The Review of Reviews. 



November 1, 1906. 



and that was her last words to me ! — Willie ! — the 

 child I suckled at my breast !" 



She went on with sobs, and now telling her 

 story with a sort of fragmentary hurry : '■ She went 

 out bright and shining, out of this house for ever. 

 She was smiling, Willie — as if she was glad to be 

 going. (" Glad to be going," I echoed with sound- 

 less lips.) ' You're mighty fine for the morning,' 

 I says, ' mighty fine.' ' Let the girl be pretty,' says 

 her father, ' while she's young !' And somewhere 

 she'd got a parcel of her things hidden to pick up, 

 and she was going off — out of this house for ever !" 



She became quiet. 



■' Let the girl be pretty," she repeated ; " let the 

 girl be pretty while she's young. Oh ! how can we 

 go on living, Willie. He doesn't show it, but he's 

 like a stricken beast. He's wounded to the heart. 

 She was always his favourite. He never seemed 

 to care for Puss like he did for her. And she's 

 wounded him -" 



" Where has she gone ?" I reverted at last to 

 that. 



" We don't know. She leaves her pwn blood, 

 she trusts herself — oh, Willie, it'll kill me! I wish 

 she and me together were lying in our graves." 



■■ But " — I moistened my lips and spoke slowly, 

 " she may have gone to marry." 



"If that was so ! I've prayed to God it might be 

 so, Willie. I've prayed that he'd take pity on her — 

 him. I mesn, she's with." 



I jerked out, " 'Who's that ?" 



" In her letter, she said he was a gentleman. 

 She did sav he was a gentleman." 



"In her letter. Has she written? Can I see 

 her letter?" 



" Her father took it." 



■' But if she" writes When did she write?" 



'■ It came this morning." 



" But where did it come from ? You can tell " 



" She didn't say. She said she was happy. She 

 said love took one like a storm " 



■' Curse that ! Where is her letter ? Let me see 

 it. And as for this gentleman -" 



She stared at me. 



" You know who it is." 



" Willie I" she protested. 



" You know who it is, whether she said or not." 



Her eves made a mute, unconfident denial. 



'' Young 'Yerrall ?" 



She made no answer. " All I could do for you, 

 Willie," she began presently. 



"Was it voung "Verrall?" I insisted. 



For a second, perhaps, we faced each other in 

 stark understanding. Then she plumped back to 

 the bureau, and her wet handkerchief, and I knew 

 she sought refuge from my relentless eyes. 



Mv pitv for her vanished. She knew it was her 

 mistress's son as well as I. And for some time she 

 had known, she had felt. 



I hovered over her for a moment, sick with am- 



azed disgust. Then I suddenly bethought me of 

 old Stuart, out in the greenhouse, and turned and 

 went downstairs. 



VI. 



Old Stuart was pitiful. 



I found him still inert in the greenhouse where 

 I had first seen him. He did not move as I drew 

 near him : he glanced at me, and then stared hard 

 again at the flower-pots before him. 



" Eh, Willie," he said, " this is a black day for all 

 of us."' 



'■ What are you going to do ?" I asked. 



•' The missus takes on so," he said. " I came out 

 here." 



" What do you mean to do ?" 



' What is a man to do in such a case?" 



•Do!" I cried, "why . Do!" 



■ He ought to marry her," he said. 



■' By God, yes !" I cried. " He must do that 

 anyhow." 



'■ He ought to. It's — it's cruel. But what am I 

 to do ? Suppose he won't ? Likely he won't. "What 

 then?" 



He drooped with an intensified despair. 



'■ Here's this cottage," he said, pursuing some 

 contracted argument. " We've lived here all our 

 li\es, you might say. Clear out? At my age? One 

 can't die in a slum." 



I stood before him for a space, speculating what 

 thoughts might fill the gaps between these broken 

 words. I found his lethargy, and the dimly shaped 

 mental attitudes his words indicated, abominable. 

 I said abruptlv, '' You have her letter ?" 



He dived into his breast pocket, became motion- 

 less for ten seconds, then woke up again and pro- 

 duced her letter. He drew it clumsily from its en- 

 velope, and handed it to me silently. 



It was written on greenish-tinted, fancy notepaper, 

 and with all and more than Nettie's usual triteness 

 and inadequacy of expression. Her handwriting 

 bore no traces of emotion : it was round and upright 

 and clear, as though it had been done in a writing 

 lesson. Always her letters were like masks upon 

 her image ; they fell like curtains before the chang- 

 ing charm of her face. One altogether forgot the 

 sound of her light clear voice, confronted by a 

 perplexing, stereotyped thing that had mysteriously 

 got a hold upon one's heart and pride. How did 

 that letter run ? 

 •' My Dear Mother, — 



" Do not be distressed at mv going away. I have 

 gone somewhere safe, and with someone who cares 

 for me very much. I am sorry' for your sakes, but 

 it seems that it had to be. Love is a very difficult 

 thing, and takes hold of one in ways one does not 

 expect. Do not think I am ashamed about this, I 

 glory in my love, and vou must not trouble too much 

 about me. I am verv, verv happx. 

 " Fondest love to father and Puss. 



" Your loving " Nettie." 



