, cat, and she’ll not hear a sound.”

For a few moments Fan did not know what to do to save herself; then all at once the memory of some old violent wrangle came to her aid, and springing forward she blew out the candle and softly retreated to a corner of the room, where she remained silent and expectant.

“You little wretch!” exclaimed the other. “Speak, or I’ll kill you!” But there was no answer. For some time Rosie stumbled about until she found the door, and after some jeering words retreated downstairs, leaving Fan in the dark.

She had defeated her enemy this time, and quickly locking the door, went to bed without a light.

CHAPTER VI

The next few days, although very sweet and full to Fan, were uneventful; then, early on a Wednesday evening, once more Miss Starbrow made her sit with her at her bedroom fire and talked to her for a long time.

“What did you tell me your name is?” she asked.

“Frances Harrod.”

“I don’t like it. I call it _horrid_. It was only your stepfather’s name according to your account, and I must find you a different one. Do you know what your mother’s name was–before she married, I mean?”

“Oh yes, ma’am; it was Margaret Affleck.”

“Affleck. It is not common and not ugly. Frances Affleck–that sounds better. Yes, that will do; your name, as long as you live with me, shall be Affleck; you must not forget that.”

“No, ma’am,” Fan replied humbly. But she had some doubts, and after a while said, “But can you change my name, ma’am?”

“Change your name! Why, of course I can. It is just as easy to do that as to give you a new dress; easier in fact. And what do you know, Fan? What did they teach you at the Board School? Reading, I suppose; very well, take this book and read to me.”

She took the book, but felt strangely nervous at this unexpected call to display her accomplishments, and began hurriedly reading in a low voice.

Miss Starbrow laughed.

“I can’t stand that, Fan,” she said. “You might be gabbling Dutch or Hindustani. And you are running on without a single pause. Even a bee hovering about the flowers has an occasional comma, or colon, or full stop in its humming. Try once more, but not so fast and a little louder.”

The good-humoured tone in which she spoke served to reassure Fan; and knowing that she could do better, and getting over her nervousness, she began again, and this time Miss Starbrow let her finish the page.

“You _can_ read, I find. Better, I think, than any of the maids I have had. You have a very nice expressive voice, and you will do better when you read a book through from the beginning, and feel interested in it. I shall let you read every day to me. What else did you learn– writing?”

“Yes, ma’am, I always got a high mark for that. And we had Scripture lessons, and grammar, and composition, and arithmetic, and geography; and when I was in the fifth form I had history and drawing.”

“History and drawing–well, what next, I wonder! That’s what we are taxed a shilling in the pound for, to give education to a–well, never mind. But can you really draw, Fan? Here’s pencil and paper, just draw something for me.”

“What shall I draw, ma’am?” she said, taking the pencil and feeling nervous again.

“Oh, anything you like.”

Now it happened that her drawing lessons had always given her more pleasure than anything else at school, but owing to Joe Harrod’s having taken her away as soon as he was allowed to do so, they had not continued long. Still, even in a short time she had made some progress; and even after leaving school she had continued to find a mournful pleasure in depicting leaf and flower forms. Left to choose her own subject, she naturally began sketching a flower–a-rosebud, half-open, with leaves.

“Don’t hurry, Fan, as you did with your reading. The slower you are the better it will be,” said Miss Starbrow, taking up a volume and beginning to read, or pretending to read, for her eyes were on the face of the girl most of the time.

Fan, happily unconscious of the other’s regard, gave eight or ten minutes to her drawing, and then Miss Starbrow took it in her hands to examine it.

“This is really very well done,” she said, “but what in goodness’ name did they teach you drawing for!’ What would be the use of it after leaving school? Well, yes, it might be useful in one way. It astonishes me to think how you were trying to live, Fan. You were certainly not fit for that hard rough work, and would have starved at it. You were made, body and mind, in a more delicate mould, and for something better. I think that with all you have learnt at school, and with your appearance, especially with those truthful eyes of yours and that sweet voice, you might have got a place as nursery governess, to teach small children, or something of that sort. Why did you go starving about the streets, Fan?”

“But no one would take me with such clothes, ma’am. They wouldn’t look at me or speak to me even in the little shops where I went to ask for work.”

Miss Starbrow uttered a curious little laugh.

“What a strange thing it seems,” she said, “that a few shillings to buy decent clothes may alter a person’s destiny. With the shillings–about as many as the man of God pays for his sirloin–shelter from the weather and temptations to evil, three meals a day, a long pleasant life, husband and children, perhaps, and at last–Heaven. And without them, rags and starvation and the streets, and–well, this is a question for the mighty intellect of a man and a theologian, not for mine. I dare say you don’t know what I’m talking about, Fan?”

“Not all, ma’am, but I think I understand a little.”

“Very little, I should think. Don’t try to understand too much, my poor girl. Perhaps before you are eighty, if you live so long, you will discover that you didn’t even understand a little. Ah, Fan, you have been sadly cheated by destiny! Childhood without joy, and girlhood without hope. I wish I could give you happiness to make up for it all, but I can’t be Providence to anyone.”

“Oh, ma’am, you have made me so happy!” exclaimed Fan, the tears springing to her eyes.

Miss Starbrow frowned a little and turned her face aside. Then she said:

“Just because I fed and dressed and sheltered you, Fan–does happiness come so easily to you?”

“Oh no, ma’am, not that–it isn’t that,” with such keen distress that she could scarcely speak without a sob.

“How then have I made you happy? Will you not answer me? I took you because I believed that you would trust me, and always speak openly from your heart, and hide nothing.”

“Oh, ma’am, I’m afraid to say it. I was so happy because I thought– because–” and here she sunk her voice to a trembling whisper–“I thought that you loved me.”

Miss Starbrow put her arm round the girl’s waist and drew her against her knees.

“Your instinct was not at fault, Fan,” she said in a caressing tone. “I _do_ love you, and loved you when I saw you in your rags, and it pained my heart when I told you to clean my doorsteps as if you had been my sister. No, not a sister, but something better and sweeter; my sisters I do not love at all. And do you know now what I meant, Fan, when I said that there was something you could do for me?”

“I think I know,” returned Fan, still troubled in her mind and anxious. “It was that made me feel so happy. I thought–that you wanted me to love you.”

“You are right, my dear girl; I think that I made no mistake when I took you in.”

On that evening Fan had tea with her mistress, and afterwards, earlier than usual, was allowed to comb her hair out–a task which gave her the greatest delight. Miss Starbrow then put on an evening dress, which Fan now saw for the first time, and was filled with wonder at its richness and beauty. It was of saffron-coloured silk, trimmed with black lace; but she wore no ornaments with it, except gold bracelets on her round shapely arms.

“What makes you stare so, Fan?” she said with a laugh, as she stood surveying herself in the tall glass, and fastening the bracelets on.

“Oh, ma’am, you do look so beautiful in that dress! Are you going to the theatre to-night?”

“No, Fan. On Wednesday evenings I always have a number of friends come in to see me–all gentlemen. I have very few lady friends, and care very little for them. And, now I think of it, you can sit up to-night until I tell you to go to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Miss Starbrow was moving towards the door. Then she paused, and finally came back and sat down again, and drew Fan against her knee as before.

“Fan,” she said, “when you speak about me to others, and to me in the presence of others, or of the servants, call me Miss Starbrow. I don’t like to hear you call me ma’am, it wounds my ear. Do you understand?”

“Yes–Miss Starbrow.”

“But when we are alone together, as we are now, let me hear you call me Mary. That’s my Christian name, and I should like to hear you speak it. Will you remember?”

“Yes”; and then from her lips trembled the name “Mary.”

“It sounds very loving and sweet,” said the other, and, drawing the girl closer, for the first time she kissed her.

With the memory of those tender words and the blissful sensation left by that unexpected kiss, Fan spent the evening alone, hearing, after her supper, the arrival of visitors, and the sound of conversation and laughter from the drawing-room, and then music and singing. Later in the evening the guests went to sup into the dining-room, and there they stayed playing cards until eleven o’clock or later, when she heard them leaving the house.

They were not all gone, however; three of Miss Starbrow’s intimate friends still lingered, drinking whisky-and-water and talking. There was Captain Horton–captain by courtesy, since he was no longer in the army –a tall, fine-looking man, slightly horsy in his get-up, with a very large red moustache, reddish-brown hair, and keen blue eyes. He wore a cut-away coat, and was standing on the hearthrug, his hands thrust into his trousers pockets, and smiling as he talked to a young clerical gentleman near him–the Rev. Octavius Brown. The Rev. Octavius was curate of a neighbouring ritualistic church, but in his life he was not ascetic; he loved whisky-and-water not wisely but too well, and he was passionately devoted to the noble game of Napoleon. Mr. Brown had just won seven shillings, and was in very high spirits; for being poor he had a great dread of losing, and played carefully for very small stakes, and seldom won more than half-a-crown or three shillings. At some distance from them a young gentleman reclined in an easy-chair, smoking a cigarette, and apparently not listening to their conversation. This was Mr. Merton Chance, clerk in the Foreign Office, and supposed by his friends to be extremely talented. He was rather slight but well-formed, a little under the medium height, clean shaved, handsome, colourless as marble, with black hair and dark blue eyes that looked black.

Miss Starbrow, who had left the room a few minutes before, came in, and standing by the table listened to the curate.

“Miss Starbrow,” said he, appealing to her, “is it not hard? Captain Horton either doubts my veracity or believes that I am only joking when I assure him that what I have just told him is plain truth.”

“Well, let me hear the whole story,” she replied, “and I’ll act as umpire.”

“I couldn’t wish for a juster one–nor for a fairer,” he replied with a weak smile. “What I said was that I had once attended a dinner to the clergy in Yorkshire, at which there were sixteen of us present, and the surnames of all were names of things–objects or offices or something– connected with a church.”

“Well, what were the names?”

“You see he remembers only one–a Mr. Church,” said Captain Horton.

“No, pardon me. A Mr. Church, and a Mr. Bishop, and a Mr. Priest, and a Mr. Cross, and–and oh, yes, Mr. Bell.”

“Five of your sixteen,” said Captain Horton, checking them off on his fingers.

“And a Mr. Graves, and a Mr. Sexton, and–and–of course, I can’t remember all the names now. Can you expect it, Miss Starbrow?”

“No, of course not; but you have only named seven. If you can remember ten I shall decide in your favour.”

“Thank you. There was a Mr. Church–“

“No, no, old man, we’ve had that already,” cried the Captain.

“Mr. Tombs,” he continued, and fell again to thinking.

“That makes eight,” said Miss Starbrow. “Cheer up, Mr. Brown, you’ll soon remember two others.”

“Your own name makes nine, Mr. Brown,” broke in Mr. Chance, “only I can’t make out what connection it has with a church.”

The other two laughed.

“I’m afraid it looks very bad for you,” said Miss Starbrow.

“No, no, Miss Starbrow, please don’t think that. Wait a minute and let me see if I can remember how that was,” said the poor curate. “I _think_ I said that all present at the table except myself–“

“No, there was no exception,” interrupted Captain Horton. “Now, if you sixteen fellows had been Catholic priests instead of in the Established Church, and you were Scarlett by name instead of Brown–“

“Don’t say any more–please!” cried the curate, lifting his hand. “You are going too far, Captain Horton. I like a little innocent fun well enough, but I draw the line at sacred subjects. Let us drop the subject.”

“Oh, yes, of course, that’s a good way of getting out of it. And as for jesting about sacred matters, I always understood that one couldn’t prove his zeal for Protestantism better than by having a shot at the Roman business.”

“I am happy to say that I do not class myself with Prots,” said the curate, getting up from his chair very carefully, and then consulting his watch. “I must run away now–“

“You can’t do it,” interrupted the Captain.

Miss Starbrow laughed. “Don’t go just yet, Mr. Brown,” she said. “I wish you all to help me with your advice, or with an opinion at least. You know that I have taken in a young girl, and I have not yet decided what to do with her. I shall call her down for you to see her, as you are all three my very candid friends, and you shall tell me what you think of her appearance.”

She then opened the door and called Fan down, and the poor girl was brought into the neighbourhood of the three gentlemen, and stood with eyes cast down, her pale face reddening with shame to find herself the centre of so much curiosity.

Miss Starbrow glanced at the Captain, who was keenly studying Fan’s face, as he stood before the fire, stroking his red moustache.

“Well, if I’m to give a candid opinion,” he said, “all I can say is that she looks an underfed little monkey.”

“I think you are excessively rude!” returned Miss Starbrow, firing up. “She is too young to feel your words, perhaps, but they are nothing less than insulting to my judgment.”

“Oh, confound it, Pollie, you are always flying out at me! I dare say she’s a good girl–she looks it, but if you want me to say that she’s good-looking, I can’t be such a hypocrite even to please you.”

Miss Starbrow flashed a keen glance at him, and then without replying turned to Mr. Brown.

“Really–honestly, Miss Starbrow,” he said, “you couldn’t have selected a more charming-looking girl. But your judgment is always–well, just what it should be; that goes without saying.”

She turned impatiently from him and looked at Mr. Chance, still gracefully reclining in his chair.

“Is my poor opinion really worth anything to you?” he said, and rising he walked over to the girl and touched her hand, which made her start a little. “I wish to see your eyes–won’t you look at me?” He spoke very gently.

Fan glanced up into his face for a moment.

“Thank you–just what I thought,” said he, returning to his seat.

“Well?” said Miss Starbrow.

“Must I put it in words–those poor symbols?” he returned. “I know so well that you can understand without them.”

“Perhaps I might if I tried very hard, but I choose not to try,” she replied, with a slight toss of her head.

“It is a pleasure to obey; but the poor girl looks nervous and uncomfortable, and would be so glad _not_ to hear my personal remarks.”

“Oh yes, it was thoughtless of me to keep her here–thanks for reminding me,” said Miss Starbrow, with a strange softening of her voice her friends were not accustomed to hear. “Run up to your room, Fan, and go to bed. I’m sorry I’ve kept you up so late, poor child.”

And Fan, with a grateful look towards Mr. Chance, left the room gladly enough.

“When she first came into the room I wondered what had attracted you,” said Mr. Chance. “I concluded that it must be something under those long drooping eyelashes, and when I looked there I found out the secret.”

“Intelligent eyes–very intelligent eyes–I noticed that also,” said Mr. Brown.

“Oh no, heaven forbid–I did not mean anything of the kind,” said Mr. Chance. “Intelligence is a masculine quality which I do not love to see in a woman: it is suitable for us, like a rough skin and–moustachios,” with a glance at Captain Horton, and touching his own clean-shaven upper lip. “The more delicate female organism has something finer and higher than intelligence, which however serves the same purpose–and other purposes besides.”

“I don’t quite follow you,” said the curate, again preparing to take his leave. “I dare say it’s all plain enough to some minds, but–well, Mr. Chance, you’ll forgive me for saying that when you talk that way I don’t know whether I’m standing on my head or my heels.”

“Naturally, you wouldn’t,” said Captain Horton, with a mocking smile. “But don’t go yet, Brown; have some more whisky-and-water.”

“No, thanks, no more. I never exceed two or three glasses, you know. Thank you, my dear Miss Starbrow, for a most delightful evening.” And after shaking hands he made his way to the door, bestowing a kindly touch on each chair in passing, and appearing greatly relieved when he reached the hall.

Captain Horton lit a cigarette and threw himself into an easy-chair. Mr. Chance lit another cigarette; if the other was an idle man, he (Chance) was in the Foreign Office, and privileged to sit up as late as he liked.

“On the whole,” he said in a meditative way, “I am inclined to think that Brown is a rather clever fellow.”

Miss Starbrow laughed: she was still standing. “You two appear to be taking it very quietly,” she said. “It is one o’clock–why will you compel me to be rude?”

Then they started up, put on their coats, exchanged a few words at the door with their hostess, and walked down the street together. Presently a hansom came rattling along the quiet street.

“Keb, sir?” came the inevitable question, in a tone sharp as a whip- crack, as the driver pulled up near the kerb.

“Yes, two cabs,” said Captain Horton. “I’ll toss you for the first, Chance”; and pulling out a florin he sent it spinning up and deftly caught it as it fell. “Heads or tails?”

“Oh, take it yourself, and I’ll find another.”

“No, no, fair play,” insisted the Captain.

“Very well then, heads.”

“Tails!” cried the other, opening his hand. “Goodnight, old man, you’re sure to find one in another minute. Oxford Terrace,” he cried to the driver, jumping in. And the cabman, who had watched the proceedings with the deep interest and approval of a true sporting man, shook the reins, flicked the horse’s ears with his whip, clicked with his tongue, and drove rapidly away.

Left to himself, Mr. Chance sauntered on in no hurry to get home, and finally stood still at a street corner, evidently pondering some matter of considerable import to him. “By heaven, I’m more than half resolved to try it!” he exclaimed at last. And after a little further reflection, he added, “And I shall–

“He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small,
Who dares not put it to the touch To win or lose it all.”

Then he turned and walked deliberately back to Dawson Place: coming to the house which he had lately quitted, he peered anxiously at windows and doors, and presently caught sight of a faint reflection from burning gas or candle within on the fanlight over the street door, which, he conjectured, came from the open dining-room.

“Fortune favours me,” he said to himself. “‘Faint heart never won fair lady.’ A happy inspiration, I am beginning to think. Losing that toss will perhaps result in my winning a higher stake. There’s a good deal of dash and devilry in that infernal blackguard Horton, and doubtless that is why he has made some progress here. Well then, she ought to appreciate my spirit in coming to her at this time of night, or morning, rather. There’s a wild, primitive strain in her; she’s not to be wooed and won in the usual silly mawkish way. More like one of the old Sabine women, who liked nothing better than being knocked down and dragged off by their future lords. I suppose that a female of that antique type of mind can be knocked down and taken captive, as it were, with good vigorous words, just as formerly they were knocked down with the fist or the butt end of a spear.”

His action was scarcely in keeping with the daring, resolute spirit of his language: instead of seizing the knocker and demanding admittance with thunderous racket, he went cautiously up the steps, rapped softly on the door with his knuckles, and then anxiously waited the result of his modest summons.

Miss Starbrow was in the dining-room, and heard the tapping. Her servants had been in bed two hours; and after the departure of her late guests she had turned off the gas at the chandelier, and was leaving the room, when seeing a _Globe_, left by one of her visitors, she took it up to glance at the evening’s news. Something she found in the paper interested her, and she continued reading until that subdued knocking attracted her attention. Taking up her candle she went to the door and unfastened it, but without letting down the chain. Her visitor hurriedly whispered his name, and asked to be admitted for a few minutes, as he had something very important to communicate.

She took down the chain and allowed him to come into the hall. “Why have you come back?” she demanded in some alarm. “Where is Captain Horton?– you left together.”

“He went home in the first cab we found. We tossed for it, and he won, for which I thank the gods. Then, acting on the impulse of the moment, I came back to say something to you. A very unusual–very eccentric thing to do, no doubt. But when something involving great issues has to be done or said, I think the best plan is _not_ to wait for a favourable opportunity. Don’t you agree with me?”

“I don’t understand you, Mr. Chance, and am therefore unable to agree with you. I hope you are not going to keep me standing here much longer.”

“Not for a moment! But will you not let me come inside to say the few words I have to say?”

“Oh yes, you may come in,” she returned not very graciously, and leading the way to the dining-room, where decanters, tumblers, and cards scattered about the table, seen by the dim light of one candle, gave it a somewhat disreputable appearance. “What do you wish to say to me?” she asked a little impatiently, and seating herself.

He took a chair near her. “You are a little unkind to hurry me in this way,” he said, trying to smile, “since you compel me to put my request in very plain blunt language. However, that is perhaps the best plan. Twice I have come to you intending to speak, and have been baffled by fate–“

“Then you might have written, or telegraphed,” she interrupted, “if the matter was so important.”

“Not very well,” he returned, growing very serious. “You know that as well as I do. You must know, dear Miss Starbrow, that I have admired you for a long time. Perhaps you also know that I love you. Miss Starbrow, will you be my wife and make me happy?”

“No, Mr. Chance, I cannot be your wife and make you happy. I must decline your offer.”

Her cold, somewhat ironical tone from the first had prepared him for this result, and he returned almost too quickly, “Oh, I see, you are offended with me for coming to you at this hour. I must suffer the consequences of my mistake, and study to be more cautious and proper in the future. I have always regarded you as an unconventional woman. That, to my mind, is one of your greatest charms; and when I say that I say a good deal. I never imagined that my coming to you like this would have prejudiced you against me.”

She gave a little laugh, but there was an ominous cloud on her face as she answered: “You imagined it was the right thing to do to come at half- past one o’clock in the morning to offer me your hand! Your opinion of my conduct is not a subject I am the least interested in; but whether I am unconventional or not, I assure you, Mr. Chance, that I am not to be pushed or driven one step further than I choose to go.”

“I should never dream of attempting such a thing, Miss Starbrow. But it would be useless to say much more; whatever line I take to-night only makes matters worse for me. But allow me to say one thing before bidding you good-night. The annoyance you feel at the present moment will not last. You have too much generosity, too much intellect, to allow it to rest long in your bosom; and deeply as I feel this rebuff, I am not going to be so weak as to let it darken and spoil my whole life. No, my hope is too strong and too reasonable to be killed so easily. I shall come to you again, and again, and again. For I know that with you for a wife and companion my life would be a happy one; and not happy only, for that is not everything. An ambitious man looks to other greater and perhaps better things.”

The cloud was gone from her brows, and she sat regarding him as he spoke with a slight smile on her lips and a curious critical expression in her eyes. When he finished speaking she laughed and said, “But is _my_ happiness of such little account–do you not propose to make _me_ happy also, Mr. Chance?”

“No,” he returned, his face clouding, and dropping his eyes before her mocking gaze. “You shall not despise me. Single or married, you must make your own happiness or misery. You know that; why do you wish to make me repeat the wretched commonplaces that others use?”

“I’m glad you have so good an opinion of yourself, Mr. Chance,” she replied. “I was vexed with you at first, but am not so now. To watch the changes of your chameleon mind, not always successful in getting the right colour at the right moment, is just as good as a play. If you really mean to come again and again I shall not object–it will amuse me. Only do not come at two o’clock in the morning; it might compromise me, and, unconventional as I am, I should not forgive you a second time. But honestly, Mr. Chance, I don’t believe you will come again. You know now that I know you, and you are too wise to waste your energies on me. I hope you will not give up visiting me–in the daytime. We admire each other, and I have always had a friendly feeling for you. That is a real feeling–not an artificial one like the love you spoke of.”

He rose to go. “Time will show whether it is an artificial feeling or not,” he said; and after bidding good-night and hearing the door close after him, he walked away towards Westbourne Grove. He had gone from her presence with a smile on his lips, but in the street it quickly vanished from his face, and breaking into a rapid walk and clenching his fists, he exclaimed, between his set teeth, “Curse the jade!”

It was not a sufficient relief to his feelings, and yet he seemed unable to think of any other expression more suitable to the occasion, for after going a little further, he repeated, “Curse the jade!”

Then he walked on slower and slower, and finally stopped, and turning towards Dawson Place, he repeated for the third time, “Curse the jade!”

CHAPTER VII

Fan saw no more company after that evening, for which she was not sorry; but that had been a red-letter day to her–not soon, perhaps never, to be forgotten.

Great as the human adaptiveness is at the age at which Fan then was, that loving-kindness of her mistress–of one so proud and beautiful above all women, and, to the girl’s humble ideas, so rich “beyond the dreams of avarice”–retained its mysterious, almost incredible, character to her mind, and was a continual cause of wonder to her, and at times of ill- defined but anxious thought. For what had she–a poor, simple, ignorant useless girl–to keep the affection of such a one as Miss Starbrow? And as the days and weeks went by, that vague anxiety did not leave her; for the more she saw of her mistress, the less did she seem like one of a steadfast mind, whose feelings would always remain the same. She was touchy, passionate, variable in temper; and if her stormy periods were short-lived, she also had cold and sullen moods, which lasted long, and turned all her sweetness sour; and at such times Fan feared to approach her, but sat apart distressed and sorrowful. And yet, whatever her mood was, she never spoke sharply to Fan, or seemed to grow weary of her. And once, during one of those precious half-hours, when they sat together at the bedroom fire before dinner, when Miss Starbrow in a tender mood again drew the girl to her side and kissed her, Fan, even while her heart was overflowing with happiness, allowed something of the fear that was mixed with it to appear in her words.

“Oh, Mary, if I could do something for you!” she murmured. “But I can do nothing–I can only love you. I wish–I wish you would tell me what to do to–to keep your love!”

Miss Starbrow’s face clouded. “Perhaps your heart is a prophetic one, Fan,” she said; “but you must not have those dismal forebodings, or if they will come, then pay as little heed to them as possible. Everything changes about us, and we change too–I suppose we can’t help it. Let us try to believe that we will always love each other. Our food is not less grateful to us because it is possible that at some future day we shall have to go hungry. Oh, poor Fan, why should such thoughts trouble your young heart? Take the goods the gods give you, and do not repine because we are not angels in Heaven, with an eternity to enjoy ourselves in. I love you now, and find it sweet to love you, as I have never loved anyone of my own sex before. Women, as a rule, I detest. You can do, and are doing, more than you know for me.”

Fan did not understand it all; but something of it she did understand, and it had a reassuring effect on her mind.

Her life at this period was a solitary one. After breakfast she would go out for a walk, usually to Kensington Gardens, and returning by way of Westbourne Grove, to execute some small commissions for her mistress. Between dinner and tea the time was mostly spent in the back room on the first floor, which nobody else used; and when the weather permitted she sat with the window open, and read aloud to improve herself in the art, and practised writing and drawing, or read in some book Miss Starbrow had recommended to her. With all her time so agreeably filled she did not feel her loneliness, and the life of ease and plenty soon began to tell on her appearance. Her skin became more pure and transparent, although naturally pale; her eyes grew brighter, and could look glad as well as sorrowful; her face lost its painfully bony look, and was rounder and softer, and the straight lines and sharp angles of her girlish form changed to graceful curves from day to day. Miss Starbrow, regarding her with a curious and not untroubled smile, remarked:

“You are improving in your looks every day, Fan; by-and-by you will be a beautiful girl–and then!”

The attitude of the servants had not changed towards her, the cook continuing to observe a kind of neutrality which was scarcely benevolent, while the housemaid’s animosity was still active; but it had ceased to trouble her very much. Since the evening on which Fan had baffled her by blowing out the candle, Rosie had not attempted to inflict corporal punishment beyond an occasional pinch or slap, but contented herself by mocking and jeering, and sometimes spitting at her.

Rosie is destined to disappear from the history of Fan’s early life in the first third of this volume; but before that time her malice bore very bitter fruit, and for that and other reasons her character is deserving of some description.

She was decidedly pretty, short but well-shaped, with a small English slightly-upturned nose; small mouth with ripe red lips, which were never still except when she held them pressed with her sharp white teeth to make them look redder and riper than ever. Her brown fluffy hair was worn short like a boy’s, and she looked not unlike a handsome high-spirited boy, with brown eyes, mirthful and daring. She was extremely vivacious in disposition, and active–too active, in fact, for she got through her housemaid’s work so quickly that it left her many hours of each day in which to listen to the promptings of the demon of mischief. It was only because she did her work so rapidly and so well that her mistress kept her on–“put up with her,” as she expressed it–in spite of her faults of temper and tongue. But Rosie’s heart was not in her work. She was romantic and ambitious, and her shallow little brain was filled with a thousand dreams of wonderful things to be. She was a constant and ravenous reader of _Bow Bells_, the _London Journal_, and one or two penny weeklies besides; and not satisfied with the half-hundred columns of microscopical letterpress they afforded her, she laid her busy hands on all the light literature left about by her mistress, and thought herself hardly treated because Miss Starbrow was a great reader of French novels. It was exceedingly tantalising to know that those yellow-covered books were so well suited to her taste, and not be able to read them. For someone had told her what nice books they were–someone with a big red moustache, who was as fond of pretty red lips as a greedy school-boy is of ripe cherries.

Many were the stolen interviews between the daring little housemaid and her gentleman lover; sometimes in the house itself, in a shaded part of the hall, or in one of the reception-rooms when a happy opportunity offered–and opportunities always come to those who watch for them; sometimes out of doors in the shadow of convenient trees in the neighbouring quiet street and squares after dark. But Rosie was not too reckless. There was a considerable amount of cunning in that small brain of hers, which prevented her from falling over the brink of the precipice on the perilous edge of which she danced like a playful kid so airily. It was very nice and not too naughty to be cuddled and kissed by a handsome gentleman, with a big moustache, fine eyes, and baritone voice! but she was not prepared to go further than that–just yet; only pretending that by-and-by–perhaps; firing his heart with languishing sighs, the soft unspoken “Ask me no more, for at a touch I yield”; and then she would slip from his arms, and run away to put by the little present of sham jewellery, and think it all very fine fun. They were amusing themselves. His serious love-making was for her mistress. She–Rosie–had a future–a great splendid future, to which she must advance by slow degrees, step by step, sometimes even losing ground a little–and much had been lost since that starved white kitten had come into the house.

When Miss Starbrow, in a fit of anger, had dismissed her maid some months before, and then had accepted some little personal assistance in dressing for the play, and at other times, from her housemaid, Rosie at once imagined that she was winning her way to her mistress’s heart, and her silly dream was that she would eventually get promoted to the vacant and desirable place of lady’s-maid. The cast-off dresses, boots, pieces of finery, and many other things which would be her perquisites would be a little fortune to her, and greatly excited her cupidity. But there were other more important considerations: she would occupy a much higher position in the social scale, and dress well, her hands and skin would grow soft and white, and her appearance and conversation would be that of a lady; for to be a lady’s-maid is, of course, the nearest thing to being a lady. And with her native charms, ambitious intriguing brain, what might she not rise to in time? and she had been so careful, and, she imagined, had succeeded so well in ingratiating herself with her mistress; and by means of a few well-constructed lies had so filled Miss Starbrow with disgust at the ordinary lady’s-maid taken ready-made out of a registry-office, that she had begun to look on the place almost as her own. She had quite overlooked the small fact that she was not qualified to fill it, and never would be. If she had proposed such an arrangement, Miss Starbrow would have laughed heartily, and sent the impudent minx away with a flea in her ear; but she had not yet ventured to broach the subject.

Fan’s coming into the house had not only filled her with the indignation natural to one of her class and in her position at being compelled to wait on a girl picked up half-starved in the streets; but when it appeared that her mistress meant to keep Fan and make much of her, then her jealousy was aroused, and she displayed as much spite and malice as she dared. She had not succeeded in frightening Fan into submission, and she had not dared to invent lies about her; and unable to use her only weapon, she felt herself for the time powerless. On the other hand, it was evident that Fan had made no complaints.

“I’d like to catch the little beggar daring to tell tales of me!” she exclaimed, clenching her vindictive little fists in a fury. But when her mistress gave her any commands about Fan’s meals, or other matters, her tone was so sharp and peremptory, and her eyes so penetrating, that Rosie knew that the hatred she cherished in her heart was no secret. The voice, the look seemed to say plainly, as if it had been expressed in words, “One word and you go; and when you send to me for a character, you shall have justice but no mercy.”

This was a terrible state of things for Rosie. There was nothing she could do; and to sit still and wait was torture to one of her restless, energetic mind. When her mistress was out of the house she could give vent to her spite by getting into Fan’s room and teasing her in every way that her malice suggested. But Fan usually locked her out, and would not even open the door to take in her dinner when it was brought; then Rosie would wait until it was cold before leaving it on the landing.

When Miss Starbrow was in the house, and had Fan with her to comb her hair or read to her, Rosie would hang about, listening at keyholes, to find out how matters were progressing between “lady and lady’s-maid.” But nothing to give her any comfort was discovered. On the contrary, Miss Starbrow showed no signs of becoming disgusted at her own disgraceful infatuation, and seemed more friendly towards the girl than ever. She took her to the dressmaker at the West End, and had a very pretty, dark green walking-dress made for her, in which Fan looked prettier than ever. She also bought her a new stylish hat, a grey fur cape, and long gloves, besides giving her small pieces of jewellery, and so many things besides that poor Rosie was green with envy. Then, as a climax, she ordered in a new pretty iron bed for the girl, and had it put in her own room.

“Fan will be so much warmer and more comfortable here than at the top of the house,” she remarked to Rosie, as if she too had a little malice in her disposition, and was able to take pleasure in sprinkling powder on a raw sore.

CHAPTER VIII

Not until the end of November did anything important occur to make a break in Fan’s happy, and on the whole peaceful, life in Dawson Place; then came an eventful day, which rudely reminded her that she was living, if not on, at any rate in the neighbourhood of a volcano. One morning that was not wet nor foggy Miss Starbrow made up her mind to visit the West End to do a little shopping, and, to the maid’s unbounded disgust, she took Fan with her. An hour after breakfast they started in a hansom and drove to the Marble Arch, where they dismissed the cab.

“Now,” said Miss Starbrow, who was in high spirits, “we’ll walk to Peter Robinson’s and afterwards to Piccadilly Circus, looking at all the shops, and then have lunch at the St. James’s Restaurant; and walk home along the parks. It is so beautifully dry underfoot to-day.”

Fan was delighted with the prospect, and they proceeded along Oxford Street. The thoroughfares about the Marble Arch had been familiar to her in the old days, and yet they seemed now to have a novel and infinitely more attractive appearance–she did not know why. But the reason was very simple. She was no longer a beggar, hungry, in rags, ashamed, and feeling that she had no right to be there, but was herself a part of that pleasant world of men and women and children. An old Moon Street neighbour, seeing her now in her beautiful dress and with her sweet peaceful face, would not have recognised her.

At Peter Robinson’s they spent about half an hour, Miss Starbrow making some purchases for herself, and, being in a generous mood, she also ordered a few things for Fan. As they came out at the door they met a Mr. Mortimer, an old friend of Miss Starbrow’s, elderly, but dandified in his dress, and got up to look as youthful as possible. After warmly shaking hands with Miss Starbrow, and bowing to Fan, he accompanied them for some distance up Regent Street. Fan walked a little ahead. Mr. Mortimer seemed very much taken with her, and was most anxious to find out all about her, and to know how she came to be in Miss Starbrow’s company. The answers he got were short and not explicit; and whether he resented this, or merely took a malicious pleasure in irritating his companion, whose character he well knew, he continued speaking of Fan, protesting that he had not seen a lovelier girl for a long time, and begging Miss Starbrow to note how everyone–or every _man_, rather, since man only has eyes to see so exquisite a face–looked keenly at the girl in passing.

“My dear Miss Starbrow,” he said, “I must congratulate you on your–ahem –late repentance. You know you were always a great woman-hater–a kind of she-misogynist, if such a form of expression is allowable. You must have changed indeed before bringing that fresh charming young girl out with you.” He angered her and she did not conceal it, because she could not, though knowing that he was studying to annoy her from motives of revenge. For this man, who was old enough to be her father, and had spent the last decade trying to pick up a woman with money to mend his broken fortunes– this watery-eyed, smirking old beau, who wrote himself down young, going about Regent Street on a cold November day without overcoat or spectacles–this man had had the audacity to propose marriage to her! She had sent him about his business with a burst of scorn, which shook his old, battered moral constitution like a tempest of wind and thunder, and he had not forgotten it. He chuckled at the successful result of his attack, not caring to conceal his glee; but this meeting proved very unfortunate for poor Fan. After dismissing her old lover with scant courtesy, Miss Starbrow caught up with the girl, and they walked on in silence, looking at no shop-windows now. One glance at the dark angry face was enough to spoil Fan’s pleasure for the day and to make her shrink within herself, wondering much as to what had caused so great and sudden a change.

Arrived at Piccadilly Circus, Miss Starbrow called a cab.

“Get in, Fan,” she said, speaking rather sharply. “I have a headache and am going home.”

The headache seemed so like a fit of anger that Fan did not venture to speak one word of sympathy.

After reaching home, Miss Starbrow, without saying a word, went to her room. Fan ventured to follow her there.

“I wish to be left alone for the rest of the day,” said her mistress. “Tell Rosie that I don’t wish to be disturbed. After you have had your dinner go down to the drawing-room and sit there by the fire with your book. And–stay, if anyone calls to see me, say that I have a headache and do not wish to be disturbed.”

Fan went sorrowfully away and had her dinner, and was mocked by Rosie when she delivered the message, and then taking her book she went to the drawing-room on the ground-floor. After she had been there half an hour she heard a knock, and presently the door was opened and Captain Horton walked in.

“What, alone, Miss Affleck! Tell me about Miss Starbrow,” he said, advancing and taking her hand.

Fan explained that Miss Starbrow was lying down, suffering from a headache, and did not wish to be disturbed.

“I am sorry to hear it,” he said. “But I can sit here and have a little conversation with you, Fan–your name is Fan, is it not?”

He sat down near the fire still keeping her hand in his, and when she tried gently to withdraw it, his grasp became firmer. His hand was very soft, as is usual with men who play cards much–and well; and it held tenaciously–again a characteristic of the card-playing hand.

“Oh, please, sir, let me go!” she said.

“Why, my dear child, don’t you know it’s the custom for a gentleman to hold a girl’s hand in his when he talks to her? But you have always lived among the very poor–have you not?–where they have different customs. Never mind, Fan, you will soon learn. Now look up, Fan, and let me see those wonderful eyes of yours; yes, they are very pretty. You don’t mind my teaching you a little, do you, Fan, so that you will know how to behave when you are with well-bred people?”

“No, sir; but please, sir, will you let me go?”

“Why, you foolish child, I am not going to hurt you. You don’t take me for a dentist, do you?” he continued, trying to make her laugh. But his smile and the look in his eyes only frightened her. “Look here, Fan, I will teach you something else. Don’t you know that it is the custom among ladies and gentlemen for a young girl to kiss a gentleman when he speaks kindly to her?”

“No,” said Fan, reddening and trying again to free herself.

“Don’t be so foolish, child, or you will never learn how to behave. Do you know that if you make a noise or fuss you’ll disturb your mistress and she will be very angry with you. Come now, be a good dear little girl.”

And with gentle force he drew her between his knees and put his arm round her. Fan, afraid to cry out, struggled vainly to get free; he held her firmly and closely, and had just put his lips to her face when the door swung open, and Miss Starbrow sailed like a tragedy-queen into the room, her head thrown back, her face white as marble and her eyes gleaming.

The visitor instantly rose, while Fan, released from his grip, her face crimson with shame, slunk away, trembling with apprehension.

“Captain Horton, what is the meaning of this?” demanded the lady.

“Why nothing–a mere trifle–a joke, Pollie. Your little girl doesn’t mind being kissed by a friend of the family–that’s all.”

“Come here, Fan,” she said, in a tone of concentrated rage; and the girl, frightened and hesitating, approached her. “This is the way you behave the moment my back is turned. You corrupt-minded little wretch! Take that!” and with her open hand she struck the girl’s face a cruel blow, with force enough to leave the red print of her fingers on the pale cheek.

Fan, covering her face with her hands, shrunk back against the wall, sobbing convulsively.

“Oh, come, Pollie!” exclaimed Horton, “don’t be so hard on the poor monkey–she’s a mere child, you know, and didn’t think any harm.”

Miss Starbrow made no reply, but standing motionless looked at him– watched his face with a fierce, dangerous gleam in her half-closed eyes.

“Don’t stand snivelling here,” she spoke, turning to Fan. “Go up instantly to the back room, and stay there. I shall know how to trust a girl out of the slums another time.”

Crying bitterly she left the room, and her mistress shut the door after her, remaining there with her lover.

Fan found the window of the back room open, but she did not feel cold; and kneeling on the sofa, with her face resting on her hands, and still crying, she remained there for a long time. A little wintry sunshine rested on the garden, brightening the brown naked branches of the trees and the dark green leaves of ivy and shrub, and gladdening the sparrows. By-and-by the shortlived sunshine died away, and the sparrows left. It was strangely quiet in the house; distinctly she heard Miss Starbrow come out of the drawing-room and up the stairs; she trembled a little then and felt a little rebellious stirring in her heart, thinking that her mistress was coming up to her. But no, she went to her own room, and closed the door. Then Rosie came in, stealing up to her on tiptoe, and curiously peering into her face.

“Oh I say–something’s happened!” she exclaimed, and tripped joyfully away. Half an hour later she came up with some tea.

“I’ve brought your la’ship a cup of tea. I’m sure it will do your head good,” she said, advancing with mincing steps and affecting profound sympathy in her tone.

“Take it away–I shan’t touch it!” returned Fan, becoming angry in her misery.

“Oh, but your la’ship’s health is so important! Society will be so distressed when it hears that your la’ship is unwell! I’ll leave the cup in the window in case your la’ship–“

Fan pushed cup and saucer angrily away, and over they went, falling outside down to the area, where they struck with a loud crash and were shivered to pieces.

Rosie laughed and clapped her hands in glee. “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve smashed it!” she exclaimed. “I’ll tell Miss Starbrow, and then you’ll see! That cup was the thing she valued most in the house. She bought it at a sale at Christie and Manson’s and gave twenty-five guineas for it. Oh, how mad she’ll be!”

Fan paid no heed to her words, knowing that there was no truth in them. While pushing it away she had noticed that it was an old kitchen cup, chipped and cracked and without a handle; the valuable curio had as a fact been fished out of a heap of rubbish that morning by the maid, who thought that it would serve very well for “her la’ship’s tea.”

Rosie got tired of tormenting her, and took herself off at last; then another hour went slowly by while it gradually grew dark; and as the lights faded her rebellious feelings left her, and she began to hope that Miss Starbrow would soon call her or come to her. And at length, unable to bear the loneliness and suspense, she went to the bedroom door and softly knocked. There was no answer, and trying the door she found that it was locked. She waited outside the door for about half an hour, and then hearing her mistress moving in the room she tapped again, with the same result as before. Then she went back despairingly to the back room and her place beside the window. The night was starry and not very cold, and to protect herself from the night air she put on her fur cape. Hour after hour she listened to the bells of St. Matthew’s chiming the quarters, feeling a strange loneliness each time the chimes ceased; and then, after a few minutes’ time, beginning again to listen for the next quarter. It was getting very late, and still no one came to her, not even Rosie with her supper, which she had made up her mind not to touch. Then she dropped her head on her hands, and cried quietly to herself. She had so many thoughts, and each one seemed sadder than the last. For the great tumult in her soul was over now, and she could think about it all, and of all the individuals who had treated her cruelly. She felt very differently towards them. Captain Horton she feared and hated, and wished him dead with all her heart; and Rosie she also hated, but not so intensely, for the maid’s enmity had not injured her. Against Mary she only felt a great anger, but no hatred; for Mary had been so kind, so loving, and she could not forget that, and all the sweetness it had given her life. Then she began to compare this new luxurious life in Dawson Place to the old wretched life in Moon Street, which now seemed so far back in time; and it seemed strange to her that, in spite of the great difference, yet to-night she felt more unhappy than she had ever felt in the old days. She remembered her poor degraded mother, who had never turned against her, and cried quietly again, leaning her face on the window-sill. Then she had a thought which greatly perplexed her, and she asked herself why it was in those old days, when hard words and unjust blows came to her, she only felt a fearful shrinking of the flesh, and wished like some poor hunted animal to fly away and hide herself from her tormentors, while now a spirit of resentment and rebellion was kindled in her and burnt in her heart with a strange fire. Was it wrong to feel like that, to wish that those who made her suffer were dead? That was a hard question which Fan put to herself, and she could not answer it.

Her long fast and the excitement she had experienced, with so many lonely hours of suspense after it, began to tell on her and make her sleepy. It was eleven o’clock; she heard the servants going round to fasten doors and turn off the gas, and finally they passed her landing on their way to bed. It was getting very cold, and giving up all hope of being called by her mistress, she closed the window and, with an old table-cover for covering, coiled herself up on the sofa and went to sleep.

When she woke it was with a start; her face had grown very cold, and she felt a warm hand touching her cheek. The hand was quickly withdrawn when she woke, and looking round Fan saw someone seated by her, and although there was only the starlight from the window in the dim room, she knew that it was her mistress. She raised herself to a sitting position on the sofa, but without speaking. All her bitter, resentful feelings had suddenly rushed back to her heart.

“Well, you have condescended to wake at last,” said Miss Starbrow. “Do you know that it is nearly one o’clock in the morning?”

“No,” returned Fan.

“No! well then, I say yes. It is nearly one o’clock. Do you intend to keep me here waiting your pleasure all night, I wonder!”

“I don’t want you to come here. I had no place to sleep because you locked me out of your room.”

“And for an excellent reason,” said the other sharply. “How could I admit you into my room after the outrageous scene I witnessed downstairs! You seem to think that you can behave just how you like in my house, and that it will make no difference.”

Fan was silent.

“Oh, very well, Miss Fan, if you have nothing to say for yourself!”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say! I wonder at the question. I want you to tell me the truth, of course. That is, if you can. How did it all happen–you must tell me everything just as it occurred, without concealment or prevarication.”

Fan related the facts simply and clearly; she remembered every word the Captain had spoken only too well.

“I wish I knew whether you have told me the simple truth or not,” said Miss Starbrow.

“May God strike me dead if I’m not telling the truth!” said Fan.

“There, that will do. A young lady is supposed to be able to answer a question with a simple yes or no, without swearing about it like a bargee on the Regent’s Canal.”

“Then why don’t you believe me when I say yes and no, and–and why didn’t you ask me before you struck me?”

“I shouldn’t have struck you if I had not thought you were a little to blame. It is not likely. You ought to know that after all my kindness to you–but I dare say that is all forgotten. I declare I have been treated most shamefully!” And here she dropped her face into her hands and began crying.

But the girl felt no softening of the heart; that strange fire was still burning in her, and she could only think of the cruel words, the unjust blow.

Miss Starbrow suddenly ceased her crying. “I thought that you, at any rate, had a little gratitude and affection for me,” she said. “But of course I was mistaken about that as I have been about everything else. If you had the faintest spark of sympathy in you, you would show a little feeling, and–and ask me why I cry, or say something.”

For some moments Fan continued silent, then she moved and touched the other’s hand, and said very softly, for now all her anger was melting away, “Why do you cry, Mary?”

“You know, Fan, because I love you, and am so sorry I struck you. What a brute I was to hurt you–a poor outcast and orphan, with no friend but me in the world. Forgive me, dear Fan, for treating you so cruelly!” Then she put her arms about the girl and kissed her, holding her close to her breast.

“Oh, Mary, dear,” said Fan, now also crying; “you didn’t hurt me very much. I only felt it because–because it was you.”

“I know, Fan, and that’s why I can’t forgive myself. But I shall never, never hurt you again, for I know that you are truth itself, and that I can trust you. And now let us go down and have some supper together before going to bed. I know you’ve had nothing since lunch, and I couldn’t touch a morsel, I was so troubled about that wretch of a man. I think I have been sitting here quite two hours waiting for you to wake.”

Together they went down to the dining-room, where a delicate little supper, such as Miss Starbrow loved to find on coming home from the play, was laid out for them. For the first time Fan sat at table with her mistress; another new experience was the taste of wine. She had a glass of Sauterne, and thought it very nice.

CHAPTER IX

On the next morning, after a sharp frost, the sun shone brightly as in spring. Fan was up early and enjoyed her breakfast, notwithstanding the late supper, and not in the least disturbed by the scornful words flung at her by the housemaid when she brought up the tray. After breakfasting she went to Miss Starbrow’s room, to find her still in bed and not inclined to get up.

“Put on your dress and go for a walk in Kensington Gardens,” she said. “I think it is a fine day, for a wonder. You may stop out until one o’clock, if you like, and take my watch, so as to know the time. And if you wish to rest while out don’t sit down on a bench, or you will be sure to have someone speak to you. According to the last census, or Registrar- General’s report, or whatever it is, there are twenty thousand young gentlemen loafers in London, who spend their whole time hanging about the parks and public places trying to make the acquaintance of young girls. Sit on a chair by yourself when you are tired–you can always find a chair even in winter–and give the chairman a penny when he comes to you.”

“I haven’t got a penny, Mary. But it doesn’t matter; I’ll not get tired.”

“Then I must give you a purse and some money, and you must never go out without it, and don’t mind spending a little money now and then, and giving away a penny when you feel inclined. Give me my writing desk and the keys.”

She opened the desk and took out a small plush purse, then some silver and coppers to put in it, and finally a sovereign.

“The silver you can use, the sovereign you must not change, but keep it in case you should require money when I am not with you.”

With all these fresh proofs of Mary’s affection to make her happy, in her lovely new dress and hat, and the beautiful gold chain on her bosom, Fan went out for her walk feeling as light-hearted as a linnet. It was the last day of November, usually a dreary time in London, but never had the world looked so bright and beautiful to Fan as on that morning; and as she walked along with swift elastic tread she could hardly refrain from bursting bird-like into some natural joyous melody. Passing into the Gardens at the Queen’s Road entrance, she went along the Broad Walk to the Round Pond, and then on to the Albert Memorial, shining with gold and brilliant colours in the sun like some fairy edifice. Running up the steps she walked round and round the sculptured base of the monument, studying the marble faces and reading the names, and above all admiring the figures there–blind old Homer playing on his harp, with Dante, Shakespeare, Milton, and all the immortal sons of song, grouped about him listening. But nothing to her mind equalled the great group of statuary representing Asia at one of the four corners, with that colossal calm- faced woman seated on an elephant in the centre. What a great majestic face, and yet how placid and sweet it looked, reminding her a little of Mary in her kindly moods. But this noble face was of marble, and never changed; Mary’s changed every hour, so that the soft expression when it came seemed doubly sweet. By-and-by she walked away towards the bridge over the Serpentine, and in the narrow path, thickly bordered with trees and shrubs and late flowers, she stepped aside to make room for a lady to pass, who held by the hand a little angel-faced, golden-haired child, dressed in a quaint pretty costume. The child stood still and looked up into Fan’s face, and then she also involuntarily stopped, so taken was she with the little thing’s beauty.

“Mammy,” said the child, pointing to Fan, “I’se like to tiss the pretty laly.”

“Well, my darling, perhaps the young lady will kiss you if you ask very nicely,” said the mother.

“Oh, may I kiss her?” said Fan, reddening with pleasure, and quickly stooping she pressed her lips to the little cherub face.

“I loves you–what’s your name?” said the child.

“No, darling, you must not ask questions. You’ve got your kiss and that ought to satisfy you”; and with a smile and nod to Fan she walked on.

Fan pursued her walk to the Serpentine, with a new delicious sensation in her heart. It was so strange and sweet to be spoken to by a lady, a stranger, and treated like an equal! And in the days that were not so long ago with what sad desire in her eyes had she looked at smiling beautiful faces, like this lady’s face, and no smile and no gentle word had been bestowed on her, and no glance that did not express pity or contempt!

At the head of the Serpentine she stood for ten or fifteen minutes to watch the children and nursemaids feeding the swans and ducks. The swans were very stately and graceful, the ducks very noisy and contentious, and it was great fun to see them squabbling over the crumbs of bread. But after leaving the waterside she came upon a scene among the great elms and chestnuts close by which amused her still more. Some poor ragged children–three boys and a girl–were engaged in making a great heap of the old dead fallen leaves, gathering them in armfuls and bringing them to one spot. By-and-by the little girl came up with a fresh load, and as she stooped to put it on the pile, the boys, who had all gathered round, pushed her over and covered her with a mass of old leaves; then, with a shout of laughter at their rough joke, they ran away. She struggled out and stood up half-choked with dust, her face covered with dirt, and dress and hair with the black half-rotten leaves. As soon as she got her breath she burst out in a prolonged howl, while the big tears rushed out, making channels on her grimy cheeks.

“Oh, poor little girl, don’t cry,” said Fan, going up to her, but the child only howled the louder. Then Fan remembered her money and Mary’s words, and taking out a penny she offered it to the little girl. Instantly the crying ceased, the child clutched the penny in her dirty little fist, then stared at Fan, then at the penny, and finally turned and ran away as fast as she could run, past the fountains, out at the gate, and into the Bayswater Road.

When she was quite out of sight Fan resumed her walk, laughing a little, but with misty eyes, for it was the first time in her life that she had given a penny away, and it made her strangely happy. Before quitting the Gardens, however, one little incident occurred to interfere with her pleasure. Close to the Broad Walk she suddenly encountered Captain Horton walking with a companion in the opposite direction. There was no time to turn aside in order to avoid him; when she recognised him he was watching her face with a curious smile under his moustache which made her feel a little uncomfortable; then, raising his hat, he passed her without speaking.

“You know that pretty girl?” she heard his friend ask, as she hurried away a little frightened towards the Queen’s Road gate.

Miss Starbrow appeared very much put out about this casual encounter in the Gardens when Fan related the incidents of her walk.

“I’ll not walk there again, Mary, so as not to meet him,” said Fan timidly.

“On the contrary, you shall walk there as often as you like–I had almost said whether you like it or not; and in the Grove, where you are still more likely to meet him.” She spoke angrily; but after a while added, “He couldn’t well have done less than notice you when he met you, and I do not think you need be afraid of anything. It is not likely that he would address you. He put an altogether false complexion on that affair yesterday–a cowardly thing to do, and caused us both a great deal of pain, and for that I shall never forgive him. Think no more about it, Fan.”

It was pretty plain, however, that she permitted herself to think more about it; for during the next few days she was by no means cheerful, while her moody fits and bursts of temper were more frequent than usual. Then, one Wednesday evening, when Fan assisted her in dressing to receive her visitors, she seemed all at once to have recovered her spirits, and talked to the girl and laughed in a merry light-hearted way.

“Poor Fan, how dull it must always be for you on a Wednesday evening, sitting here so long by yourself,” she said.

“Oh no, Mary, I always open the door and listen to the music; I like the singing so much.”

“That reminds me,” said Miss Starbrow. “Who do you think is coming this evening?”

“Captain Horton,” she answered promptly.

Miss Starbrow laughed. “Yes; how quick you are at guessing. I must tell you all about it; and do you know, Fan, I find it very delightful to have a dear trusty girl to talk to. I suppose you have noticed how cross I have been all these days. It was all on account of that man. He offended me so much that day that I made up my mind never to speak to him again. But he is very sorry; besides, he looked on you as little more than a child, and really meant it only for a joke. And so I have half forgiven him, and shall let him visit me again, but only on Wednesday evenings when there will be others. I shall not allow him to come whenever he likes, as he used to do. Fan was silent. Miss Starbrow, sitting before the glass, read the ill-concealed trouble in the girl’s face reflected there.

“Now don’t be foolish, Fan, and think no more about it,” she said. “You are very young–not nearly sixteen yet, and gentlemen look on girls of that age as scarcely more than children, and think it no harm to kiss them. He’s a thoughtless fellow, and doesn’t always do what is right, but he certainly did not think any harm or he would not have acted that way in my house. That’s what he says, and I know very well when I hear the truth.”

After finishing her hair, Miss Starbrow, not yet satisfied that she had removed all disagreeable impression, turned round and said, “Now, my solemn-faced girl, why are you so silent? Are you going to be cross with me? Don’t you think I know best what is right and believe what I tell you?”

The tears came to the girl’s eyes. “I do believe you know best, Mary,” she said, in a distressed voice. “Oh, please don’t think that I am cross. I am so glad you like to talk to me.”

Miss Starbrow smiled and touched her cheek, and at length stooped and kissed her; and this little display of confidence and affection chased away the last remaining cloud, and made Fan perfectly happy.

The partial forgiveness extended to Captain Horton did not have exactly the results foretold. Miss Starbrow was fond of affirming that when her mind was once made up about anything it was not to be moved; but in this affair she had already yielded to persuasion, and had permitted the Captain to visit her again; and by-and-by the second resolution also proved weak, and his visits were not confined to Wednesday evenings. She had struggled against her unworthy feeling for him, and knowing that it was unworthy, that the strength she prided herself so much on was weakness where he was concerned, she was dissatisfied in mind and angry with herself for making these concessions. She really believed in the love he professed for her, and did not think much the worse of him for being a man without income or occupation, and a gambler to boot; but she feared that a marriage with him would only make her miserable, and between her love for him, which could not be concealed, and the fear that he would eventually win her consent to be his wife, her mind was in a constant state of anxiety and restlessness. The little indiscretion he had been guilty of with Fan she had forgiven in her heart: that he had actually conceived a fondness for this poor young girl she could not believe, for in that case he would have been very careful not to do anything to betray it to the woman he wished to marry; but though she had forgiven him, she was resolved not to let him know it just yet, and so continued to be a little distant and formal in her manner, never calling him by his christian name, “Jack,” as formerly, and not allowing him to call her “Pollie.”

All this was nothing to Fan, as she very rarely saw him, but on the few occasions when she accidentally met him, in the house or when out walking, he always had that curious smile on his lips, and studied her face with a bold searching look in his eyes, which made her uncomfortable and even a little afraid.

One day, about the middle of December, Miss Starbrow began to speak to her about her future.

“You have improved wonderfully, Fan, since you first came,” she said, “but I fear that this kind of improvement will not be of much practical use, and my conscience is not quite satisfied about you. I have taken this responsibility on myself, and must not go on shutting my eyes to it. Some day it will be necessary for you to go out into the world to earn your own living; that is what we have got to think about. Remember that you can’t have me always to take care of you; I might go abroad, or die, or get married, and then you would be left to your own resources. You couldn’t make your living by simply looking pretty; you must be useful as well as ornamental; and I have taught you nothing–teaching is not in my line. It would be a thousand pities if you were ever to sink down to the servant-girl level: we must think of something better than that. A young lady generally aspires to be a governess. But then she must know everything–music, drawing, French, German, Latin, mathematics, algebra; all that she must have at her finger-ends, and be able to gabble political economy, science, and metaphysics to boot. All that is beyond you–unattainable as the stars. But you needn’t break your heart about it. She doesn’t get much. Her wages are about equal to those of a kitchen-maid, who can’t spell, but only peel potatoes. And the more learned she is, the more she is disliked and snubbed by her betters; and she never marries, in spite of what the _Family Herald_ says, but goes on toiling until she is fifty, and then retires to live alone on fifteen shillings a week in some cheap lodging for the remnant of her dreary life. No, poor Fan, you can’t hope to be anything as grand as a governess.”

Fan laughed a little: she had grown accustomed to and understood this half-serious mocking style of speech in which her mistress often indulged.

“But,” she continued, “you might qualify yourself for some other kind of employment less magnificent, but still respectable, and even genteel enough. That of a nursery-governess, for instance; you are fond of children, and could teach them their letters. Or you could be companion to a lady; some simple-minded, old-fashioned dame who stays at home, and would not require you to know languages. Or, better still perhaps, you might go into one of the large West End shops. I do not think it would be very difficult for you to get a place of that kind, as your appearance is so much in your favour. I know that your ambition is not a very soaring one, and a few months ago you would not have ventured to dream of ever being a young lady in a shop like Jay’s or Peter Robinson’s. Yet for such a place you would not have to study for years and pass a stiff examination, as a poor girl is obliged to do before she can make her living by sitting behind a counter selling penny postage-stamps. Homely girls can succeed there: for the fine shop a pretty face, an elegant figure, and a pleasing lady-like manner are greatly prized–more than a knowledge of archaeology and the higher mathematics; and you possess all these essentials to start with. But whether you are destined to go into a shop or private house, it is important that you should make a better use of your time just now, while you are with me, and learn something– dressmaking, let us say, and all kinds of needlework; then you will at least be able to make your own clothes.”

“I should like to learn that very much,” said Fan eagerly.

“Very well, you shall learn then. I have been making inquiries, and find that there is a place in Regent Street, where for a moderate premium they do really succeed in teaching girls such things in a short time. I shall take you there to-morrow, and make all arrangements.”

Very soon after this conversation Fan commenced her new work of learning dressmaking, going every morning by omnibus to Regent Street, lunching where she worked, and returning to Dawson Place at four o’clock. After the preliminary difficulties, or rather strangeness inseparable from a new occupation, had been got over, she began to find her work very agreeable. It was maintained by the teachers in the establishment she was in that by means of their system even a stupid girl could be taught the mystery of dressmaking in a little while. And Fan was not stupid, although she had an extremely modest opinion of her own abilities, and was not regarded by others as remarkably intelligent; but she was diligent and painstaking, and above everything anxious to please her mistress, who had paid extra money to ensure pains being taken with her. So rapid was her progress, that before the end of January Miss Starbrow bought some inexpensive material, and allowed her to make herself a couple of dresses to wear in the house; and these first efforts resulted so well that a better stuff was got for a walking-dress.

The winter had thus far proved a full and happy one to Fan; in February she was even more fully occupied, and, if possible, happier; for after leaving the establishment in Regent Street, Miss Starbrow sent her to the school of embroidery in South Kensington to take lessons in a new and still more delightful art. But at the end of that month Fan unhappily, and from no fault of her own, fell into serious disgrace. She had gone to the Exhibition Road with a sample of her work on the morning of a bright windy day which promised to be dry; a little later Miss Starbrow also went out. Before noon the weather changed, and a heavy continuous rain began to fall. At one o’clock Miss Starbrow came home in a cab, and as she went into the house it occurred to her to ask the maid if Fan had got very wet or had come in a cab. She knew that Fan had not taken an umbrella.

“No, ma’am; she walked home, but didn’t get wet. A young gentleman came with her, and I s’pose he kept her dry with his umbrella.”

“A young gentleman–are you quite sure?”

“Yes, ma’am, quite sure,” she returned, indignant at having her sacred word doubted. “He was with her on the steps when I opened the door, and shook hands with her just like an old friend when he went away; and she was quite dry.”

Miss Starbrow said no more. She knew that the servant, though no friend to Fan, would not have dared to invent a story of this kind, and resolved to say nothing, but to wait for the girl to give her own account of the matter.

Fan said nothing about it. On leaving the school of embroidery, seeing how threatening the sky was, she was hurrying towards the park, when the rain came down, and in a few moments she would have been wet through if help had not come in the shape of an umbrella held over her head by an attentive young stranger. He kept at her side all the way across the Gardens to Dawson Place, and Fan felt grateful for his kindness; she conversed with him during the walk, and at the door she had not refused to shake hands when he offered his. In ordinary circumstances, she would have made haste to tell her mistress all about it, thinking no harm; unfortunately it happened that for some days Miss Starbrow had been in one of her worst moods, and during these sullen irritable periods Fan seldom spoke unless spoken to.

When Miss Starbrow found the girl in her room on going there, she looked keenly and not too kindly at her, and imagined that poor Fan wore a look of guilt on her face, whereas it was nothing but distress at her own continued ill-temper which she saw.

“I shall give her till to-morrow to tell me,” thought the lady, “and if she says nothing, I shall conclude that she has made friends out of doors and wishes to keep it from me.”

Fan knew nothing of what was passing in the other’s mind; she only saw that her mistress was even less gracious to her than she had been, and thought it best to keep out of her sight. For the rest of the day not one word passed between them.

Next morning Fan got ready to go to Kensington, but first came in to her mistress as was her custom. Miss Starbrow was also dressed in readiness to go out; she was sitting apparently waiting to speak to Fan before leaving the house.

“Are you going out, Mary?” said Fan, a little timidly.

“Yes, I am going out,” she returned coldly, and then seemed waiting for something more to be said.

“May I go now?” said Fan.

“No,” the other returned after some moments. “Change your dress again and stay at home to-day.” Presently she added, “You are learning a little too much in Exhibition Road–more, I fancy, than I bargained for.”

Fan was silent, not knowing what was meant.

Then Miss Starbrow went out, but first she called the maid and told her to remove Fan’s bed and toilet requisites out of her room into the back room.

Greatly distressed and perplexed at the unkind way she had been spoken to, Fan changed her dress and sat down in the cold back room to do some work. After a while she heard a great noise as of furniture being dragged about, and presently Rosie came in with the separate pieces of her dismantled bed.

“What are you doing with my things?” exclaimed Fan in surprise.

“Your things!” retorted Rosie, with scorn. “What your mistress told me to do, you cheeky little beggar! Your things indeed! ‘Put a beggar on horseback and he’ll ride to the devil,’ and that’s what Miss Starbrow’s beginning to find out at last. And quite time, too! Embroidery! That’s what you’re going to wear perhaps when you’re back in the slums you came from! I thought it wouldn’t last!” And Rosie, banging the things about, pounding the mattress with clenched fist, and shaking the pillows like a terrier with a rat, kept up this strain of invective until she had finished her task, and then went off, well pleased to think that the day of her triumph was not perhaps very far distant.

On that day, however, Rosie herself was destined to experience great trouble of mind, and an anxiety about her future even exceeding that of Fan, who was spending the long hours alone in that big, cold, fireless room, grieving in her heart at the great change in her beloved mistress, and dropping many a tear on the embroidery in her hands.

It was about three o’clock, and feeling her fingers quite stiff with cold, she determined to go quietly down to the drawing-room in the hope of finding a fire lighted there so as to warm her hands. Miss Starbrow had not returned, and the house was very still, and after standing a few moments on the landing, anxious not to rouse the maid and draw a fresh volley of abuse on herself, she went softly down the stairs, and opened the drawing-room door. For a moment or two she stood motionless, and then muttering some incoherent apology turned and fled back to her room. For there, very much at his ease, sat Captain Horton, with Rosie on his knees, her arms about his neck, and her lips either touching his or in very close proximity to them.

Rosie slipped from her seat, and the Captain stood up, but the intruder had seen and gone, and their movements were too late.

“The spy! the cat!” snapped Rosie, grown suddenly pale with anger and apprehension.

“It’s very fine to abuse the girl,” said the Captain; “but it was all through your infernal carelessness. Why didn’t you lock the door?”

“Oh, you’re going to blame me! That’s like a man. Perhaps you’re in love with the cat. I s’pose you think she’s pretty.”

“I’d like to twist her neck, and yours too, for a fool. If any trouble comes you will be to blame.”

“Say what you like, I don’t care. There’ll be trouble enough, you may be sure.”

“Do you mean to say that she will dare to tell?”

“Tell! She’ll only be too glad of the chance. She’ll tell everything to Miss Starbrow, and she hates me and hates you like poison. It would be very funny if she didn’t tell.”

He walked about the room fuming.

“It will be as bad for you as for me,” he said.

“No, it won’t. I can get another place, I s’pose.”

“Oh, yes; very fine, and be a wretched slavey all your life, if you like that. You know very well that I have promised you two hundred pounds the day I marry your mistress.”

“Yes; because I’m not a fool, and you can’t help yourself. Don’t think _I_ want to marry you. Not me! Keep your love for Miss Starbrow, and much you’ll get out of her!”

“You idiot!” he began; but seeing that she was half sobbing he said no more, and continued walking about the room. Presently he came back to her. “It’s no use quarrelling,” he said. “If anything can be done to get out of this infernal scrape it will only be by our acting together. Since this wretched Fan has been in the house, Miss Starbrow is harder than ever to get on with; and even if Fan holds her tongue about this–“

“She won’t hold her tongue.”

“But even if she should, we’ll never do any good while she has that girl to amuse herself with. You know perfectly well, Rosie, that if there is anyone I really love it is you; but then we’ve both of us got to do the best we can for ourselves. I shall love you just the same after I am married, and if you still should like me, why then, Rosie, we might be able to enjoy ourselves very well. But if Fan tells at once what she saw just now, then it will be all over with us–with you, at any rate.”

“She won’t tell at once–not while her mistress is in her tantrums. The little cat keeps out of her way then. Not to-day, and perhaps not to- morrow; and the day after I think Miss Starbrow’s going to visit her friends at Croydon. That’s what she said; and if she goes, she’ll be out all day.”

“Oh!” ejaculated the Captain; then rising he carefully closed and locked the door before continuing the conversation. They were both very much interested in it; but when it was at last over, and the Captain took his departure, Rosie did not bounce away as usual with tumbled hair and merry flushed face. She left the drawing-room looking pale and a little scared perhaps, and for the rest of the day was unusually silent and subdued.

CHAPTER X

To Fan no comfort came that evening, and an hour after supper she went to bed to get warm, without seeing her mistress, who had returned to dinner. Next day she was no better off; she did not venture to ask whether she might go out or not, or even to go to Miss Starbrow’s room, but kept to her own cold apartment, working and grieving, and seeing no one except the maid. Rosie came and went, but she was moody, or else afraid to use her tongue, and silent. On the following morning Miss Starbrow left the house at an early hour, and Fan resigned herself to yet another cold solitary day. About eleven o’clock Rosie came running up in no little excitement with a telegram addressed to “Miss Affleck.” She took it, wondering a little at the change in the maid’s manner, but not thinking much about it, for she had never received a telegram before, and it startled and troubled her to have one thrust into her hand. Rosie stood by, anxiously waiting to hear its contents.

“How long are you going to be about it?” she exclaimed. “Let me read it for you.”

Fan held it back, and went on perusing it slowly. It was from Miss Starbrow at Twickenham, and said: “Come to me here by train from Westbourne Park Station. Bring two or three dresses and all you will require in my bag. Shall remain here several days. The housekeeper will meet you at Twickenham Station.”

She allowed Rosie to read the message, and was told that Twickenham was very near London; that she must take a cab to get quickly to Westbourne Park Station, so as not to keep Miss Starbrow waiting. Then, while Fan changed her dress and got herself ready, the maid selected one of Miss Starbrow’s best bags and busied herself in folding up and packing as many of Fan’s things as she could cram into it. Then she ran out to call a cab, leaving Fan again studying the telegram and feeling strangely perplexed at being thus suddenly sent for by her mistress, who had gone out of the house without speaking one word to her.

In a few minutes the cab was at the door, and Rosie officiously helped the girl in, handed her the bag, and told her to pay the cabman one shilling. After it started she rushed excitedly into the road and stopped it.

“Oh, I forgot, Miss Fan, leave the telegram, you don’t want it any more,” she said, coming to the side of the cab.

Fan mechanically pulled the yellow envelope from her pocket and gave it to her without question, and was then driven off. But in her agitation at the sudden summons she had thrust the missive and the cover separately into her pocket, so that Rosie had after all only got the envelope. It was a little matter–a small oversight caused by hurry–but the result was important; in all probability Fan’s whole after life would have been different if she had not made that trivial mistake.

She was quickly at the station, and after taking her ticket had only a few minutes to wait for a train; half an hour later she was at Twickenham Station. As soon as the platform was clear of the other passengers who had alighted, a respectably-dressed woman got up from one of the seats and came up to Fan. “You are Miss Affleck,” she said, with a furtive glance at the girl’s face. “Miss Starbrow sent me to meet you. She is going to stay a few days with friends just outside of Twickenham. Will you please come this way?”

She took the bag from Fan, then led the way not to, but round the village, and at some distance beyond it into a road with trees planted in it and occasional garden-seats. They followed this road for about a quarter of a mile, then left it, and the villas and houses near it, and struck across a wide field. Beyond it, in an open space, they came to an isolated terrace of small red-brick cottages. The cottages seemed newly built and empty, and no person was moving about; nor had any road been made, but the houses stood on the wet clay, full of deep cart-wheel ruts, and strewn with broken bricks and builders’ rubbish. In the middle of the row Fan noticed that one of the cottages was inhabited, apparently by very poor people, for as she passed by with her guide, three or four children and a woman, all wretchedly dressed, came out and stared curiously at her. Then, to her surprise, her guide stopped at the last house of the row, and opened the door with a latchkey. The windows were all closed, and from the outside it looked uninhabited, and as they went into the narrow uncarpeted hall Fan began to experience some nervous fears. Why had her mistress, a rich woman, with a luxurious home of her own, come into this miserable suburban cottage? The door of a small square room on the ground-floor was standing open, and looking into it she saw that it contained a couple of chairs and a table, but no other furniture and no carpet.

“Where’s Miss Starbrow?” she asked, becoming alarmed.

“Upstairs, waiting for you. This way, please”; and taking Fan by the hand, she attempted to lead her up the narrow uncarpeted stairs. But suddenly, with a cry of terror, the girl snatched herself free and rushed down into the open room, and stood there panting, white and trembling with terror, her eyes dilated, like some wild animal that finds itself caught in a trap.

“What ails you?” said the woman, quickly following her down.

“Captain Horton is there–I saw him looking down!” said Fan, in a terrified whisper. “Oh, please let me out–let me out!”

“Why, what nonsense you are talking, to be sure! There’s no Captain Horton here, and what’s more, I don’t know who Captain Horton is. It was Miss Starbrow you saw waiting for you on the landing.”

“No, no, no–let me out! let me out!” was Fan’s only reply.

The woman then made a dash at her, but the girl, now wild with fear, sprang quickly from her, and running round the room came to the window at the front, and began madly pulling at the fastenings to open it. There she was seized, but not to be conquered yet, for the sense of the terrible peril she was in gave her an unnatural strength, and struggling still to return to the window, her only way of escape, they presently came violently against it and shattered a pane of glass. At this moment the woman, exerting her whole strength, succeeded in dragging her back to the middle of the room; and Fan, finding that she was being overcome, burst forth in a succession of piercing screams, which had the effect of quickly bringing Captain Horton on to the scene.

“Oh, you’ve come at last! There–manage her yourself–the wild beast!” cried the woman, flinging the girl from her towards him.

He caught her in his arms. “Will you stop screaming?” he shouted; but Fan only screamed the louder.

“Stop her–stop her quick, or we’ll have those people and the police here,” cried the woman, running to the window and peering out at the broken pane to see if the noise had attracted their neighbours.

He succeeded in getting one of his hands over her mouth, and still keeping her clasped firmly with the other arm, began drawing her towards the door. But not even yet was she wholly overcome; all the power which had been in her imprisoned arms and hands appeared suddenly to have gone into the muscles of her jaws, and in a moment her sharp teeth had cut his hand to the bone.

“Oh, curse the hell-cat!” he cried; and maddened with rage at the pain, he struck her from him, and her head coming violently in contact with the sharp edge of the table, she was thrown down senseless on the floor. Her forehead was deeply cut, and presently the blood began flowing over her still, white face.

The woman now became terrified in her turn.

“You have killed her!” she cried. “Oh, Captain, you have killed her, and you’ll hang for it and make me hang too. Oh God! what’s to be done now?”

“Hold your noise, you cursed fool!” exclaimed the other, in a rage. “Get some cold water and dash it over her face.”

She obeyed quickly enough, and kneeling down washed the blood from the girl’s face and hair, and loosened her dress. But the fear that they would be discovered unnerved her, her hands shook, and she kept on moaning that the girl was dead, that they would be found out and tried for murder.

“She’s not dead, I tell you–damn you for a fool!” exclaimed Captain Horton, dashing the blood from his wounded hand and stamping on the floor in a rage.

“She is! she is! There’s not a spark of life in her that I can feel! Oh, what shall I do?”

He pushed her roughly aside and felt for the girl’s pulse, and placed his hand over her heart, but was perhaps too much agitated himself to feel its feeble pulsations.

“Good God, it can’t be!” he said. “A girl can’t be killed with a light knock in falling like that. No, no, she’ll come to presently and be all right. And we’re safe enough–not a soul knows where she is.”

“Oh, don’t you think that!” returned the woman, again kneeling down and chafing and slapping Fan’s palms, and moistening her face. “The people at the other house were all there watching us when I brought the girl in. They’re curious about it, and maybe suspect something; and when the policeman comes round you may be sure they’ll tell him, and they’ll have heard the screams too, and they’ll be watching about now. Oh, what a blessed fool I was to have anything to do with it!”

Captain Horton began cursing her again; but just then Fan’s bosom moved, she drew a long breath, and presently her eyes opened.

They were watching her with a feeling of intense relief, thinking that they had now escaped from a great and terrible danger. Fan looked up into the face of the woman bent over her, and gazed at her in a dazed kind of way, not yet remembering where she was or what had befallen her. Then she glanced at the man’s face, a little distance off, shivered and closed her eyes, and in her stillness and extreme pallor seemed to have become insensible again, although her white lips twitched at intervals.

“Go away, for God’s sake! Go to the other room–it kills her to see you!” said the woman, in an excited whisper.

He moved away and slipped out at the door very quietly, but presently called softly to the woman.

“Here, make her swallow a little brandy,” he said, giving her a pocket flask.

In about half an hour Fan had recovered so far that she could sit up in a chair; but with her strength her distress and terror came back, and feeling herself powerless she began to cry and beg to be let out.

The woman went to the door and spoke softly to her companion.

“It’s all right now; she’s getting over it.”

“It’s all wrong, I tell you,” said the other with an oath, and in a tone of concentrated rage. “There are two of your neighbour’s boys prying about in front and trying to peer through the window. For heaven’s sake get rid of her and let her go as soon as you can.”

She was about to return to Fan when he called her back.

“Take her to the station yourself,” he said; and proceeded to give her some directions which she promised to obey, after which she came back to Fan, to find her at the window feebly struggling to unfasten the stiff catch.

“Don’t you be afraid any more, my dear,” she said effusively. “I’ll take you back to the station as soon as you’re well enough to walk. You’ve had a fall against the table and hurt yourself a little, but you’ll soon be all right.”

Fan looked at her and shrunk away as she approached, and then turned her eyes, dilating again with fear, towards the door.

“He’s gone, my dear, and won’t come near you again, so don’t you fear. Sit down quietly and I’ll make you a cup of tea, and then you’ll be able to walk to the station.”

But Fan would not be reassured, and continued piteously begging the woman to let her out.

“Very well, you shall go out; only take a little brandy first to give you strength to walk.”

Fan thrust the flask away, and then putting her hand to her forehead, cried out:

“Oh, what’s this on my head?”

“Only a bit of sticking-plaster where you hit yourself against the table, my dear.”

Then she smoothed out Fan’s broken hat, and with a wet sponge cleaned the bloodstains from her gown, and finally opening the door and with the bag in her hand, she accompanied the girl out.

Once in the cold keen air Fan began to recover strength and confidence, but she was still too weak to walk fast, and when they had got to the long road where the benches were, she was compelled to sit down and rest for some time.

“Where are you going after I leave you at the station?” asked the woman.

“To London–to Westbourne Park.”

“And then?”

“I don’t know–I can’t think. Oh, please leave me here!”

“No, my dear, I’ll see you in your train at the station.”

“Perhaps _he_’ll be there,” said Fan, in sudden fear.

“Oh no, bless you, _he_ won’t be there. He didn’t mean any harm, don’t you believe it. We were only going to shut you up in the house just for a few days because Miss Starbrow wanted us to.”

“Miss Starbrow!”

“Why, yes; didn’t you get her telegram telling you to come to Twickenham to her, and that I’d meet you at the station?”

“Yes, I remember. Where is she?”

“The Lord knows, my dear. But it seems she’s taken a great hatred to you, and can’t abide you, and that’s all I know. She came this morning with Captain Horton, and they arranged it all together; and she telegraphed and then went away, and said she hated the very sight of your face; and hoped I’d keep you safe because she never wanted to see you again, and was sorry she ever took you.”

“But why–why–what had I done?” moaned Fan, the tears coming to her eyes.

“There’s no knowing why, except that she’s a cruel, wicked, bad woman. That’s all I know about it. Where is the telegram–have you got it?”

Fan put her hand into her pocket and then drew it out again.

“No, I haven’t got it; I gave it to Rosie before I left–I remember now she asked me for it when I was in the cab.”

“That’s all right; it doesn’t matter a bit. But tell me, where are you going when you get back to London–back to Miss Starbrow?”

Fan looked at her, puzzled and surprised at the question. “But you say she sent for me to shut me up because she hated me, and never wished to see me again.”

“Yes, my dear, that’s quite right what I told you. But what are you going to do in London? Where will you go to sleep to-night? Here’s your bag you’d forgotten all about; if you go and forget it you’ll have no clothes to change; and perhaps you’ll lose yourself in London, and when they ask you where you belong, you’ll let them take you to Miss Starbrow’s house.”

The woman in her anxiety was quite voluble; while Fan slowly turned it all over in her mind before replying. “My head is paining so, I was forgetting. But I shan’t lose my bag, and I’ll find some place to sleep